Harm's Way: Riot MC Biloxi

by Karen Renee

  “What seems to be the hold-up, darlin’? Other than you eyeing the merchandise?”

  I laughed. “I’m not eyeing the merchandise. You’re just distracting, Michael.”

  He chuckled. “Now you know how I felt at the beach all morning. Come shower. You need help getting all the sand off your body.”

  I shook my head. “Pretty sure you promised I could put my mouth on you. I’m guessing you’ll be extra salty.”

  He closed his eyes while turning his head and I fought laughter. He glared at me. “Let’s go, woman.”

  I set the washer to run, then followed him into the bathroom.

  Even though it wasn’t the first time I had been in this bathroom, it was the first time I was in it with him. And this reminded me of some things I had wanted to tell him.

  When I caught his eyes, I widened mine at him. “You know how the other night you told me I needed to do everything in your bedroom, including showering and stuff?”

  “Yeah,” he muttered.

  I looked around the entire bathroom before making eye contact again. “You should have mentioned how fan-damn-tastic your bathroom is compared to the others.”

  He chuckled. “Noted. Less talking, more stripping.”

  “Fine, but you start the water.”

  His eyes narrowed. “Nope.”

  “What do you mean?”

  He smirked while his brow arched. “Want to watch you strip. Rumor has it you auditioned for a spot at Platinum’s when the Jacksonville chapter took it over. Seeing as you eyed me up and down, I think this is a case of tit-for-tat. Emphasis on the tit, baby.”

  I felt heat in my cheeks. “You brothers all talk in the worst way.”

  His eyes smoldered. “Not gonna tell you again. Less talking, more stripping.”

  My gut said to tell him I had no music, but before I could say anything, he snapped his fingers and grabbed his phone from the counter.

  In a moment, an extremely sexy drum beat accentuated by a metal guitar and steady bass thrum filled the room. Immediately, I knew this song was primo stripping music, and I wished I would’ve auditioned to this song over a year ago. When Danzig’s distinct voice filled the room, my eyes widened.

  My hips swiveled and I dragged my hands up my sides around the back of my neck. He licked his lips and I smiled but slid my hands down to my breasts, squeezing them together and taking my time to run my thumbs over my nipples.

  Even over the music I heard him growl.

  A devilish grin crossed my face. I tossed my head so my hair went to one side. With my hands behind my neck, I untied the top part of my bikini, but since my girls were large and in charge, the top didn’t fall down.

  His lips pouted for a moment and I fought giggling.

  “You’re enjoying this too much, Miss Priss.”

  A move I’d seen another dancer perform flitted through my mind. I turned around and bent over, swinging my hips while I did. For good measure, I twerked for a couple beats, only I suddenly felt a stinging pain and heard the resounding smack from Har’s hand. I straightened and whirled, my hair flying, and the glimmer in his eyes told me he liked it, but the spin of his fingers said something else.

  His bathroom had a decent amount of space. I planted my hands on the edge of the counter and kicked my legs out one by one behind me. Then I leaned away from the counter while my hands undid the lower clasp of my top.

  I caught his eyes, and he lowered his chin. His finger crooked at me. I saw his other hand stroking himself. A curl of heat slid through my lower belly. It might have been spitting in the eye of the devil, but I shook my head and let my top fall to the floor.

  His lips quirked to the side and he nodded right before he prowled my way. His hands stroked my breasts. “That’s enough riding the music for now, baby. Time to shower.”

  I side-stepped him. “Oh, no, honey. You haven’t seen my best moves.”

  My hips swiveled in a figure eight as I drove my thumbs into my bottoms shoving them to the floor. The song ended. Har stalked to me. “I don’t need to see your best moves, Miss Priss. Much rather feel them in the shower. You’ve yet to suck me off, and that needs to be rectified.”

  I stroked his pecs down to his abs while gazing into his eyes. “That’s why you needed to start the water, Harm.”

  He smirked. “Watching your little show made it well fuckin’ worth it.”

  His lips met mine and he kissed me hard, though I heard the water start, so he was multitasking.

  Dragging my lips from his to kiss along the edges of his goatee, I said, “I should be offended you’re doing more than one thing while kissing me, sir.”

  “Keep that up, I’m gonna get used to you calling me ‘sir,’ Miss Priss.”

  “Why’s that?” I asked against his lips.

  He moved us into the shower stall. “Because I’m thinking you’ve got a kinky side.”

  I kissed him. He let my tongue delve into his mouth for what felt like the briefest moment before he broke it. His lips ran along my jaw to my ear. “You putting that mouth on me, or was that just lip service?”

  I smirked. “It’ll be lip service all right.”

  IT SEEMED BETWEEN HIS earlier workout, the beach, and my stellar mouth skills – his words, not mine – Har needed a nap. I had laid down with him, but couldn’t get to sleep. My mind kept circling back to the fact I had a whole week worth of meals to cook, so I traipsed out to the kitchen with my phone and got to work.

  I found the Danzig song, “She Rides,” on Spotify and played it, but then it reverted to my recently played songs and Nicki Minaj’s “Super Bass” filled the room as I sliced and diced carrots and onions for a pot roast recipe. It wasn’t a song for everyone, but I loved it, and I danced while chopping vegetables. Since Har’s room wasn’t close to the kitchen, I found myself singing along in no time.

  My Instant Pot sat on the counter and I placed the hunk of beef inside while singing about how “He just had to give me that look” and it wasn’t until I finished the lyric that Har sidled up to me. The grin on his face was proof he heard everything I had been singing.

  Rather than let him see me sweat, I kept singing, since the part about him being “a helluva guy” was pure truth. I dumped my veggies on top of the roast. As I moved to the pantry for the Worcestershire sauce, my hips had more wiggle than usual, but when I turned around, Har was right there.

  His legs widened, he grabbed my free hand, putting it on my heart, but leaned closer. “Do I have your heartbeat running away?”

  My breath caught, my lips pressed together hard, and I froze.

  He ran his nose alongside mine before he murmured, “Don’t worry, sweetheart, you got my heart running the same way.”

  With that, he dropped my hand and moved into the living room.

  My lungs refilled with oxygen and my first coherent thought was I love him.

  That thought forced the air out of my lungs all over again.

  I couldn’t fall in love with him. I couldn’t fall in love with anyone. Not any more. Not after Wycliffe and his bullshit.

  I blinked and Har stood in front of me. “What the hell, woman? You haven’t moved since I walked away. What’s wrong?”

  My lips shaped a closed-lip smile. “Nothing’s wrong. Just making sure I don’t need to grab more stuff.”

  He gave me a hard look. “Your poker face sucks today, Combes. You’re freaked right the fuck out. What is it?”

  After a long blink, I sighed. “Really, Har. It’s nothing.”

  He caught my chin between his thumb and index finger. “Call me Michael. And it is something. Hell, you look like I stomped on your heart.”

  My eyes slid to the side and I cursed my stupid reflexes.

  He quietly scoffed. Then he bent forward so his face was in mine. “How can I have stomped on your heart after what I said?”

  His gorgeous green eyes demanded an answer.

  “Because I could love you.”

  At my words, his eyes
widened, and not in a good way, so I continued. “But I can’t afford to fall in love with anyone. Not ever again.”

  Suddenly he squished my face to his chest, and I feared dropping the Worcestershire bottle, but proving how damn observant he was, Michael took it from me and put it back on the shelf.

  His hands slid past my cheeks to my neck, his thumbs ran along the top of my cheekbones and into my hairline. With gentle pressure he guided my face to look at him. “Do you remember what I said to you about this?”

  I shook my head.

  He smiled. “Pretty sure it was something along the lines of not wanting to analyze us. And if we’re good together, we’ll keep it going. But I wouldn’t talk about feelings.”

  Case and point, I thought.

  His head moved in a slight nod. “Thing is, we aren’t good. We’re better than good in a way I didn’t think was possible. But it is too soon.” He leaned away a touch. “I mean, three days of sex, Stephanie, does not make for a love story.”

  Anger took over my face, and I did not care. “Sex does not make a relationship, Michael. It enhances it. End of.”

  To my dismay, he tipped his head back and laughed.

  I broke out of his hold and poked his chest. “Nothing’s funny here, mister. No pot roast for you!”

  Har

  HER COMMENT ABOUT NO food for him made him laugh harder.

  She stomped to the other side of the kitchen and he said, “It’s hysterical that you said ‘end of’ regarding sex and it only enhancing a relationship.”

  She turned angry hazel eyes at him. “It isn’t the basis of a relationship.”

  His expression sobered. “It’s a key component.”

  She waved a spatula at him. “A component, yes. The foundation, not even.”

  “At the risk of prolonging this crazy argument, when a couple stops having sex, they often stop being a couple, so it’s a big part of the foundation.”

  Her head was bowed over the pot. She tilted it up to the ceiling with a growl, making him worry, but then she came toward him and he blocked her from getting the Worcestershire.

  He grinned. “The cat got your tongue, Miss Priss?”

  Those big eyes flashed at him. “We can agree I’m not prissy, so stop calling me that.”

  “You shouldn’t make it so easy to rile you, baby.”

  She reached for the bottle but he caught her hand. “Why are you doing this?” she asked.

  “Am I right? Sex is important to a relationship.”

  A pout twisted her lips, giving him the urge to kiss her. Then she sighed. “You’re right... a little bit. But other stuff is important too.”

  He shook his head. “Didn’t say it wasn’t, babe.” His arm snaked behind him, then he handed her the Worcestershire. “Have at it.”

  She beelined it to the pot on the counter.

  He wandered to the fridge for a beer. Just as he pulled a bottle from the carton, he heard her cute growl.

  “My friend, Courtney, was right again. Behind every great man is the door I need to open.”

  He turned to her with a questioning look. “Come again?”

  She grinned. “Well, really she said behind every great man is the drawer she needs to open, but as big as this kitchen is you’re always where I need to be.”

  He licked his lips, liking how she reacted to that. “I’m gonna focus on the ‘great man’ part of that and get out of your way.”

  “Okay.”

  When he didn’t move, she widened her eyes.

  “Want a kiss, baby.”

  She leaned up and made to give him a peck, but he wrapped his arm around her to turn it into a much longer, more satisfying kiss. When he ended it, her eyes were filled with a dazed look. He felt a satisfaction he hadn’t felt before.

  “Better?” he asked.

  “I guess,” she murmured.

  “You guess,” he chuckled. “Don’t worry, hon, one day you’ll get used to me being right.”

  He left the kitchen for the living room and found an NFL Pre-Season game on TV. By the time the first quarter ended, he realized the kitchen was too quiet, but the scent in the air had his stomach rumbling. He wandered through the kitchen and back to his bedroom, but no Stephanie.

  His sigh mingled with a grumble as he went to the other side of the house.

  The door to her room stood open. Her futon was pulled out and she had her back to the door. Not meaning to read over her shoulder, he could see her scrolling through her phone and the pictures of apartment layouts couldn’t be missed.

  He had to bite his tongue not to say, “No.” The sensible thing to do would be to turn around and let her be, but nothing about his attraction to her made sense.

  He gently lowered his body onto the futon behind her, snaking his arm under her shoulder. Her body stiffened in response.

  “Do you know what’s in front of every great man?” he asked.

  “The whole world.”

  That took him aback because it was true, but not in the way she meant ‘the whole world.’

  He grinned as he decided to throw caution to the wind. “You’re right because when he has the right woman, his whole world is in front of him.”

  She shook her head. “You’re not making sense.”

  “I am, Combes. A man like me takes his woman’s back. He’s behind her to make sure she’s good. And that means his whole world is what’s in front of him.”

  “That’s good to know.”

  He shook his head. “Where am I right now?”

  “In my room, on my futon.”

  “What’s in front of me, Stephie?”

  “Me,” she whispered.

  “Right.”

  “I’m not your whole world.”

  Not yet.

  He kept his body loose even as that thought alarmed him. After a beat, he said, “No, but you could be. Just like you didn’t say you loved me, you said you could love me. So, I don’t know why you’re scrolling through apartments, but this is good. You don’t need to run just because something could happen.”

  “I have to protect myself.”

  “I can respect that, but does that mean you have to walk away from a good thing?”

  “Knowing when to walk away is just as important as knowing when to take a risk.”

  “Like poker,” he muttered.

  Her body stiffened, which should make him regret his words, but he didn’t.

  “This is not a game.”

  He mulled her words over. “Wouldn’t be too sure about that, babe.”

  She scoffed. “You would say that.”

  He grinned. “You gotta take a stand when your chips are low. And that asshole forced your chips low. Thing is, you make the right stand, you double...sometimes even triple your stack. Love isn’t a game, but it damn sure has a lot in common with poker. It’s risky as hell, but the rewards will overwhelm you with their sweetness.”

  She took in a deep breath. “I’m glad you believe that.”

  He squeezed her. “Don’t move.”

  “You got your arms around me. Can’t say I’m going anywhere.”

  “You know what I mean. Don’t leave. Damn sure not before you have enough cash for an actual bed.”

  Before she could answer, his cell rang with Cynic’s ring tone.

  “Fuck,” he hissed, and knifed off the bed.

  Accepting the call, he heard the line filled with background noise.

  “Prez, the clubhouse just got a Molotov cocktail thrown through a window.”

  “The hell you say?”

  He turned on his heel and snapped his fingers at Stephanie. She glared over her shoulder at him, but that gave way to concern when she caught his expression. He motioned for her to get up.

  “Got the place locked down, right?” he demanded.

  “Of course. The fire department notwithstanding.”

  “How the fuck would they know about it?”

  “New groupies were in tonight, guessing one of them calle
d 911.”

  He sighed. “They about done?”

  “Yeah. They’re gettin’ in their rigs now.”

  “Good. I’ll be there in ten.”

  He tucked the phone in his pocket and looked at Stephanie. “Let’s go. Get your shit. We gotta go to the clubhouse. Someone tried to torch it with a Molotov cocktail.”

  “Sounds like you need to go to the clubhouse. I don’t need to be around for that.”

  He dragged a hand down his face. “Connect some dots, babe. Brick comes sailin’ through a bedroom window, I replace it. Now there’s a fire at the clubhouse. Not to be self-centered, but I’m pretty sure those things might have been meant for me. Either way it’s a message to me, and you aren’t staying here if there’s a chance some jackass might set the place on fire.”

  “I could stay with Sammy.”

  His temper rose. “No. Did you hear any of what I said to you before that goddamn phone call?”

  She gave him a contrite look.

  “Yeah. Call me crazy, but I don’t want to let another woman who could be my whole world get away from me.”

  Her expression grew hawkish and he wished he would’ve thought before he spoke.

  “Another woman?”

  He waved it away. “It was years ago. Not talkin’ about that shit. You need to focus on the right-now. Grab your shit, and dress for the back of my bike. We gotta go.”

  She arched a brow. “I’ll dress for being on my bike. But I can be ready in ten.”

  He lowered his chin. “Too bad, Priss. You got five.”

  Chapter 17

  Put a Cut on Her Already

  Stephanie

  I DIDN’T UNDERSTAND why we weren’t hunkering down at his house, but Michael’s tone brooked no argument. I threw two uniforms and some other clothes in a duffel bag when it hit me.

  “Michael!” I hollered.

  A moment later he stood in the doorway. “What’s wrong?”