by Nicole James
“Do I have to ride with Yammer again? He talked my ear off the other day.”
“How do you think he got his name? Because he won’t shut up. Yammer, yammer, yammer. I seriously have my doubts if the brothers are gonna to be able to get past that when it comes time to vote him in.”
“Please don’t make me ride with him again,” she whined pathetically.
Ghost grinned at her and reached an arm around her, his hand slapping down and grabbing her ass cheek for a squeeze.
“Oww,” she moaned at the reminder of how sore she was.
“You need more convincing than this?” He gave another squeeze.
“Okay, okay. I give. I’ll ride in the bloody van with Chatty Cathy.”
Ghost grinned even bigger. “Thought you’d see it my way.”
“Do you always get your way?”
“Yup. And don’t you forget it, pretty girl.” He released her ass cheek, but smacked it one last time, before stepping away.
“Oww. You sadist!” She rubbed her ass and glared at him.
He threw his leg over his bike, lifted it off the kickstand and patted the seat behind him, still grinning. “Climb on, brat.”
They rode back to the Omaha clubhouse where the men formed up to roll out. Good to his word, Ghost deposited her back in the van with Yammer.
She leaned back, folded her arms and wished she had her headphones and could tune out to some music. But no, she had to listen to the Prospect drone on for five hundred miles about anything and everything that popped into his mind.
CHAPTER NINE
They arrived after dark at their second stop. Jessie gazed up at the building. The Saint Louis, Missouri Chapter’s clubhouse. It was a medium sized brick building on the edge of an industrial neighborhood west of the old brewery section. It looked like in a past life it may have been a corner tavern. But any welcoming feeling was long gone. It was now marked with Keep Out, Private Property and an assortment of MC signage. There was a parking lot that had been fenced off and gated with chain link fencing that was filled in with security strips that ran in diagonal black and white stripes, the Evil Dead colors.
Some members rolled through the gates and into the compound, while the overflow, Ghost included, parked out on the street in a long line of bikes backed to the curb.
Yammer found a spot half a block down and parked, then walked her down to where Ghost was waiting. He took her by the hand and led her through the gate.
It was pretty much a repeat of the previous night, with ol’ ladies and other clubwomen there to welcome home the men like conquering heroes. There was food and booze, and once again it didn’t take long for the party to crank up into high gear.
And again, Ghost didn’t spend too much time before he led her by the hand through the crowd and back out to his bike and to a motel.
This one was much the same as the last one, except this time she noticed he’d made sure there were two beds.
She watched as he tossed his pack on the bed nearest the door.
She noticed he always put himself between her and the door. That was just his way. Always had been. He always put himself between her and any possible threat.
“I’ll take that one. You can have the one closest to the bathroom,” she offered mostly just to see if he’d do it.
“Not happening, sweetheart. I’ll take the one by the door.”
“Why?” she asked, just to see if he would confirm her theory. And he did.
“Anyone tries to come through that door or window, they have to go through me to get to you.”
“Oh.” And then she remembered the very real threat that someone might just want her dead. And she realized this wasn’t a joke. There really was danger out there.
Ghost studied her face. “Yeah, oh.”
She bit her lip. “You really think the Death Heads followed us?”
“Doubt it. Just bein’ safe.”
She looked worriedly toward the window, and he must have seen her reaction because a moment later he was standing in front of her, drawing her attention away from the window.
“Hey.”
She looked up at him, the worry still plain on her face, she was sure.
“Nothing’s gonna happen. I’m right here, Jess. Not gonna let anybody hurt you. You’re safe with me.” He stared into her eyes, and she felt a calm come over her. A calm she always felt when she was with him. A calm no one else had ever made her feel.
She believed him. Every word.
His eyes were searching hers, waiting, so she nodded. “I know. I believe you.”
He stood there another moment longer, studying her. Then he, too, nodded once and stepped away.
“I notice we didn’t stay long at the clubhouse,” she commented to his back as he dug around in his pack. He glanced over his shoulder at her.
“Figured you were tired. And the boys get a little wild. And I sure as hell didn’t want a repeat of this morning.”
“This morning?” She frowned, not sure what he was referring to.
He turned back to her, his brows raised. “You. Slapping Blood.”
She bit her lip. “Oh. That.”
“Yeah. Oh, that.”
“Well, he deserved it.”
“Ain’t sayin’ he didn’t. But, brat, you have to understand, shit like that is not tolerated. No woman disrespects a brother like that. Ever. We clear?”
“Whatever.”
“No, babe. Not whatever. You need to understand that. Down to your bones. I’m lucky Blood was in a good mood this morning, or he and I would’ve been punching it out in the street over you.”
“Good mood? You’re joking, right?”
“Nope.”
She raised her brows.
Ghost continued on. “So, next time you feel the need to react or feel an impulse like that, you better squash it down. It’s shit like that that’ll force me to cut you loose.”
“Maybe I am impulsive. I suppose I get it from my mother.”
“You definitely are impulsive. I’ll testify to that. Not always the best trait to have, though, babe.”
“Like mother, like daughter, huh?”
“Don’t talk bad about your mom, Jess. She did the best she could by you. And she tried with me, she really did. Hell, I’m sure I was a handful. But she did try. Much as I didn’t like her, I have to give her that.”
“Do you know why she moved us out?”
***
Ghost stared at Jessie wondering where she was going with this, and how their conversation had taken such a turn. But he also felt she had the need to talk. One thing Ghost knew about women, when they needed to talk, you’d best let them. Otherwise they bottled that shit up, and it was bound to explode all over you when you least expected it.
He shook his head, watching her closely.
“Because she read my diary.”
“And?” Why did his chest suddenly feel tight?
“And she found out about…you know…us.”
“Us? There was no ‘us’, Jess,” he stated emphatically. Jesus Christ what the hell was in that diary?
“There was that kiss.”
His brows rose. “You wrote about that in your diary?”
“Of course.”
“What exactly did you write?”
She flushed.
Fuck, that wasn’t good. “Jess?”
She shrugged. “Just that we kissed.”
“And?”
“She blew up at your father. Told him to keep you away from me.”
“I’d already moved out by then.”
“I know. But sometimes you still came around.”
“She didn’t have anything to worry about. I told her that.”
It was her turn to frown. “You did? When?”
“She confronted me. Did you really think she wouldn’t?” He watched her jaw tighten at that.
“I hated her for moving us out.”
“Don’t be like that.”
“I wish they ha
dn’t divorced.”
“It must have been hard on her. Losing Tommy, then the split with my dad, and you running off.” When he saw her blanch at his words, he closed his eyes. Fuck. He shook his head, running a hand over the back of his neck. “I shouldn’t have said that. I didn’t mean it was your fault. You were grieving, too.”
“I know. It’s okay.”
“She reached out to me. Did you know that?”
She shook her head, frowning. “No, I didn’t.”
“I just couldn’t be there for her, you know? Couldn’t be what she needed. Couldn’t be Tommy for her.”
“I’m sure that’s not what she wanted.”
“Maybe not. But I let her down, just the same.”
“Why do you say that?”
He shook his head. Christ, he needed to shut up before he said too much. “Never mind.”
At his curt words, she let it drop, and he was thankful for that. He was beat from the ride, and put his palm on his back, stretching and groaning as his tight muscles flared in pain.
“Long trip, huh?” she asked.
“Yeah,” he gritted out, trying to smile. “Don’t get me wrong, I love to ride, but fucking hell, this trip is motherfucking long.”
“What a mouth you have on you now,” she teased.
“Lotta shit about me has changed. Not the boy you used to know,” he bit out a little harsher than he intended, his exhaustion stringing his nerves out.
“Yes you are,” she countered quietly.
“No, I’m not. And you need to understand that, babe, right now.” Perhaps his exhaustion was putting him in a mood. Didn’t excuse him taking that shit out on her. He knew she didn’t deserve to have him snap at her. Still he couldn’t seem to stop. Shit just spilled out of his mouth, shit he hadn’t intended to say.
“Ghost—”
“I’ve done a lot of shit, Jess. Things you’d never understand. Things you’d never get past if you knew. Maybe I’ll tell you one day. And when I do, you’ll walk out that door, sure as shit.”
“That’s not true.”
“Yeah, it is, Jess.”
“Ghost—”
“You lookin’ to start a fight? That’s where we’re goin’ with this. So just drop it.”
“Okay, fine. It’s dropped.” She raised her hands.
He ran a frustrated hand down his face. “Sorry, brat. Didn’t mean to snap at you. I’m just tired.” He sat on the end of the bed. “Fuck, my back hurts.”
She moved to sit on the side, facing his back.
“Maybe I can help you feel better.”
“Don’t think so.”
She slid her hands on his shoulders, squeezing the muscles. Fuck, that felt good. His eyes slid closed and he moaned, rolling with her motions, allowing her to manipulate some of the tightness out.
“Well, it is what I do for a living.” What the fuck? He was off the bed like a shot, spinning to look down at her. She stared up at him, confusion written on her face. “What’s wrong?”
“You make men feel good for a living?”
“What? No! Jesus, Ghost, get your head out of the gutter!”
“What the hell did you just mean?”
“Are you saying you think I’m a…a…streetwalker or prostitute or…whatever?” She was at a loss for words.
“What are you saying?” he snapped right back. “You get paid to do what exactly?”
She surged to her feet. “I’m a massage therapist, you moron!”
His chin pulled back. “Massage therapist?”
“Yes. Trained and everything.”
He frowned, wondering when the hell that had happened. “Seriously?”
Her hands landed on her hips. “Yes, Ghost. Seriously. And I’m good at it. I could work the tightness out of your back if you’d let me. But after that remark, I’m not so sure I want to anymore.”
“Brat, you gotta see where I was confused. When you said…”
“Just shut up before you dig a deeper hole.”
Good fucking advice. He knew enough to know when a woman told you to shut up, you best shut up. So he nodded and shut up.
She huffed out a breath. “Fine. Lay back down.”
He eyed the bed. “Maybe this isn’t such a good idea.”
“Your back hurts, doesn’t it? Or don’t you think I know what I’m doing?”
Okay, now she was getting offended again. Fuck.
“Take off your shirt. I’ll get my oil.”
“You’re oil?”
“Yes, massage oil.”
“Oh.” He watched as she crossed the room to the dresser and dug through her cross-bag, coming back with a small bottle. He hadn’t moved, so she lifted her brows.
“Well?”
He found his hands going to his shirt and yanking it over his head, and then he moved to lie down on his stomach.
“Other way.”
He looked at her.
“With your head at the foot. Makes it easier to reach your neck and shoulders.”
He complied, and she moved to stand over him at the foot. Then she uncapped the bottle and poured a small amount of oil in her hand. He watched as she rubbed them together to warm the oil before she touched him. A moment later, he felt her small hands settle on his shoulders. She smoothed the oil over his skin with long gliding strokes. And, God, it felt wonderful.
“Take slow, even breaths and try to relax,” she ordered, and he found himself complying willingly as she began working the tension out of his muscles. “It helps if you visualize something calming and soothing.”
“Got any suggestions?” he asked, not sure how relaxed he was going to be able to stay with her hands on him.
“I use the ocean. I imagine myself lying on the beach just in the surf line, feeling the waves wash over me, gently lifting me, the warmth of the sand and the sun, the sensation of floating in the water.”
“Sounds nice,” he murmured as her hands glided over his skin.
She leaned over and started at the bottom of his back, moving upward, applying pressure, then bringing her hands down the outside of his back with a light touch. She maintained contact without applying pressure as she brought her hands back down. She repeated this technique for about five minutes while gradually increasing from light to medium pressure and warming up his back muscles as well as his neck and shoulders.
Then she began shorter, circular strokes with more pressure, kneading, rolling and pressing. She alternated between using her palm, fingertips and even her knuckles. She did this for several long minutes.
Next she began working her way outward down his arms and back again. Then she worked down along his spine, kneading the muscles on either side of it, and he fought the urge to groan aloud in pleasure.
Every time she leaned over him to work the tightness out of his lower back, her scent would envelope him. It was heaven and hell all rolled into one.
He felt the tension easing out of his muscles as she worked her magic. At the same time, he felt himself getting hard in a different location.
“How is that? Am I pressing too hard or not firm enough?”
“Harder would be good.”
“All right. It would help if I straddled you, it that okay? I can get better leverage that way.”
Seriously? Hell, yeah.
“Climb on,” he found himself answering. A moment later, the bed shifted under him as she kneeled on it, and then she threw a leg over and settled on his ass. Using her body weight, she was able to lean over and do a better job of applying deep pressure. It felt phenomenal.
And this time he did groan aloud.
“Am I hurting you?” she immediately asked.
“No. Don’t stop. It feels fucking fantastic.”
He could hear the grin in her voice as she replied, “So that was a good groan, then?”
“Abso-fucking-lutely.”
Her ministrations went on until he felt all the tightness from the road slip away.
“Damn, this feels good
.”
“Just relax and enjoy it.”
“Oh, I am. Definitely. Maybe too much.”
“Too much. What does that mean?”
Well hell, she asked.
He flipped over underneath her until he was on his back, staring up at her with his hands gripping her hips. He saw the look of surprise on her face as he applied slight pressure of his own, pulling her crotch against his and watched her mouth fall open in realization as she felt his all too obvious erection.
“Oh,” she said breathlessly.
“Exactly. Oh.” He stared up at her, watching every subtle expression cross her face. Surprise. Uncertainty. And then something else, something he hadn’t expected.
He watched as one small palm settled on his stomach and slide up his chest as she bent to lean over him, planting the other hand in the bed near his head. Her eyes connected with his.
“I could help you with that, too, if you want.”
Before he even gave himself time to consider how stupid it was, he rolled, taking her to her back on the bed. She gasped with the quickness of his movement and the shock of finding herself under him.
At that moment, getting her under him was the only thought that had permeated his brain. Well, that and sinking into her warm welcoming heat. Jesus Christ, what the hell was she doing to him?
He stared down at her, and watched as her eyes fell to his mouth, and that sealed the deal. He dipped in, his mouth settling over hers before he thought better of it. She opened for him, eagerly, freely, like he knew she would. And it was just as sweet as he remembered. Her little tongue sliding forward to tangle with his, her lips soft beneath his. He ate at her, turning his head from side to side, changing his angle, going back again and again for more, until finally he broke off, pressing his forehead to hers for a moment, his breathing heavy as he rasped out the question on his mind.
“Black or red?”
“What?” The word came out breathlessly as she frowned up at him.
He pulled back, lifting up off her a few inches as his big palm slid down over her ass cheek to cup and squeeze and pull her against him. “Black or red?”
And then she knew what he was referring to. He could read it in her face as it dawned on her. The panties he’d bought her.
“Been wonderin’ all damn day.” His brown eyes, molten with heat, bore into hers.