Secondhand Smoke (Dartmoor Book 4)

by Lauren Gilley

  He glanced away, swallowed again, and the overhead light made him look almost haggard.

  It hit her like a fist to the gut, the knowledge that she’d hurt him just now. Badly.

  “You want me to go?” he asked.

  “No.” She stepped in close, laid her hand on his chest and felt the hard throbbing of his heart through his clothes. “Aidan, no, that’s not what I meant.”

  His gaze came to her slowly, accusing and wounded.

  Damn, what a mess. But what had she expected? The neurotic, grownup geek and the irreverent, tatted-up bad boy. A match made in hell if ever there was one. How could there ever be anything but fascination and strange longing between them?

  “Aidan,” she repeated.

  His movement startled her. One moment he was tensed and waiting, and the next his hands were on her face and he was pushing her back against the cabinets. His kiss was hard and desperate. His fingers pressed at her throat. She was shocked, but not afraid. Her hands curled in the front of his shirt.

  As quickly as he’d struck, Aidan pulled back, hands still clamped to her jaw. His eyes darted across her face; he sucked in a huge breath. He wanted to say something, she could tell.

  “Just kiss me again,” she whispered, “and we’ll pretend I never said it.”

  “Yeah.”

  It was gentler this time, but no less fervent, the hot stroke of his mouth against hers. He was good at this, and had to know it. He plied her with his lips and slow surges of his tongue until she was liquid and grasping at his shoulders.

  His hands moved down her sides, lingered at her hips a moment, squeezing, and then unfastened her jeans.

  “Wait,” she tried to say, but it got muffled in the kiss and he was too wild at this point for logic. “Aidan…”

  He skimmed her jeans and panties down to her ankles and dropped to his knees in front of her.

  She glanced down at the top of his curly head, breathless, the blood pounding beneath her skin. She was amazed at the speed and accuracy of his movements as he unzipped her ankle boots and removed them as she lifted each foot in turn. In a matter of seconds he had her totally naked from the waist down, her jeans and boots in a little pile off to the side. God, he was a master at this.

  “Aidan,” she said again, a reaching, incoherent quality to her voice she couldn’t alter.

  “Be quiet,” he told her softly. His hands slid up her bare thighs, bundled the hem of her long sweater.

  The air chased across her skin, contrasting sharply with the heat of his palms. She shivered.

  She knew what he intended, but it was still a shock when he pulled one of her legs over his shoulder, thrust his head up between her thighs and kissed her sex.

  The first velvet sensation almost took her balance. A sound caught in her throat and her hands speared through his hair. Push him away to make the acuteness stop? Or bring him closer?

  Closer won.

  His hands found her hips and anchored her; he stroked her with his lips and tongue, pushed her harder, gave her no chance to catch her breath.

  She was going to fall. She grasped wildly over her head and found a cabinet pull, clutched at it, the position arching her spine, driving her against his ceaseless mouth.

  “God.” She cupped the back of his head with the other hand, cradling him there where she needed him.

  His fingers flexed, the tips pressing into her skin. A tiny communication. Go for it.

  And she did. The last vestiges of absurdity, the hesitation that this was happening in her mother’s kitchen of all places, melted away. Sam shut her eyes, dropped her head back against the cabinets, and let herself fall into the release he was working to give her.

  She gasped. His tongue flickered deep one last time.

  It was exquisite.

  Slowly her leg was lowered, and his hands withdrew. When she opened her eyes he stood in front of her, lips glossy, eyes dilated.

  She didn’t recognize her voice, the depth to it. “Take off your shirt.”

  His quick grin finished the melting job on her insides as he stepped back and ditched his t-shirt.

  Speaking of exquisite… She took a moment just to stare, eyes tracing over each strong bone, each tight muscle, every intricate detail inked into his skin. The two rivers in the middle of his chest tugged at the storyteller inside her. There were so many more, so many she had to ask about… Later.

  She lifted her sweater off and set it on the counter, stepped toward him. “Will you sit down?”

  He dropped into a chair immediately, hands coming up to catch her waist as she straddled him. She hadn’t taken her glasses off this time and she could see everything: the stubble on his jaw, the warm chocolate streaks in his eyes, the tension in his chest and throat as he waited, not so patiently, for her to lead the dance.

  Her hands shook as she reached between them and opened his fly. His cock was hot and hard in her hand; she could feel his pulse just under the skin.

  “Shit.” He hissed and pressed his face into her shoulder, breath striking hard across her chest. “Baby, lemme get a rubber.”

  “It’s okay. I’m on the pill.” In truth, she didn’t want the barrier. She wanted to feel him come inside her; wanted to know that basic physical intimacy between them.

  He hesitated, gasping as she worked him with her hand. “Sam…”

  “Are you trying to tell me something?” she asked, grinning against his hair.

  “No. No, I…I just wanna be careful with you…I wanna do the right thing…”

  “Oh, Aidan,” she breathed.

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes.”

  She sank down on him slowly, gasping when he was fully rooted inside, hands spasming on his shoulders. It was the same as last night, that overwhelming sensation of being overfilled.

  He stroked her waist, her hips, his breathing choppy. “Do you need to go see Walsh’s old lady at the farm and get some riding lessons?” he asked with a chuckle.

  “Brat.” She kissed his ear, pulled the shell gently between her lips. “You mean you’re not an instructor?”

  He groaned quietly, and his hands slid down to cup her ass. He pressed her down, until it was almost painful, that deep touch inside her belly. And then lifted. Helped her find a rhythm that left them both speechless.

  The chair creaked as he leaned against the back.

  Sam hooked her toes in the rungs below and used them for leverage, riding him, loving the way his hands kept tightening and tightening on her bottom.

  They struggled and chased it for long moments, working for breath, the room blurring around them. And then they found it, that perfect moment where they fell over the edge.

  Sam tucked her face down into his neck to muffle her whimpering, fingers digging deep into his skin.

  He cursed and his hips kicked, and he whispered something dirty and sweet that she tucked away into her memory banks to save for later.

  As the spasms faded to warm pulses and the blood began to drain from her face, she sat back, braced her hands on his chest and took in the drowsy expression of total contentment on his face. It was beautiful.

  “Can I come upstairs?” he asked.

  “Yes, please.”

  Sixteen

  Walsh was awake before the phone rang, staring at the black ceiling, listening to Emmie breathe beside him. Some sixth sense had stirred him from a heavy, ominous dream, launching him into the cold dark before dawn with something like dread crawling up the back of his neck.

  Emmie made a startled sound at the first ring, and he’d answered it before it finished. “Yeah.”

  “King.”

  Fox.

  He had six half-brothers and two half-sisters, and each of their voices was catalogued away in his mental file drawers, distinguishable with one word.

  This was Fox.

  “Charlie,” he greeted, lifting his arm to give Emmie room as she rolled toward him.

  “We’ll be leaving here in a few,” Fox sa
id.

  “Okay. I’ll tell the boss.”

  “Okay.”

  Click.

  What thrilling conversations they had.

  Emmie sighed and slid a leg across his hips, rubbed her face against his bare shoulder. Her voice was throaty with sleep. “Who was that?”

  “My brother.”

  “Hmm. Which one?”

  He smiled up at the ceiling. “Fox. He’s coming in with the Texas boys.”

  “Fox. I like that.”

  He squeezed her hip.

  She snorted and sounded more awake. “Not like that. Though I do appreciate the jealously.” She stroked a hand down his chest. “Don’t worry. It’s not half as cool as King.”

  “Hmph.”

  “So Texas,” she said. “Why are they coming?”

  “They’re the cavalry, love. Let’s just pray we don’t need them.”

  ~*~

  “Yeah. Thanks.”

  Maggie listened to Ghost disconnect his cellphone with a beep and set it down on the nightstand. Dawn was just breaking and the pale blue light coming in through the blinds fell across his face, illuminated his eyes before he covered them with the heels of his hands with a sigh.

  “Texas is on the way,” she said, and it wasn’t a question.

  “Yeah.” He pulled his hands back and rolled his head toward her. “Candy’s bringing Colin.”

  She smiled and then winced.

  “How did he and Merc leave things? Are they gonna try to kill each other?”

  “You’d have to ask Ava” – Ghost’s expression tightened at that, that old dad resistance to the idea of his little girl and his expert torturer – “but I think they smoothed things out. Doesn’t mean Mercy won’t hate seeing him.”

  “Yeah.”

  She rolled to her side and propped up on an arm, so she could face him fully. “Kenny.”

  The mattress twitched beneath her as he stiffened. Kenny was a rare thing, used only for moments of extreme passion, tenderness, annoyance…or fear.

  “We’re not kids anymore,” she said quietly. “We’re grandparents. We…”

  “Mags.”

  “I don’t want another war,” she told him. “Not like last time. I don’t want to be afraid of drive-bys every time I go out for coffee. I don’t want to worry about my grandbabies that way. I don’t want to watch Ava bury a husband. I don’t want to bury you.”

  He stared at her, face full of dread though his tone was joking. “Hey, I’m about to wear out. You bury me, you can get a newer model.”

  With expert aim, she reached through the dark and pinched his nipple.

  “Shit.” He laughed and grabbed her around the waist, pulled her down so she lay on top of him. He smoothed her hair back off her face, rubbed her back as the steady rise and fall of his chest lifted her. His laughter died.

  “I know you have to do what you have to do,” she said, “and I know you have to do right by the club. I’m just saying, baby.”

  “I know.” He squeezed the back of her neck gently. “I’m listening.”

  ~*~

  “Halloween party?” Ian asked with delight. “Will there be costumes?” He lay on his stomach, propped up on his elbows, his smile broad.

  Tango groaned and ducked his head beneath the pillow, letting it muffle his words. “God no.”

  “Shame. I do love costumes.”

  With a sudden burst of panic, Tango lifted the pillow a fraction and peeked out from under it. “What?”

  “Costumes. I love them.” Ian feigned bored and examined his perfectly trimmed and buffed nails. “You know that.”

  “Yeah, but you wouldn’t be seeing it even if I had to wear one.”

  The slow grin that came his way was all kinds of bad news.

  Tango sat up, pillow clutched tight in his hands. “You know you can’t be there, right?” Things had settled into what one might call a routine lately, albeit one fraught with resentment and unanswerable questions. But it was still very much a dirty little secret, whatever it was they were doing.

  Ian shrugged, hair rippling in the lamplight. “We’ll see.”

  “Ian. I’m dead serious.”

  “Of course, darling. Aren’t you always?”

  Tango didn’t get to answer because his phone chimed with a text alert. Never a good sign this early in the morning.

  Texas was on the way.

  ~*~

  The light was still gray and thin when Aidan’s phone chimed with a text alert. It was from Walsh, a group text. Texas on the way.

  “Your girlfriend?” Sam teased. She was sitting in the chair by the window, legs pulled up beneath her, writing by hand in a notebook she had angled toward the window to make use of the meager light.

  “My VP.” He rolled onto his side and bunched the pillow up under his head so he could stare at her. He was in love with her bed, he decided. Unlike his own, there were no stray springs. It was soft, it smelled nice, and the sheets were still tucked in tight around his feet. Lying in her bed was like being hugged. “What are you doing?”

  She lifted her pen, the pad, and then her eyebrows to say duh.

  “What are you writing about?” he amended.

  Her gaze flicked down to the paper and she bit down on her lower lip slowly. Hesitation. Self-consciousness. After what had passed between them physically, he found it fascinating that she would hesitate to share something as mundane as a few written words on a page.

  “It’s the rough draft of my thesis. In order to get your graduate degree, you have to write a final thesis paper,” she explained. “And since my master’s is in creative writing, with a focus on fiction, I have to write a novel.”

  “You’re writing a book.”

  She grinned and then thinned her lips to suppress it. “Yes.”

  “What’s it about?”

  She tapped the pen against the top of the pad, still debating, choosing her words. “It’s about a woman who never fit in as a child. She was just a little awkward, but she was treated more as a collection of skills than as a living, breathing girl. She grows up and realizes nothing changes with age, that she’s still just skills in a shell, and that no one will ever love her.”

  “That sounds kinda depressing.”

  “Life’s generally depressing,” she said thoughtfully. She took a deep breath and let it out in a rush. “Anyway, it’s still in the early stages. I like to write in bits and pieces, and stitch them together afterward, when the narrative arc is more complete in my mind.”

  “Hmm.”

  She smiled. “You don’t care, do you?”

  “I don’t understand any of it, but it don’t mean I don’t care.”

  She settled back deeper into the chair. “We’re opposites, you and me. You live life, and I write about it.”

  He found that sad, for some reason.

  “We’re having a party,” he said, “a big Halloween party. Lots of guys coming in from out of town. We’re gonna ride through town ahead of time. You should come.”

  She studied him. “Does that mean you want me to come?” A nervous edge in her voice, doubt.

  “Yeah. I want you to come.”

  “Can I think about it?”

  His heart sank. “Yeah, baby, you can think about it.”

  Seventeen

  “Samantha.”

  Sam halted in her tracks, tried to keep her smile in check, and turned around.

  Ava came down the campus sidewalk toward her, leggings, boots, leather jacket, another of her usual dark ensembles, hair caught up in the wind. How different they looked, and both of them attached to bikers.

  The thought of attached sent heat zinging through her belly, widened her smile.

  Oh God, but she was totally in love with Aidan.

  Ava grinned, the expression full of her brother’s feral charm. There was no denying their relation. Half-blooded, but strong blood. “I need to talk to you,” she said, grin becoming wicked as she reached Sam and they fell into step togethe
r.

  “I figured.”

  “You and my brother.”

  “Yes.”

  “What’s going on there?”

  Sam smiled.

  “Aha.”

  “No, not aha. Things are…going.”

  Ava laughed. “So you two are…”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Did he tell you about the party?”

  “He invited me, actually.”

  Ava whistled, and Sam’s heart skipped.

  “I take it that’s a big deal.”

  Ava tucked her hair back and stared ahead as they walked, eyes on the foot traffic before them, but seeing something in her mind. “Let me say it this way.”

  “Oh no.”

  “No, it’s alright. Mercy told me about the party when he got home from work yesterday. Most of the time, he’ll just ask if I want to come hang out at the clubhouse and have a drink, very casual. He doesn’t mind if I’d rather stay home with the babies. But last night, he said, ‘Bonita’s agreed to watch the boys. There’s a party, and we’re riding through town beforehand, and you’re gonna be on the back of my bike, fillette.’ He was smiling, but he was completely serious.

  “Every once in a while,” she continued, “my dad likes to make a statement to the city. Yes, the club is the subject of gossip, and there’s plenty of people who are afraid of it, but we’re a family too. On Halloween, he’s going to make a family statement. It’s also a show of strength. And a warning to those who are against us. It’s a complicated, subtle move…even though physically it isn’t subtle at all.” She sighed. “I don’t know. Anyway, on that ride, it’s going to be the members and their old ladies.” Her eyes came over. “This is a big party, an intimate, Lean Dogs sort of party, and it’s not open to the public. If Aidan invited you, I think that’s significant.”

  Sam took a deep breath. “No pressure then.”

  Ava’s expression became thoughtful. “Actually no. No pressure. All the pressure’s on my brother, and he knows it.” Her eyes grew dark and hard to read. “He really cares about you, Sam. I’ve told him he’d better not screw things up.”