Die For Her (Steele Raiders MC)

by RB Hilliard

  “Uh, no emergency. We were just wondering if you could pick up a case of beer on the way back to The Cave.” The Cave was what they called the clubhouse. It was named this on account of all of the bat caves surrounding the property.

  Normally, Steele could shake off Jake’s stupid shit, but tonight he was running dangerously low on patience. He loved his club and his brothers, but damn if he didn’t miss his privacy. The day he became president, he kissed it goodbye.

  “I can, but I’m not. You want to know why? Because unlike you, Jake, I have shit to do. Don’t call back unless there’s an emergency.” He clicked the button on the side of his phone and ended the call. Shoving it in his pocket, he returned to the golden-eyed beauty at the bar—eyes, that at that moment, were intently focused on his cut. The muscle in his jaw ticked. Here it comes, he thought.

  “I’ve always wondered what being a member of a motorcycle club is like. I mean, I know there have been television shows made about it and all, but what is it really like?”

  Talk about a loaded question. Arlan Steele wasn’t just a member of a motorcycle club. He was the president and leader, the person to whom all other members looked up to and relied on. Luciana, however, wasn’t aware of this. To her, he was Arlan, some leather-clad biker.

  In an attempt to keep it simple, he said, “It’s like having thirty sisters who would take your back at a second’s notice.”

  A smile lit up her face, one that took it from alluring to downright gorgeous. “I always wanted a sister.”

  Steele frowned. “I have a brother. Trust me; it’s not all that great.” Her laugh caught him by surprise, probably because he wasn’t trying to be funny. His brother, Carver, was a local police detective. He was also a giant pain in Steele’s ass.

  She took another sip of wine and his cock twitched in response. “So, do you have a clubhouse?”

  He stared at her red nails as they rubbed against the side of her glass. Wishing they were rubbing something else, he answered, “We do.”

  “Do you all live there?”

  “Some do.”

  “Do you live there?”

  Steele owned a house on the outskirts of Austin, but now that he was president, he rarely saw it. He’d thought about selling the place but couldn’t bring himself to get rid of it. He also didn’t want to answer any more questions.

  “Look, I should get going.”

  Surprise flared in her pretty eyes, followed by something that looked a lot like disappointment. “Oh, okay, well, it was nice meeting you, Arlan.”

  “You, too, darlin’.” He stood to leave.

  “Would you like to join me here for dinner Thursday night?”

  Thinking that would probably be a bad idea, he said, “Sorry, I’ve got plans.”

  “Oh, okay. Well, goodbye then.”

  He gave her one last smile and headed for the door.

  Regret dogged him the entire way to his bike. He wanted her. Any man with two eyes in his fucking head would want her. But then what? He was president of a motorcycle club, and she was a high school counselor—so far from his world, it wasn’t even funny.

  “Fuck,” he growled. As always, he was caught between what he wanted to do and what he should do. Why did his choices always have to hinge on the club? It was dinner, not marriage, for Christ’s sake. Pivoting around, he headed back inside.

  Luciana was busy talking to Donny and didn’t notice him until he hit the bar area. Donny gave him a knowing smile.

  Steele reached her seat and dipped his head to her ear. “Does Thursday at seven-thirty work for you?”

  She pulled back and stared at him, her eyes sparkling with surprise. “I’d like that.”

  He had no fucking clue what he was doing. All he knew was that he wanted her. Before taking off, they exchanged numbers. He told her to call if anything changed. It’s just dinner, he told himself, but in his gut, he knew that was a lie. On the way out the door, he pulled Donny aside and told him he didn’t want Luciana to know who he was. Donny didn’t like it, but he owed Steele, so he reluctantly agreed.

  Chapter Two

  Two nights later. . .

  THANKS TO JAKE’S inability to handle pretty much anything on his own, Steele was late for dinner. Good thing he’d gotten Luciana’s number. He typed out a quick text telling her he was on his way before heading out the door.

  Twenty minutes later, he was greeted by Donny’s wife, Silvia, who was manning the hostess stand.

  A smile lit up her face when she spotted him standing in the doorway. “While I live and breathe, it’s Arlan Steele!” He flinched as several people stopped to stare. Silvia Salvatore was a plump, Italian woman with a big heart and an even bigger mouth. Like Donny, she’d been a huge part of his childhood. Unlike Donny, she hadn’t changed one bit. Silvia and his mom had been close. Seeing her brought back sweet memories, but at the same time reminded him of what he’d lost.

  Like a mother hen, she clucked her way out from behind the hostess stand and threw her arms around him. He’d missed her mama bear hugs. He’d missed a lot of things. “Donny told me you stopped by the other day, but I didn’t believe him. I’ve missed you, my sweet boy,” she murmured, while squeezing the air from his lungs. A lump the size of a tennis ball threatened to cut off his airway as he sank into the hug.

  “Missed you, too, Silvia.”

  A long moment passed before she released him from her iron grasp. “Just look at you, you handsome devil. I bet your mama can’t wait to marry you off so she can have some grandbabies. I haven’t seen her in forever. Tell her I said hello and to get in here to see me.” Steele didn’t have the heart to tell her he hadn’t spoken to his mom in over a year. “And you’re dining with LuLu this evening. Isn’t she gorgeous? You two are perfect for each other.”

  Great, first Donny and now Silvia. “It’s just dinner, Silvia.”

  “I know, but a woman can hope. Come, I’ll take you to her. I wanted to speak to you about Pietro—”

  Steele stopped her before she got any further. “Respectfully, Silvia, I’m here for dinner tonight, not business.”

  She gave him a hard stare. “You’re just like your father, you know. That man never mixed business with pleasure. To him, business was business and pleasure was a completely different thing.” Steele took it as a compliment. He struggled every day to be more like his old man. Maybe he was doing a better job of it than he thought.

  As usual, Donny was entertaining from behind the bar. Steele gave him a nod as he followed Silvia into the dining room. He immediately tagged Luciana at a two-top table in the far corner. Their eyes connected. She smiled and gave him a half-wave. Jesus, he hadn’t been here five minutes and his cock was already hard. He took his seat the moment they reached the table.

  While Silvia chattered about wine lists and specials, he stole glances at the woman sitting across from him. Her dark hair was curled tonight, her gorgeous golden eyes shimmering beneath the iridescent lighting. And damn, those glossy red lips—they were a dangerous temptation for a man like him. He could hear his dad now. “Son, do you know what you’re doing?” His answer would be no. He had no fucking clue.

  Silvia eventually stopped talking long enough for them to order drinks. Steele waited until she was out of earshot before apologizing for being late.

  “I tried to tell her to seat us at the bar, but she wouldn’t listen,” Luciana responded in that sultry- as-fuck voice of hers.

  Christ—those eyes, that mouth, those tits peeking through the vee of her blouse—he didn’t know where to look first.

  “This works,” he muttered, thinking he might need to hit the bathroom to rub one out before the night was over.

  “Good. I didn’t want you to think I was being too forward.” He was used to forward. In fact, he preferred forward. Something told him she wouldn’t approve of his kind of forward, though.

  While Luciana perused the menu, Steele perused her. He discovered the blouse she was wearing wasn’t a blouse, but
a dress—a dress that showed off her long, tan legs. She was also wearing heels. Sexy, black heels. If she were a club girl, he would take her to the bathroom, slide up that dress, and fuck the hell out of her. He wondered what she would do if he tried. She’d probably call the cops on him, and with good reason. He wasn’t her type. He wasn’t a doctor or a lawyer. He sure as hell wasn’t a gentleman with good intentions. He was a biker to the core. Luciana wasn’t a club girl; she was pure fucking class. A woman like her deserved flowery words and soft touches. He wasn’t that guy. He was abrasive and controlling. This made him question what the hell he was doing here with her. Better yet, what was she doing with him?

  He was contemplating calling the whole thing off when Silvia returned with their drinks. After taking their dinner order, she told Luciana stories about him as a kid. If Luciana sensed his discomfort, she didn’t act like it. She was calm and cool, secure in her own skin, and nothing like the women he was used to. She wasn’t blowing smoke up his ass, flashing skin, or jockeying for his attention. She was herself. He found this both refreshing and intriguing, which was why he decided to relax and let the evening play out.

  Over dinner, they talked, or rather she talked, and he listened. She told him she was an only child, that her mom passed when she was six, and she’d been raised by her dad who’d never remarried. She attended a small university outside of Dallas, which was where she was living when she found out her dad had cancer. Being the good girl she was, she dropped everything to move home and take care of him. She found her job to be both challenging and rewarding. The woman clearly had a strong sense of who she was and what she wanted. If anything, this only made him want her more.

  Steele enjoyed learning about her. The problem was that she, in turn, wanted to hear about him. He told her what he could about his childhood. Half-stories. Half-truths. His life was a loaded gun, so this was all he could give. All he would ever be able to give. For example, she knew his dad was dead, but he couldn’t tell her that Grizz and over half his club were taken out by a rival club. She knew from what he’d said the other day that he and his brother weren’t close, but he couldn’t tell her that when Carver discovered that same club torched and all of its members dead, he’d blamed Steele. Not only did he blame his big brother, but he’d conducted a six-month witch hunt trying to prove the club’s involvement—the very same club that had provided for him his whole damn life. When she asked about his mom, he told her they weren’t close, but he couldn’t say why—that Victoria had taken Carver’s side without even giving Steele a chance to explain. She knew he was holding back. He could see it in her eyes, but she didn’t push, and for that, he was thankful. Most women would have pushed for more.

  Steele decided over dessert that he wanted to see her again. What he really wanted was to take her home and fuck her until she couldn’t walk straight, but seeing as she was all class, the likelihood of that happening was slim to none.

  Silvia dropped the check at their table. Luciana tried to reach for it, and he gave her a long look, which earned him an irritated huff. After thanking him, she asked if he would like to have a drink at her place. Did he want to? Hell yes. Should he? Probably not. At his hesitation, she added, “It’s only a few blocks away.” The distance wasn’t the issue. It was what he wanted to do to her that was the problem.

  “It’s not that,” he said, shaking his head.

  “Then what?”

  He wanted to kiss the frown from her face. Hell, he just wanted to kiss her period. Fuck it. If she wanted to know why he was hesitating, he’d give it to her. “If I end up at your place, it won’t be for drinks. It’ll be so I can bury my cock so deep inside your sexy little pussy that you’ll be walking funny for days, and we both know you deserve better than that.”

  Her look of surprise melted into irritation. In a haughty as hell tone that made his cock buck in his pants, she asked, “How do you know my . . . pussy is sexy, and who are you to decide what I do and don’t deserve?” Steele bit back a laugh.

  “Babe, everything about you is sexy.”

  Her face flushed six shades of red. “Well, thank you. That’s sweet of you to say.” He was many things, and sweet wasn’t one of them. But that was just it, she had no fucking clue who he was, and he loved it. He loved that he was just a man to her—not the president of an MC. Not some prize to win—just a man.

  To be sure he’d read her correctly, he asked, “You want this?”

  “I asked you to dinner, didn’t I?” she shot back at him.

  He gave her a wicked smile. “You sure you can handle me?”

  Eyes twinkling, she retorted, “Why don’t we find out.”

  Laughter erupted from his mouth. Never in his life had he been this turned on, this engaged, this enthralled by a woman. He stood and held out his hand. Without giving it a second thought, she took it.

  Silvia saw them stand and hurried over. After making them both promise to return, they said their goodbyes.

  Luciana’s eyes lit up when she spotted Steele’s motorcycle parked outside the restaurant. “Nice bike. My car is parked right over there.” Directly across the street sat a badass-looking Mustang. Her choice in cars surprised him, and he wondered what else she was hiding.

  “Nice car,” he echoed, rescuing the bag from her shoulder.

  “I can get that.”

  “You can, but you’re not.”

  “Arlan—”

  His hand tagged the nape of her neck, and he pulled her in to where their lips were almost touching. “Hush.” He didn’t plan on kissing her, but the expectant, almost needy look on her face made him change his mind. The second their lips touched, he knew he was in trouble. She opened without coaxing and he took without asking. The next thing he knew her bag was on the ground, both of his hands were under her dress palming her ass cheeks, and her fingers were clawing his scalp. Before he did something stupid, like take her right there on the sidewalk, he broke the kiss. The stunned look on her face reflected his feelings. Part of him knew how dangerous this was, how dangerous she was, and that he should run. He was many things, but a runner wasn’t one of them. He proved that the night his dad and brothers were killed and had been proving it every day since. So instead of making excuses and dodging the bullet that was Luciana Ferina, he bent over to retrieve her bag from the ground. Once it was secured on his shoulder, he took her hand and walked her to her car.

  True to her word, Luciana lived two blocks away in a decent neighborhood with bungalow-style homes. Steele pulled into the carport behind her and followed her inside.

  “Sorry about the mess. I’m renovating,” she threw over her shoulder as they made their way through the house.

  His place had an open floor plan where the kitchen, dining room, and living room all melted into one. Luciana’s was the opposite. To the left of the entry hall was a large doorway leading to the kitchen. To the right was a separate dining room. Straight back spilled into a sizeable living room with a fireplace and sliding glass door that opened onto what appeared to be a spacious deck. Other than the fact that she’d decorated everything in white, he liked it. It was classy, just like her.

  She dropped her bag onto a chair and grabbed her phone, while Steele leaned against the doorway and watched. Few women could pull off a dress and heels the way she did, as if they were a second skin. She had a certain grace about her. He had a feeling she would look just as comfortable—and gorgeous—in jeans and leather boots.

  She glanced up, and he gave her a look that said, yes, I’m still here. “Sorry, I don’t mean to be rude. A friend of mine is being nosy. Give me one moment, and I’m all yours.”

  Yes you are, he thought as he turned his attention to the room. She wasn’t kidding when she said things were a mess. The wall between the kitchen and living room was partially demoed. Drywall dust coated the floor. Whoever was helping her was doing a shitty job of it. Was she aware of this? It wasn’t his place to say, yet the thought of her getting ripped off bothered him, especiall
y when he had guys who could do a better job.

  The phone clattered onto the table. “There, all done. Do you want a beer? I also have vodka or—”

  “No drinks,” he said, cutting her off. Golden eyes snapped to his, and he sensed her hesitation. She knew exactly what he wanted, and it wasn’t a drink. He bridged the distance between them in three steps. Feminine hands met his chest at the same time his fingers gripped her hips. She wasn’t a short woman, but he still towered over her.

  “So beautiful,” he murmured.

  “You say the nicest things.” Her words teased, but the pink in her cheeks gave her nerves away. A stray curl fell across her eye. He brushed it from her face before gathering the thick mass in his fist at the back of her neck. Like her, it smelled exotic. He gave it a gentle tug and more curls escaped. Eyes hooded, chin raised, lips parted—she looked like a fucking wet dream, his own personal jack-off fantasy. Desire ate at him; it pulsed through his veins and made him reckless. His head dipped, and he captured her mouth. The kiss—more bruising than gentle—was a test to see if she could handle him because fuck knew he wanted to handle her. He wanted to own her. Patience, he told himself. This wasn’t a club girl. That should have been his warning to stop. He’d never been good at heeding warnings.

  Her low, throaty moan vibrated through him, the sound traveling straight to his cock. He took it as an invitation for more and deepened the kiss. There they stood, in the middle of her living room—her hands gripping his cut and his wrapped in her hair—just kissing. He tried to recall the last time he’d given a woman more than two seconds of tongue, and couldn’t. That didn’t mean he didn’t want to feel her writhing beneath him. It simply meant that he didn’t want to stop kissing her. The realization of this, what it was and what it could be, made him pause. It made him want to break the kiss and release his grasp on her hair—to take a step back and reevaluate.

  Luciana beat him to the punch, but not for the same reason. “My bedroom’s upstairs.”