Love Me Like I Love You

by Willow Winters

  I swore under my breath and leaned a hip against the counter. “Nothing, just a stupid text from my dad.”

  She looked at me the way she probably did her son when he kept important things secret—like hiding cigarettes in his room or getting home an hour after curfew. “Are you going to tell me about him sometime?”

  I eyed her, seeing her right now for what she was, a calming influence. Just having her come into the room, seeing her questioning look, had me realize what was important, and it wasn’t my dad. He wanted to ruin this moment, this impromptu date, and that was not going to happen. I took a deep breath, let it out, let it all go. For some reason, in this moment, it was easy to do.

  She cocked her head to the side. “What?” she asked.

  I just gave a little shake of my head. Now wasn’t the time to talk about stupid shit. “I hope you’re hungry. It seems the Baker boys are smitten. I’d really like to know how you’ve gotten the president of the No Holds Barred motorcycle club wrapped around your finger.”

  Her eyes widened. “Who are you talking about? Frankie?”

  I shook my head. “His father. Quake Baker.”

  “How do you know he runs a motorcycle club?”

  “It’s common knowledge. Plus, when we were waiting for you, Frankie introduced himself. It wasn’t hard to make the connection.”

  “Frankie’s in it, too?”

  “Yes. I wouldn’t get on their bad side, but you’ve done just the opposite.”

  If I thought for a second Emory was in danger from a fucking motorcycle club, I’d have gotten her the hell away from Frankie. Hell, away from Brant Valley. That wasn’t the case at all.

  “Jackson fell off his bike and got scraped up. I helped him. He says he lives a few blocks away.”

  “I think he lives with Frankie, but the club is on the far side of town. Near the diner.”

  She went over to one of the foil to-go containers and pried off the lid. “Well, I put on some Band-Aids and gave him an old bike helmet. I wouldn’t say I did all that much. Mmm, pulled pork. Macaroni and cheese.” She glanced up at me. “What?” she asked again.

  I took in her pert nose, the spray of freckles across them. The soft lines of age around her eyes. “You have no idea, do you?”

  She frowned. “What?”

  She invited me into her home instead of wanting a fancy dinner. She was standing in front of me, her hair unstyled and wet, no makeup. No high heels. No pretense. I could see her, the real Emory, clearly. “The effect you have on people.”

  She glanced away, and I saw a flush creep up her neck.

  “Why didn’t you tell me about the broken lights?” I asked, realizing I was bothered she hadn’t told me about it although that was somewhat ridiculous since we barely knew each other. I felt possessive toward her, and I didn’t know what to do about it. Protective, too.

  She rolled her eyes, taking a lid off of another container. “It’s just kids, and I didn’t think it was important.”

  I frowned. I didn’t like the idea of anyone fucking with Emory, even if it was just kids. “Clearly Quake thought it was important enough to send over his son to fix it.”

  “Quake, is it? You two are on a first name basis?”

  I put a plate in front of her. “Never met, but I know of him. Just like people know who I am.”

  “I assume Frankie told you why he brought food and fixed my lights?”

  “Yeah.”

  She opened another entree. Spaghetti and meatballs. Some red sauce got on her thumb, and she licked it off. “He was just being courteous.”

  Perhaps, but Quake Baker wasn’t known for being courteous, and they did more in Brant Valley than run a diner. While they weren’t typical one percenters, the outlaw gangs who dealt in everything from prostitution to drugs, they weren’t Boy Scouts either. From what Frankie told me before Emory got home, his father was shrewd enough to offer protection where needed. While I was reassured to know she fell under the man’s sights and clearly under his protection—and that of an entire motorcycle club—I wasn’t excited about the fact that the old man thought she needed it.

  “Did they knock out anyone else’s lights?”

  She frowned, but when she did it, a cute little V formed at her brow. “I don’t think so.”

  Why would someone just screw with her? “Do you have lights in back?”

  She took off the lid of the last container, Greek salad. The guy’d sent her a little bit of everything. “Yes, motion sensors.”

  “Did they knock those out as well?”

  That gave her pause, and she looked to me. “I don’t know. I never go out the back because there’s no parking.” She went over to the back door, flipped the deadbolt and opened it. She looked up and to the right where I assumed was an outdoor light, but I was looking down in front of her.

  I grabbed her arm and pulled her back, not wanting her to step out onto her stoop in her bare feet. “Careful.” I indicated with my chin the broken bulb on the steps.

  She sighed wearily as she looked down at the shards of glass, closed and flipped the deadbolt back into place. Turning, she leaned back against the door as if she was too worn out to keep herself up. Perhaps she was. Two twelve hour shifts in a row had to be exhausting. She had no one to help her around the house anymore, even if it was just a teenager doing chores. A broken lightbulb wasn’t a difficult task to clean up, but she didn’t need to deal with some punk kid’s pranks, especially after working all day. “I’ll deal with it on Thursday when I’m off.”

  No, she wouldn’t. I’d see it done, but I knew she’d bicker, so I said nothing more about it. “I think Jackson has a crush on you.” So do I.

  She grinned, and I loved seeing her smile. “Yes, well, he’s going to have to stand in line.”

  I took a step closer and put the Bakers and broken lightbulbs out of my mind. “Oh, why’s that?”

  She licked her lips and damned if I didn’t almost come in my pants. My eyes dropped to her mouth and wondered what she tasted like. “There’s this other guy,” she whispered, and her eyes lowered.

  “Oh?” I had to touch her, so I ran a finger down the length of her bare arm and felt goose bumps rise. My breathing became uneven, the ache and need to taste her was so strong. “What about him?”

  I breathed in the scent of her, all damp skin and coconut shampoo. Fuck, I’d never be able to go on a tropical vacation again without thinking of her.

  “He said—he said I would know when I wanted to kiss him.”

  “And?” I leaned in closer, close enough where I felt her breath on my cheek.

  “He also said I wouldn’t be nervous.” Her voice was soft, almost a whisper.

  I arched a brow. What would I do if she didn’t want to kiss me? I’d back away, but it would be one of the hardest fucking things I’d ever had to do. I also worried that once I had a taste of her, I wouldn’t be able to let her go. “Are you?”

  “Nervous? Hell, yes.” Her gaze lifted to mine. Held. “But I want to kiss you anyway.”

  She wrapped her hand around the back of my neck and pulled me in, so our lips collided. This wasn’t a sweet brush of lips. This was more. Tugging me closer, she obviously wanted more, but the little sound she made had me taking control.

  Her mouth was soft and pliant and just absolutely fucking perfect. Tilting my head, I nibbled at her lower lip, licking and sucking at the plump swell, then when she gasped, I took the kiss deeper. Tasted her. Turning, I moved us both, so that she bumped into the counter. Without breaking contact with her lips, I grabbed her trim waist and lifted her up easily, placing her on the counter alongside the take-out containers. She widened her knees, and I stepped between them, so we were close enough where her breasts pressed against my chest, and my cock nestled perfectly at the apex of her thighs. I felt the heat of her through my jeans and her tiny shorts. I took my hands off her waist and placed them on the cool counter on either side of her, only our mouths touching.

  She tasted
of toothpaste; she must have brushed her teeth when she’d showered. I began to kiss and nibble along her jaw and up to her ear, felt the damp tendrils of hair against my nose. “You smell so fucking good.”

  “Shampoo,” she breathed. Her head angled to the side, and I took the opportunity to kiss and lick down the long line of her neck.

  “Emory,” I murmured as I shifted to kiss the corner of her mouth.

  “Hmm?”

  “Are you nervous now?”

  I pulled back, so I could look at her, our noses almost bumping. She was breathing as hard as I, her lips red and glistening. Her eyes were unfocused, and her cheeks were flushed. “Am I…?”

  I tilted her chin up with my thumb. “Nervous?”

  She shook her head, the long, damp curls of her hair beginning to frame her face. “No.”

  “Good.” It would be easy to strip down and have her right here on the counter. But now wasn’t the time. My cock didn’t agree, but for the moment, it wasn’t in charge. Emory was more than a quick fuck, more than a release.

  “That’s what I’ve been missing?” she asked, surprise lacing her words. She lifted her fingers to cover her lips.

  I took those fingers and brought them to my own lips and kissed the soft tips.

  “That’s what we’ve both been missing.”

  She crinkled her brow and looked away. “I didn’t know.”

  I moved my head back into her sights. “Didn’t know?” I prodded gently.

  “I didn’t know this was normal.”

  I gently cupped her jaw in both my hands, made her look at me. “Baby, this isn’t normal at all.”

  It wasn’t. It wasn’t anywhere close to normal. With one kiss, I was ruined. Nothing would ever be the same again, and that was just a fucking kiss.

  “It’s not like this with the other women?”

  I saw a hint of vulnerability in her eyes, and I wanted to wipe that away. “What other women?” She fought my hold, and I let her go. “I can’t erase my past any more than you can.”

  “There’s… there’s been no one else.” She looked down at the front of my shirt, ran a finger over one of the glossy snaps. “Since my husband. Even then, I wasn't very good.”

  I froze at her words, my body tensing, and she sensed it, her eyes lifting to meet mine. “Who told you you weren’t any good?” When she glanced away, I tilted her chin back with my thumb, forced her to look at me. “Who?”

  Her dark gaze held self-doubt. Disappointment. Worry. “My ex.”

  I cursed under my breath, ready to go out and beat the shit out of the fucker, wherever the hell he was, but Emory didn’t need my anger now, and I sensed she thought I was upset with her.

  “That kiss, baby, was hot. Seriously hot.”

  She angled her head a fraction of an inch while furrowing her brow. “Then why…?”

  “Tell me,” I urged when she cut off her question and bit her lip. If she thought she wasn’t enough for me, then I had to set her straight, here and now.

  Looking at me through her long lashes, she asked, “Then why don’t you touch me?”

  I pushed off the counter to stand before her, forcing her head to tilt up to look at me. I ran my hand over the back of my neck. “I'm not touching you because if I put my hands on you, I won’t stop.”

  “Oh,” she whispered, her eyes shifting from wary to soft and a little bit tender.

  “Yeah, oh. Look at you.” I pointed at her before crossing my arms, a safe place for them away from her. “Your hair is all tousled and smells like heaven, your mouth is all swollen from my kisses. Mine. I can’t miss your hard nipples through that skimpy little top and your legs. Jesus, your legs are spread like you want to be fucked, and I ache to step between them again.”

  Of course, as soon as I said all that she crossed her arms over her chest and clamped her legs shut. Good, now she could see how fucking dangerous she was.

  “You don’t mind that I don’t know what I’m doing?”

  “You think it bothers me that you’re inexperienced?”

  She nodded.

  I smiled at her, and my heart hurt, wishing I could chase the shadows away. I would. I would take all those feelings of self-doubt away, one kiss, one touch at a time.

  “I’m going to love seeing what makes you hot. What gets you wet. What makes you come.”

  Chapter 13

  EMORY

  “It’s been five days. Five days, Em, and now you’re telling me?” Christy pointed her fork at me. “I mean, he’s seriously hot.”

  I glanced around, seeing if anyone else in the hospital cafeteria was paying attention to us. I felt uncomfortable enough sharing the details about Gray with my friend and didn’t want anyone else at the hospital to know either. It wasn't that I didn't want to tell her, I just had a hard time telling anyone. How did I explain it? How did I explain him? The connection? The chemistry?

  “I barely said more than goodbye to you at the party after he and I talked, and besides, it’s not like I left with him.” I stabbed my fork into the leftover pasta, spun it in circles so it wound around it.

  “You went out to lunch with him on Sunday, and he was at your house for dinner last night!”

  Thankfully, my mouth was full of the spaghetti from the diner, so all I had to do was nod.

  “Is he,” Christy looked left and right, then leaned in. “Is he… good?”

  My cheeks heated a bit, but I was more amused than embarrassed. She, too, was curious about The Outlaw. Then I thought about the kiss in my kitchen, and I went a little hot and dreamy. That had been the only one of the night besides when he kissed my forehead when he left at a tame hour of nine-thirty.

  “We haven’t done anything,” I replied. The kiss was mine, a little secret I shared with Gray, and I didn’t want to do anything to ruin it by having Christy know about it.

  “Is he gay?” Her voice rose at the question and a few heads turned.

  I sat back and crossed my arms over my chest, slowly shaking my head. “No.” I laughed because I’d questioned the same thing. And the kiss we shared? He was definitely not gay.

  “Then why not?”

  I knew what she meant. Why not sleep with him?

  “Is it because he’s… him? I know he dresses like a cowboy and all, but he makes it hot as hell. And, I mean, he's the biggest MMA guy in like, eons!”

  “I didn’t know who he was.” I glanced at my watch. I had fifteen minutes until I had to get back to the ER. Christy was still in administration, so while I sat there in a pair of pink scrubs, she wore a skirt and blouse.

  Her fork froze halfway to her mouth. “You didn’t… even I know who he is! I mean… he’s the… The Outlaw.” She whispered his name, and for that I was thankful. I didn’t need anyone to know I was even talking to Grayson Green, let alone seeing him. Or dating him, not-dating him or whatever it was we were doing. We were kissing. No, we kissed. One time. “He’s drop-dead gorgeous, if you go for that bad-boy-fighter-who’s-a-cowboy-and-hot-as-holy-shit type.” She used air quotes as she described him. “Have you seen him in a snap shirt?”

  “Uh, yeah.”

  “Have you seen all the women that hang all over him?”

  The pasta in my mouth lost all its flavor. “Of course, I’ve seen the women who hang all over him,” I countered, frowning. “I've seen the pictures, the video. The hot, young women with the boobs. It's all over the internet.”

  She reached across the table and put her hand on top of mine. “Yes, but he’s interested in you. Besides, you've got halfway decent boobs.” She glanced down at the front of my scrub top. I rolled my eyes, and her quick grin made me relax. “When are you going to see him again?”

  I shrugged, finishing my pasta. The meal had been delicious, and even with a guy like Gray who ate at least twice as much as me, there’d been enough leftovers for the rest of the week.

  “He has a meeting tonight, so we didn’t make plans. What?” I asked, when she gave me a look. “We've known each
other less than a week. I'm not going to be clingy. He's got a life. I have one too, or at least I'm working on it.”

  He’d said he’d call and see me soon, and while those lines were usually the death knell for any possible future, the heat in Gray’s eyes when he’d said it, when he leaned in and gave me the sweetest of kisses on the top of my head, I believed him. I believed in the feelings I had when I was with him. I just had to be cautious with them because I was falling for him… and fast. If he turned out to be an ass, I'd be crushed.

  “Then come out with me tonight. Paul’s in LA for some deposition, and I was going to go to the new Thai place with my friend, Leah.”

  I didn’t have other plans. I never made them for Wednesdays, the final night of my three days of work because I was usually too tired and didn’t like backing out. This time though, dinner sounded good. Maybe it was because I knew Gray was busy, and I was recognizing that I spent more time at home—alone—than I should. Maybe it was because I missed him and needed a diversion. Whatever it was, I was up for dinner out. “Sure.”

  She must have suspected I’d say no because she beamed at me when I gave my answer. “I’ll make reservations for eight then. Is that enough time to get cleaned up?”

  I was home and in bed by ten-thirty. Christy, unlike me, had to work in the morning. By the time we paid the check, I was completely done. Three twelve-hour shifts had me practically asleep on my feet. Once in bed, I didn’t even read as I normally would but, instead, turned the light out. I thought of Gray as I fell asleep, but it wasn’t thoughts of him that woke me.

  A crash from downstairs had me sitting up, the orange glow from the streetlight filtering through the curtain. I listened and wondered if I had just heard someone in the alley when the noise came again. This time I was sure it was from inside the house, from the kitchen specifically. Someone must have come in through the back door.

  Crap! I’d forgotten to replace the lightbulb back there, so it was perfectly dark for someone to sneak in. I’d all but helped the guy!