Baited

by Lori Armstrong

  I ground out my cigarette, just buzzed enough that her flattery hit right on the mark. Hadn’t I recently lamented about my lack of friends? “Now that you mention it, I am low on drinking buddies. What’s your name?”

  “Lisa Morgan. Yours?”

  “Julie Collins.”

  “Well, Julie, what do you say?”

  “I say have a seat. But be warned. Maybe I’m by myself because I’m an asshole.”

  Lisa laughed. “I’ll take my chances.” She motioned the rest of her party to come over. The women each gave me a polite lip twitch that sort of resembled a smile. I didn’t bother learning any of their names, nor did I offer to share my bottle of Don Julio.

  I felt Big Mike’s eyes on me. He sent Reena over. No one but Lisa noticed that Reena addressed me because they were all too busy barking drink orders at her.

  My new friend scrutinized me and I bristled. “What?”

  “Who are you?”

  “What do you mean?” I poured myself another shot.

  “First the enormous guy playing pool with you would’ve happily whacked any of us with his cue if we dared approach you. Then there’s your ‘fuck off this is my turf’ attitude while you’re knocking back a hundred dollar bottle of tequila. Now the bartender, another giant dude, keeps glowering over here. And the cocktail waitress nearly bowed before you. So what gives?” Lisa turned her back to her friends and upended my shot of tequila.

  Damn. I liked this bitch. I poured another shot and put it out of her reach as I lit a Marlboro. “I’m a regular here.”

  “I get that.” Lisa eyed my smokes.

  “Want one?”

  She shook her head. “I quit a decade ago. I miss it only when I’m out drinking.”

  “I’ve never managed to quit for more than a day. Never wanted to.” My gaze caught on the two jabbering women on the other side of the booth, barely pausing to stop for breath, except to wrinkle their noses when cigarette smoke wafted in their direction.

  The brunette aimed a brittle smile at me. “Isn’t smoking illegal in all bars and restaurants in South Dakota?”

  “Probably. But Fat Bob’s patrons make their own rules. You really think if the cops show up here they’ll be arresting people for smoking violations?” I laughed and blew smoke rings at her until she broke eye contact.

  Reena dropped off a round. Blended margaritas for the chatterboxes—who the fuck ordered a frozen frou-frou drink in a joint like this? The guys, spread around the pool table, drank beer. Reena left us with two bottles of Coors Light.

  “What’s your story?” I asked Lisa.

  “I’m a medical records administrator for a physicians group. Jeff”—she pointed to her date—“is a pharmaceutical sales rep. I’ve been divorced long enough that I was starting to miss having a man in my life. Jeff asked me out. I said no...Until I didn’t. This is our third date.”

  “Will there be a fourth?”

  Lisa shrugged. “He’s nice enough. But he’s another one of those ‘love me; love my friends’ kind of guys. Know what I mean?”

  I glanced over at Big Mike. I’d spent more time with him than any of Martinez’ other bodyguards. He and I had a friendship of sorts. But I never let myself forget that his loyalty wasn’t to me and never would be—unless Martinez demanded it. “Yeah, I know what you mean.” I exhaled. “He seems a little old for you.”

  “Guys his age are the sweet spot. Their kids are grown and they’re trying to reclaim their youth. Guys my age are usually divorced with joint custody schedules and/or child support payments. Guys younger than me are fun for a while, but lots of them are looking for a baby mama, and that ain’t for me.”

  “No kids for you?”

  “Nope. My ex thought I’d change my mind. When I didn’t he bailed.” Lisa sipped her beer. “What about you?”

  “Not interested in adding them to my life either.”

  “We are soul sistas. I knew there was a reason I was drawn to you. Now if you tell me you love Thai food, romantic comedies and 1970s soul music, I’m officially asking you to be my new BFF.”

  I laughed. “Better hold off on making those braided friendship bracelets. I’m more of an action flick kind of chick. But I do own Earth, Wind and Fire’s greatest hits.”

  Lisa clinked her bottle to mine. “Close enough.”

  It felt...good talking to her. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d had a conversation with a woman who wasn’t a client.

  After expanding our conversation to our favorite movies, TV shows, and food, she said, “Is there a man in your life?”

  “The guy who owns this place is my boyfriend, my live-in, my old man—whatever the correct term is.”

  “He’s a biker?” she asked cautiously.

  It was tempting to say no, he’s the biker around here, but I refrained. “Yep.”

  “Now the bubble around you makes sense.”

  I shrugged.

  “What do you do for a living?”

  “I’m a private investigator.”

  A pause. “You’re pulling my leg.”

  I dug through my purse until I found a business card and slid it across the table.

  Lisa scrutinized it before she looked at me again. “Fuck me. I’m serious about having you as my new BFF because you lead a way more interesting life than I do.”

  “Not lately.” I poured another shot for myself and sipped. “My business partner is doing the dangerous, fun stuff leaving me to handle the mundane aspects. Which is ninety percent of the job.”

  “Lady, you don’t know mundane.”

  We compared notes on job duties and I conceded that her office work was more tedious than mine. Our laughter somehow prompted her date Jeff to interrupt, cutting short our getting to know each other time.

  I excused myself to use the bathroom, debating on whether to use the nicer facilities in Martinez’ private office suite. But I suspected afterward I’d crawl between his 1000 count sheets and sack out due to my slightly inebriated state.

  Big Mike beckoned me over after I exited the ladies room in the bar, but I waved him off. I paused before heading to the back booth, noticing that the sextet had completely overtaken my space. My eyes narrowed. Fuckers were dead if they were swilling my tequila. When I saw no sign of the bottle, I assumed Reena had picked it up. As I watched them interact, it wasn’t that they’d encroached on my space that had me feeling melancholy, but they’d coupled up. If I returned I’d be a seventh wheel.

  Nothing new about that.

  I backtracked to the juke box. I’d never spent enough time at the front of the bar to peruse the music selection. Pretty much solid biker tunes: ZZ Top, Skynyrd, CCR, Neil Young, The Rolling Stones and a multitude of one-hit wonder bands from the 70s. In other words; all crap.

  I’d just decided none of this music was worth even a lousy quarter, when I felt him move in behind me. His hard body. His soft lips on the back of my head. I closed my eyes and breathed him in. Leather. Motorcycle exhaust. The heated scent of his skin.

  The man had the uncanny ability to appear when I needed him.

  Martinez placed his hands on my hips and buried his face in my hair. He stayed like that for several long moments.

  I had to wonder if his show of affection was because the bar was nearly empty and few could witness the softer side of El Presidente.

  “Blondie.” His raspy voice set little electric charges across my skin, zipping in a line down the back of my body from the nape of my neck to my heels.

  Rather than melt against him like I wanted to, I said, “Did Big Mike tattle on me? Because I swear I didn’t come into Fat Bob’s looking for trouble.”

  “Trouble seems to find you, regardless.”

  “Not tonight.”

  “Happy as I am to hear that, I gotta ask what’s going on.”

  “Why…whatever do you mean?” I didn’t simper well and Martinez snorted.

  “Why Jimmer called to chew my ass about why you’re acting all depressed and s
hit?”

  I spun around and Tony boxed me against the jukebox. Upon seeing his stunning face, I couldn’t blame the girly sigh because of too much booze. Even as long as we’d been together I still got that little flip in my stomach when I was this close to him, completely lured in by his looks and his compelling don’t-fuck-with-me-vibe. My gaze traveled over his smooth, golden skin, highlighted by the sculpted lines of his cheekbones and strong jaw. His assessing brown eyes could ignite a fire in me or send a shiver of fear straight to my soul. His full lips hid beautiful white teeth that formed the most devastating smile I’d ever seen.

  Not that he was smiling at me now.

  I slid my hands up his chest and twined my fingers in the mass of silky black hair that brushed his collarbones.

  He let me. Another rarity.

  Our eyes met. “You’re here because you missed me, huh?” I cooed.

  “Answer the question.”

  So much for my sex-kitten act. “I’m not depressed. Just trying to kill some time. Make new friends.”

  “Why?”

  “Why what? Why did Jimmer say I was depressed? Maybe because I called him and complained of boredom, hoping to entice him into hanging out with me, which he did.”

  “Not that. Why are you trying to make friends in the back room of my bar?”

  “Because I don’t have any friends at the front of your bar?” I joked. Well, half-joked really.

  No change in his expression. He just studied me.

  And like always, I buckled under the implications of that unblinking stare. “What?”

  “What kind of people come into this bar, Julie?”

  Lowlifes wasn’t an answer I could give him even when we both knew it was true.

  “Do those people back there look like the type who hang around in Fat Bob’s?”

  Don’t retort that you wouldn’t know since he doesn’t let you hang around either.

  “Don’t you find it odd the one night you’re in here—alone—that they’re chatting you up, trying to establish a friendship with you?”

  Stung, I retorted, “You find it so hard to believe that I’m interesting enough that normal people outside of your biker universe want to get to know me?”

  “That’s exactly what I’m saying,” he said evenly. “I don’t think they’re interested in you as much as they’re interested in the elusive woman who shares my bed every night.”

  “I am not your dirty little secret.”

  No confirmation or denial from him.

  Un. Real. I wanted to shove him away from me, but A) I knew he wouldn’t budge even if I used both hands, and B) He was El Presidente, and even when I was pissed off, I had too much respect for his position to disrespect him in his own bar.

  I let my hands fall away from him. “Back off.”

  “No.”

  I glanced at him from beneath lowered lashes.

  “Don’t look at me like that,” he said softly.

  “Like what?”

  “Defeated. Cowed. You’ve never backed down from a fight—with me or anyone else—a day in your life.”

  “Ironic isn’t it? That I’m on my best behavior when I go to your precious bar. I didn’t come here trying to lure you away from the shit to do you mentioned this morning. I’m not looking to get into trouble, or start a fight, but I still end up in one. But it’s worse because it’s with you.”

  “Julie.”

  Whiny girl had taken control. “Let me go.”

  “No.” Then his rough-skinned fingers curled around my jaw and he tipped my face up.

  I opened my mouth to protest his manhandling of me, and he kissed me.

  Tony Martinez kissed the living hell out of me.

  In public. In his bar.

  He made that warning growl when I tugged him closer by his vest. But I needed something to hold onto; the man’s kiss had a kick more potent than a bottle of tequila.

  After he completely destroyed my composure, he broke the seal of our mouths and dragged his damp lips to my ear. “I don’t want to fight with you.”

  I wanted to angle my head so he could start those long, hot kisses down my throat. “So don’t. You started it.”

  “And I’m gonna end it.”

  “Sounds promising.”

  “You still wearing that bikini you put on this morning?” he murmured against my neck.

  “You’ll have to strip me to find out.”

  “Deal.” He smiled against my cheek. Then he backed off and did another strange thing; he draped his arm over my shoulder, very clearly marking me as taken. And as his. “I’ll tell Mike we’re headed to the back.”

  Buzz tipped his chin at me in acknowledgment from the bar. Big Mike smirked about Martinez’ PDA, but didn’t make a smart comment.

  Halfway to the door, Lisa intercepted us. “Hey, Julie. I wondered where you’d disappeared to.”

  Did it make me more suspicious that Lisa barely gave Martinez a glance? Because few women, okay no women, look at me when they could be looking at him.

  My brain was just muddled enough to think she’d played it too cool. “Like I had a choice but to bail, after you guys completely took over my booth when I stepped away for a few minutes.” I threaded my fingers through Tony’s. “I found something better to do anyway.”

  Lisa’s eyes widened. Her gaze moved between Martinez and me, eying his vest and the bulge in his tattooed bicep as he kept a proprietary arm around me. “Can’t say as I blame you. It was fun hanging out. Maybe we’ll run into each other again sometime.”

  It was on the tip of my tongue to say I’d like that, but I didn’t need to give Martinez an opening to warn her off. I mumbled something like, “See you,” and sensed her disappointment when Tony led me away.

  Holding my hand, he stopped at the door that kept the back of the building off limits. He punched in the code and once we were on the other side, we waited until the system rearmed. The backroom held shelves with the usual bar supplies including liquor, as well as walk in coolers for the kegs. But the biggest chunk of the space was devoted to Martinez’ office suite. He had offices in every place he owned including our house. Overkill? Not when I considered the type of business he was involved in and the danger to a man of his position. I liked the fact he had several fortified hidey-holes he could bolt into if need be.

  After decoding yet another door, we passed through the short entryway leading into the suite.

  Martinez didn’t stop in the living area; he towed me straight into the bedroom.

  I wandered to the edge of the bed and waited while he shut and locked the door. As usual I didn’t have to wait long.

  The hard wall of his chest pressed into my back, his hips were snug against my ass, and his breath stirred my hair. Then those warm, damp lips trailed over the section of skin beneath my earlobe, eliciting my shiver and my soft plea. “Yes. Keep going.”

  “You undo me, blondie. The way you respond to me. Every. Single. Time.”

  I didn’t have to tell him it’d never been like this with anyone else. That he was it for me. Even through our past struggles and my awareness this would never be an easy, normal relationship, I’d deal with it all as long as I could call him mine. “Tony—”

  “Tell me,” he urged, alternating soft bites and tender kisses along the cord straining in my neck, while his fingertips lazily trailed up and down my bare arms.

  I loved that he’s so greedy with me—physically and emotionally. I turned my head and my mouth grazed his temple. “I love you.”

  “Never, ever get tired of hearing you say that to me.” Martinez paused and his breath fanned across my damp skin in an intimate lovers’ caress. “Te quiero mucho.”

  His shock and gratitude, those words he said only to me, always spoken from the heart, never failed to move me. To empower me. I whispered, “Let me show you.”

  Then he turned me to face him. He swept my hair aside and slowly slid my purse strap down my shoulder, tossing the bag to the floor. Locking t
hose gorgeous heated brown eyes on mine, he unsnapped the buttons on his vest. He reached over and draped it across the back of the chair. Then he yanked off his white T-shirt.

  My heart raced and that familiar feeling of lust rolled through me at seeing his chest, beautifully marked up with scars and tats. I couldn’t help it; I licked my lips.

  “You can look at me like that anytime,” he said with a sexy growl.

  “I do look at you like this all the time.” I reached out and ran my fingers across the thick black letters of my name tattooed over his heart. Although he’d had the tat done a year ago, it still amazed me this beautiful man cared so much about me that he proudly wore my name on his skin. I used both of my hands to trace the ink decorating the tawny gold flesh, the deep cut of his muscled arms and shoulders.

  He wordlessly placed his hand over mine and slid my fingers down the center of his torso, over his abs of steel, to his belt buckle. Martinez angled his head to kiss along my jaw. As soon as his jeans were past his knees I dropped to mine.

  My buzz faded and I became drunk on him. His taste. His scent. His rough need. My fingers sent reverent touches across the hard planes of his body as I worshipped the hard length and the masculine center of him with my mouth.

  He demanded more. I gave. Willingly.

  Oh so willingly. I loved making him lose control. He went wild, bucking his hips, letting the storm of release I’d given him overtake him completely.

  In the aftermath, I licked my lips again.

  Tony’s hand was still twisted in my hair as I brushed my mouth over his thigh just to feel it tremble beneath my lips. I’d earned those thickly muttered Spanish phrases and his soft grunts of satisfaction, so I didn’t try to hide my smile.

  My gloating didn’t last long. Martinez hauled me to my feet, stripped me out of my shirt and capris. He tugged on the strings of my bikini bottoms and they hit the carpet.

  Then he tempered the intensity that always exploded between us, showing me his playful, teasing side by using the strings on my bikini top to tie up and immobilize my hands, before he pinned me to the mattress.

  When I started to protest, he kissed me to shut me up. And as soon as his lips abandoned mine and zigzagged to all my hot spots, I forgot what the hell I’d intended to complain about.