by Anne Malcom
That’s it, I deduced. I was making brownies if it got me a smile like that. It didn’t matter that I couldn’t boil an egg. I’d figure out a way.
At that moment tattooed arms circled around Gwen and Cade pulled her against him, whispering in her ear. I gaped at them for a second. The fact that Gwen was wearing a thousand dollar dress, made up to the nines and Cade wearing jeans and a leather cut was inconsequential. They looked right. Like they fit. A little ball of happiness settled in my gut. Gwen deserved this.
At that point we said our goodbyes, me leaving my best friend and her biker to start what looked like a romance for the history books. Brock opened the door for Rosie and she glanced up at him.
“Thanks, Brocky,” she said, shooting out the door.
“Jesus Christ,” Brock muttered. He turned to me, putting his hand at my waist. “Let’s get you home, Sparky.” His eyes locked onto mine and my stomach flipped at the erotic suggestion behind them. I couldn’t get out the door fast enough.
Rosie chattered throughout the journey; it was pleasant and Brock obviously thought of her as a younger sister. He even got out and walked her to her door and helped her inside when we made it to her place. Biker gentleman. Who would have thought? But I didn’t need a gentleman. I’d had one of those. That didn’t work out. I would be really pissed off if Brock was a nice guy hidden underneath tattoos and leather.
We had been driving in silence. It wasn’t uncomfortable but it was loaded; you could cut the sexual tension with a knife. I squirmed slightly in my seat, feeling turned on already and he hadn’t even touched me. I felt his eyes turn to me, then lower to my exposed legs.
“Fuck,” he muttered.
I would have smirked at the statement had he not sounded...disappointed? Something in his tone puzzled me. We pulled up my driveway and he turned off the engine. Good sign.
“Do you wanna come in for a drink?” I asked, not intending on offering him any actual refreshment once we got into the house. But we needed the pretense. I couldn’t very well ask ‘Do you want to come in for some no doubt mind blowing sex? Never mind the fact we just met.’ Well, I could, but I was going to act like a lady until we got inside at least. Then I’d release my inner nympho.
Brock ran his hand through his hair and locked his eyes on mine. The desire was unmistakable.
“Yeah, I fuckin’ do,” he started, and I sensed a but. “But I just gotta get a couple of things straight first. Then I’d like nothing more than to taste every inch of you, see if you’re as wild in bed as I think you are, Sparky.” His voice turned rough at the end.
“Wha…what do you need to get straight?” I stuttered, fighting the wetness in my underwear and the little voice that was telling me to pounce on him.
Brock’s face turned suddenly blank. It transformed so quickly I had to blink a couple of times. “You’ve been looking into the club,” he said flatly.
My stomach dropped slightly. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I replied.
Brock scowled. “Don’t play dumb. You think we don’t know when someone’s looking into us, pulling files, asking around about us?” His voice was quiet but it had an edge. A dangerous edge.
I suspected I might be in a slightly hazardous situation. No matter how nice their sisters were or how easygoing the members, these guys were still dangerous. I had the files to prove it.
“You and Gwen turn up, both fuckin’ knockouts. Your friend gets the instant attention of my VP and get yourselves an invite to a club gathering. You get half the men gagging for you, not to mention Gwen getting my brother tied up in fucking knots. What’s your play here?” His voice was flat and threatening.
“There is no play,” I said quietly. There was no way I was revealing anything about my reasons for looking into the club. Especially not to do with Jimmy. Gwen had left him behind. No one here knew about it; Gwen didn’t have to live with the ‘victim’ label. No one was going to know until she decided she wanted to share. If she ever decided to tell them.
“Bullshit!” Brock’s voice rose with impatience and I jumped. “Two high class pieces like you don’t just come along and decide to slum it with bikers for no reason. We’re not your people. So I repeat my question. What is your play? Keep in mind I’m going to find out either way. It’s just quicker and better for you to tell me straight up now. You ain’t fucking up my club, Sparky, no matter how sweet your ass is. And my VP may be blinded by gash right now, but he’s got me to find out what’s going on.”
I stared at him as his words sunk in. Did he seriously just refer to Gwen as a “gash”? No fucking way. Anger blossomed in my stomach, replacing the desire and fear that had been there moments ago.
“Okay, Rocket Power, let’s just get one thing straight here. You refer to Gwen in a derogatory way one more time you’ll need a surgeon to remove my Jimmy Choo from your balls. Secondly, there is no ‘play’.” I finger quoted his ridiculous phrase. Who spoke like that?
“The only thing there is is my concern for my best friend,” I continued. “She’s getting involved with someone who doesn’t look all that safe on the surface. I’m all for not judging a book by its leather bound cover, but I’m also not an idiot. We’re new here—we don’t know anything about you or your ‘club’,” I finger quoted again. “You could help old ladies cross the road in your spare time or you could manage a cock fighting syndicate. I don’t know. Therefore I did a little background check on you. Not to hurt your club but to protect my girl. Your reaction right now makes me sure I made the right choice, asshole.” I delivered my speech in a scathing tone and accompanying glare. When I was finished I grasped the door handle, intending to storm out. Does one storm out of a vehicle? Maybe I could climb out aggressively.
A hand at my arm stopped me. I glared at it. “Let me go,” I hissed.
His grip was firm but not painful and if I’m honest, the same electric current flowed through me than when he had brushed my stomach. “Wait a second, Sparky. You don’t get to spew all that shit, then storm off. You were protecting your girl, I’m protecting my club. You don’t know us, we don’t know you. You arming yourself with information—there’s nothing wrong with that. I’m just trying to do the same, though I’m asking it to your face instead of going behind your back and digging up dirt.”
I moved my glare from my arm to his eyes. They were hard, determined, but still held a note of desire. I ignored that. “Oh, so the big bad bikers are scared of two women? You don’t want that to get out. It might damage your street cred,” I shot sarcastically.
“Sons aren’t scared of nothing, Sparky. What I do know is what the right woman can do. She can get under your skin, either in a good way or a bad way. Either one, it affects the club. Trying to figure out which category Gwen falls into.” His calm and even tone juxtaposed my biting one.
“Gwen would never do anything to hurt anyone. She doesn’t know anything about me learning about the club. I’d like it to stay that way,” I requested sharply.
Brock watched me a second. “Your secret’s safe with me. That don’t mean I won’t be watching you—not that that’s a chore.” His eyes travelled down to my legs. “But I find out you’re lying, that you are doing anything that jeopardizes the club, it won’t be good, Sparky,” he warned.
“Watch away, Otto. I don’t have anything to hide. Unlike you. I won’t be digging into you or the club anymore, but I suggest if you do have something to hide make sure it’s buried nice and deep. And that it doesn’t touch my friend.” I gave him a warning of my own. It took a lot more than veiled threats delivered from a sex god to scare me.
He nodded stiffly. “I guess that offer for a drink is rescinded?” His tone had turned playful but his eyes were dark with desire. I was dangerously aware of his hand still grasping mine.
“Yeah, the offer was rescinded the moment you referred to my best friend as a ‘gash’,” I hissed. “If you do so again, make no mistake—I’ll rip your balls off.”
On that
note I yanked myself out of his grasp and stormed into my house, slamming the front door behind me. I sank against it, breathing hard. Not from fear but arousal. I had really gone and done it. Wished for a hot asshole to come into my life and make me forget about a certain someone.
Be careful what you wish for, Amy.
After that encounter I had not been able to get Brock off my mind. Every time I thought about him I got pissed off. What kind of arrogant asshole alludes to the fact that he thinks Gwen and I are some kind of spies here to infiltrate a biker gang by sleeping with the members? Although that would make for a kick ass TV show. Two undercover agents attempting to bring down an outlaw motorcycle gang using only their wits and their feminine wiles, with the added bonus that the men they seduce are sexual demons. My mind wandered to plotlines for the TV show, or more specifically the sex scenes between the Brock and Amy characters.
“Amy!”
I jumped, looking guiltily at Gwen who had just called me. “I wasn’t thinking about an erotic TV show,” I declared quickly.
She frowned at me. “Okaaay.” She looked at me like I was insane. “I was going to ask you if you wanted more wine, but obviously you’ve already finished your own bottle.” She shook her glass at me then wandered out to the porch with a book in her hand.
I wanted to talk to her about the whole Brock thing; she was my best friend and I told her everything. She had been seriously grilling me. She knew something went on with Brock and I hated keeping things from her but I had to. If I mentioned why I was so pissed off at Brock I would have to mention that I had someone look into the club. She wouldn’t be mad I did it; I knew that much. She’d probably be unhappy I kept it from her. That wasn’t the main reason for my reluctance, though.
If I told her I looked into the club because I was worried about her, she would think it meant I didn’t think she was strong enough to make her own decisions about Cade. She would take it as me handling her like a victim, treating her like she needed someone second guessing her choices. It would break her heart, not to mention it was wrong.
Gwen was strong. She was the strongest person I had ever met. She was beaten within an inch of her life, almost gang raped by her boyfriend and his buddies, and she somehow still managed to come out the other side. Sure, her smile had a shadow every now and then and it has taken a lot for her to be around groups of men, but she was still her. She was kind of my hero.
Plus, if I told her about Brock she’d deduce he was an asshole and then question my reason for wanting to be with an asshole in the first place. Then I’d have to tell her about falling in love with her brother, not telling her about it, then getting my heart broken by him. That she would get mad about.
Keeping secrets from Gwen was like keeping secrets from the other half of myself. But it was over with Ian. No need to bring it up. That got me thinking. All of my weird thoughts about Brock had taken up my headspace; I hadn’t once thought about Ian. Four days. That was a record.
Since it looked like I was leaving heartbreak city in my rearview, it was time to ovary up and get out there. Since shit had recently gone down with Gwen and Cade I decided that motorcycle men were not the way to go for us. This brought me to the conclusion we needed to gussy up and check out the nightlife this town had to offer. But first I had to get Gwen out of that awful football shirt.
Sipping delightful cocktails, talking to some attractive men in well-tailored suits…I mentally slapped myself on the back. I had divested Gwen of her shirt, replaced it with Gucci and taken us to Laura Maye’s chic bar.
I was impressed with the tasteful furnishings and sleek décor, not to mention the view. Within minutes of getting there we had scored free drinks from our current companions. Now a couple of hours later I was completely happy. And also reasonably drunk. I didn’t think the two were connected. I was sitting very close to an advertising executive whom I had forgotten the name of. Not that his name was important. He had been telling some boring story which I was half listening to, I was trying to figure out what kind of body hid under that shirt. He looked lean, like one of those guys that did marathons regularly and had wheatgrass growing in their apartments.
“Do you run?” I interrupted, needing to sate my curiosity.
He stopped talking and looked confused. “Excuse me?”
“Are you a runner?” I repeated. “Like marathons and stuff. You look like a runner.”
He stared at me for a second and then smiled confidently. “Why yes, I am. I just completed a 20k last weekend,” he declared with a slightly puffed up chest.
“I knew it,” I whispered, almost to myself. I was about to ask how his wheatgrass was growing when an angry male voice penetrated the conversation. I was glad. Who ran 20k voluntarily? This guy was nuts.
“You won’t be buying her any more drinks.”
I blinked up to see Cade glowering down at the guy Gwen had been talking to. I started to smirk until I spotted Brock directing the same look at Marathon Guy.
I got what Cade was doing here. I was even happy about it; I had hoped he wouldn’t be stupid enough to let Gwen get away. Plus, she had been pining around the house for him for days. She needed Cade. They had a freaky deaky connection. Anyone could see that. But I didn’t get why Brock was here. I had met him once, shared some sexual chemistry with him, then argued with him. He certainly didn’t need to back up Cade, he could wipe the floor with these guys. Not that he needed to, since he was currently directing Gwen toward the restrooms. Kinky bastard.
“Sparky.” Brock spoke to me and I glanced up at him.
I still didn’t know why he called me that. I hadn’t gotten around to asking. Last time we spoke I was concentrating on not scratching his eyes out or jumping on his lap. I couldn’t remember which.
“Brock,” I returned politely, sipping my drink.
“A word,” he commanded evenly.
I looked back up at him, hopefully with a disinterested expression. If he tried to drag me off I was totally dragging Marathon Guy along for the ride.
“Sorry, I’m sharing drinks with my new friends and it would be awfully rude of me to just leave,” I countered, glancing around at the table. The men looked slightly uncomfortable. Who wouldn’t be with Cade and Brock directing badass death stares in their direction?
“Fine,” he declared tightly, “I’ll join you.”
To my horror he sat down in the seat Gwen had just vacated, next to Trent or Troy or whatever his name was.
He flagged down our waitress. “I’ll have a Bud, darlin’. Thanks.”
Brock leaned back in the booth, casually slinging his arm along the seat. He grinned at me. I scolded myself for being momentarily stunned by how hot he was. Hotter than I remembered, if possible. His hair was in a bun again and with his cut, tattoos, and bulging muscles he put these suits to shame.
“What are you doing?” I hissed at him quietly, even though the men at the table were practically silent, watching us awkwardly.
Brock’s grin widened. “I’m sharing a drink with my new friends here.” He gestured to the table. “By the look of those suits I’m guessing you boys aren’t from around here.”
Marathon Man cleared his throat. “No, we’re just passing through on business,” he said, eyes warily inspecting Brock and his cut.
“On business? So what is it you do? Lawyers?” he guessed, eyeing their suits. He didn’t give them a chance to answer. “If you are lawyers I might be interested in hiring you. Providing you’re defense attorneys. You see—” He retrieved a long knife from his jeans and the suit clad runner’s eyes widened. Thankfully he didn’t start disemboweling anyone; he just started using it to clean his nails. Which was gross, but I knew for a fact his hands were clean as I had inspected them upon his arrival.
“I’ve found myself in some hot water in regards to the law. I’m sure I’ll be found innocent. Especially once they see the reason I broke that smarmy bastard’s jaw. And ribs,” he added with a smile and his possessive gaze moved t
o me. “After all, you gentlemen have had the pleasure of my lady’s company—you can see just how special she is. And why a man such as myself would be inclined to teach any man a lesson if he thought he could try and touch what’s mine.” He raised an eyebrow at the runner who seemed to have scooted as far as humanly possible away from me.
“Brock,” I hissed again, glaring at him.
He ignored me. “So any of you men willing to give me some representation?” he asked mildly.
“Actually,” the runner from beside me stuttered, glancing at his Rolex, “we’ve just realized we’ve got to get on the road.”
Brock nodded. “I think that might be a good idea.” He stood up to let the guy beside him out of the booth. “You have a nice night now.” He tipped an imaginary hat as the men scrambled out and walked away without a backward glance.
I didn’t protest throughout this because I was still processing the fact it actually happened; plus I was secretly glad I had an excuse to escape the clutches and wheatgrass laden breath of whatshisname. I wasn’t going to tell Brock that, though.
“What the fuck was that?” I snarled, leaning across the table.
Brock took a pull of his beer, leaning back against the booth, his huge knife safely stowed back in his belt. He shrugged. “Seems your choice of company scare easily.”
“Does you waving that big knife around compensate for other areas you’re lacking in size?” I asked him spitefully, surprised I wasn’t breathing fire.
Brock’s face turned abruptly serious and sexy. “You’ll be learning I’m more than well-endowed in that area, Sparky.”
I toyed with the olives in my martini. “Why? You in any porn I watch? Because the only place I’ll be seeing any more of you is a TV screen,” I informed him, ignoring the wetness pooling between my legs at his statement.
Brock eyed me for a second. “You want it. I know you do. I know by the way you’re biting you lip, by the way you’re flushing delightfully red. And I know your panties are dripping right now,” he murmured softly, his gravelly voice full of sex.