Driving Whiskey Wild

by Melissa Foster

  Tinkerbell nudged her big, wet head between them.

  “I think we need to wash your girl.” Finlay smiled as she crawled off his lap.

  She pulled at his hand, trying to get him to rise to his feet, but Tinkerbell leapt into his lap and licked his entire face, earning another hearty laugh from her man.

  “All right, you spoiled girl.” He kissed her snout and pushed to his feet, quickly stealing another kiss from Finlay.

  They both got drenched and soapy as they bathed Tinkerbell, and they laughed more than Finlay could ever remember laughing. She swore Bullet was like a different man since telling her more about his experiences and PTSD. She didn’t want to change him, and hadn’t set out to do it, but the lightness surrounding him right now, at this very moment, was like a gift from the heavens above. A peek at the man trapped someplace deep within him.

  Tinkerbell shook herself off so many times, the walls of the washroom looked like it had rained. Bullet used a towel to pat her down. Then she took off running around the yard.

  “She won’t go in the pond?” Finlay asked as he stalked toward her with a heated look in his eyes. She couldn’t stop grinning like a fool, which he seemed to make her do often. Maybe she needed him in her life just as much as he needed her.

  “Nope. But she’ll be busy for a while.” He lowered his mouth to her neck, brushing kisses there and driving her wild. “It’s my turn to bathe you now.”

  He lifted the hem of her dress and she grabbed his hands. “What if someone comes over?”

  “We’ll hear them. No one comes over who doesn’t drive a motorcycle.” His tongue grazed the shell of her ear, and he guided her hand between his legs.

  His hardness electrified her.

  “You hold the reins, lollipop. You want to go for a ride?”

  “I’ve never done this before…outside.” Her voice trembled, but the idea of making love to Bullet right there, with the hot sun baking their damp skin, totally turned her on.

  She was too aroused to find her voice, so she squeezed his erection, and he crashed his mouth over hers. She met his efforts with reckless abandon as they tore at each other’s clothes, and he dug out a condom from his soaking-wet wallet and sheathed himself. He lifted her into his arms, his naked body pressing deliciously against hers, as she sank down on his shaft, sighing at the incredible pleasure of becoming one with him. When he was buried to the hilt, he held her there, neither of them moving, both barely breathing, and her heart came tumbling out.

  “I love being in your arms. Don’t ever let me go.”

  “Never, lollipop,” he said vehemently. “Tell me you’re mine.”

  This time she wasn’t taking a chance of him not hearing her promise. She touched her forehead to his and said, “I’m yours, Bullet. Wholly and completely yours.”

  “Aw, baby.”

  The emotions in his voice burrowed into her heart as she lowered her mouth to his, sealing her vow. His cock twitched inside her, sending ripples of lust vibrating through her, and she began moving. Riding him faster, harder, taking him as deep as she could with every thrust of his hips. She clung to his shoulders, gasping between messy, frantic kisses. Their moans and sinful noises sailed into the air, and she felt so free, she allowed them to flow, low and needy, each one earning another groan, another greedy noise from Bullet. Every sound he made for her, because of her, sent her climbing higher, moving faster, chasing the rush of emotions flooding her, until she was out of breath, her control hanging on by a thread.

  “Let go, beautiful. Come with me now,” Bullet demanded.

  The sheer need in his voice, the power of his passion, set off a series of explosions inside her.

  “Bullet—” She dug her nails into his shoulders as her body arched and clenched.

  His fingers fisted in her hair as he found his own intense release, and her name fell from his lips like a chant, “Finlay, Fins…My girl.”

  BULLET MOVED THROUGH the afternoon feeling high and trying to dissect the strange and slightly out-of-control feeling as Finlay padded around his house wearing one of his T-shirts, belted at the waist. The shirt hung nearly to her knees, and the belt was so big he had to put a new hole in it so it would fit her. She looked so damn sexy, with her damp hair and without any makeup, it had been all he could do not to stare at her while they’d eaten lunch. Tinkerbell followed her around the living room as she checked out his things. She looked soft as a feather among his old, masculine furnishings. Her fingertips trailed along the back of his brown leather couch, her gaze gliding over the recliner that was once his father’s, a set of black speakers nearly as tall as her, and his grandfather’s old wooden desk tucked into a nook beside the windows. She walked around the coffee table, her eyes skirting over the handful of magazines strewn across the top, across the discolored and marred hardwood floors, to the brick walls and unfinished ceilings. He’d seen the exposed wood as rustic and appealing when he’d bought the place. But now, against the calming hum of the dryer he’d never before noticed, Finlay’s presence was like a beacon of light in his stark world, and he wondered how she saw his home.

  He had removed all the interior walls when he’d moved in, leaving only exposed wood and metal support beams on the first floor, which was built behind the garage. The ceilings were eleven feet tall, giving it the spacious feel he so desperately needed. The walls were brick, with a black iron shelf that ran along the far wall, home to family pictures and spare auto parts that had found their way up from the garage. He’d left the barn-wood cabinetry in the kitchen and replaced the countertop with stainless steel, which he could toss his tools on without worrying he would damage them. Several shop lights hung from the ceiling, along with a few black track lights. Dixie had been after him to replace them with something nicer, but he liked their industrial feel.

  Finlay walked to the bank of floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the yard, each flanked by off-white curtains his mother had insisted on. One day you might want privacy. He had privacy. That was the reason he’d purchased ten secluded acres and an old barn.

  Finlay glanced at him, her finger hovering over the stereo’s power button. He nodded, and seconds later an instrumental by Rag’n’Bone Man filled the room. Her hips began to sway, and a playful smile lifted her lips.

  Looking like the angel she was, she said, “This is nice. I expected to hear Ozzy Osbourne or something harder.”

  “It’s the instrumental of ‘Put That Soul on Me,’ by Rag’n’Bone Man. The lyrics are pretty hot, but the instrumental takes me down a notch. I’ve got Ozzy and all the classics, too. If you hang with me, you hang with them.”

  “I like this, and I like you, so I’m okay with classic rock.” She motioned toward the black iron steps leading up to his bedroom above the garage. “Can I go up?”

  He nodded and followed her up. His bed sat atop a black rug on an old concrete floor, with a whiskey barrel as a nightstand on one side. Bookshelves crammed with books and magazines were built into the wall to their left on either side of the window overlooking the front yard. In the corner was a rust-colored oversized armchair, one of Tinkerbell’s favorite places to crash. The far walls each sported extra-wide circle-head windows, and the entire room was wood paneled, with the exception of the cathedral ceiling, which was mostly glass.

  “It’s not much, but it works for me,” he said. “I needed space for gardening, and I like having a roof over my head, though it isn’t a necessity.”

  “This is pretty much how I pictured your room would be,” she said appreciatively. “Except, what’re these for?” She pointed to the wrought-iron rails running the length of the walls in front of the windows.

  “I’ll show you. Do you know the Bradens?” he asked as he crossed the room. “They own the microbrewery in town.”

  “Yes. I’m catering a baby shower for one of Leesa Braden’s friends next Sunday. I was going to ask if you thought it would be a problem if I used the kitchen at the bar to prepare. There’s more room there
than at my place, and the renovations should be done by then.”

  “Next weekend? Sure.” It probably made him a dick for hating the idea that on his one day off she’d be tied up, so he kept that to himself. “Dixie’s usually there going over the books on Sundays, but she won’t mind. I’ll go with you.”

  “Oh, good. That’s a big relief. Thank you. What were you saying about the Bradens?”

  “I brought in their cousin Beau, a contractor buddy of mine from Pleasant Hill, to adapt this space into something I could live with.”

  He unhooked the latches across the bottom of the back and side walls, then pushed a button on the remote control by the bed. The bottom of the walls lifted up and out, until they were parallel to the ground below, like wooden awnings.

  Finlay gasped, smiling as she went to the railing and looked out over the gardens and pond. “Holy cow. I’ve never seen anything like this.”

  “Neither had I.” He wrapped his arms around her from behind. “I thought he’d put on glass doors, or a deck or something. But this is so much better.” He kissed her neck. She smelled like his body wash, and hell if that didn’t strike every possessive bone in his body.

  He turned her in his arms and gazed into her smiling eyes. “I like having you here with me, and I’m sorry my place isn’t fancier for you.”

  “I’m not. Your home is perfect for you, and…” Her gaze moved to the center of his chest.

  He sensed her desire to say more, and though he thought he knew what she might say, he posed it as a question. “And you’re starting to think that maybe this broken badass biker might be perfect for you?”

  She smiled, and her eyes flicked happily up to him. “No.”

  His gut pitched. He pulled back, but she held tight, keeping him close.

  “I don’t think you’re broken,” she said vehemently.

  “I’m broken, lollipop. I’ve been as honest with you as I could about all of it. Don’t pretend otherwise.”

  “Well,” she said sweetly, “do you think I’m broken?”

  “You? You’ve got your shit together better than anyone I know. You express everything you feel, and you find your way to the truth without hesitation.”

  “Those are things I show outwardly. But remember when I told you that I had never felt anything for a man since I lost Aaron?” Her gaze went soft.

  “Yeah. I remember.” He held her tighter.

  “I thought I was broken, but I think broken is the wrong word for people like us. I think we were affected and hurt, but not broken. Broken implies that we need to be fixed, that we’re not good enough to be loved the way we are, or we’re lacking in some way. But the more I’ve gotten to know and care about you, the clearer it’s become that fixing isn’t part of our equation. You might always have flashbacks or nightmares, and you might never want to be in a house where walls can’t disappear.”

  She shrugged, a small smile lifting her lips as she said, “And I may never get past the hurt of having lost one man I cared about. I don’t live my life afraid to love, but until you, I hadn’t even come close. You’ve taught me that I can feel again. And I hope that in time you’ll realize that I want to be with you, and you don’t have to apologize for the parts of you that stem from your past. Those things that make you you don’t deter my feelings. If anything, they make me want to be there for you if you get a nightmare, or experience a flashback. And don’t grind your teeth together like that,” she said sharply. “You’re still the biggest badass I know. Only now I’ve seen your badass naked, so I know how big you really are.”

  “Christ, lollipop.” He hauled her into his arms and kissed her. “Where have you been all my life?”

  Chapter Fifteen

  MONDAY EVENING WHISKEY Bro’s wasn’t nearly as busy as it was some nights, but the twelve dozen buffalo wings Finlay had brought with her were gone in minutes. The appliances had been delivered, and Crow had nearly finished the renovations. He’d be back tomorrow to complete the job. It was a little after eight o’clock, and Finlay was going over applications for cooks and dishwashers with Dixie while fending off requests for more wings and cookies from customers. She was glad to know her new recipe for Whiskey Wings had gone over well, but after waking up in Bullet’s arms, and their visit with Sarah earlier in the day, she was having trouble concentrating on much else.

  “Why are you so distracted today?” Dixie asked.

  “I’m not,” Finlay lied, stealing a glance at Bullet, who was busy talking to Jed behind the bar. “I’m totally focused on dishwashers and cooks.” And your delicious brother.

  Bullet had been tied up with customers since she’d arrived, and even though she was pretty sure Dixie would be happy for the two of them, she was nervous about telling her they were now a couple. When Finlay had admitted that she’d agreed to go out with Bullet the last time they were together, Dixie had seemed shocked, and Finlay hadn’t been able to read if it was a good or bad shock. Although Dixie would have had to be blind to have missed Finlay’s not-so-furtive glances tonight or Bullet’s overt leers.

  “Uh-huh. That’s why you just put salt in your iced tea.” Dixie pointed to the saltshaker in Finlay’s hand.

  “Oh, geez.” She pushed the glass away, thinking about how she’d been startled awake at five in the morning by the feel of Tinkerbell’s scratchy tongue on her cheek. She didn’t even remember falling asleep. The last thing she remembered was lying on a blanket in Bullet’s arms, stargazing. They’d talked well into the night, between hungry kisses and passionate gropes, and Finlay had been surprised to learn that Bullet didn’t have many dreams, other than to one day have a little princess like Kennedy and a little dude like Lincoln of his own. He loved working with his family at the bar and didn’t want much else other than time to ride his motorcycle. As they’d talked, she’d realized her dreams weren’t of any great magnitude either. She’d moved back to the harbor, hoping to put down roots, get her catering company off the ground again, and be happy. She’d found her happiness, and he happened to be looking at her right that second.

  “Does this have something to do with what’s going on between you and Bullet?”

  “Um…partially,” she admitted. She felt like she and Bullet had spent a month away together on a mini vacation, getting to know—and falling head over heels with—each other. They were so in sync, over breakfast they’d both suggested they visit Sarah, which they’d done together after Finlay had gone home to shower and change. Later, she and Bullet had brainstormed ways to help raise money for Sarah’s family’s medical bills, but short of a bake sale, they’d come up empty. Finlay hadn’t been able to stop thinking about it ever since.

  “Are you okay with me and Bullet seeing each other?” she finally asked.

  Dixie laughed and tossed her long red hair over her shoulder. “Okay with it? Are you kidding? I wasn’t so sure when you told me you’d agreed to go out with him the other day because, you know, you guys seem so different. Really, though, I was only worried that he might be too rough for you. But I was with Crystal and Bear last night, and they said Bullet was like a completely different guy yesterday morning when you stopped by. And today?” She glanced up at the bar, where Bullet was now talking with Jed and Crow. “The man looks like he’s been struck by Cupid’s arrow. I think he needed you in his life.”

  Finlay let out a loud sigh. “Thank goodness. I was hoping you would be okay with it, but I was worried. You know, you guys are all so close, and I know I’m different from the type of person most people would expect to be with Bullet.” She looked down at her flowery dress, remembering the heat in Bullet’s eye when he’d seen her in it this morning. She pushed that image away so she wouldn’t blush and said, “Dixie, he’s an amazing guy. I mean, truly, just the most loving, kindhearted, bravest man I know. I could go on and on about him. I still can’t believe all that he’s been through. And yes, he’s possessive,” she said with a smile, “but that’s part of his charm. He—”

  Dixie grabbed F
inlay’s hands, silencing her. “Fin, I’m happy for you guys, but if you keep talking about him, you’ll end up saying something sisters don’t need to hear.”

  Finlay covered her mouth with her hand and shook her head. “No, I promise. I won’t go there.” When she lowered her hand, Bullet was stalking across the bar toward her with that almost smile that made her heart race.

  “I’m so happy you see him the way we all do,” Dixie said. “Do you know that one of my biggest fears was that Bullet would never let a woman into his life? I literally have had nightmares about him harassing every guy I date forever.” She lowered her voice as he neared and said, “Don’t take this wrong, but this is awesome. If he’s busy with you, he won’t be bothering me.”

  “Dix.” Bullet nodded to his sister. “You gonna be long? It’s just you and Jed tonight.”

  “Not long,” Dixie assured him. “We’ve already chosen several applicants to interview. We’re just wrapping things up. I’ve got it, B. Don’t worry.”

  He turned all his attention to Finlay with that laser focus he did so well, placing one hand on the table, the other on her chair, boxing her in with his body.

  She didn’t think it was possible for her pulse to go any faster, but she was proven wrong when he lowered his face beside hers. His warm breath seeped into her skin as he said, “I’m heading out back to the clubhouse to meet with the guys. You okay in here?”

  “Yeah, I’m good.”

  “You going to be around tonight?” he asked, gazing into her eyes.

  Yes! Come see me! She nodded.

  “Mind if I come by?”

  “I was hoping you would.”

  He made a possessive show of lifting her to her feet and kissing her goodbye, and she was pretty sure he’d obliterated any chance she had of thinking clearly.

  “Geez, Bullet,” Dixie said. “I think everyone in here knows she’s yours now.”

  He came away with a greedy smile. “See you soon, lollipop.”