MC Romance: Ride of Their Lives (BBW, Military Romance, Alpha Male) (Bad Boy Motorcycle Club Romance Book 1)

by Raina Wilde

  “They just destroyed a restaurant and wounded dozens of people to scare me, I think I have a right to know.” She crossed her arms over her chest and waited for his answer.

  “They’ve been counterfeiting American currency and smuggling it into the States. That does not include their criminal enterprises here, along the French Riviera. They have quite the extended network, but their most profitable is the counterfeit operation.”

  “How do you know all of this?” Lydia was having a hard time trusting this man, who seemed to know so much about these Monacan criminals.

  “I told you, I worked for Jaquiennes as a gambler. I’m not involved in his seedier activities, but that does not mean that I’m unaware of them.”

  Lydia took a step back.

  “Why should I trust you? Why didn’t you take me to Renaldo if you really work for him?” Her breathing was ragged and she was rapidly becoming overwhelmed with the situation.

  “Because I know that you aren’t a spy, and because I can help you.”

  “How can you help me?” She did not believe that there was anything that could be done. If these men wanted to find her, what would stop them?

  “I can get you to the Americans.” He stated as if it were a non-issue.

  “Oh? How are you going to do that? Do you think that shooter is going to let me get on a plane?” She knew that she was being difficult but her nerves were on edge and the reality of what had occurred at the bistro was finally catching up to her.

  “There’s an American Special Forces team waiting just outside of the borders of Monaco. If we can get to them you will be safe.”

  “How do you know all of this?”

  Travis stared at her with his eyebrows raised, waiting for Lydia to come to the conclusion on her own.

  “What?” she snapped. Her brain was too frazzled, too overwhelmed to make that connection that he was expecting of her.

  “I think you know.” All traces of his Irish accent were gone. Instead, he spoke with the crisp tones of Midwestern America.

  Lydia swore and took two quick steps backward to get away from him. The movement resulted in her tripping over the small ottoman that stood on the edge of the small seating area. She landed on her backside and scuttled a few feet further until her back pressed against the dresser.

  She held both hands over her mouth and glared at him. It made her angry that he stood there with such nonchalance. As if what he had just told her was not another dramatic discovery that was wreaking havoc on her day.

  She lowered her hands to the tops of her bent knees and whispered another curse.

  “You’re the American spy.” It was a statement. Not a question. He was right, she knew the answer. It was the only explanation for how he had gathered so much information while remaining on the far edge of involvement.

  He nodded.

  “Is Travis Larkin your real name?” She could hear the tremor in her voice. If she was going to trust him she did not want to hear any more lies.

  He shook his head, still maintaining complete silence.

  “What is it?” When he opened his mouth to speak Lydia stopped him. “The truth.” She demanded.

  “My real name is Tucker Macey.” When she did not speak, he continued. “I’m a part of the Army Special Ops team that is waiting just outside of the border. I’ve been working this case for six months and we finally have enough information to link them all the way to the top. One of my sources let it slip that there would be an American Spy in the poker room tonight. Renaldo was on the lookout and, because you were the only new face, he jumped to the conclusion that it had to be you.

  “I’m sorry that you became involved in this because of me but I would have been blindsided if Renaldo had not confronted you so aggressively last night. I did not know that my source had cracked. I was the only other player that Renaldo hadn’t already known for at least five years. If he hadn’t blamed you it was very likely that he would have punished me last night.”

  “Punished you?” she assumed that was a mild description of what Renaldo would have done to a spy who had falsely befriended him for months. In her case, he merely thought she was a poorly placed spy, one that had not yet gathered any pertinent information. As it was, Travis… no, Tucker, she corrected herself, had gathered more information than the criminals realized.

  He shrugged, confirming her assumption.

  “They would have killed you.”

  “Eventually.” He agreed. That was why he was helping her, because he felt responsible for the danger that she was in and because she was quite possibly the reason that he was still alive.

  Lydia wrapped her arms around her knees and attempted to take slow calming breaths. She laid her head down on her knees, the tiny cocoon that she had created providing the fragile illusion of safety. She could hear Tucker moving around the room, rifling through his large black suitcase, allowing her this one small moment of peace.

  She must have fallen asleep in that position because she woke to Tucker crouched beside her, examining her bloodied arms.

  “Come on.” He instructed with a gentle voice. “We need to remove the glass and clean those cuts.” Lydia glanced at her skin. It was riddled with small shards from shoulder to wrist.

  “Will it hurt?” She whispered. Tension was building in her throat and behind her eyes. She willed herself not to cry. Tucker picked a piece of glass out of her curly dark hair.

  “Not much. You’re still in shock. You won’t feel most of it.” She was enjoying the feeling of his hands in her hair as he continued to search for rogue shards. “Come on.” He pulled her to her feet and she followed him into the bathroom. He pointed at the countertop and instructed her to sit on top of it, next to the sink.

  Lydia positioned herself so that her left arm received the maximum amount of lighting possible in the small, enclosed space.

  Tucker took an empty spray bottle from the small toiletry bag that he had brought into the bathroom. He filled it with warm water and began to spray Lydia’s arm, washing the blood into the sink without the pain of pressing a cloth over the sensitive cuts.

  When the skin was mostly cleared she looked down at her arm and realized that the remaining glass shards would be much easier to locate against her pale skin. Tucker pulled a pair of tweezers from his bag and began removing the pieces with hands as steady and confident as a surgeon.

  The process was tedious. Lydia would have expected it to be painful, but Tucker had been correct in his assumption that her senses would be dulled. Except, she realized, that he was not entirely correct. While she felt very little pain from the meticulous procedure that he was performing, her senses seemed to be heightened to detect every minor brush of his fingers as they grazed her skin.

  Tingling sensations raced up and down her arm. In the places where his hand connected more firmly, as when he adjusted her position for a better view, she felt pulses of heat that remained long after his hands had moved away. Lydia was certain that Tucker had no idea of the effect that his touch was having on her body. She tried to remind herself that she barely trusted the man, but she knew that was a lie—he had already saved her life on multiple occasions.

  Tucker coaxed her to turn so that he could work on her other arm. She was now facing away from him, but she could still see his reflection in the massive mirror that covered most of the wall above the counter. He worked with complete focus, allowing her the chance to observe him undetected.

  She noted that he seemed unfazed by the events of the day. Were public shootings so commonplace for this man that he did not even blink an eye? Lydia reminded herself that there was a difference between living an exciting life and a dangerous one. Her life, up until this point, was refreshing and exciting. This man lived on the edge of danger, and if he truly was a member of an Army Special Ops team, this was neither the first nor the last time that he would be living on the verge of terror. Lydia could not imagine how he found that idea appealing.

  Still, with all her r
easoning, Lydia was unable to shake the attraction that was growing for this man who was tending to her with such care. He was helping her, when he could very easily have left her on her own.

  When he had finished, he hooked a hand over her far knee and spun her back to face him. The contact with a part of her body, other than her injured arms, sent a pulse of heat straight to her core. She did not understand why she was having such a visceral reaction to this man. It must be the shock, she told herself.

  Tucker covered his hands in a cream that he rubbed up and down her arms, covering the tiny cuts. He handed her the tube and leaned over to start the shower.

  “You should clean up, make sure there isn’t any more glass in your hair.” He instructed. “Put more of the Bacitracin on after you’ve finished.”

  When he turned to leave, Lydia found herself sliding down from the counter and stopping him with a hand on his arm. The skin beneath her palm tingled and she felt his pulse quicken to match her own. Maybe he had not been quite as unaware as she thought.

  “Thank you, Tucker, for everything.” She stepped closer to him and watched as he steeled himself against her. The action both surprised and amused her.

  “It’s not a problem.” He muttered.

  Lydia stood in front of him and raised her hand to his cheek.

  “You’re in shock.” His eyes warned her to stop, that he did not think that she was in control of herself. Perhaps he was right, she thought, but that did not stop her from wanting to know what it would be like to kiss him.

  Lydia pressed herself against him and let her lips hover a mere breath away from his. He stood there like a stone statue, neither moving away nor accepting her advance. Finally, she settled her mouth against his and felt his lips respond against her own. His hands slipped around her waist and pulled her closer, their bodies matched against each other in all the right places. Lydia sighed and reached for the hem of his shirt.

  His hands closed over hers and stopped them from raising the fabric any further.

  “Stop.” He pulled away and looked at her with wary eyes. He was taking slow, measured breaths and it was clear that it had taken a lot of effort to break away from their passionate kisses. “You’re in shock.” He gestured at the shower that now had steam billowing from behind the curtain. “Take your shower. I have to call my team.”

  Normally, Lydia would have been embarrassed by the rebuff, but she found that she could not find the energy to be insulted. His response had proven that he had wanted her just as badly as she wanted him. Maybe she was in shock, but he was not, and that had to mean something.

  She showered and dressed in the small bathroom, toweling off her hair slipping on the new clothes. Shock or not, she decided, something was happening between them and it had been long enough since Lydia had been with a man that she was determined to see it through. She might not have an interest in his dangerous lifestyle, but she was definitely interested in the man.

  When she re-entered the central room, Tucker was lounging on one of the two full-sized beds with the remote in his hand and the guide channel up on the television.

  “What did your team have to say?” she sat on the opposite bed facing him.

  Tucker pressed a button and the screen switched to the Monacan news channel. He listened to a vague description of the bistro shooting that revealed no pertinent information before turning the television off.

  “They are going to formulate a plan tonight, make the necessary arrangements, and tomorrow we will be informed of what they decided. We weren’t prepared for my cover to be blown so soon. After the bistro I could have pretended that I had lost track of you, but Angelo saw me in the car and when I drove away he knew I wasn’t taking you to Renaldo. Until we hear from my team, there is nothing to do but wait.”

  “Don’t you have a say in the new plan? How do you know they are going to make the right decisions without you?”

  “They’ll choose the best option.” He laughed. “They don’t need me there for that. I’ve already told them everything I know and it would be too risky to spend so much time discussing the mission over long distance communications. These men are the best at what they do. I trust them and so should you.”

  “Fine.” She grumbled. Now that they were out of the heat of the action she was restless. She did not want to wait until morning to find out what some nameless, faceless group of men told them to do. She wanted to leave, go to the other side of the world and continue her life. She could wait a few years before returning to Monaco; by then these criminals should have been removed from power.

  “I’m hungry.” She blurted after a few moments of silence.

  Tucker nodded in agreement. “We can have room service delivered.”

  They ordered their meals. Tucker excused himself to go take a shower while Lydia returned to her bed to wait. She quickly fell asleep and did not wake until the delicious scent of sautéed meats and vegetables wafted over her. She woke with a smile and a hum of pleasure. She had never felt so hungry in her life.

  Lydia was surprised to find that after resting and filling her stomach she felt much calmer. Her frazzled nerves were tempered by the tiny bubble of comfort that was their hotel room. She felt safe and was finally able to push the memories of the day, if only temporarily, from her mind.

  She discovered that she liked talking to Tucker. He asked a lot of questions about her life and seemed thoroughly impressed at her ability to make an income while traveling the world. He was also surprised that throughout her travels this was her first true run-in with danger.

  He was not extremely forthcoming with his own personal information but that did not keep Lydia from evaluating his basic personality based on his responses and questions about her own life. He appreciated hard work and motivation. He was extremely intelligent, but also humble. He spoke sixteen languages, twelve of them fluently, and carried a constantly rotating pile of books in his luggage that he claimed helped him to never stop learning. He was funny, in a sarcastic way, but Lydia appreciated his ability to laugh despite all of the trauma that he must have witnessed in his life.

  When she had teased him that she missed the Irish accent, he had laughed and responded in the false voice.

  “Of course you did. It’s a woman thing.”

  “What is that supposed to mean?” Lydia giggled.

  Tucker shrugged and switched to a French accent. “American accents are boring.” Then British. “American women always prefer a foreign accent.” Spanish. “They think it’s romantic.”

  Lydia stared at him with her eyebrows raised high.

  “Ah, you’re right.” She pretended to swoon into her pillows. She sat back upright. “I bet women love to hear you speak with all those voices.”

  Tucker leaned back against the headboard and placed his hand beneath his head.

  “Yes.” He said with sarcasm. “That’s exactly what I want in a woman, someone who is wishing for me to pretend to be someone else for their fantasy.” Lydia suddenly realized that for Tucker it would be frustrating to have to pretend to be someone else when in the throes of romance, when he so rarely had a chance to be himself to begin with.

  Their conversation continued without incident until they both decided that it was time to go to sleep.

  Lydia lay on the floor of the bistro, surrounded by a pool of her own blood. She gasped for breath but the air would not come. She coughed and sputtered, the world around her silent but for the gentle tinkling of glass that fell like raindrops around her. Then a new noise entered her world, the crunch of shards beneath flat-soled shoes. A shadow approached in her peripheral vision and Lydia cried out in terror. The shadow drew nearer and nearer but she was unable to move away. She flung her head back and forth, imploring her body to respond, to take action and flee from the encroaching danger. When the shadow stepped clearly into her view Lydia gasped and shrieked. The charcoal suited man had come for her once more. He leaned down and gripped her arm. Then he began to shake her.

 
“Lydia.” His smooth voice whispered. “Wake up.”

  Her eyes snapped open and Lydia found herself looking directly into the concerned face of Tucker Macey.

  “You’re alright.” He whispered. “Just breathe.”

  Lydia focused on taking a shaky breath. She trembled beneath Tucker’s hands as they smoothed the hair away from her face.

  “You’re alright.” He kept whispering. She closed her eyes, clinging to the repetition of his voice. She was having a difficult time steadying her breath. It came in bursts and starts, quivering with every shake of her body. She felt a lone tear fall from the corner of her eye; it pooled in her ear but she was too paralyzed to wipe it away.

  Tucker pulled the comforter back and slid into the bed beside her. He rolled her on her side and cradled her body from behind, wrapping his arms around her and holding tight.

  “Breathe with me.” He whispered into her ear. She could feel the rise and fall of his chest against her back, the firm clamp of his arms suppressed all but her most violent tremors. Lydia tried to focus only on the rhythm of his body beside her, the flutter of his breath across her hair. Finally, they breathed in unison. Each inhale and exhale was guided by Tucker, Lydia’s body matched his rhythm blindly.

  When she began to drift back to sleep she felt Tucker begin to extricate himself from his position beside her.

  “Please, don’t go.” She rolled toward his retreating figure.

  He pulled the sheets back over their bodies and cradled her in his arms once more. This time, when Lydia slept, there were no nightmares.

  At some later point in the night, Lydia awoke to find that she had rolled over in her sleep. Tucker’s arms still encased her body but now her cheek rested against his chest. His bare chest, she noted. Lydia had been too distracted to realize that when Tucker had awoken her from the nightmare he was wearing nothing more than a pair of athletic shorts.

  She closed her eyes and snuggled against him, telling herself to go back to sleep, but sleep did not come. She could hear the steady beat of his heart beneath her ear. She could smell the masculine scent of his aftershave. She realized that one of her hands was spread possessively over his abdomen, the rippling muscles beneath her fingers causing her hand to twitch as she suppressed the urge to let it explore. Her other arm was thrown over his side, as if she had used it to pull herself closer at some point. She strummed her fingertips against his back, feeling the myriad of scars that were collected there. She wondered what they were from, wondered if he would ever tell her those stories.