Wilde Nights (The Brothers of Wilde, Nevada 4)

The damning photos would work perfectly, though the person uploading the images to a laptop wished there had been one with the woman and Austin Wilde, too. No luck.

The final photo popped up on the screen. It was Denver Wilde kissing the bitch in the parking lot of The Masters’ Chambers. There were other snapshots of the cunt embracing other Wilde brothers.

With the other photos from the whore’s first night with them that had been copied from the hijacked camera of a clueless Jackson, there was enough.

Time to turn up the heat on special investigator Jessica Greene.

Chapter Two

“We’re here,” Denver stated flatly.

Jessie opened her eyes and gasped. Through the truck’s windshield she saw a two-story white neoclassic home with a portico held up by six columns that went the full length of the front of the building. Four enormous six-paned windows, two on each side, flanked the double-door entrance.

&nbsp

; The ride from the club had lulled her to sleep. She’d leaned into the sexy cowboy dreaming about the experience at the club. Now, she was fully awake and amazed by the beauty before her.

“Your home is amazing. I can’t believe you built this.”

“Sure did, sugar.”

“It’s so big. How did you do it?” Jessie knew that all the Wilde brothers built their own homes. They started the building when they were only sixteen. Once they turned eighteen, they were required to move into the place of their own making.

“When I decide to do something or have something, I don’t let anything or anyone stop me.”

Denver fascinated Jessie. His quiet confidence and strength got to her on a deep level. The more time she spent with him the more she felt changed. “May I see inside, Sir?”

“Sure, Jessie. I want to know what you think of my place.”

“Thank you, Sir.”

He kissed her cheek. “Outside the club you may call me Denver, unless I decide to run you through some training. I’m not twenty-four-seven.”

The idea of being instructed by this cowboy excited her. “Okay, Denver.”

He opened the door and motioned her inside. The interior entryway had a large stairway that led up to a landing. The walls were big and broad and, like the outside, were white. All the trim was fluted and terminated at the corners into gorgeous square blocks that were carved in bold relief. The rooms were not isolated, but opened into each other. To the left was a dining room, formal but inviting. To the right was a large living room that was composed of straight, severe lines with heavy detail. Symmetry prevailed throughout. Every window and door was organized in pairs. The maker of this house had a meticulous eye. If she had to describe the feel of the place in a single word, it would have been “stately.” The dining room and the living room had matching fireplaces with black marble surrounds and bulky mantles that could be seen from the entryway. A large mirror hung over the dining room mantle, and a large painting of three men and a woman hung over the living room mantle.

Jessie thought she recognized Mrs. Wilde’s sweet smile and bright eyes. “Are those your parents when they were younger?”

“Yes. Pappy Jack commissioned it as a wedding gift. When I moved here, Mom gave it to me. There’s more to see.”

“And I want to see it, too. Lead on, Sir.”

He grinned. “Come on, sugar.”

The rest of the downstairs matched the front part of the house in its beauty and style. The kitchen, half bath, and guest bedroom were impressive. When they went upstairs, she was stunned to find the room at the top of the stairs filled with drums, guitars, mics with stands, and two keyboards.

“You’re a musician?”

“I’ve been called one once or twice. A couple of my cousins and I like to have a jam session every once in awhile.”

“What kind of music?”

“All kinds. Metal. Jazz. Rock. Alternative.”

“What do you play?”

“Guitar, mainly. Keyboard and drums some.”