by Chiah Wilder
Chuckling, he shook his head. “We should use those in the club to get back at our rivals.”
She smacked his thigh gently then popped one in her mouth. He brought the glass of whiskey to his lips, acutely aware of her sidelong glances at him as she munched on her corrupted cherries. That static was there again, that crackling in the air whenever they came within a foot of each other. He wondered if she felt it too.
“I’m guessing you’re not mad at me anymore,” he said, turning toward her.
“Not really. If you’d been here last night, I would’ve let you have it good, and then you’d probably never talk to me again.”
He chuckled and brushed his hand against hers. “That would never happen.”
“It did once,” she whispered, curling one of her fingers around his.
“I was a fuckin’ idiot for not trying to contact you,” he said in a low voice.
“I won’t argue with you about that.” Dipping her chin slightly, she looked up at him from under her lashes.
The way the light hit her face made her eyes ignite with a glow that dazzled him. She slowly moved her gaze from his down to his mouth, staring at it for a few seconds and then looking back up to his eyes.
“Right now, it doesn’t seem like all those years have gone by.” Without breaking her gaze, she licked her lips with the tip of her tongue.
Fuck. He couldn’t stop himself from gazing at her parted lips, imagining his hard as granite cock sliding between them, pushing in and out until he filled her. His eyes moved to the pulsing hollow at the base of her throat, the musky scent of arousal penetrating his nostrils.
“Did you ever think about me?” She stared at his mouth for a long moment.
“What?” A fog of lust had clouded his brain, making it hard to concentrate on what she was saying.
“I asked if you ever thought about me over the years. I know I’ve thought about you.”
“Yeah,” he said hoarsely. “I thought about you a lot. I wondered how you were, what you looked like, and other things.”
“And how do I look?” Her gaze went back and forth from his eyes to his mouth, and it was driving him crazy. He wanted her.
“Damn hot.”
She ran her fingernail over his lips, past his chin, and down his throat until resting it on his pecs. “You’re pretty hot yourself. I bet you have a ton of women wanting you.”
“You’re fuckin’ killing me,” he rasped, his arm snagging her around the waist, yanking her to him.
Then they were kissing like crazy. Like their lives depended on it. Lips grinding. Teeth biting. Tongues tangling in a frenzied dance. She knotted her fists in his shirt, pulling him harder against her. He groaned softly, low in his throat as he wrapped his fingers through her hair, thrusting his tongue deeper into her warm mouth. She tasted like rum and pineapple, and the scent of her curled around and stroked him, and he want so much more.
Pushing her down, he pressed the weight of his body on top of her, letting her feel his hardness. Heat filled him as she writhed against him. The small sounds she made drove him wild, and he slid a hand up her thigh, pushing under her short skirt, touching skin he’d fantasized about ever since high school. The soft feel of her was incredible and more than he’d imagined it would be. But then, everything about her was irresistible. It always had been.
“Sangre,” she rasped, digging her fingers into his shoulders.
He slipped his hand between her legs, resting it on the soft flesh of her inner thigh all the while his mouth was still fused with hers.
Door chimes resounded through the house, and she stiffened under his touch. “Forget about it,” he said hoarsely as his fingers crept slowly over her silky skin, inching toward her panties. He was pretty sure that when he pushed them aside, her soft folds would be slick with need. He couldn’t wait to taste her, to push inside her, first with his fingers then his tongue, and then his cock.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
Isla twisted under him as she placed her palms on his shoulders and pushed him gently away.
“What the fuck?”
“Someone’s at the door.”
“You can’t be serious. Who the hell cares?” He drew her back to him, but she resisted.
“It could be important.”
Frustration stabbed his body as he sat back on the couch watching her pull her skirt down and walk out of the room. For a second he just sat there, pissed as hell, waiting for his cock to calm down, but then he remembered that a wacko was stalking her and leapt up from the couch. When he got to the door, he saw a skinny guy with black hair, brown eyes, and a crooked nose staring at him. With the tats, the jean vest with a ton of band patches, and a spike cuff bracelet on his right wrist, he looked like a rocker.
“Who’re you?” he asked.
The man jerked his head back as he stepped into the foyer. “I could ask you the same thing.”
“This is Arsen – our lead guitarist.” Isla kept smoothing down her hair, avoiding Arsen’s gaze. “And this is Sangre. His company is the one who’s protecting me. Remember I told you I hired a bodyguard service? It turns out that Sangre and I are old friends from back in the day when I lived here. A small world, isn’t it?” She glanced at Sangre.
He grunted and stared at Arsen. The rocker flitted his eyes between them, and Sangre knew he wasn’t buying Isla’s bullshit for one minute. She looked like the musician had interrupted something: hair tangled, lips red and slightly swollen, cheeks flushed, and black smudges under her eyes. Satisfaction spread through Sangre as he watched realization spark in Arsen’s gaze. If he’s anything like Army and some of the other brothers, he’ll hightail it outta here as fast as he can to tell the fucker who doesn’t deserve Isla.
“Do you want a drink? I just bought a bunch of shooters. It’s been so hot that I had the urge to make a bunch of tropical drinks.”
“No thanks.” An awkward silence filled the space between the trio.
“Then what do you want?” Sangre said, cutting through the quietness.
Arsen looked at Isla. “You asked me to come by and pick you up at four. We have to be at the studio at four thirty.”
Her hands flew to her mouth. “Shit! I forgot.”
The guitarist gave Sangre a sideways glance. “I can see that.”
“Let me just get my purse. I’ll be right down.” She dashed up the stairs.
Arsen shifted from one foot to the other as he looked at his cell phone. Sangre looked at him fixedly, enjoying how nervous he was making him.
“So, that’s cool AF that you and Isla grew up together.”
Sangre nodded.
Arsen cleared his throat. “Do you know any good strip bars? We’ve seen a couple around here but they look sketchy.”
“Lust is good. Tell them you know me.”
“Oh yeah? Are the strippers there pretty hot?”
Sangre nodded.
“So … are you in a biker club? Your vest tells me you are.”
“You’re observant.”
Arsen raked his fingers through his hair. “I see the one percent patch. Damn, that’s savage as hell, dude. I bet that Harley on the street is yours.”
“Nothing gets past you, does it?”
“Are you guys getting to know each other?” Isla asked as she came into the foyer.
“No,” Sangre answered at the same time Arsen said, “Yes.”
Looking at both of them, she gave an anxious laugh. “I guess we better be off,” she said to Arsen. He walked out of the house and headed toward a white Impala parked in front. She closed the door to set the alarm, and Sanger pulled her back into him, bending down and nuzzling her neck.
“Call me when you’re done recording and let me know where you’ll be.”
She stepped out of his hold. “That’s okay. I’ll probably go out to eat with the band, and I know they’ll come over to go over some of the new music. A lot of times after recording, we listen to the scratch tracks and make changes and such. By the
time we’re done, one of the guards will be coming on duty.”
Flames of anger licked up his every nerve. “I’ll make sure someone is here at six in the morning.”
“Will you pick up the shift tomorrow night?”
“No.” His jaw tightened and he opened the door. “Set your alarm.”
“Sangre. Don’t be that way. I really do have to jam with the band tonight.”
He put on his sunglasses, walked down the steps, and went over to his Harley. Arsen started to come up to him, but he started his bike and let his cams drown all the words coming out of his mouth as well as Isla’s as she came over to him.
Pulling away from the curb, he pulled in the clutch and released the throttle; he wanted to put as much distance between him and Isla as fast as possible. As he sped toward the clubhouse, he cursed himself for being such a fucking idiot. I never should’ve kissed her. I can’t believe I let her tits and ass get to me. He rode faster, harder, wanting nothing but to forget all about her. He didn’t believe her about jamming with the guys after recording. She wants to be with Benz. Go ahead, sweetheart, fuck your brains out. He shifted gears making the Harley go faster as the landscape blurred by him and the wind cocooned him. It was hot just like the anger inside him. All of a sudden he was seventeen again, kissing a sixteen-year-old Isla in Liberty Park. After that kiss, it’d been tense and awkward between them, and then she left without even a goodbye. Now she wants to do that same shit to me again.
“Fuck!” he screamed into the wind.
He wasn’t seventeen anymore, and Isla wasn’t going to break his heart again.
That he was sure of.
Chapter Fourteen
The café sat nestled between antique and craft stores, framed by several large maple trees that provided some shaded relief for customers seated on the patio. A large coffee cup with steam rising from it and a piece of cake on a small plate were etched in white upon the front glass window along with the name of the place—Sugar & Spice Café—written in a fancy font.
Inside, most of the round tables that sat two to three people were taken, and Isla glanced around, trying to determine which table would be empty soon. The scent of freshly baked muffins, scones, and sweet breads mingled with the dark aroma of roasted coffee beans, and Isla made her way through the throes of people to stand in front of the glass-fronted counter that held an array of cakes, pastries, and sandwiches.
“May I help you?” the barista asked.
“I’m waiting for a friend. Is there any seating out back?” Isla craned her neck toward the patio door, but the wooden shelves lined with prepackaged coffees and teas obstructed her view.
“Let me check,” the woman said as she dashed away. From behind her, she heard the impatient sigh of a customer. A few seconds later, the barista came back. “There’s a table out there. I put a reserved sign on it for you.”
“Thank you so much,” Isla said. “I’ll have an iced cinnamon macchiato made with almond milk, please. And a mozzarella, tomato, and basil panini.”
“Did you want your sandwich warmed up?”
“Yes, please.”
With drink and panini in hand, Isla maneuvered her way to the patio and sat at the small wrought iron table near the fence. Multi-colored umbrellas adorned the tables, and boxes filled with an assortment of colorful flowers dotted the outside area. When she sat down, she took out her phone and glanced at the empty screen, her mouth set in a semi-pout. Even though it was bright and sunny on the patio, grayness clouded her mind. Sangre had yet to respond to her texts. She’d sent him two the night before, after recording, and one before she left her house to meet Madison at the café. Nothing. Her mood ricocheted between low and lower. He’s ghosting me. What if he never contacts me again? Like he did all those years ago after I left him that letter. I can’t believe he’s doing this to me.
“There you are. Sorry I’m late.” Madison flung her purse and several shopping bags on an empty chair. “I’m so glad that you got us a table outside. I love it here. It reminds me of being on vacation. What did you order?” Isla told her and she crinkled her nose. “I want real milk. I want all the calories and decadence they can shove into one cup.”
Isla laughed. “Go for it.”
“I plan to. I’ll be right back.” She walked back into the restaurant.
Isla nibbled on her panini, not really very hungry but knowing she had to have something considering she hadn’t eaten since the morning before. When Colt came over earlier that morning to pick up the lemonade, she’d been sullen and had tried hard to be interested in what he was saying. If she hadn’t promised Carly and Letty she’d make the lemonade, she wouldn’t have answered the door. When Madison called proposing a coffee break, she’d almost said no but knew all she would do instead was check her phone a million times and brood.
“It’s so crowded in there. I guess everyone had the same idea we did.” Madison plopped down on the brightly-colored cushion on the black iron chair. “So what’s new?” She stirred her coffee and licked off the foam from the small wooden stick.
“Sangre and I kissed yesterday.”
Madison held the stirrer in mid-air, her eyes wide. “What the hell did you say?”
Isla pressed her lips together and leaned forward slightly. “Sangre kissed me, and it was so fuckin’ incredible.”
“Is that all that happened?”
“Yes, but that’s because Arsen came over and interrupted us. I know if he didn’t, things may have gotten out of control. I wanted to be with Sangre so bad. He was so ready.”
Madison laughed. “Was he hard as hell?”
“Oh yeah. I kind of freaked when Arsen was there. I know he thought I fucked Sangre. I felt weird about that, and the whole way to the studio, I kept telling him how it’s good to have a friend whom I’ve known for so long. I told him all we do is talk, talk, talk, but I knew he wasn’t buying what I was saying. It would’ve been better if I had just kept my mouth shut.”
“So he thinks you and Sangre did it?”
“I’m pretty sure he does. He would never tell me that. He doesn’t get involved with stuff like that, but I know he was thinking about Benz.” She groaned as Benz’s anger-filled eyes flashed in her mind. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I’ve never cheated on Benz, and there I was, kissing Sangre like I was single or something.”
“You’re attracted to him. Face it, you always have been. I think you even liked him before high school.”
It was true. As she got older, her first and only real love had been Sangre. When she’d turned twelve, she started to think of him as her boyfriend. Of course, she’d never told him that, but whenever her dad would rant and rave about all the time she was spending with her boyfriend, it had made her feel warm and fuzzy. Each and every time. “You’re right, but he doesn’t feel that way about me. Remember the letter and me pouring my heart out to him the summer I had to move? He hasn’t even mentioned that letter. I think he’s just looking at us as a ‘friends with benefits’ type of relationship. I’m sure he has a ton of women around him. He always has.”
“Have you brought up the letter to him?” Isla shook her head. “Why not? I think it’s real important you find out why he dissed you after you poured out your feelings.”
“Maybe I don’t want to hear him say that he never cared for me as more than a friend. The kiss was from a man who liked the way I looked. It had nothing to do with feelings.”
“How’s he acting now?” Madison took a bit of her sandwich.
“He’s ghosting me, but I think he’s pissed because I told him not to come over after recording. I told him the band was going to jam, and he didn’t believe me.”
“Why didn’t you ask him to come over and watch you guys jam?”
“Because Benz was going to be there. The two of them don’t mix.”
“If Sangre’s pissed about Benz, he must have feelings for you that go beyond friendship.”
“I don’t know. It’s complicated. A
nyway, just because he may be caveman-like and want to fuck me doesn’t mean he has real feelings for me other than friendship. Haven’t you slept with a guy that you weren’t in love with?”
Nodding, Madison quirked her lips. “More times than I care to remember. I guess you need to figure out who you want in your life—Benz or Sangre. The answer may be neither, and that’s okay too.”
She sipped her macchiato. “I need to break it off for good with Benz. I’ve known that for a long while,” she said in a soft voice.
“How do you feel about doing that?”
“If I were in LA, I wouldn’t want to think about it. Not because I’m madly in love with him. Hell … I’m not even a little in love with him. I like Benz a lot. I admire his genius, his passion for music, his drive to succeed in a career that kicks your ass so much. But I’ve always been afraid of change even though I’ve had a lot of it in my life. Maybe that’s why I cling onto things even when they are decaying or dead.”
“To me, you’re one of the strongest people I know. You left your family, all that was familiar to you when you were just out of high school, and went to LA. That took courage, and to pursue your dream takes guts.”
“The weird thing is that I feel strong in some areas of my life and not so much in others. I guess the problem is that even though I live in a big city, sing in a band, and hang with friends, I feel lonely. It’s weird, but I feel less alone in Alina than I do in LA. The year before I crashed was horrible. I’m not quite sure how to describe it other than to say that time felt thick and viscous, and I felt stuck.” Isla propped her elbows on the table and shook her head. “I don’t know, but I don’t feel like my life in Alina is surreal. I know in my heart I have to break up with Benz. I don’t love him, and it isn’t fair to him. I also am still terribly attracted to Sangre, and even if nothing happens between us, my heart will be with him and not Benz.”
“It sounds like you have the answer.”
She breathed out slowly. “Yeah. The thing I’ve found the most surprising about change is that what was once fine for so long isn’t anymore. It’s amazing how suddenly that shifts.”