by Paula Cox
They would move together on his bike, putting all of that anger and frustration and annoyance they had towards each other to much better use. He would make her scream into the night, her golden hair whipping around his face as he made her climax over and over, and then, when she was good and ready, he would let himself go…
…Then crash the bike probably, but hey, not in a fantasy.
Griffin had always wondered what it would be like to take a girl on his motorcycle in that way, and having Natasha press against him as they drove made the thought come over and over again in his mind.
This girl was trouble.
Luckily, Griffin liked trouble.
But why did she have to be so infuriating?
Luckily, the temptation began to pass as they pulled into the safe house. It was a small house that the club owned. It was usually used to house some of the firearms they traded to Mexico if it was a big order. However, sometimes, when the heat was on, they would meet there to lick their wounds and plan their next move. He pulled into the garage, closing it behind him immediately.
Damon’ bike was already there, and it seemed as though he was the only one there at the moment. That had the potential to be either a good or bad thing, depending how charitable Griffin was feeling towards Damon at the moment. Given his present situation, he decided that it was a good thing. He took off his helmet and stashed it, moving to help Natasha off the bike only to see that she had already dismounted, removing the helmet and sticking it on the seat.
“So this is a safe house, huh?” she asked.
“About as safe as it can get and still stay in Brazos.”
“That’s the problem,” she replied. “It’s still in Brazos.”
She walked past him towards the door that would lead into the kitchen, and Griffin fought the urge to grab her and keep her there for a moment. He didn’t know why he did, but part of him didn’t want to share her with Damon just yet. She turned around with an annoyed look on her face, putting her hand on her hip.
“Are you coming?” she asked.
He sighed and walked her way. Never mind, he thought. Damon can have her.
***
The man with the close-cropped, reddish hair was sitting in the kitchen when they arrived, looking tired but otherwise fine. He looked up at her, and for a moment, something seemed to register, but it went away again.
“I’m Damon,” he said by way of introduction. “And you are…?”
“Natasha,” she replied, not willing to give away her last name just yet. Damon was fine with this and moved to Griffin.
“Griffin, you’re okay? You weren’t hit?”
Griffin wasn’t the biggest fan of Damon’ concern; he was a man and could take care of himself. “No, but I got the bastard in the leg. Didn’t kill him though.”
“No one managed to, but at least he’ll be hurting for some time.”
“I should hope so,” Natasha said, drawing the attention of both Damon and Griffin.
“And he almost shot you?” Damon asked.
Natasha nodded. “Can someone explain to me why?” she asked. “I don’t understand why someone would want me dead.”
“The Los Diablos want you dead, apparently, which is a much bigger problem.” Damon frowned at this, before looking to Griffin.
“You should protect her.”
“Excuse me?” The very idea of having to protect this girl twenty-four seven was insane. She wasn’t a Disciple; she barely knew anything about them; and yet, he was going to be her security detail?
Natasha’s face changed too, clearly unhappy with the present arrangement. “No, that’s not necessary,” she replied. “I can just head back to Austin…”
Damon brushed that away. “Do you think that they’ll stop going after you solely because you went across the state? The Los Diablos just ambushed the funeral for our former president; I don’t think they really care much about borders or propriety.”
It was as though the situation had dawned on Natasha for the first time. “I don’t understand why they want to do this? I’m nothing. I’m no one.”
Damon was unrelenting. “You’re something to them. Griffin, you watch her.”
“And I don’t have a say in this?”
“We’re not letting any innocent people die on my watch, and we’re going to fix this damn quick, so it won’t take long, and then you can go back to whatever your life was, Natasha.”
Natasha wasn’t sure what her life was anymore. A lot of it felt completely jumbled—now that she was the target of assassins from her dead father’s rival club. The thought of everything made her feel so queasy, and she moved to sit down.
“Fine,” she said shakily. “But can I go back to the hotel and get my stuff first?”
“That can be arranged,” Griffin replied. “Let’s get back on the bike, and you give me the directions.”
Natasha nodded and stood, stumbling a little bit until Damon moved to help her.
“I’m sorry. I’m just not used to this.”
“I understand,” Damon said.
She regained her footing well enough to make it to the bike, jumping back on and placing her helmet on while staring straight forward. She barely felt it when Griffin climbed behind her again to start the bike.
All she knew was that she had absolutely no intention of dealing with this. This wasn’t her fight.
She only knew that she was going to have to leave town immediately.
Chapter 6
Griffin dropped her off at her hotel room with barely a word, and that was fine by her. She had to plan. Her bus ticket was still valid, and if she hurried with packing, she would absolutely be able to make it in time, and then she could go back to college and put everything else behind her.
Unfortunately, she was a terrible over-packer, and in her attempts to put together a normal outfit for the funeral, she had thrown her clothing around the room. She moved as fast as she could, gathering what clothing she could, but as her hands started shaking, she almost wanted to leave the entire thing behind.
Should she get a gun? The idea of it was terrifying, but was it really? Her father had taught her to shoot when she was younger, and she needed all the help she could get. The gravity of her situation made her feel almost dizzy…but she could do it. She just had to leave town first.
“What are you doing?” a voice asked from behind her. The rough and raspy voice was unrecognizable at first, and it almost made her scream, but turning around, she saw that it was only Griffin, and she felt a rush of both relief and frustration.
“Nothing,” she said cryptically, zipping up her bag and throwing it over her shoulder.
“You’re running,” he said. “Damon told you that it won’t matter if you run.”
“I don’t care what Damon says; I’m getting out of here. Maybe if you were smart, you’d leave, too.”
Throwing her half-packed bag over her shoulder, she moved to the door as quickly as she could, but Griffin was quicker and blocked her way. Annoyance once again burst through her, as she stared up into his handsome, impassive face.
“Let me through,” she said through gritted teeth.
“Not if it means you’re going to go out there and get yourself killed,” he replied through equally gritted teeth.
They were standing so close that Natasha could almost taste his skin from where she was standing. Anger, frustration, fear, and desire flowed through her with such intensity that she thought her heart might explode. She could hear the heaviness of his breathing and could feel the intensity of his own emotion. Her heart began to beat wildly, as the lust started to edge out all the other far more rational feelings.
God, I can feel his heat, she thought. She reminded herself of how powerful his arms had felt while wrapped around her on the motorcycle and of the hardness of the muscles in his chest that were pressed against her back. None of that mattered now, however, not when there was so much danger around.
She darted to the right in another
attempt to get past him, the frustration edging out the other feelings into a more tolerable balance. He blocked her, of course.
“You’re not going to get your way this time, princess,” he growled at her. “I think you should just calm down and stop trying.”
“I’m not a princess!” she yelled at him, balling her hands into fists, as though wanting to punch him. She had never hit a man before, at least not in earnest, and the thought of it ran wildly through her mind now. Would he stop her? Would he take it? Did it matter if he did? Did he know who she was? She wasn’t sure her father had ever spoken about her to the other members of the club, and Griffin was young enough that Natasha had learned to keep her distance by then. Is that why he called her a princess? Because she had some obligation?
No, she wouldn’t accept that. She couldn’t accept that.
“If you’re not a princess, then stop acting like a princess,” he said.
“Well, if you’re not a jerk, you should stop acting like a jerk!” she snapped back.
Griffin stared at her impassively, almost as though his heart was made out of stone. Natasha wanted to see him break; she wanted him to lose it and actually fight back, maybe then she would be able to see who he really was instead of this sexy, dangerous stranger. Griffin was a man born to be undone, and part of her wanted to be the one to do it, no matter how inappropriate it was to be thinking such a thing right now.
“It doesn’t matter what I want; I’m on orders.”
“Oh, that makes me feel better.”
“Maybe it should!” he snapped, clearly trying to keep his temper, as she tried over and over again to get beyond him. At this point, Natasha knew that this wasn’t the way, but she felt as though she had to do something.
Plus, the more worked up she got, the closer they stood, and the more aroused she felt. A little voice inside of her head kept whispering, “Just do it!”—as she looked at the strong lines of his face and stared into those piercing blue eyes.
No, she thought.
She had to get out. That’s all it was; this attraction was due to her stress. There was no point in really acknowledging it, no matter how attractive he was. No matter how much she wanted it.
She raised her chin at him, almost as though she were begging to be kissed. “Do you always do everything that your boss tells you to do?”
For a moment, he didn’t say anything, and they stood there in silent tension.
“When it seems worth it I do.”
Refusing to acknowledge how that response made her feel, she took the moment of tension to attempt to move past him one more time. This time he grabbed her by the arms, holding her in place, pulling her close and staring directly into her eyes. For a moment, she couldn’t speak.
This is it, she thought wildly. It’s going to happen.
Instead, he merely moved her several steps back and took the spot in front of the door again.
Natasha’s heart pounded wildly as she saw him standing there, and she took a deep shaky breath. “Fine,” she replied coolly. “But can I at least shower and change?”
He smirked a little bit at her, and she fought the urge to slap him across the face. Or kiss him. Or both. Natasha gestured to her rumpled dress in exasperation.
“If I’m going to be facing potential assassins in a little bit, I’d like to at least be wearing pants when I do.”
Griffin looked around and shrugged.
“Sure,” he said.
“I don’t need your permission,” she replied without thinking.
“Then why did you ask me for it?”
For what felt like the millionth time, frustration overtook her, but she wasn’t going to let it get the best of her. She turned on her heels and grabbed a pair of jeans and a t-shirt off of the mess that was the bed. Natasha could feel Griffin’s eyes on her as she gathered a few things, her hair dryer, some toiletries, and a hairbrush. She took her time a little more than she probably should have, bending over the bed and feeling her dress ride up as she did so, showing the backs of her thighs and the beginning curve of her ass. If Griffin’s eyes were lasers, they would be boring a hole right through her.
She couldn’t help but take a little enjoyment in that in spite of everything. Turning around, she fought the urge to toss a little wink his way as she strutted away from him and into the shower. Closing the door behind her, she made sure to lock it as hard and loud as she could so he would be able to hear it. Through the door, she heard him laugh a little, obviously getting the message. She grinned and began to disrobe.
Chapter 7
Griffin knew that she wanted him to watch her as she moved, that little black dress barely covering her thighs, the sweet sashay of her ass as she walked into the bathroom. He laughed when she glared at him and locked the door, and he moved to the window to see if anyone might be lurking in the hotel parking lot. Luckily, there was nothing more than usual, so Griffin made his way to bathroom door and stood in front of it.
This wasn’t his first time running protection, but for some reason, this was both easier and harder than it usually was. He wasn’t protecting a gun shipment this time. Instead, he was protecting some beautiful girl who was both fascinating and absolutely infuriating. He had no idea that this job could bring such pain and pleasure.
He listened to her move in the bathroom, turning the knob to turn the shower water on, grabbing a towel. Griffin allowed his mind to wander a little further, thinking about her removing that dress to reveal that incredible body. He thought of her standing there in only her bra and panties, slowly removing both and letting them fall to the floor.
The idea that she knew he was there as she undressed got him hard again. Did she linger over the clasp of her bra, only to allow the straps to slide down her narrow shoulders as she lowered the item of clothing to the floor? Did she bend over low and deliberately when she took her panties off? Did she think about him thinking about her? It was almost too much to bear, and in his mind, she hadn’t even stepped into the shower yet.
There she went, in his mind just about as much as she was probably doing in real life. Stepping lightly into the shower, covering her body in water. He tried not to picture her running her hands over her own body, touching her breasts, her thighs, moving inward. He thought of her hands, all soapy and warm and wet, reaching out to pull him in with her. For a moment, his breath hitched at the thought of her hands slowly moving down to touch his cock.
This girl was so much trouble; that much was for damn sure. He tried to think about anything but her naked, wet body only feet away from him. If he burst in there right now, would she greet him with the same enthusiasm that he wanted to greet her?
As the minutes passed, Griffin began to reflect on how long it took women to get ready for things. For a girl who was minutes away from running, she sure was taking her time in the shower. He strained his ear to listen, trying to hear the normal sounds of water hitting skin, the splash and movement of someone showering, but he couldn’t hear a damn thing.
“Natasha?” he called, not fully willing to knock on the door just yet on the off chance that she might yell at him again. He didn’t hear anything, and he wondered if something had happened.
Had she really been shot and hiding it the entire time? Was she bleeding out on the floor right now? Had someone been hiding in the bathroom…but he was too distracted by her to really check? Endless scenarios rolled through his head, as he finally gave a knock at the door.
It was tentative at first, then he knocked harder…and then harder, until he was almost breaking the door down, and throughout all of it, the water kept running as though he were just being silly, and everything would be alright.
“Shit,” he cursed under his breath. He had let the girl get to his head, and now look at what happened. He wondered what to do next, until that question was answered for him with the sound of a crash.
It sounded almost like a motorcycle falling over.
It sounded like his motorcycle.
&nb
sp; Heart pounding, he drew his gun and ran to the door, fully ready to shoot whomever was messing with his bike, no matter how innocent they were otherwise. His trigger finger stalled itself as soon as he saw the long, lithe figure of Natasha, now wearing jeans and a t-shirt, sliding one long leg over his seat to mount his bike.
“Natasha?” his mouth moved around her name, but after speaking it, he realized that he had barely said it out loud. Straddling his bike, she looked incredibly beautiful, her long blonde hair whipping in the wind, her eyes looking up at him with a look of such complete fearlessness it seemed almost as though she had been born on that bike.
He was about to open his mouth to tell her that she had no way of starting it, until with a sinking feeling he remember that he had left the keys in the ignition out of stupid habit. He didn’t have much time to feel like an idiot as Natasha slid his helmet on, revved the bike, and sped out onto the parking lot, as though she had been riding a motorcycle her entire life.