2HotCurvesAhead
Page 16
“Sure, right through that door.”
She points it out and I head over. Thankful to close the door behind me to the private room with a lock, I am also grateful for a clean bathroom. I know from experience it varies. I tuck up my sundress, lower my panties and pee. I wipe myself and wash my hands. Looking in the overhead mirror, I find I’m looking all right for a gal who just escaped. Pale, but my eyes are steady. I’ve seen a lot in my time. It’s given me the cojones to do what I need to do to get ahead in this world.
I straighten my shoulders and head out, carryall of a purse on my shoulder. Time to take leave of this gin joint.
“Can I offer you a drink? Cigarette?” Emma asks as I look around for the best way out.
“No, thanks. I was just going to head back to my car.”
“No can do, little lady.” A man comes up and waggles his finger at me, making me want to bite it off. “Ace wants her to stay put. She saw things,” he tells Emma with a smirk. I instantly dislike his weasel-like face.
“That’s not true!” Instantly on the defensive I add, “I left before anything happened.”
“You heard a shot, right?”
No defense against that accusation.
“The prom queen doesn’t look like the type to kiss and tell,” Emma says, blowing an impressive smoke ring that hovers in the air between us. I have the crazy urge to poke a finger in it.
“Don’t matter. Prez gave the word—she stays.”
The finality in his tone chills my blood even as I see Emma accept them. At least I know their smoking-hot president survived.
“Have a seat. Want that drink now?”
Chapter Two
I’m railing against the foibles of fate as I take a deep breath. Never let them see you sweat. Another bit of good advice from my mama.
“Sure, a beer or three would be fine,” I deadpan.
She snorts and flicks her forefinger with its perfectly manicured nail at the bartender. He hustles over.
“Any particular brand to your liking?” she asks.
I shake my head. “It all tastes like piss anyway.”
Emma chuckles. “Give her one of the specialty beers. Might change her mind.”
The bartender brings the beer and a glass. Impressive. I pour the beer and take a long swig. Motorcycle clubs are thirsty business.
“So where you from?” Emma asks, lightly drumming her perfectly done nails on the table. I like that about her. Taking care of personal details.
“Like I told Ace, Nowhere, USA. Just heading home for the summer to help my dad.”
“Helping family—that’s good. Where is ‘Nowhere’ exactly?” she asks, her eyes sharp.
“A little one-horse town north of here,” I hedge. “Barely a thousand souls call it home. My dad runs the only gas station. Just going home to help with the books. I’m studying accounting at college.” I run on, not wanting to admit the town is Alamo. The chances of her knowing the club my dad’s prez of are pretty good. Death Raiders. Pretty much the only game in town.
Her eyes narrow further.
“On Highway 93?”
“Yeah.” I have no choice, not if I’m going to keep her on side. “A little town called Alamo. Just a waystation, really. Life there pretty much sucks.”
“Life doesn’t suck, sweetheart. It’s knowing you’re going to die that sucks.” She lights another cig from the butt of the first. “So, you know any members of the Death Raiders?”
“They do make themselves known from time to time,” I hedge.
“Clubs are big on that. How did you manage your escape?” She knows. She blows out a smoke ring while I consider my answer.
“Wasn’t easy. But my dad wanted a better life for his daughter after my mom passed.” I bit down on my inside cheek to control the quick pain that lashes my soul. Her bloody death six years earlier at the hands of a rival MC club is the hardest thing I have or will likely ever have to live with. It was an accident as families are off-limits, but still, shit happens because of the life.
“Got a daughter—Cheyanne. Just turned six last month and acts like she’s twelve. You want kids?” she asks, her eyes softening as she mentions her daughter’s name.
“Yeah, sure, some day.”
“Love of my life, that little minx. Got her daddy wrapped around her little finger. You’d better be careful, sweetie. You’re just Ace’s type. He’s a goddamn girl whisperer if I ever saw one. One word and most of the gash around here’s spreading their legs for him. I’d skedaddle your pretty curves out of here soon as you can.”
She’s blunt, but I like it. “I intend to.”
I look at the door, wishing Ace would just walk through it already so I can get the hell out of here. The door opens as if I’ve said, “Open Sesame,” but it’s not him. Two other club members saunter in and one heads in our direction. He nods at Emma and gives me the eye.
“Brought your car in for you,” he grunts. “Needs major repairs. Tranny’s blown. You’ll be staying with us for a couple of days at least.”
My heart skips a full beat. You read about it in novels, turns out it’s true. Shit. Shit. Shit.
“I’ll have that cigarette now if you got one to spare.”
She nods at the pack lying on the table. “Help yourself. Another bottle of horse piss?”
“Sure, why not. Actually, it tastes pretty good.” I pick up the pack of cigs, draw one out with shaky fingers and light it. It’s been a while since I’ve smoked—three years and a month but who’s counting—and I take a tentative breath. The first one burns, but the second one is easier. I wonder why I quit as I take the third one deep into my lungs.
I empty the frothy contents of the third can into my glass and contemplate my slim choices. I could call my dad and he’d send help. But that would cause problems. Rival club bullshit. And Ace’s club is bigger. I don’t want that kind of trouble on my watch. Emma’s okay. Maybe I could stay with her a couple of days? Or a motel nearby? Or maybe monkeys will fly out of my butt. I know exactly what’s going to happen. I’ll be staying here at the clubhouse tonight. The only question is whether I’ll be sleeping alone and my money’s on company—horny man company. I swig half the beer and catch Emma watching me. Good thing I’ve developed a decent tolerance for alcohol.
“You know, you got a choice. I can always rustle up a spare room for a stranded prom queen.” Her words pleasantly surprise. A gal needs a choice.
“I would like to take you up on that offer, thanks. I just need to get a bag from my car.”
“No need. I’ll send the prospect to fetch it.”
“I’d better go with him. He won’t know which one I want. I was in the process of moving everything home.”
“Sure.” She nods and swigs her beer.
I grab my keys and follow the full-patch wannabe outside. He’s a tough-looking cookie with wickedly good looks. Smiling to myself as he tries to work his magic on me, I imagine he can charm the pants off the hangers-on.
My beater is hiding inside another building in the compound. A garage mostly filled with Harley bikes. A couple of mechanics are working in grease-covered coveralls and both look up as we come in. I’m grateful my car’s not up on a hoist and scurry over to it. Unlocking the trunk, I pull out my overnighter, sling it over my shoulder and push hard on the rusted lid to get the squawking mechanism to reengage. Swearing when it flat-out defies me, I have to step aside for the prospect to add muscle. Big bulging muscle in point of fact. A big thump and it locks in place.
“Thanks,” I say. “Sorry, I don’t know your name.”
“BJ.”
“I’m Jess.”
“Nice to meet you, pretty lady,” he smiles and offers his hand. I give it a firm shake while juggling the heavy bag.
“Here, let me take that.” He jerks the bag off my shoulder and the strap of my sundress catches on it. It tears free, taking the built-in bra along for the ride. Suddenly my breast is out there in all its Rubenesque glory. Oh—shit.
A coupl
e of wolf whistles fill my ears while the heat of a full-body blush assaults my flesh. Of all the dumb luck. It’s that country and western song title all over again. I grab hold of the torn strap and hoist it back up, my full breast as cooperative as usual. Hell, even a pasty would give me some semblance of privacy.
“Anybody got a safety pin?” I quip.
“I think you’re going to need more than that to keep those beauties in line.”
A swift, wind-whistling-by-my-ear-movement catches me by surprise. BJ is down on the ground and Ace is standing over him. What the hell?
“Keep your opinions to yourself!” Ace growls over the flat-on-his-back biker, who rubs his jaw and looks up at him with astonishment. He’s as surprised as I am. My bag has landed on the floor and Ace leans over and scoops it up.
“Come with me,” he commands in a no-nonsense tone that is obviously second nature. I resent the hell out of it.
Hands on my hips, I stand my ground. “BJ wasn’t doing anything wrong. It was an accident, for Pete’s sake!”
BJ just shakes his head and gets to his feet.
“Ya got a hell of a right hook, Prez,” he comments before ambling away. BJ has smarts, I’ll give him that. No way should you strike back at the prez over something so trivial. But then, what in the hell was Ace thinking? You don’t hit a brother over a woman unless…
Oh fuck! My legs shaky once more, I stumble along behind Ace as he leads the way back to the clubhouse.
Chapter Three
Emma zeros in on me as I enter the clubhouse behind Ace, her eyes questioning. I’m holding my wayward strap in place and just give her an eye roll.
She gives me a half-smile, stubs out her cigarette and gets up.
“I got a room all ready for you, sweetheart,” she says as she strides over to join the parade.
“No need,” Ace growls. “She can bunk with me.”
“No, I’m better off in my own room. More space to spread out. You’d hate my girlie stuff lying all around,” I say to a man who has apparently vanished.
Emma nods her head to the first door in the hallway. “He’s in there. Catch you later, sweetheart. Oh—by the way, I’m cooking a club dinner at my place tonight. Bit of an occasion. You’re welcome to join us. Or better yet, if you like to cook, you can help me out. Got a place just a short walk away. Ask Ace to point it out. I’m sure he’ll be more than willing to point out a few things, club business or otherwise.” Her expression changes suggestively, her finely drawn eyebrows arching upward, suggesting I have the “girl whisperer” on my hands whether I like it or not.
“Thanks, I do like to cook.”
I enter the lion’s den with fresh determination to set the record straight. But he’s nowhere in sight. Then I hear the shower running and realize what’s going in. My case is on a chair by the bed. I toss my purse on the bed, sit down and rummage round for the plastic see-through case that holds all my emergency stuff. When you go on look-sees for modeling, you never know what you might need. Stuff seems to break on me all the time. Zippers that won’t stay up. Buttons coming off. Seams splitting. Shoddy damn workmanship is what I chalk it up to. I do kind of enjoy modeling, but accounting is my future. A guaranteed income. Modeling just pays well in the short term.
I find a sturdy safety pin, work it through the two ends of the strap and pin them together. I don’t dare change, not knowing how long Ace will be. The water being turned off grabs my attention and I steel myself for the inevitable showdown. But then he walks into the room like a goddamn movie star.
His dark hair is tousled from the shower, water droplets freely running down his deeply tanned six-pack and soaking into the towel tied at his waist while his eyes smolder. Fuck. Abs like this only existed in movies, not real life. So unbelievably fine. The deep V-cut of muscles disappears beneath the towel and I cannot help but wonder if the package hidden beneath is as fine as the one I’m unable to tear my eyes away from.
Get it together. This doesn’t change anything.
“I want my own room. Emma says she’s prepared an extra one. You don’t have to keep an eye on me. I can’t leave until my car is fixed anyway. And I won’t say a word. Didn’t see anything—nothing to tell.” I grab my case from the bed and edge backwards towards the door. Just a few more steps. “Emma wants my help with cooking dinner so I’ll catch up with you later.”
My foot finds it and I turn round and twist the handle, yanking it open. My body is overheated, my face is hot and I lurch out into the hallway, lugging my case like Quasimodo. Wheels. You couldn’t have sprung for luggage with wheels. I don’t dare put it up on my shoulder in case the safety pin fails.
He leans on the doorjamb, all sexy and hot as hell, watching my performance with a half-smile. My mouth waters as my eyes drift down to the place his towel hugs.
“I predict you’ll be back warming my bed tonight, beautiful. Take the room across the way if it makes you think it’ll look better,” he says, his tone enticing my lady parts that shout out, oh hell yes. Why wait ‘til later?
“Not if I can help it,” I mutter under my breath. You want me to break my vow just because I meet a hunk? I talk back to my inner minx. But then the scent of freshly scrubbed man wafts through the air like the fine summer wine I tasted earlier and I swallow hard, my breath hitching as I yank open the second door and walk inside like a duck with my damn case.
“I’ll take you over to Emma’s after you change. Wear something low-cut and tight. I’d love to see more of that delicious body of yours if you got the guts to show it off,” he taunts, still watching as I shut the door on the magnificent display.
Out of sight, out of mind, right? Not so much as it turns out. My retinas are burned with the image of his uber-sexiness. I need a cold shower. I lock the door, drop the suitcase and stomp to the bathroom. The suite is not grand but not shabby either. Stripping off my clothes, I step into the shower enclosure and let the soothing water wash away the sins of the day.
Ten minutes later, a towel wrapped around my wet hair like a turban, I open my suitcase. Rummaging through it, I find just what the doctor ordered. Thinks I don’t have the guts. Actually, he’s got it kind of right. I’ve been playing down my curves, trying to think ahead to what an accountant would wear to appear respectable. Boring shit. But, thank goodness, I did include a couple of hot items when I packed the bag in case of a moment of insanity.
But when I check out my image in the mirror, I have second thoughts. I am showing a lot of skin. Very nice skin, but still. My black bustier is studded with rhinestones and my tight jeans leave nothing to the imagination. Needs something else. I find the floaty chiffon number that can be worn over the top and pull it on. Yes. The sky-blue color exactly matches my eyes and adds a touch of glamour. Very model-esque. I dry my hair and pull it up into a high knot with tendrils framing my face. It will keep me cool while I help in the kitchen and it makes me look a little taller. I pull on three-and-a-half-inch-high fashion boots to continue the illusion, and pick up my purse. Time to join the fray.
Ace is nowhere to be found, it turns out, but BJ is manning the bar and I head over to him. He gives me a rueful look.
“Sorry. Wasn’t my intention for things to go down like they did,” I say by way of apology.
“Not your fault. Looking the way you do, shit’s bound to happen. Might as well get it over with upfront.” His appreciative expression takes me by surprise.
“What do you mean?”
“You know—Ace claiming you.” Now it’s his turn to look surprised.
“No one is ‘claiming me’. Let’s get that straight right now!”
“If you say so,” he demurs.
“I do say so!” I’m about to stomp off when I realize I need directions. “How do I get to Emma’s?”
“Go round back of the garage and it’s the first house on the left. You can’t miss it. Red door.”
“Thanks.”
I head past the leering group of male gossips that always make up p
art of any biker brotherhood and out the door. Nothing ever changes. Pack of permanently adolescent males just looking for trouble.
The sun is ready to fry an egg on the pavement as I stride across the gravelled lot, my heels crunching into the gravel. Vegas is nothing but a mirage in the distance. I begin praying that Emma’s got air-conditioning while I wave at the two mechanics in the garage and keep moving. Around back I spot two houses, one with a red door. I climb the front concrete steps and knock, admiring the matching red-and-white-striped awnings over the windows.
“Hey, the prom queen made it!” she yells out as she invites me in. “Thought Ace might be keeping you a tad busy. His stamina is legendary around here.”
“Nah, I moved out,” I say, making her smirk. Legendary. Really. What was the rush to leave the clubhouse all about again? I have no answer for my inner minx on that one.
“You got guts, girlfriend. I like that. Just be warned the prez isn’t known for giving up that easily. In fact, he likes a challenge. Though I suspect he’s got his hands full with you. You’re not the usual kind of half-witted slut that comes into his life. Come on in and meet the girls.”
I push thoughts of the aforementioned Adonis from my brain and make myself concentrate on the here and now. Not easy with that image back in my mind. He’s soooo fine comes to mind.
“What would you like to help with?” Emma asks. Two other women are busy at work in her bright, spacious country kitchen. The cleanliness amps up her likeability factor for me.
“Whatever needs doing.”
“Okay. You can cut up the greens for the salad.”
“Sure.” I dutifully get to work. Having reached the point in my life that I’m not afraid of playing around with a recipe, I enjoy cooking and baking. Making a salad is not going to test my ability much, giving me lots of time to converse with the crew. It doesn’t take long to get down to brass tacks.
“So, I noticed BJ is sporting a shiner. Know anything about it, Jess?”
I shrug it off. “Just a wardrobe malfunction and a complete accident. My damn suitcase caught on the strap and tore it. My breast spilled out and BJ commented. No biggie. It was an overreaction on Ace’s part.”