by Kay Maree
Tova is equally breathless when she swings the door open. The sight of her wide green eyes and slightly pinkened cheeks makes me smirk.
“Not flicking one off again, are you?”
My comment causes her eyes to darken, and not in a good way. Before I blink, the door gets slammed in my face again. I manage to kick it with the toe of my boot before it snibs.
Christ her arse is hot in those jeans. I bite back a groan as she walks away from me. After making sure the door is latched, I casually wander around the space, bored as hell, while she resettles on a stool at the kitchen bench. I discover I like watching her draw, and without me realising I’d moved, I find myself leaning on the cool benchtop and watching every little line her pencil makes. The way she is able to download what’s in her head onto paper is incredible.
“Slade?” Her voice is sweet and as smooth as honey. Too sweet. Too smooth.
I don’t bother answering—she’s gonna talk whether I like it or not.
“You need to back off. You’re annoying the shit out of me again.”
As I chuckle, I’m sure I catch a fleeting tug of her lips. She presses them harder together but doesn’t look up.
“What do you want me to do?”
She exhales loudly and pegs me with a glare savage enough for me to hold up my palms. “I’m bored.”
Tova snorts. “Go jack off for all I care, just back off out of my space. I’ve got a design to complete by tomorrow and you’re quickly destroying my will to live.”
I click my fingers and grin when her jaw twitches. “I’ll make dinner,” I say, already opening and shutting cupboards to see what food she’s got.
I hear her pencil tap on the benchtop. “Just make sure it’s edible. If it’s not, I swear to the anti-Christ I’ll tie you up, blend it into a smoothie and force feed it to you until you vomit.”
Laughter gathers in my chest and I squeeze my mouth shut hard to keep it in. Forcing my tone to be as dry as possible, I don’t turn around as I reply, “And here I thought Griz was a bitch to live with.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
Slade
When I wake the next morning, I don’t know what is stiffer—my back or my dick. The couch has got to go. I don’t care if I need to buy a new bed and set it up directly on top of Tova’s, there’s no fucking way I’m sleeping on this expensive piece of uncomfortable shit again.
I palm my dick through my boxers and groan when it throbs harder. I’m contemplating pumping one out when shuffling halts my lazy movements.
Tova appears from the hallway clad in nothing but an oversized singlet. The arm holes are cut low enough to gift me with an eyeful of side-tit as she walks into the kitchen without turning lights on. I swear my cock lets out a drip just from the mere sight of her, and I can’t help but squeeze it a couple of times. When I fail to keep a groan on lock down, Tova whirls and pulls a pistol on me out of nowhere.
“Fuck!” I yell and sit up with my hands raised. “Lower the gun, Tova! Christ!”
Her aim instantly drops then she casually tucks the pistol back into God-knows-where.
“Whoops.”
“Whoops? Whoops!” I go to stand until I remember I’ve got a hard-on. “You’re the one who made me sleep on this fuck-awful piece of furniture. How could you not know I was out here?”
She massages her fingers through her hair and yawns widely. “I thought it was a bad dream.”
“Bullshit,” I growl, wrapping the sheet around my waist in a half-arsed attempt to hide what I’m packin’.
I click on the light and grin sadistically when she ducks and throws an arm over her eyes. She blindly searches until she finds the switch to click it off again. The scowl Tova pegs me with could have powered a small city. She’s a goddamn vision; so different without the dark layer around her eyes and mile long lashes, yet equally as stunning.
“Rule one,” she snarls, “No lights on until after I’m fucking awake.”
“Which is when?” I scoff, folding my arms across my bare chest then grinning when her eyes practically lick the ink from under my skin.
“After I’ve eaten... And showered.”
“I’ll have a coffee,” I call over my shoulder, already heading to the bathroom.
“I ain’t your kitchen bitch. Make your own coffee.”
~*~
I’m not even two paces into the kitchen when I halt from Tova’s scowl. If looks could kill, I’d be a dead man walking.
“Now what?” I snap, running a hand through my wet hair.
“You always strut around with no shirt on?”
I snigger and stalk past her. “I don’t strut, little bird. It’s called walking like a motherfucking man.”
The sharp tip of a pencil hits me on the shoulder blade and I spin to see Tova grinning devilishly. What the fuck was up with the Costellos throwing shit?
I duck to pick up the pencil from the floor, and without giving Tova a second to react, I peg it back at her while remaining absolutely stone-faced. I could take a lot, but I didn’t tolerate getting shit thrown at me; I’d had enough of that growing up.
Tova gasps and presses a hand to where the pencil connected with her chest. My jaw hits the goddamn floor when she pulls her top down to inspect the point of impact, blessing me with an eyeful of one of her perfect tits.
Her eyes hold accusation and offense when they snap back to me. “You made my boob bleed!”
I immediately regret what I did and move quickly around the bench to get a closer look at the damage. It wasn’t me to hurt a woman. Sure, I got pleasure from pain during a hard fuck, but never had I intentionally done stupid shit like this. Despite being the club princess and a self-proclaimed hardass, Tova was special.
“Fuck, Tove, that was shit of me.”
Without thinking, I run a fingertip over the small puncture on her warm, smooth breast, wiping the spot of blood away. I press my thumb on the mark and snap my eyes to hers when she inhales sharply from my touch. The rhythmic beating of her heart under my hand matches the rapid pulse on her neck, right where I want to set my lips.
The more I look at her, the more we’re unwittingly pulled closer by some invisible force between us. I didn’t know what it was; it sure as hell hadn’t happened to me before.
Tova’s breath hitches when I lick my lower lip, and I’m seconds away from breaking the trust my brother has in me.
As if having the same thought, Tova roughly shoves against my chest. I’m caught off balance and stumble a little as she cuts past me to a coffee I only just notice by the jug.
“I made you a coffee but it’s cold now,” she snaps and tips it down the sink.
“I thought you weren’t no kitchen bitch,” I leer.
“Seems I had a lapse in judgment.”
Ouch. That comment hurt more than it should have. I got the distinct impression we were no longer discussing coffee.
I go to my bag and tug on a fresh t-shirt then pull my cut on over top. I’ll get a goddamn coffee at the clubhouse.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Tova
As warm water streams over me, my heart feels a little more broken than it did before. I’m quickly realising that whatever the hell is going on between me and Slade will only end in pain. No matter how much I’d fantasised about this very situation during my teenage years, him being here was frustrating the shit out of me. And it hadn’t even been twenty-four hours yet. I need to speak to Griz about this arrangement. I would rather move into his place than be stuck with holy hotness stirring up feelings within me that need to stay dormant.
Slade and I could never be; this was purely a work transaction—an order from a Pres to his Vice. An order that Slade knew better than to turn down. It had absolutely nothing to do with him wanting to be here. Hell, he’d said so himself.
But still, my heart couldn’t help but smart a little when he threw the pencil back at me. Sure, I’d done it first, but Slade’s reaction wasn’t o
ne I was expecting. I expected to either be chased through the apartment or growled at—not see the look in his eyes when he pegged it back.
I wasn’t concerned about blood being drawn, I was concerned about how to stop myself falling for him, and the only way was to up the bitch. Hopefully that way I could protect most of my heart when he left once this was over.
The smell of smoke reaches my nose as soon as I open the bathroom door, and I clutch the towel around myself while running into the living space.
“Slade, what the hell! You can’t fucking smoke in here!”
He gives me a condescending squint before blowing a plume of smoke out the open window. “I can, and I am.”
“I don’t give a rats arse that you can, my point is that you need to go out front and do it.”
Slade simply holds my eye contact and raises the ciggy to his lips again, taking a slow draw. “I need to get to the clubhouse. We leave in five.” He smirks and exhales from the corner of his mouth, aiming the smoke in the general direction of outside.
I step into his space and pluck the fag from between his fingers without him protesting. “We leave when I’m ready.” I toss it out the window then snigger when Slade curses and ducks his head out.
“That better fucking not have landed on the seat of my Hog,” he growls while still peering down at the sidewalk two floors below. He then slams the glass shut. “Four minutes.”
~*~
Ten minutes later, I meet him in the living room and I’m not even surprised to find him hanging his head out the window, smoking another cig. I’m not happy when I see Dad’s old crystal ashtray sitting beside him on the window sill either.
I don’t bother saying anything, and Slade doesn’t bother coming up with an excuse for ignoring my rant. With nothing more than a passing glare, I grab my bag while he stubs out the remainder of his smoke.
“I don’t appreciate you going through my stuff.”
Slade waits while I lock the door. “It only took me opening two cupboards to find it, so I’d hardly call that going through your stuff, little bird.”
The humour in his voice chips away another sliver of the icy armour I’ve built around myself. I’ve always had a thing for deep-voiced men. They seem darker, more alluring, more forbidden. Slade’s voice plays tricks on my mind and body; one minute strumming my arousal, the next, provoking my temper.
I ignore his smug reply as I hustle down the hallway, quickening my pace when I hear the lock on Vincent’s door disengage.
“Morning, angel. How are you today?” he asks in his overly needy tone.
“Fuck off, Vincent, I’m not an angel of any description.”
He’s a goddamn leech. I’m not the only female in the building he’s hit on, but he never ceases to try and punch above his weight.
“You heard the woman,” Slade snaps as we hit the stairs. His fingers wrap tight around my bicep and don’t let go until we’re out the front door of the building.
“Stay away from him,” he commands as he throws a leg over his Harley.
I scoff. “You really think that interests me?”
I’m met with Slade’s dark glower until it’s cut off by him shoving sunglasses onto his face. “I mean it, Tova. Fucks like that are creepers. Hell, he could be the one getting off on axing women in your building.”
I scoff again. “You’re overly suspicious for no reason.”
Slade starts his Hog then yells over the roar of the engine. “Just doin’ my job. What time do you finish work?”
“Five.”
“See you then.”
“No you won’t,” I call as I head to my car.
“Yeah I fucking will,” he shoots back.
Slade revs impatiently. The reverberation from the Harley’s exhaust makes goose bumps erupt over my arms and back. The sound screams sex appeal, exhilaration, and freedom, and it’s a major turn on.
Slade waits until I pull into the street before quickly falling into place behind me on the road. My eyes dart between the traffic in front of me and the rear vision mirror, and each time I glance back my heart skips a series of beats.
The equation of Slade + Harley = wet panties and a throbbing need to have those urges remedied.
When I pull up at a stop sign, I purse my lips together when Slade halts beside my driver’s door and taps a knuckle on the window.
I hit the down button. “What?”
“Keep your eyes on the fucking road. Or take a goddamn picture of me riding this sexy piece so you can stare at it all day.”
“You’re an arsehole!”
He laughs loudly and yells over the rumbling idle of his Hog. “Have a great day, little bird.”
My curses fall on deaf ears as he takes off through the intersection, leaving me with my hand out the window with my middle finger raised high and aimed at his back.
CHAPTER NINE
Tova
“Jesus, who screwed with you?” Henley chortles as I enter Voltage Ink.
I slam my bag onto the reception counter beside him. “After the latest killing yesterday, Griz thinks I can’t look after myself and sent his Vice to babysit my arse.” I don’t bother hiding my annoyance—Henley is well versed in the workings of Tova.
He clicks his tongue and shakes his head at me. “Te, you’re one badass bitch, don’t get me wrong, but Griz made the right call.”
I slap my sketch pad beside Hen then shove my bag out of sight. “You suck.”
“So… He sent Slade?”
I look Henley over and narrow my eyes, not willing to say Slade’s name just yet. Henley’s cute. He’s got a tattooed boy-next-door vibe going on and his boyish charm always puts chinks in my hard-arse attitude. Between the designs shaved into his short hair, gauges in his ears, ink from the neck down and dimpled cheeks, it’s no wonder most women book well in advance to be inked by Henley Gibbs. He’s also one of the only guys I tolerate putting me in my place.
He waits for the answer to his question with a raised brow.
“Yup,” I mutter while double checking the bookings for today. I’ve got a full morning, then a few touch ups this afternoon. I should be able to finish early then go give Griz a piece of my mind.
Henley lets out a whistle. “I bet he’s rufflin’ some feathers,” he chuckles.
“He wishes,” I call over my shoulder, heading to my workstation with my middle finger aimed back at him.
“He fucking is,” Hen goads. “I can read you like a book, Te.”
Normally I bitch him out when he teases me, but I need to get my headspace focused on the design I did last night. Realising I left my sketch pad on the counter, I double back and snatch it from Hen’s hands.
“Hey! Calm your tits, I was just looking.”
“That one’s not for clients.”
“Why?” he counters, intuitively sensing a story.
“‘Coz I fucking said so.”
“It’s good.”
I don’t bother hiding my smile. “I know.”
It’s the design I mocked up for Slade last night after I left him huffing about sleeping on the couch. I don’t know if he was being serious or not when he asked me to design his next ink, but I did anyway. And I won’t show him until he asks to see it, if he even does.
The doorbell rings, announcing the arrival of my first appointment for the day. I plaster a smile on my face and walk out to meet him, already itching to get my ink on.
~*~
“Hen?”
Henley lifts his attention from his client and clicks off the ink gun. “Sup.”
“I’m gonna clock off and go see Griz.”
He grimaces, knowing full well what that entails after our gossip sessions between bookings. “Good luck with that, Te.”
My eyes narrow as he withholds a chuckle. I’m ‘okay’ with Te, but not in front of clients.
I point at him. “That will keep.”
He smirks as he gets bac
k to work. “Have a sexy night,” he sings.
“Fuck you,” I sing back then bite away a smile when I hear the two guys chuckling.
There’s no way I need to hide a smile when I pull up at the clubhouse—I’m already glaring through the windshield of my car. Griz hates me showing up unannounced, so I texted him earlier and didn’t hear back. Fucking typical. If it’s not a life or death situation, Griz doesn’t give a fuck.
My boots crunch on the gravel driveway as I make my way around back and enter through the ranch slider. A few members are already at the bar and all eyes snap my way. I ignore the raised eyebrows and the smirks at my arrival—they know I usually only turn up when something is going down. What I don’t do is shy away from looking them in the eye as I pass through. I return their silent head nods of greeting or a raised beer in acknowledgement of my presence. The only one who dares to drop a word is Colt.
“And to whom do we owe this pleasure, princess?”
I keep my features straight. “You don’t owe me anything, Colt.”
He walks towards me with exaggerated swagger that I snigger at. “When you gonna let me take you on a date, Tova. You sure know how to keep a man hangin’.”
“I’ve never offered you a date,” I deadpan.
His longer hair is tied back from his face, and the scruff on his jaw could do with a trim. He’s one of the younger members and still hasn’t learnt to tone back the smartarse. Colt presses a hand dramatically to his chest and feigns a stumble.
“Wounded. Fucking wounded I tell ya.”
I let a giggle through. “Now move your arse. I’m here for business, not pleasure.”
“Anytime you want pleasuring, princess, you come find me,” he drawls.
The sniggers around us erupt into loud laughter when I flick him off without a backwards glance and head down the corridor.