by Cathryn Cade
Honey to Burn
Sweet & Dirty BBW MC Romance #10
CATHRYN CADE
Windtree Press
Beaverton, Oregon
COPYRIGHT
Copyright © 2019 by Cathryn Cade
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, without prior written permission.
Contact information:
Windtree Press
Beaverton Oregon USA
http://windtreepress.com
Publisher’s Note: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Locales and public names are sometimes used for atmospheric purposes. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, events, institutions, or locales is completely coincidental.
Book Layout © 2017 BookDesignTemplates.com
Honey to Burn/Cathryn Cade. — 1st ed.
ABOUT THE STORY
He had her heart in his hands... but he let it fall into the fire. Can this biker breathe life into the ashes of love?
Mac 'Cooler' Carson has one last chance to get his family back...
He'll have to talk fast and play dirty. Good thing this Flyer's an expert at both.
RaeAnn Carson will do anything to keep her son out of trouble...
Even send him to live with his biker daddy.
But when her ex insists she's part of the deal—or no deal... does she dare risk getting burned again?
Will love's sweetness be worth the sting?
Ride along with the Devil's Flyers.
The bigger the alpha… the harder he falls.
Each book can be read as a standalone, with a HEA, no cheating, and honey-sweet, turn-up-the-heat romance!
Read all the books in the Sweet&Dirty BBW MC Romance series by USA Today bestselling author Cathryn Cade:
Available Now—Read for FREE in Kindle Unlimited
Show Me the Honey
Honey for Nothin'
The Man With All the Honey
Follow the Honey
Box Set; Books 1-4
Honey in the Rock
Take the Honey and Run
Christmas Honey - a novella
Hawaiian Honey
New Honey in Town
Box Set 2; Books 5-8
Valentine Honey - a novella
Gonna Marry for Honey
Honey to Burn
Heavy Honey – Coming early 2020
Forever Honey – Coming 2020
Box Set 3; Books 9-12 – coming 2020
CHAPTER ONE
That was then …
Saturday, September 21st, 2002
The first time RaeAnn Denton saw Mac Carson, she knew he was trouble.
But he was exactly the kind of trouble she was looking for.
Not that she was that kind of girl, out to the clubs every weekend hoping to pick up guys.
But tonight? Heck, yeah.
Tonight she was angry. So angry she was itching to do something wild and crazy.
Something the likes of which her disapproving mother warned her against on a daily basis. But Ellen Denton's constant lectures had finally driven her daughter in the exact opposite direction.
Tonight, her daughter planned to commit incautious acts—maybe a whole lot of them.
Thus, here RaeAnn was, sitting at a small high top table with her two best friends in Spangles, a bar and dance club in downtown Spokane, Washington.
The place was known not only as a place to dance but as a place to hook up.
Rae hadn’t been here before, but tonight, she’d allowed Dee and Lacey to talk her into giving it a try. She’d also tried the club’s famous strawberry margaritas—blended, with a fat strawberry decorating the rim—and was now nearly through with her second one.
She was feeling the buzz of tequila. She was ready for something wild.
When she looked across the crowded bar and saw a hot guy with his gaze locked on her, she looked back. She held his gaze with her own, far longer than a simple passing glance.
Of course, she also blushed, her cheeks burning under their careful coat of light cosmetics, but that was just her.
She was shy with guys, she always had been.
Her two best friends were always telling her she was pretty, with her brown eyes, long blonde hair, and slim figure. But mostly, RaeAnn still felt like the late developer she’d been in middle school: skinny, with braces on her teeth and no need for a bra when all her classmates were wearing them. Not to mention the conservative clothing her mother had insisted she wear.
At 22, Rae now filled out a C-cup, knew how to use cosmetics to enhance her best features, how to style her hair in long, tousled waves, and how to rock snug, bootcut jeans and sexy tops, like the black lace one she was wearing now.
Still, when it came to guys, she seemed to get tongue-tied and awkward.
But tonight would be different. Tonight, she was bolstered by two of Spangles’ yummy margaritas and the presence of her two best friends. Tonight, she was fueled by her simmering anger toward her mother, who happened to also be her boss. Tonight, the universe better believe that when trouble stared her down, she would stand her ground and stare right back.
He wasn't the kind of guy who usually paid attention to her.
She always seemed to attract the quiet guys who were looking for a girl who didn’t intimidate them. The guys who wore button-down shirts tucked into their slacks and had conservative haircuts.
This guy… oh, my. He appeared to be a bit of a rebel. His hair was too long, hanging over his collar, and it looked like he'd combed it with his fingers hours ago and then just forgotten about it. It also looked like maybe he'd had it dyed—in contrast to his dark brows and lashes, his hair was a pale, almost silver blond that glinted in the bar lights. But no dark roots, so maybe it was natural.
Either way, she liked it a lot. She liked the rest of him, too.
He wore a black Western shirt with some kind of shiny, black embroidery on the front.
The shirt was tight, but that worked for him because he was fit. It was obvious he lifted weights and didn't sit on the couch and stuff his face while he drank beer in front of the sports channel.
RaeAnn knew what that looked like because that's what her high school boyfriend had taken to doing, and the last time she’d seen him, it showed.
Also, when this guy slid off his stool at the bar and sauntered through the crowd, he moved with the kind of easy, flowing stride that declared the space around him had been created just for him, and everyone should move out of his way.
That was the kind of behavior that usually turned Rae right off.
But this guy, whoa.
He came toward her, his gaze locked on her like a homing beacon, and his confidence did not repel her. On the contrary, it sent a flurry of excitement racing through her, little tingles of heat that started in her chest and arrowed down through her body, straight to her lady bits.
Not being exceptionally confident about her own attractiveness, usually Rae would have looked over her shoulder to see who he was really interested in. But this time, somehow, she knew he was coming to her.
The band on the small stage across from the bar ended their song, a cover of the Keith Urban hit ‘Somebody Like You.’ The final chords hung in the air, slowly replaced by rowdy voices and laughter. “All right, we’re gonna take a break,” the band’s lead singer called, unstrapping his guitar. “Drink up!”
In the lull without music, voices echoed around Rae. None of them registered, not even those of her t
wo best friends at the table with her.
That is, until Lacey tapped urgently on Rae's forearm with one of her long, frosted nails, which matched her glacé lace top. "Rae!" the pretty, plump redhead hissed.
When Rae looked over, her friends were both grinning. "Earth to RaeAnn," Lacey said. "You zoned out on us there."
"Yeah," Dee said, tossing her wild black curls back from her face and straightening her own tight red sweater before turning to scan the bar. "Who are you looking at... oh!"
At Dee’s startled exclamation, Lacey snapped her head around. Both RaeAnn's friends gaped as the blond stranger stopped at their table.
He gave them one of those uber-masculine chin lifts, his eyes still locked on RaeAnn. "Ladies," he said.
"Hi," Lacey and Dee chorused, their delighted gazes dancing from him to RaeAnn and back.
His gaze poured over RaeAnn like melted butter, or something equally as luscious and sinful. "Hey, I'm Mac. Who are you?"
Rae sighed, savoring his rough voice and the hungry way he was looking at her, as if he'd opened up a box of cheap chocolates and found rich, decadent truffles instead.
A sharp pain suddenly bit into her ankle. Geez! Someone had kicked her. Knowing exactly who the culprit was, Rae looked to Lacey, who was giving her wide eyes from across the table. "Answer him," the redhead mouthed.
This, right here. This was why she did not do well with guys.
He’d spoken to her, smiled at her, and instead of replying, she’d silently gaped at him like a fangirl meeting her favorite actor.
Her face heated until it felt like she had an inferno in her cheeks.
She looked to him again. It was simply beyond her at the moment to smile but she did manage to speak.
"Hi. I'm ready. I—I mean, I'm RaeAnn."
Oh, God. Had she just said…? Yes, she had. She’d said she was ready—like she was gonna jump on him, or something.
And now, she just wanted to dive under the high top, because his sexy, hazel eyes were brimming with amusement.
But she did not, because one, there wasn't room under there for all of her with her friends' legs, feet, and purses. And two, if she hid from the hottest guy she'd ever met, it would cement her status as a forever-single dork, because she would never again gather the courage to come out with her friends to a place where there might be hot guys.
But, miracle of miracles, this hot guy was grinning at her, and he wasn't walking away shaking his head or bent over guffawing at her.
Instead, giving her time to collect the ragged bits of her composure, he pulled out the fourth chair at their table and raised his brows in question.
She nodded eagerly. Oh, yes, please, please sit.
With a lazy wink meant just for her, he sat, his knee brushing hers under the table. He made a circling motion over their empty glasses with one hand and gave them all an inquiring look. "Ready for another round?"
Dee aimed a brilliant smile his way and nodded. Lacey gave Rae a look that asked if this was okay.
Rae nodded, and smiled at him, because what else could she do? This hot guy was nice enough to buy not only a drink for her, but for her friends, too.
He immediately lifted one arm to signal a waitress. Under the rolled-up sleeves of the black shirt, his forearms were tanned and muscular, dusted with fine hairs that glinted gold in the bar lights.
A cocktail waitress materialized out of the crowd, as if by magic.
This did not surprise Rae—if she were working here, she'd keep one eye on this Mac too, just waiting for the chance to learn what he liked to drink and bring that to him. The waitress was older but pretty, and she leaned close to hear him, her pert little breasts trying to escape from her tight, black tee with Spangles bedazzled across her chest.
But after giving her their order, Mac turned immediately back to Rae and leaned in on an elbow.
"You like the music?" he asked, raising his voice. The band, back on the small stage, began tuning up their steel guitars, and the drummer gave a few cursory thumps.
She nodded, more because he was asking than because she cared one way or the other about the band. They were okay, playing a mix of country and pop hits, the kind of songs that were easy to dance to.
"Good," he said, tipping his head so his gravelly, sexy voice poured into her ear, his breath tickling her skin. "Then maybe you'll dance with me."
"Sure," she breathed. She might be a dork, but she wasn't stupid.
This close, she caught a whiff of his scent, clean, healthy man and a hint of shaving cologne. Mm-mm, so sexy. He was handsome, he was sweet, and he smelled really good.
CHAPTER TWO
Mac Carson was having a good time. And surprisingly, doing so at a bar other than the clubhouse bar of the Devil’s Flyers MC, which had become his favorite hangout.
He’d always been a motorcyclist, since he was old enough to buy his first used Honda.
Strangely, his attraction to both motorcycle clubs and to his chosen profession had begun with a motorcycle wreck.
A year after he graduated high school, he’d been working at the family business, making good money for a 19-year-old, but bored out of his mind. Riding the roads around his home town of Wenatchee had been his freedom.
That summer, on a delivery run with a special order from the Tri-Cities in the back of the Carson Flooring truck, he’d come upon a wreck. In the middle of endless wheat fields, an old pickup truck sat tilted off to one side of the highway. On the verge nearby, a beautiful Harley laid on its side with another parked behind it.
As Mac had pulled over behind them, he saw one of the motorcyclists squatted over the other, who lay sprawled on his back. There was blood on the pavement.
Mac never remembered jumping down from his truck and sprinting to the two men, but he’d never forget what he found when he got to them.
The injured man was barely conscious, his eyes glazed, but he was muttering something, agitated. His riding partner had both hands on him, one holding a bandanna to a wound at the throat, the other cupping his friend’s face as he spoke. “I’m here, brother. Not goin’ anywhere. Never leave you, you know that. Flyers forever.”
It was then that Mac had noticed both men were middle-aged and wore riding leathers, their black leather vests emblazoned on the back with a club insignia. The Devil’s Flyers. A grinning devil sat astride an old-fashioned fighter plane, riding it down as smoke poured out behind.
“Can I help?” Mac asked, dropping to a knee beside them.
Ahead of them, the old pickup’s engine revved, and the single working tail-light came on.
“Sonuvabitch!” The uninjured biker turned to Mac, eyes blazing in his weathered face. “Here, kid. Hold this on his wound, nice and snug. Can you do it?”
Shaken but determined, Mac nodded. He soon found himself putting pressure on the downed biker’s injury. “Did you call the highway patrol?” he asked.
“Course I did. And till they get here, that pissant ain’t leavin’.”
Mac looked back to his patient, noting how pale the guy was under his tan and how much blood had pooled on the pavement. He pressed more firmly on the wound. This guy needed his help. “You’re okay,” he said, his voice low but firm in a way that felt right. “You’re gonna be okay. Help is on the way, but for now, I have you.”
The other biker raced along the verge to the old pickup and yanked open the driver’s side door. He reached in and hauled the driver out. A skinny, disheveled guy appeared in his grasp.
“Sorry, m’s’sorry,” the driver slurred, his eyes glazed and red in his pale face. “Dunno wha’ happened. I’s jus’ goin’ fer help.”
“You’re drunk on your ass, that’s what happened,” the biker snarled. “Weavin’ all over the fuckin’ highway. And my brother is down, thanks to you. And you’re not goin’ anywhere—not unless it’s in the back of a cop cage.”
He drew back one arm and sent his fist smacking into the drunk’s face. The guy flew back into the truck cab, legs dang
ling out and for a moment, everything was quiet, only the wind soughing through the wheat fields and the sound of a distant semi breaking the silence.
The biker stalked back to squat beside his injured friend again. He looked to Mac, eyes narrowed dangerously. “I reckon that drunk musta hit the steering wheel with his face.”
Mac looked from the pickup to the biker and nodded. “Sounds about right to me. He could’ve killed both of you—and if you let him drive away, he could hit someone else.” A punch in the face wasn’t a bad way to prevent that.
The biker returned his nod. “You’re all right, man. I’m Chains. This here’s Wheels.”
Sirens wailed in the distance, and moments later an ambulance and highway patrol vehicle were on scene. Since Mac hadn’t seen the wreck, he was sent on his way.
But before he left, Chains shook his hand again. “Appreciate you stoppin’ to help us out, Mac. You ever get over to Seattle, look us up. We’ll show you a good time.”
Mac shook the biker’s hand. “I’ll do that.”
That fall, he did.
Wheels was still recovering from his injuries, walking with a cane. The MC, of which Chains turned out to be the president, welcomed Mac man-to-man, instead of as a kid, the way his parents and siblings still viewed him. And they definitely showed him a good time, complete with a wild, pretty brunette.
And so he was introduced to the Devil’s Flyers.
A few years later, he’d moved to the Spokane area and became a friend of the local chapter in Airway Heights, a small town just west of Spokane.
Now, he was a prospect, working to be invited to patch in.
But tonight, was he out at the clubhouse with the brothers and the wild, willing women who partied with them?
Nope.
He was in a frickin' dance club, where he'd stopped only to meet up with a couple of co-workers.
As a newly minted EMT and new hire at Spokane Medical Response, Mac wanted to be on good terms with his team on the ambulance.