This Savage Love: A Bad Boy Romance Boxed Set

by Kathryn Thomas

  “Even if you didn’t think of me, every single time, it’s not my place to be upset. It’s not like you owed me anything during that time.” She laughed and kissed the tip of his nose, a gesture that made him glare at her. Mostly jokingly. She hoped. “Go sneaking off with someone else now, though, and we’d have a different conversation.”

  He gave her a curious look. “And what if I didn’t sneak off? What if I brought someone else home?”

  She resisted the urge to swat his arm again. “Talk to me about it first, please.”

  “Are you saying that could potentially be an option?”

  “I don’t really think this is the point right now.”

  He sighed and laughingly rolled his eyes. “And you tell me this after you ask me to be gentle.”

  She could feel him pressing into her, hard and ready. “If it’s too much for you to handle, we can stop.”

  The heat in his eyes didn’t fade. “I’d really prefer not to wait.”

  “So show me,” she said. “How gentle can you be?”

  He made love to her like a summer rain, washing over her skin in delicate waves. His fingers brushed her nipples instead of twisting, caressed her sides instead of urging, stroked over her ass instead of gripping. He whispered to her while he did it, murmuring how much he loved her, how beautiful she was, how perfect it felt to be finally holding her. Her clothes fell away like flower petals, and they were naked together. He brought her down so that she straddled him, his cock hard and solid between them, pressed against her belly.

  And then he leaned back and put his hands up behind his head. “This is how gentle I can be,” he said. “Show me what you want.”

  CHAPTER FIFTY FOUR

  She hesitated, not sure exactly what to do next.

  He gave her a small smile. "Would it help if I pinned your arms behind your back? Gave you instructions?"

  Ali blushed and shook her head fast. Alejandro wore a sideways grin that always heated her up, but it was more than just that. He was paying so much attention to her, to what she might want. It was erotic, but also intimidating. Women's magazines always went on about how a woman was the boss of her own orgasm, and that sounded good on paper. But in actual life, it had always felt like she was at the mercy of men in this arena.

  His fingers trailed down her body, using just enough pressure to keep from being ticklish, but also avoiding the places that would spur her on, would make up her mind for her. She whimpered and tried to angle him where she wanted him; he just laughed and dodged her, easy as that.

  "It's up to you," he said. "I'll do whatever you want. If you want me to lay you down on this couch and push you open and slide into you, all soft and silky sweet…" He leaned forward and pressed a kiss into the side of her naked breast. "Then that's what I'll do. If you want me to take you from behind, ride you hard, make you ache even more? Sure, I've got that. But if you want…" he shifted underneath her, and she felt his cock pressing up into the softness of her belly in a way that she'd never felt before. She felt his yearning, his aching, felt that he wanted this too. That it wasn't just something he was doing for her, that it was something he was doing with her.

  She moved then, hesitation gone. So what if he called her wanton? The fire in his eyes told her that he liked it, and the way his pupils flared when she rose up on her knees, settling him at the place where she opened before inching herself down in a slow and agonizing tease—that told her that he liked it. That he loved it even, that he adored the way she was moving for him.

  Buried inside of her like this, he felt amazing. He let out a choking little gasp when he reached the depths of her, and when she started to move over him, riding him, he made another. "You're beautiful," he said, his hands on her hips not to guide her, just to embrace her. "You're amazing."

  She couldn't speak. She traced his tattoo, running her fingers over it again and again as the pressure built between them. She didn't want to speed up, or go faster. She just wrapped herself around him, fucking him, fucking herself with him, as the pressure grew and grew. His hands came to her breasts, cupping them, lifting their weight, his thumbs brushing over her nipples in the same rhythm as his cock thrusting up into her, and she found her lip between her teeth as she fought to keep control of her body, to keep the pace she wanted, the rhythm she liked.

  In the empty cavern of his chest, she traced his heart, and he nodded. "Yes," he said, and then he surged, with no real warning, his fingers coming between them as he thrust up into her, finding her clit and spilling her over the edge with him.

  They tumbled down together, her head pillowed on his shoulder, as he stroked her sweaty back, pushing her curls away from her face. She heard him whisper it again: “mi amor.” And she smiled. Yes, that was good. Being his love? That was a good thing.

  CHAPTER FIFTY FIVE

  Alejandro waited until she'd fallen asleep. The hardest part was getting out from underneath her. He had plenty of practice sneaking out of bedrooms, but getting out from under someone who had fallen asleep draped over you—that was a master class all on its own.

  He made it out, though. He sat on the floor and watched her for a long moment. He didn't dare touch her, but with his eyes, he caressed the curls out of her face, stroked the length of her back, and softened the pout she always wore in her sleep. He eased her tight fingers out of their fist and helped her find some relaxation in her rest. But only with his eyes.

  He found a blanket in a closet and covered her up. He wanted to tuck her in, but even just adding the cover had made her stir; it was too much to risk.

  He walked out of the room.

  He suited up. His clothes had been his armor for so many years now, and he found himself putting on his badass face right along with them. The hard eyes, the cold lines around his mouth, the you-don't-scare-me line to his shoulders and spine. By the time he pulled his leather vest over his shoulders, he wondered if Ali would even recognize him.

  He'd sent Pitbull and Zig out to scout the Diablos' location, but the truth was that he'd known where they were hiding for weeks now. It wasn't hard to figure out. Arroyo Flats only had so many abandoned warehouses on the outskirts of town. He just wasn't willing to risk any more of the men he was supposed to be protecting. He knew Bolt well enough. If he wasn't willing to accept the deal that the Padres were offering, he would take Alejandro's life in trade. And at least things would be settled. Pitbull and Zig would look after Ali if he was gone. She'd proven herself to them by inviting them in, feeding them, and participating in the war council. Some might call the Padres outlaws, but there were certain things they lived by. Certain codes. There were some rules that were not broken. No matter what.

  She'd told him where the spare key was at one point. He found it now, and he locked the door behind himself. It wouldn't do much to protect her, but right now, this was the best he could do.

  Ali had been right in what she said. Other people had made too many choices for her, over the years. He didn't want to do that anymore. But he still had an obligation—a need—to keep her safe.

  He walked his bike down to the road before he kicked it into gear.

  CHAPTER FIFTY SIX

  Ali woke up cold. Her head was fuzzy, and her body ached with use. It was a delightful sort of ache, but still. Kind of ouchy. She stretched, trying to understand why she was cold. She was on the couch, and there was a blanket over her, and she was naked, but she should be warmer than this.

  Yes. She'd fallen asleep on Alejandro's chest. She hadn't meant to, but she'd been so sated after that last orgasm, she couldn't keep her eyes open. Her internal clock told her that she hadn't been asleep for that long, but maybe he hadn't been as tired, and had gone off to do something.

  She ignored the little voice that told her that the house was far too quiet for there to be anyone else there but her. Because she didn’t believe it. He wouldn’t leave her. Not now. Not again.

  She stretched again, then pushed back the blanket and reached for her jeans. "Al
ejandro?" She called.

  No answer. She tried to be surprised, but couldn't find the emotion anywhere in her body. She bit her lip fiercely to push the tears back under her eyelids, and went to her bedroom to get dressed properly. Panties, clean denim, bra, top.

  In the corner was the luggage that had been all packed and ready to take her and Bobby to the resort for their honeymoon. She'd have to unpack the suitcase later, and she found herself wondering: What was the protocol for this? Bobby had bought her an entire set of vacation clothes, and she'd never worn them. She'd taken the tags off and washed them, though, so they couldn't be returned. Was she supposed to keep them? Give them back? She could ask her mother, but odds were pretty damn good that Mama would slam the phone down as soon as she heard Ali's voice—if she picked up at all.

  She sat on the bed, her head in her hands, and the tears fell. She really had made a mess of things. She had no regrets about not marrying Bobby, but she wished she'd had the courage of her convictions to keep away from him in the first place. She'd been right when she'd called the wedding off the first time. The only mistake she'd made was going back to him.

  Ali heard a knock on the door, and her heart skipped in her chest. She glanced towards the nightstand, where she'd started keeping her weapon after she'd taken it out of the truck. She had an urge to stick it in the ass of her jeans, like she was some hero in an action movie, but she'd read somewhere that doing that was really just a good way to take a bullet in a butt cheek. Her week had drawn more than enough public attention without that.

  She took a deep breath and forced herself to find some calm. The odds were against someone being there to hurt her. When she peeked out the window, she saw a car she didn't recognize, but it looked like a fairly new model, with the super-bubbly look of a Hybrid of some kind. It was a middling blue shade, not too bright and not too dark. It didn’t look like a gang car, and there wasn’t a huge green devil on the hood. So that was something.

  She put her weapon down and went to answer the door.

  She saw Travis Lathrop through the glass before she opened it, and her heart settled back down into its normal rhythm. "Hello," she said as she drew the door open. "I didn't expect to see you, Mr. Lathrop. Is everything all right?"

  He gave her a curious look. "Based on the message you left me, I'd say no. I tried to call you back, but your phone seems to have been turned off?"

  Ali sighed. "I've been getting all sorts of phone calls from reporters. More than I want to deal with right now. I'm sorry I made you come all this way. Can I get you some tea? Something to eat?" She stepped back so he could come inside.

  "Tea would be wonderful, thank you," he said. He followed her gesture into the living room, and Ali went into the kitchen to fill two glasses with sweat tea and put a few cookies on a plate.

  This is Texas, she thought. World falling down around my ears, and I still take the time to make tea like a proper lady.

  She waited in the kitchen for the tears to run themselves out, then wiped her eyes and carried everything into the living room on one of her grandmother's trays.

  "I hope you don't mind me skipping the chat about the weather and asking after your health," he said as she picked up the tea. "I'm here to find out why in the world you're giving up."

  Ali paused and thought for a moment. "It was over even before yesterday, Mr. Lathrop."

  "Travis, please."

  She nodded. "My business was ruined here. As soon as the story got out that some men who happen to be in a motorcycle club were helping with some improvements to my property, it was all over. I lost all my students that week, and even when I went back to Bobby and made things right with him, my students' parents had enough. I hoped for a long time I'd be able to work things out, but—" she shook her head. "It's not going to happen, and I need to be all right with that. I'm not even sure I'll stay in Arroyo Flats."

  "Is there anything I can do to convince you to stay? Rebuild the program?"

  Ali shook her head. And then the whole story poured out. Well, the edited version, anyway, but that included the dirty dealings of the Sheriff. His taste for very young girls included.

  That was when Travis's face grew storm cloud black. "How do you know this?"

  She told him about the gangs in town, and what the Padres had done to try to keep their hands as clean as they could. She told him about the shootout, and how the Sheriff had flipped sides, and how Alejandro had suggested that it had something do with the Sheriff wanting girls even younger than the ones he'd been able to find, who were usually of age but simply looked younger.

  "It just so happens," Travis said, "That I'm good friends with the Attorney General in our lovely state. I will make some phone calls. It sounds like the people you've heard this from aren't the sort whose testimony will generally stand up in court?"

  She thought of Pitbull up on the witness stand, with his shaved head and his tattoos. "Not likely," she replied.

  "Then I'll take care of this." He placed his hand on Ali's, gently, not as an invitation, just as a comfort. "I hope I'm not sharing too much when I say that I had some personal experience with something of this nature when I was a child. There's a reason I fund what I do. And I will do whatever I can to make sure that this man can't prey on any more children."

  "Thank you," Ali heard herself saying. "Thank you." Because it wasn't just about Arroyo Flats, and the Diablos needing to get out of town. It was also about the Sheriff being a foul piece of trash, and someone needing to stop him.

  Travis accepted her thanks with a quiet nod. "And where will you go?"

  Ali gave a ladylike shrug. "Somewhere around San Antonio, I think. I'm not sure yet. I'll need to see what's available."

  "I'm sure it's occurred to you that your business model—animals helping troubled kids—is incredibly portable? And that it might even be more needed outside a city center like San Antonio?"

  "They must have programs like this already, though," she said. "It took me years to piece together enough to make it work here, and even then I needed to supplement with regular riding lessons."

  "There is a similar program in the area, it's true," he said. "It's actually within my portfolio. And it happens to need a new Director to expand and further develop the offerings. Interested?"

  She could hear everything. The condensation beading up on the outside of her water glass. The ice clinking against the glass itself. The soft sound of Travis taking a cookie and munching on it thoughtfully. She could hear it all because she wasn't breathing. Even a little bit. "What are you offering me?"

  "A job," he said. "If you want to keep the ranch here as an option for yourself, I'd even suggest that we keep it as a secondary location for the program. We'll rebrand it a little bit here, and use it to welcome local kids to experience the delight of animals. And you can keep some of the rooms within the ranch private, and use them whenever you'd like. The program in San Antonio is well established, and you'd have your own offices, plus a salary that—well, it's modest, but for a non-profit, it's pretty damn good, if you don’t mind my saying so. You'll be able to find a nice apartment, or a small house—whatever you're looking for."

  "Yes," she said, feeling the weight of one problem fall away from her like so much stone. "Yes, absolutely. When can I start?"

  He smiled, and she seriously considered flinging her arms around his neck. "Let me see how quickly I can schedule the movers."

  CHAPTER FIFTY SEVEN

  Alejandro stood outside the Diablos' warehouse and tried to keep his pounding heart to a dull roar. He was sure they'd seen him riding up. They weren't blind, and they had to be on the lookout for retaliation. He needed to walk a fine line here—he knew that. If he moved too quickly, or was too abrupt, they'd assume he was there to try and kill people, and they'd shoot him twenty feet from the door. If he was too weak, his hands up in the air like a coward coming to beg for mercy, they'd shoot him just the same, but they'd laugh while they were doing it. No, this had to be played exactly ri
ght, and he'd only get one shot at it.

  He got off his bike, pushed the kickstand down into the dust, and walked to the front door of the warehouse like he belonged there. He didn't quite swagger, but he didn't mince either. He hooked his thumbs in his belt loops like a cowboy, and he wore his weapon on his belt. Near his hands, but not quite touching them.

  About ten feet from the door, three Diablos poured out. One of them held a shotgun, sawed off at the barrel for maximum destruction, and the other two had hand guns. All of them were trained on him, though they were aimed closer to his feet than to his head. That was something. That was respect, and a threat, but not a guarantee. He might make it out of this alive, if God was on his side.

  "I'm here to see Bolt," he said quietly. He kept his hands where they were, and kept his face neutral. Calm. He heard safeties click off, and he felt a muscle in his jaw twitch, but he kept his eyes focused on the Diablo right in front of him.