by Sarah Osborn
After what felt like forever, he pulled up outside her childhood home and killed the engine. Lottie had barely stepped away from his bike when he took her arm. “I want you to be careful around Luke.”
“Dad.” She sighed—the last thing she needed was yet another lecture on predatory men. If he'd had his way, she'd be locked away for the rest of her days. “I don't even know him, and neither do you.”
“No. But I knew his dad.”
“Luke isn't Tiny.” She slipped her hand into his. “How about you back off, just a little.”
He grinned. “Trying, sweetheart.”
Lottie rolled her eyes. It wasn't always easy, having Deke Samson as a father. He was overbearing, overprotective, and, well, over-everything. They'd clashed a lot throughout her teens, over pretty much everything, although boys were usually top of the agenda. Her dad was convinced that every male over the age of thirteen was a threat, and that she'd be raped every time she stepped out of the door, and had, at one point, banned her from the clubhouse because he'd caught her and a prospect making out. She wasn't sure what happened to the kid in question—she couldn't remember his name—but she'd never seen him after that.
Despite this, she was, and had always been, a daddy's girl. Lottie loved her mom—she was fun, and they were best friends. But her dad was her hero. She squeezed his hand. “No chest beating, okay?”
Luke was dozing in front of the fire with a book on his lap—Hells Angels, oh smart move, Luke; Dad hates that book—he blinked and stretched. “Hi.”
Her dad frowned. “You don't wanna believe everything you read, son.”
Luke shrugged and sat up a little straighter. “So none of this is true?”
“Was written a long time ago. And I ain't an Angel. But things are different now.” He pulled a chair from under the table and sat down. “Thought you were heading back to Cali today.”
“I was, but...” He looked up at Lottie and smiled. “I thought I'd hang around for a while and see the sights.”
“You ain't seeing much from my kitchen.” Lottie cringed and braced herself. “Unless, of course, the sight you want to see is standing right here.”
She laid her hand on his shoulder and whispered in his ear. “Back off, Dad.”
Luke's eyes never left her dad's, and a shiver ran down Lottie's spine. “You want me gone?”
“Of course he doesn't. You're family, isn't that right, Dad?”
“Yeah. Family.” He pushed himself back to his feet. “I'm going for a smoke.”
Luke stood and replaced the book. Lottie found herself holding her breath as he turned and fixed her with that intense stare. “I'm not staying where I'm not wanted.”
Her dad halted in the doorway and, turning around, he, too, focused his gaze on her. Lottie scowled. “What the fuck is your problem, Dad?”
He sighed and, for a moment, looked old, then straightened up, as Samson pushed Deke out of the way. “This is nothing personal, son. But I need you to stay away from Lottie.”
Jesus! This time he'd gone too far. It wasn't as though anything was happening between her and Luke, and even if it did—which it wouldn't—it had nothing to do with her dad. She looked up at Luke and smiled. “Will you excuse me? I need to step outside and yell at my father.”
~ oOo ~
He probably could have handled that better. Deke followed his daughter outside to get yelled at. “Before you start hollering, hear me out.”
Lottie folded her arms in the time-honored tradition of pissed women everywhere. “Unless you're going to apologize, I'm not really interested in anything you have to say. I don't get it. You didn't have a problem with me spending time with Luke yesterday. You even told me to use a condom.”
“Yesterday, I thought he was leaving.”
“You'd rather I had casual sex than a relationship?”
He'd rather she had neither. “With Luke, yeah.” He leaned against the wall. “He's Tiny's kid.”
“Tiny was your friend. And Mom's.”
“Yeah, he was.” Deke knew she'd never understand. “And he broke Beth's heart.”
“And that means Luke will break mine. Is that what you're saying? Because that has to be the stupidest reason ever. If you don't want him here...” She shrugged. “It's your house. But I will be leaving with him.”
Ah. He hadn't thought of that. “I ain't saying he's gotta leave. I just want you to tread carefully, is all.”
She sighed. “I only met him yesterday. For all I know, there's a wife and six kids somewhere. I don't know him, Dad. And neither do you. Don't you think you're overreacting just a tiny bit?”
No, he didn't. “Yeah. I'm sorry, sweetheart. I'll apologize to him.”
“You do that. I'm going to go and talk to Mom.”
NINETY-TWO
Samson's apology was heartfelt, and Luke didn't believe a word of it. He probably should've done the decent thing and left. He knew that was what the big biker wanted, and he thought he understood why. Hell, he didn't even blame him. But he'd accepted Samson's apology and invitation to dinner, and pretended not to notice that, throughout the meal, he watched Luke's every move like a hawk.
Not that Samson had escaped scrutiny, of course; both Emma and Lottie were taking turns to glare at him whenever it looked like he was going to cross the line. Despite this, Luke didn't feel uncomfortable. How could he, when the couple opposite him couldn't let more than a couple of minutes go past without touching one another, and their beautiful daughter had made it clear that she was, indeed, interested in him?
Samson looked up and pushed his empty plate away, then frowned as Lottie's hand brushed against Luke's. Whatever it was he was going to say was silenced by Emma's hand on his forearm. “When you're done eating, would you like to see my studio, Luke?”
He guessed telling her that he'd rather drag Lottie out of there, and fuck her till she screamed, wasn't prudent. “Sure.”
~ oOo ~
Unlike her husband, who liked to get straight to the point, Emma chatted about her garden, her art and her upcoming exhibition as she led him to her little studio. Luke wasn't fooled, though; she shared Samson's fears, and he was pretty sure this wasn't just a case of a couple of overprotective parents looking out for their kid.
The painting on the easel looked nothing like the one in his dad's box, neither did the ones leaning against the wall. “There was a painting of yours with Dad's stuff. It didn't look like these.”
“No.” Emma smiled a lot, even, it seemed, when she was sad. “I like these more, but Tiny would disagree.”
Truthfully, he couldn't imagine putting either on his wall. Luke preferred stuff that was real. “It's very...”
She laughed—she did that a lot, too. Just like her daughter. “You don't have to be polite, Luke. Art is subjective.”
“Is it supposed to be something?”
“Not really. This is just what happens when I stop thinking and start feeling.”
“Wow.” Shit, Emma hadn't been exaggerating when she'd said Emma had been in a bad place, when she'd painted that small canvas he'd seen the day before.
There were two director's chairs next to a window overlooking the yard. Emma pointed to them. “Come and sit down.”
It was dark outside, but a full moon illuminated the yard and, in the far distance, reflected off the ocean. Emma was silent, waiting for him to speak and, after a quick rehearsal in his head, Luke took a deep breath. “Why doesn't Samson want me near Lottie?”
“Pretty sure you know the answer to that.”
“Cuz I'm Tiny's kid.” He ran his fingers through his hair. “Which is a pretty fucking stupid reason.”
“On the face of it, yes, it is.”
“I'm not my dad. I can't even remember him.”
Emma sighed. “Lottie likes you, and I think you like her. Lottie thinks Deke is going overboard, and she's probably right, but he's scared, Luke. He doesn't want his little girl getting hurt.”
“We don't know each oth
er, we haven't even...”
“I know. But there's something there, isn't there? I know Lottie feels it.” For a moment, she looked away, then swallowed before continuing. “There's something about you. Your dad had it, too and it's that that scares Deke—me, too, if I'm honest—your dad was like no other person I've ever known, and we loved him, but...” She hesitated. “But there was something... I don't know how to explain it. He was quiet, like you, and I don't think I ever saw him lose his temper. I.. I wasn't scared of him, but... You're like him, Luke.”
The beast stirred. “I wouldn't hurt Lottie.”
“No, you wouldn't. Not deliberately. But whatever it was that was inside Tiny is inside you as well. Beth must've seen it, and I'm guessing that's why she put as many miles between you and the club as possible. I know Tiny saw it, that's why he wanted Spike around.” She laughed. “And that is typical Tiny. Your mom thinks the club is responsible for your dad's death, but he believed it saved his life.”
“I don't want to join some dumbass club. I don't even ride.”
“I'm glad.” She reached out and touched his hand—they were the most tactile family he'd ever met. “But it doesn't change who you are. Abi said that you don't see much of her and the family anymore, and that you're always switching jobs and moving around.”
What the fuck did that have to do with anything? All he'd wanted was a couple of nights in the sack with Lottie, and he was pretty sure that was what she wanted, too. But fuck this. He hadn't realized he'd have to give them a psych report first. Shit, if he'd known, he'd've gotten his mom to bring one of the many she'd insisted he needed. He stood. “I don't need this shit.”
Anyone who knew him knew that now would be a really good time to back down, but Emma just smiled and, getting to her own feet, took his hand and led him to a canvas covered with a dusty white sheet tucked in a corner of the room. “Take a look.”
His initial reaction, as she revealed the painting, was one of surprise. He'd assumed that she painted the way she did because she wasn't a skilled artist, but that clearly wasn't the case. He blinked and tried to swallow the lump that formed in his throat as he stared at his dad's image. At first glance, it appeared to be to be a study of a relaxed man, sitting on a large wooden box, with his forearms resting on his thighs. But as Luke looked deeper, he realized that his dad wasn't relaxed; the set of the jaw was wrong, and the muscles on his arms were flexed. And his eyes... Fuck. He looked like he had the weight of the world on his shoulders. It was the saddest thing he'd ever seen. He turned away. “Cover it up.”
Emma ignored his request. “I loved your dad.” She pulled on his hand, forcing him to turn back. “You should have had the chance to know him.” She took a deep, shaky breath. “I'm so sorry.”
~ oOo ~
While Lottie appreciated her dad's about face, she was baffled by his behavior. She might've teased him about his overprotective tendencies, but in reality, once he'd admitted to himself that she'd never be a virgin again, he'd backed off. She wasn't particularly promiscuous—limiting herself to a couple of fuck buddies—but she wasn't interested in a long-term relationship. She rarely dated, and after he'd 'disappeared' the prospect, she kept as many miles as possible between potential boyfriends and her dad.
His reaction to Luke made no sense. Not only was there absolutely nothing between them, this was the son of his best friend. She shivered as a chill ran across her shoulders. There was something about Luke that scared him. Shit. “Dad?”
He turned from his place by the open door and held out his arm. “C'mere.”
She wanted to be mad at him, but nowhere felt safer than in his arms. Lottie closed her eyes; she liked Luke, and had felt a connection with him that surprised her. But that connection scared her dad. And that scared her. “I do like him.”
“I know.” He kissed the top of her head. “Just be careful, okay? Try not to fall too hard.”
“Was my dad a psychopath?” Luke stormed across the yard toward them.
Her dad gently pushed her away from him. “Dunno. I ain't a shrink, son.”
Probably not the best answer, Dad. Lottie rolled her eyes. “You're not your dad, Luke.”
NINETY-THREE
As before, other than to apologize for her parents and to give Luke directions, they hadn't talked much during their journey back to Seattle. And as before, the quiet was comfortable. Lottie smiled as he pulled up outside her studio apartment. “Do you want to come in?”
He nodded and climbed out of the car. “Do you often do the exact opposite of what your folks want you to do?”
“Only when they're wrong.” She unlocked the door and led him up the dark, narrow stairway to her apartment. Luke looked around, and she wondered how the small, impersonal space must look to him. “It's a shit hole, I know. But it's cheap.”
He shrugged. “I've seen worse—Hell, I've lived in worse.”
For the first time since they'd met, Lottie felt awkward. She didn't bring people back here, and, apart from her dad, visitors were few and far between. She didn't even use it much, herself—it was just somewhere to sleep after work. “Do you want a coffee? It's only instant, I'm afraid. Or beer? I think there's some of Dad's left.” She crossed the small space and pulled open the fridge. “Or not. Shit. And no milk. There's a bottle of wine, do you want that? Or I could run the store. It'll only take a minute... Oh!”
Luke spun her around, pushed her up against the sink and silenced her. Jesus, the boy could kiss. Lottie wrapped her arms around his neck, and switched off her brain.
He never spoke, but let his hands do the talking. And his mouth was otherwise engaged. Lottie moaned as he pushed her tee shirt up and turned his attention to her tits. She needed her bra off STAT, but didn't want to let him go. Luke pushed it up, solving her dilemma, and ran his finger across her nipple. Too soft... She was going to have stop kissing him and... Ah, that's the way. God, he was good.
Lottie almost sobbed as his hand moved away from her tit and moved downward, but her disappointment was short lived as its destination became clear. Impatiently she pushed his hand away and unbuttoned her jeans. Shit! Fucking stupid skinny jeans. She wiggled and did that weird dance on the spot in an attempt to get them down without actually moving her mouth from his, before admitting defeat and pushing him away enough to enable her to pull them down, and dispense with the rest of her clothes.
Luke raised an eyebrow and followed suit. Oh boy! Lottie ran her hands across his pecs, then down across his wonderfully defined six pack to his, none too shabby, cock. She wasn't aware of sinking to her knees or licking her lips, but she just had to have a taste.
He tasted perfect. So absolutely, fucking perfect. Lottie could feel him tremble as he fought the urge to thrust and, reluctantly, pulled away and trailed her tongue back up to that beautiful mouth.
She needed him so much. Her whole body thrummed with her need for him, and she was so wet, she was surprised she wasn't standing in a puddle. Lottie grabbed his wrist in an attempt to get his hand exactly where she wanted it, but he brushed her hand away and continued with his exquisite torture of her tits. “Luke. Please.”
“Wait.” He pulled away and led her to the unmade bed in the corner.
The bed was a far better idea. Lottie stretched out and squirmed as he ran his hands slowly down her body. More comfortable. Although the people in the opposite apartment would now miss the free show. Her body began to arch as his fingers gently brushed across her clit, then almost cried as, instead of staying there, they began to trail slowly down her inner thighs. “Luke.”
“Wait.”
For decades, he teased and tormented her. There seemed to be no part of her body that his hands and mouth hadn't touched, and Lottie was discovering erogenous zones she had no idea she had, but she needed him inside her or she was probably going to die. “Please!”
Never before had she hated condoms so much, but telling Luke that it would be okay wasn't an option; her dad was extremely effective birth con
trol. Lottie admired his body as he hurried over to retrieve his wallet from the pile of clothes on the other side of the room. He was beautiful—there really was no other way to describe him. A little taller than her, and slim, but with perfectly defined muscles. He grinned as he caught her checking him out, but there was no swagger as he found a condom and walked back to the bed. Confident without being cocky, and comfortable in his own skin. If he fucked as good as she thought he would, not falling hard was going to be very tricky, indeed.
Oh, he fucked better! Her pelvis tilted as his thrusts grew harder and faster and she closed her eyes. “Open your eyes.” His voice was rasping. “Look at me when you come.”
And then she did! With her whole body. Lottie cried out and arched as it ripped through her, then slumped, exhausted, as he pulled away, and dropped the condom into the basket next to the bed. Luke lay back down and pulled her into his arms, and she lay, with her head on his chest, listening as his heartbeat slowed down to normal. “So, do you want a coffee?”
NINETY-FOUR
Samson sat on the slightly damp bench and, lighting a joint, grinned at the headstone a short distance away. “He's like you, brother.”
It had been Emma's idea that he come here. Or at least when she'd yelled at him to calm the fuck down, and go take a ride or something, that was how he'd interpreted it. He didn't visit Tiny's final resting place—he'd never seen the point. But his ol' lady did, especially when something was troubling her, and she always seemed happier when she returned. Maybe that was the real reason he'd found himself pulling up outside the cemetery gates.
He sighed. “Lottie likes him.” What the fuck was he doing? How was talking to some ashes under the ground going to make this better? “She's Emma's kid, she ain't gonna listen to me.” In the distance, an old man, bent over a cane, laid a bunch of yellow flowers onto a grave, and Samson's gut twisted. “Dunno even know what I'd say, in any case.