by M J Marino
“Uh, yeah, you weren’t supposed to catch me. I seriously wasn’t trying to sneak a peek at you.”
“Most gentlemen knock before entering a lady’s bedroom,” she chides, her hands on her hips.
“Most ladies don’t leave their bedroom doors open when changing, knowing a horny gentleman is right in the next room,” I counter.
Sorry, not sorry. I don’t feel guilty catching her in her lingerie, but I need to apologize for walking in on her. “I’m sorry for barging in on you, my lady.”
“You’re not sorry. And as you pointed out, I’m certainly no lady.” She laughs, giving me a suggestive look.
My eyes narrow in on her. “Don’t do that.”
“Do what?”
“Fucking tease me,” I growl. “I’m trying hard to behave right now, and you know exactly what you’re doing. I think since you decided to taunt me, I get to pick which outfit you wear. I choose the dress.”
Josephine sniggers, but she picks up the dress and slides it over her head. I come up behind her and help her pull it down her fit body, restraining myself from running my fingers along her side, proud of the fact I have enough control to abstain.
“Thank you,” she whispers, stepping away to grab some earrings off her dresser. Josephine takes one last look at herself in the mirror. She has me sucking in air when she pulls the clip from her hair, letting soft brown waves cascade past her shoulders. I clench my fists to stop myself from reaching out and running my fingers through her long locks.
Quickly, she slips on cowboy boots and a light-colored denim jacket. She’s hot as sin and she’s going to look like a fucking dream sitting behind me on my bike. I shamelessly adjust myself again behind her.
“Alright, I’m ready for you,” she says in a demure voice.
“Good, because I have plans for you, Josephine,” I coo, grabbing her dainty hand in mine and pulling her from her condo.
Chapter Four
Josephine
I’m not entirely sure what I expected after I sped away from the diner, but this certainly was not it.
All the pent-up sexual energy burning between Maceo and I goes up in smoke—poof—I’m standing outside with a ridiculous helmet on my head, and he’s sitting smugly on his motorcycle, waiting for me to climb on.
“I’m not getting on the back of that death trap,” I seethe, folding my arms across my chest.
“Baby, I already told you, you’re safe with me. I got you,” he says.
“If you were the safest biker in the world and followed all the rules, it wouldn’t make either of us safe from the rest of the population driving like asses on the road,” I argue in a huff.
Maceo rolls his eyes. “Pixie, get your ass on the damn bike before I do it for you.”
“Fine!” I swing my leg over the seat. I tuck my dress around my legs, angry at him for requesting this outfit instead of the jeans.
Who the hell rides a hog in a dress? Apparently, I do, right now.
Maceo reaches for my arms and brings them around him, joining my hands. I have no choice but to be flush against his wide back.
“There,” he says, with obvious approval. “Right where you belong.” He revs up the engine, pulls away from the curb, and we’re off like a prom dress.
I won’t lie, riding on the back of his bike, holding on as he goes dangerously fast is amazing, but to hell if I’ll admit it to him. It seems like we’ve only started cruising before he’s pulling over to a local Moroccan restaurant. I smile, approving.
Maceo helps me off the bike and out of my helmet. I fluff out my hair, and he takes my hand and leads us to the delicious smelling environment.
He doesn’t ask or wait for us to be seated. He pulls us past the hostess, who smiles widely at him with a wave, before he takes us to the last booth in the far back. He motions for me to sit and slides in across from me. I assume he picked this spot because we’re far away from the rest of the crowd, giving us privacy.
Maceo gives me an infectious smile. “Hope you don’t mind this place.”
“Not at all. I love Andalusian cuisine. I’ve seen this place, but haven’t had the opportunity to come here. It reminds me of my favorite Moroccan restaurant back in Los Angeles. I hope it tastes as good.”
My comment makes his smile stretch wider. “Me too. I grew up with my abuela making these dishes. It’s a little nostalgic when I come to eat here.”
I can hear the sadness in his voice. “Your grandma?”
He nods before lowering his eyes to the menu. “Passed right before I turned eighteen. Lung cancer. She survived a fucking dictatorship, but cigarettes got her in the end. I joined the navy right after the funeral. She was the only reason for staying, and when she died, I needed to do something to support myself. Navy was the right fit. It’s where I met all my brothers, who I’m lucky to have today.”
I bite my lip, curiosity setting in. “Your parents?”
“Died right after I was born. A house invasion gone wrong. My dad tried to stop it and got shot in the process. My mom too. I guess a three-month old isn’t worth a bullet. I was raised by my dad’s mom, who loved me like her own son. Abuelita Lucia would have loved you.”
His story crushes me. I imagine him as a tiny baby having his parents gunned down in front of him. But there has to be more to it than what he’s telling me. Perhaps another time.
Another time? What the hell, Josephine? Am I seriously thinking about a second date with Mr. Tall, Dark, and Handsome?
My eyes admire Maceo’s gorgeous face. Yes. Yes, I am.
I shake my head at my subconscious. “I’m sorry, Maceo. I wish things were different and it never happened.”
Maceo’s dark eyes lift to mine, and he gives me another small smile. “It’s okay, baby. It was a long time ago.” His eyes go soft. “Hey, hey, don’t cry.”
I swipe away at the traitorous tear rolling down my cheek without warning. “I’m sorry,” I say, bashful.
“Nothing to be sorry about when you’re showing empathy.” He reaches for my hand across the table, and I graciously give it to him. “It tells me you have a very compassionate and nurturing demeanor—which will be wonderful when we have kids.”
I slap his hand away. “Not funny.” This is the second time today he has mentioned having children with me. Who does that after just meeting someone? Maceo does.
He’s laughing, but there’s this look of hope in his face, and I wonder if he’s being serious.
His eyes study me. “What? You don’t like kids?”
I clear my throat. “I happen to love children.” I always wanted kids—Jacob didn’t.
Maceo’s looks pleased and he bites his lower lip to keep himself from smiling too broadly.
Our waitress comes and we order our favorite dishes, but we start bickering over drink orders.
“They have a fully stocked bar, Pixie. Why are you ordering water?”
I frown at him. “I happen to like water with my meal. It quenches my thirst.”
“Order a drink, Josephine,” he commands, which pisses me off. He adds, “Please. I don’t want to drink to alone.”
“You’re riding a damn motorcycle with me on the back after we’re done here. You shouldn’t be drinking at all,” I snap.
Maceo motions at his huge muscled frame. “A fucking double whiskey isn’t going to faze me. Hell, three double whiskeys aren’t going to crack the surface.”
“Fine,” I concede, which makes him chuckle, before addressing the waitress. “Give me a Maker’s, on the rocks.”
“Fuck me, you’re perfect,” he mumbles to himself, making me blush from the compliment. Yeah, I’m not a weak drinker. I guess a former Navy SEAL—current hardcore biker—would appreciate this quality in me.
“I’ll share my meal if you share yours,” he offers after our waitress retreats with our orders.
“Deal, as long as you let me taste your gazpacho when they bring out our appetizers.”
Maceo laughs. “Your Spanish
accent is good. Most people butcher the language.”
“Muchas gracias,” I say. “Tengo pratica.”
“Ah!” Maceo grins. “Tu hablas con fluidez.”
I laugh. “Well, I don’t know if I speak Spanish properly or not. I only know what I’ve picked up from living in California. Growing up, my family didn’t have a lot of money, and we lived in a lower income area of L.A. The general population at my school was Latinx. Most of my friends spoke Spanish, and I guess I absorbed it. I know enough to stumble through a conversation and it actually comes in handy in my industry.”
Maceo nods with a chuckle. “Abuelita Lucia would beat me with a wooden spoon if she caught me using the incorrect accent. She would say, ‘Maceo, you’re a Spaniard! Speak correctly.’”
“So, you’re all Spanish?” I ask.
“I’m mostly Spanish. My dad was Spanish, maybe some Portuguese. And my mom was half-Spanish, half-Colombian. How about you?”
“I’ll just round my ancestry up as Nordic.”
He nods. “Well, that explains your fighting spirit—you’ve got Viking in you.”
“And you being a Spaniard explains why you’re trying to conquer everyone,” I fire back.
Maceo lets out a belly laugh, and the sound is too contagious not to join in. “Touché, but I’m not trying to conquer everyone, only someone,” he says, pointedly.
I lean in. “You know, you’re pretty intense and demanding.”
“And you’re pretty standoffish,” he counters. “How about instead of goading each other, we stick to safer topics?”
I wrinkle my nose. “You’re no fun.”
His eyes gleam and he smiles. “Oh, trust me, I’m a hell of a good time. How was your day?”
“Busy. Stressful. A lot to wrap my head around, you know? I did take Hades to the groomers.”
Maceo laughs. “I saw. Looks like you pampered yourself a little, too,” he says, nodding to my manicure.
I’m shocked he noticed. “I went to get my hair trimmed, and Eduardo could tell I was out of sorts. He suggested the mani-and-pedi.”
Maceo’s dark eyes crinkle at the corners, appraising every part of me. “You look beautiful by the way, and not a speck of makeup on you. I like that you wanted to look nice for me tonight.”
“This wasn’t planned.”
“Ah, but you decided to do it after I asked you out on a date,” he points out with a cocky grin. I throw my napkin at him and he catches it in midair. “Temper, temper. What else did you do today?”
“The rest of my day was devoted to your build. I reached out to my general contractor, Jared, and filled him in on the project. He’s stoked I landed us a huge business deal. Like me, he’s trying to make a name for himself. After going over the plans and picking who we needed to get the job done, we split the job of calling in the troops.”
“Sounds like a productive day.”
“It was. And how was yours?”
Maceo sighs before meeting my eyes. “Long. I had a meeting with a client in Denver who is eager for our assistance. Came back and worked on my bike before getting ready to pick you up.”
I’m about to ask him what assistance he provides when he jumps to another topic. “So tell me about you and your family. You said you’re from Los Angeles.”
“Yeah, lived in California all my life ‘till last year when I moved here. My mom and dad still live in the same little house where I grew up. Dad’s a retired welder and mom’s the secretary at my old high school. I have a sister, Simone, who’s two years older than me. She’s an accountant, and she’s doing well for herself in Sacramento.”
I chew on the inside of my cheek, not sure if I’m boring him. “You don’t really want to know all of this, do you?”
Maceo tilts his head. “I want to know everything about you.”
“Really?”
He nods. “Tell me more.”
“Um, I went to the University of Southern California for Architectural Engineering and Design. Worked in a big firm in San Diego after I graduated. Four years—I learned a lot and worked myself ragged. Didn’t work out for me there, and I decided I needed a fresh start. Picked Fort Collins on a whim and here I am.”
All our drinks, appetizers, and main dishes come out at once. No spacing out courses here. We don’t hesitate. I moan around my first bite.
“It’s good, right?” Maceo says with appreciation.
I steal his spoon right out of his hand, taking a hefty scoop of his gazpacho and I moan again.
“Here,” he says, raising his fork to my mouth. “Try the pastilla. It’s my favorite.”
I allow him to feed me, and now I’m moaning around the tasty meat pie.
“I could fucking listen to you make that sound all night,” he murmurs, watching my mouth. I flush from his confession.
We eat in silence for a while. I continue to moan with every bite, and Maceo groans in response. I swear I catch him adjusting himself several times throughout the meal, making me giggle.
As we wrestle over the last piece of lamb—which he allows me to steal—he clears his throat. “So, why didn’t it work out for you in San Diego?”
My face puckers before I can recover. “It’s not a pleasant subject for a dinner date.”
Maceo smiles around his whiskey, but sets it down and looks at me expectantly. I groan and shrug my narrow shoulders. I have nothing to hide. If he’s going to react anything like the people I left behind, it’s better to find out before actually considering getting close to him.
“I quit. Jacob, my boyfriend of nearly eight years, worked with me at the firm. He went behind my back and took full credit for a project I worked on. He stole my promotion, knowing I was working day and night to get it for years.
“Jacob acted like it was no big deal, and he tried to play it off as if he hadn’t swept the rug right out from under me. He told me I was overreacting, that I should have been happy for him and for us, saying he was more suited for the position. He truly felt it was best for our future together, me working under him.
“His betrayal was hurtful, but it was worse when I was screwed over by management. They were well aware it was my project and they gave Jacob the promotion anyway. It was a good ‘ole boy system and I wasn’t one of the boys. I was never going to get ahead and be an equal to any of them.
“I walked out the door and never went back. Packed up all my shit while Jacob was at work and moved out. I went home to my parents for a spell before deciding I needed a clean break from all of it. Moved out here for a fresh start. I’ve been working on building my solo career since, and I’m pretty proud of Holland Build and Design Solutions. Like I said, it’s not a conversation to share on a first date.”
Maceo beams at me. “I’m proud of you. You made the right decision for yourself. Not everyone has the balls to do what you did.”
“You would be the only one who agrees with me. I ended my one and only relationship and was told I was the fool for leaving him. I lost all my friends. Jacob twisted the story to make me the unappreciative girlfriend who got jealous of his success, if you can believe that shit.
“I burned all my bridges when I left the San Diego firm. I burned all my contacts. No one in the trade would work with me after I up and left without notice. It’s how I discovered my old firm had me blacklisted.
“Every time I applied to another firm I was immediately rejected. If by some miracle I was offered an interview, they would low-ball me in their offer for salary and benefits.”
Maceo looks shocked. “Holy fuck.”
I nod. “My parents were irate for my walking out on the job, regardless of the circumstances. They worked shit job after shit job to provide a better life for my sister and I. They looked at what I did as an insult to what they went through, not knowing my job wasn’t any less shitty than theirs. I refused to settle, and my parents refused to support my decision.
“My sister told me I was being childish and unprofessional, and I should’ve taken it in s
tride because that’s how business works. Fuck that, and fuck all of them. Since moving here, I haven’t talked to any of them. I miss them, but I’m too hurt by how they treated me to get over it.”
Maceo takes my hand and squeezes. “Damn, baby, that sucks. I’m sorry.”
“Me too,” I say, coy. “Sorry for unloading all my dirty laundry on you.”
He shakes his head. “I don’t want you to feel sorry for telling me anything. That’s not how this relationship works.”
I heave a sigh and try hard to ignore the delicious heat spreading through my body from his words. “Maceo, this isn’t a relationship. I don’t date clients.”
“And look where we are,” he says with a smirk, waving a hand between us. “Your rule should be you don’t date anyone, because you’re already dating me.”
I shake my head and square my shoulders. “My other rule is I don’t date shady people, hence why I’m no longer with Jacob.”
“Good rule,” he says, not catching my drift.
I stare at him, waiting for him to catch on. I see the light click on and his eyes thin. “Wait, you think I’m shady?” he asks, thumbing his chest.
“You’re the president of a motorcycle gang. Your breed is not exactly known for following the law and doing good deeds,” I state with a snort.
Maceo barks a laugh. “Wow! That’s fucking stereotyping at its finest. I’ll agree my crew has bent the law a couple times for the greater good, but everything is legit. Sweetheart, you have no clue what my men and I do for a living.”
“Enlighten me, because I sure as hell won’t consider dating you with what I know right now,” I challenge.
Another laugh before he says, “What do you want to know?”
“Everything, because I’m nosy,” I admit, making Maceo chuckle.
“You already know I was a Navy SEAL, served over ten years before I got out. My crew is the same way, former military of various backgrounds. All of us left after serving more than our fair share of time. For me, I was done watching my brothers being killed left and right in the desert, unable to help the refugees because of orders from above. The final straw was when I watched a child no more than three blown apart from a bomb strapped to his back. Maimed two men on my team.”