CHAPTER 7
LANE
He drugged me. That son of a bitch actually drugged me. So I think I can be excused for acting a little leery now.
"Drink, madam?" One of the waiters at the Grand Hotel ferries a tray over to me, half-bowing to invite my selection. I glare at the contents of the offered platter, wondering where they came from or if someone possibly put him up to this. After a moment, I gingerly pluck the one closest to him, before swapping it out for a different one at the last moment, eyes narrowed all the while.
A lot has happened since I woke up a week ago, naked and alone in Mexico with the cops pounding on my door. Wolf was generous enough to leave me enough cash to get home, but by the time I did, the chief had shouted at me all the way out of his office. Turns out that after my joyride across the border, coupled with the time it took me to get back, I had been gone almost an entire week from work.
And, considering that I was unwilling to offer an explanation the chief found acceptable, I'm now in the doghouse.
So I said fuck it. Not out loud, of course—I still desperately want my job back, like a dying woman in the desert wants water, which as I can now personally attest to is a lot. But I've never been one to sit on my ass and twiddle my thumbs waiting for someone else to reach a verdict. I need evidence of the Mexican cartel's activity on the Pacific Coast Highway, and I need it fast…
…this is why I now find myself back in California, attending a charity ball and auction that I have absolutely no right to be at. Let's just say I flashed a badge that I'm not sure I have a right to own anymore to get in.
I let my gaze travel around the room, taking in the affluent suits, the glimmering dresses, and the obviously more budget-conscious outfits of the non-profit workers. Nobody here looks like cartel on the outside, but the night is still young, and I feel like I'm onto something. I browsed enough deep web Internet forums this week, while I was sitting at home in my pajamas, to feel confident I might have sunk my teeth into a lead here. If my sources are to be believed, the Mexican cartel deals with more than just the Devil’s Bastards when it comes to bringing their product into the states—they have rich connections near the border as well. Now all I need to do is isolate those among these obnoxious elitists who look like they might be willing to make a backroom deal tonight, and then I'll…
"Really, Lane? Do you only have one dress?"
I wheel in astonishment, nearly letting the glass of wine slip from my hand. I feel another hand close over my own, securing the drinkware safely in my grasp.
"Wolf!" I half-shriek his name, drawing attention from a few nearby onlookers. It's all I can do to pull it together and lower my voice the next instant.
I stare into a pair of silver-gray eyes I know all too well. Wolf grins in acknowledgement that he is, indeed, who I know him to be, although I notice that for once the smile doesn't appear to reach his gaze. Those same intense eyes study me, searching for any indication of what I might be doing here. I'm startled to realize that this is the first time I've ever seen him clean-shaven; I can't decide if the effect makes him appear younger or older than the roguishly unkempt biker I'm used to dealing with. His dark hair is slicked back, his expression more mature and grave than it normally is, but I'm relieved to see that a single lock of hair has come loose to curl down along his temple; otherwise, I'm afraid I might have completely mistaken him for someone else, the change is so different. I realize this is what it's like to see a wolf domesticated, and I'm not sure I like it.
He looks like exactly what I've suspected all along: he looks like he's worth a lot of money. I wish I knew the figure, just so I would have a number to put to this otherwise enigmatic road warrior. In this moment, I wish I knew a lot of things.
"What are you doing here?" I demand, trying to keep my voice down this time. It's imperative to my cover that I deflect some, if not all, of the attention off me.
"I was about to ask you the same thing. Are you here to donate to the cause and help fight sex trafficking?" he asks me curiously. "I didn't think they gave you a salary that could support this sort of thing, not down at the good ol' PD—"
It's all I can do to keep from clapping an angry hand over his mouth. I must look completely frazzled, completely unprofessional, but I'm not sure I'll be able to save face with anyone watching without excusing myself for a bit first. I grab Wolf by the arm and drag him angrily from the ballroom, heading down the lobby toward the elevators.
"You got a room here?" I demand.
"So eager for a repeat of the last time, Lane?" Wolf raises one of his dark eyebrows as I jam hard on the button to call the elevator. "Wait, is that why you're here?" His second-round question sounds a little more sincere, and a little more confused.
I wheel to him angrily. "Do you have a room or not?"
"At the California Grand? Always. It's the penthouse suite."
"Of course it is," I mutter as the doors fold open. "Well, maybe it will only take this elevator ride to figure out just what the hell it is you're doing here."
"What I'm doing here?" Wolf follows me in without so much as a hitch in his stride. He stabs the button that closes the door behind us, but I note he still hasn't selected a floor. "This is my world, Laney. The place everyone wants me to be. So I come, and I shake hands and smile, and I fantasize about what my tire treads would look like printed on all these fake ass faces. Hell, I might even think about you once in a while, just to pass the time."
I don't even know what to say to this. I'm so angry, yet I'm almost certain that, in a deeply buried part of me, those were the exact words I wanted to hear from him…
Or at least, the least offensive version of those words I'm bound to get.
"What floor are you?" I demand, jamming the button with my free hand and carefully balancing my wine with the other.
The elevator lurches up, and then grinds to an immediate halt. We both look at each other. After a terrible second, Wolf reaches past me to try the door override.
Nothing.
"Great," I say. "I infiltrate an expensive hotel event, and I manage to get stuck in an elevator with a degenerate in a suit."
"Excuse me?" Wolf pulls back and glares at me. "You really want to keep insulting the guy who took you on the most expensive date you've ever been on, and oh, by the way, was the best sex of your life?"
"You roofied me you son of a bitch!" I all but shout.
"And you betrayed me to your cop buddies!" Wolf shouts. "Who, by the way, I don't see welcoming you back with open arms! How did they reward your effort down south? Hm? Oh yeah, by taking away your badge!"
"You are unbelievable!" I seethe. "First of all, I never called the cops! Maybe it was your little cycle shop buddy you were getting all chummy with; did you ever think of that? Maybe he's the one who sold you out! And secondly, even now you're following my every move? I'm surprised I was even able to surprise you tonight since you insist on being such a…such a fucking stalker all the time!"
"Oh, that's rich." Wolf laughs, but it isn't the cheerful sound I'm used to. He sounds colder than I remember—then again, maybe it's all a part of the same illusion the cropped hair and shaved face and suit all work toward.
But if that's true, why does he sound so hurt?
"If anyone is stalking anyone, it's you, soon-to-be ex Officer Lane. Did you really think I would expect to find a working-class woman like you here tonight? Sorry: formerly working."
"It was a complete coincidence, I can assure you," I snap back. He wants to be cold? He better get ready for me to visit an Ice Age on this damn elevator. "And I wasn't aware you held to all this bourgeois garbage. The more you know, I guess!"
"Give me that." Wolf reaches across me and snatches the wineglass I hold, draining what remains of its contents in one fell swoop. I hate the choked, astonished noise I make at having the only thing that would have made this encounter bearable seized from me. I hear him gasp in satisfaction as he finishes it, but I've already turned away. It's less easy
to ignore the shatter of glass as he tosses it into an unused corner of the elevator.
"Great. Now I'm trapped in an elevator with you that's littered with broken glass. Could this day get any worse?"
"Oh, don't say that," Wolf groans, but his groan is all but drowned out by the sudden, terrible noise of rending metal. I clap my hands over my ears to deafen myself to the awful grinding, gritting my teeth to keep a hold of myself as terror grips me. The floor of the elevator shakes, and then the box drops a half inch beneath us.
"Wolf!" I yelp. I'm in his arms before I realize what I'm doing; funnily enough, the man who has been taking such issue with my appearance at the party that evening has his arms wide open to receive me. I bury my face into his chest.
"Told you not to say it," he murmurs into my scalp, stroking my hair as I try to keep myself from shaking too obviously. "Haven't you ever seen a movie in your life, Laney? Things only get worse for our heroes the moment someone says those words."
"I hate elevators," I groan as I cling to him. "Oh my God. Please don't let go of me. I don't care how angry you are, or how much you hate me."
"Yeah, none of those things are true. Well, I'm a little angry," he confides as he lowers us both down to the floor of the elevator. I turn my face in against his chest, losing myself momentarily in his cologne. It's so easy to pretend I'm somewhere else in this moment. I let myself get swept up by the feeling of being captured in his arms, of being soothed by his voice, as Wolf continues to speak in a hushed tone. "Not angry. More frustrated, I think."
"Please don't tell me you're getting a boner right now," I say severely. He chuckles, and I feel some of the terrified tension ease out of me as a result.
As I let him hold me, my arms wrapped around him, I play with the bracelet I've been wearing all evening. I pull something off the inside of the band and drop it into his jacket pocket. Might as well take advantage of being this close while I still have the chance—who knows where or when we will ever see each other again.
"I miss it," I confess finally. "What we had together. I know it was only for a few days…"
"It was years in the making," Wolf interrupts me. "You know it, and I know it. Let's not pretend we don't." I feel the brush of his cheek against my ear, and the light stubble that is already forming on his jaw. Will he let it grow out again? Will I be around to know what decision he decides to make the next time he shaves? I wish my thoughts weren't so embarrassing, so inane.
Maybe I'm just trying to distract us both from the fact that I can feel, with every fiber of my being, that Wolf wants to kiss me.
I hold myself still, trying to ignore the fluttering of my own heartbeat, as the rogue billionaire I've been chasing after for years allows his lips to skate closer to mine. I bet they taste like the wine he stole from me. Don't I deserve the opportunity to steal it back?
But who's stealing from whom? I wish I had the answers, but my head is starting to spin, and thinking is getting more and more difficult the closer he allows his hot breath to inch. I part my lips without thinking, and he's nearly on me, when…
A feel a hand come up between my legs, and a pair of thrusting fingers plying the secret heat slowly kindling there. Wolf has impeccable aim, and I cry out as he brushes my clit with a marksman's accuracy.
"Just checking to see if you have underwear on." He grins evilly, exposing his chipped canine.
"Who named you the panty inspector?" I nearly scream at him as I make to rise. Wolf follows me up, and now I'm feeling extremely claustrophobic. I couldn't escape him if I wanted to in this tiny metal deathtrap. "We're trapped in an elevator! Is sex really all you can think about right now?"
"You were thinking about it, too," he accuses, loosening his tie and unbuttoning his suit jacket. "Hot in here, isn't it?" he asks me as he whips it off.
"No," I retort. "It really isn't."
It really is.
"I should have kept that wineglass around. We could have played 'strip-and-spin'. Remember our first date, Lane?"
"That was not a first date," I scoff. "That was a hormonally-charged, adrenaline-fueled mistake. I've made them before."
"Have you made them repeatedly?" he asked curiously as he lets his dinner jacket fall to the side. "Because I remember you making that particular mistake, oh, let's see…one…" He counts off on his fingers, and I feel myself tingle with need at the sight of them. "Two…"
"Three!" several voices outside the elevator door shout in chorus, and suddenly the stuck panels are being pried back by invading fingers. I watch in relief as two uniformed firemen pull the doors apart, backing a little away from the forced entry to allow them room to work…and to escape from getting pulled once more into Wolf's magnetic sphere. I have no idea who's working on the door—knowing my luck, it may very well be members or affiliates of the local police, people capable of reporting back to the station about my whereabouts.
The door snaps open, and the elevator bounces slightly, although this time it thankfully holds beneath us. Wolf's hand finds my back, and I start; I hadn't realized he moved nearer to me during the commotion, and that my attempts at trying to separate myself from him were met with complete and utter failure. He touches me: a last, fleeting moment, snatched and then gone again, as he pushes me forward into the waiting hands of the first fireman. The latter helps leverage me of the compartment, holding me steady as I find my footing. It doesn't take long. I'm not some fairytale damsel in distress who will require years of recuperation in a tower at the end of all this.
I'm standing on my own soon enough, and I stand back, straightening any eye-catching or eyebrow-raising wrinkles in my dress as Wolf follows me out. "Took you guys long enough," he told the firemen jovially—ever the rich, over-privileged asshole when he has an audience. There's a small crowd of charity-goers gathered around us, and several have the gall to laugh and start applauding at Wolf's words.
"He'll need a ride home," I tell the fireman nearest to me. "He's drunk. Extremely drunk," I quickly revise my story as Wolf glares daggers at me. I'm ever the unwelcome storm stealing the wind out of his sails. "He broke a glass while we were in there. Thought he could break down the door with it. I tried to tell him—"
"All right, honey. Let's get you refreshed," Wolf simpers as he steers me away from them. "How about something out of the fondue fountain? Oh, wait, weren't you just saying something about how upset your stomach is after all that rich chocolate? Maybe you had better stop by the restroom instead. We wouldn't want you to—"
We're far enough away from the crowd that there's no chance of anyone seeing when I haul back and punch him in the side. I don't use full force—I don't want to level him, I just want to instill a warning. Wolf doubles over sideways as I remark, "You know, I think I will use the restroom. Excuse me."
Moments later, I'm standing over an expensive porcelain basin inset into the wall of the lobby bathroom, splashing water on my face and muttering what I'm sure aren't grammatically coherent sentences of encouragement to myself. I haven't had a moment to collect my thoughts about this encounter since laying eyes on Wolf. I'm determined to come out ahead. What's more, I'm determined not to let him get away again.
But what is it you want?
I study my reflection in the mirror, glaring at the ridge of raised flesh around my button nose that comes of wearing a disdainful expression for so long. My mother once warned me that one day it would stick…and with Wolf around, I'm certain that day must be coming hard and fast. It's only a matter of time before I wake up one morning with a permanent, unattractive glower fixed to a face that's otherwise pretty decent.
It's easy enough to try and distract myself with self-deprecating thoughts, but all I can think about is waking up in the morning on a constant loop.
Why do I keep thinking about it? About sleeping in a strange new room that fast becomes as familiar as my own, with someone beside me? Surely I'm not actually entertaining the idea that that someone might be Wolf?
And even if I am, wha
t hope is there for making such a scenario a reality? Maybe it was over for us before it had a chance to begin. We're too incompatible as professionals, as people…yet when our naked bodies intertwine and hit the mattress, if we can even be bothered with mattresses, we're like fire and gasoline coming together to light a beautifully destructive blaze.
I have to say something to him. I may not know what it is yet, but I have to say something to hold him, keep him…
…aaand he's gone.
Hindsight tells me I should have expected it. I exit the bathroom, and Wolf's nowhere to be seen. I search the lobby for a visual, and even poke my head in the ballroom, but none of the men who meet my eyes—and there are many with looks of interest—are the infuriatingly handsome perp I'm looking for.
"Excuse me," I ask the man at the coat check. "Did you happen to see where Mr. Larson went?"
"Why yes, miss. He just left on that bike of his in a hurry. I'm afraid I didn't make out which way he went." The hotel employee grimaces in apology. "It's started raining out, you know, and they say conditions are only going to get worse this week. Would you like to take an umbrella with you when you go?"
"No, thanks. That's fine." I stride into the revolving door and let it spit me back out outside. The man is right: dark clouds bubble thick and ominous overheard, and the air is heavy with the threat of a downpour more humid than the one I'm used to weathering further up north. I gaze out across the parking lot, watching as small drops begin to dot the asphalt. It's only going to start falling faster, but I'm not worried about weather conditions interrupting my pursuit. I've already lost the man I was looking for.
But not for long.
"Go ahead," I whisper. "Disappear, Houdini. I'll find you."
My purse buzzes, and I pull the strap around my shoulder to hunt through the compartment with fumbling fingers. For the moment, all thoughts of Wolf Larson and how mad he makes me in every sense of the word are forgotten. I pull my phone free and stare down at the caller ID, the cold hand of dread clutches at my heart. It's time to face the music. After this phone call, I'll know what my fate in the department is. I tap to accept the call and raise the phone to my ear.
BILLIONAIRE BIKERS: 3 MC Romance Books Page 38