They got back to the club sooner than he wanted. He got off the bike and helped her off, retrieved her bag from his pack, and handed it to her.
“This isn’t over, Sandy. I can be patient when I want to be.”
“I never thought it was over, Christian. I thought it was just beginning. Be here tomorrow night after you get off work. That tattoo isn’t going to ink itself.”
“You never showed me the design.”
“Nope, and I’ve decided I’m not going to. If you show up, I’ll give you the best ink you’ll ever have.” She put a hand on her hip and shot him a look that was pure challenge. She knew exactly how to get to a man like Christian.
He took the bait. “I guess we’ll see what tomorrow night brings.”
“Goodnight, Christian.” She turned and unlocked the door to her shop. “Thanks, for the ride.”
“My pleasure.” He kicked his engine over and took off, waving at her on the way out.
*****
From the window in his office upstairs, Atticus watched his daughter eyeing the man he hated ride away. She had a soft look on her face, one he’d seen there back when Christian had first come here. He’d sent her away to school hoping Christian would get himself attached before she returned. He hadn’t, and now she was back, still looking at him that way.
He’d been afraid that a simple warning wasn’t going to keep Christian away. He picked up the phone and dialed a number he hadn’t used in years.
“Nick, it’s Atticus. I need you to do a job for me.”
CHAPTER SIX
Friday went by faster than she’d expected. Sandy went apartment hunting in the morning, then opened the shop. She had two customers; a Mustang with a faded out tat that needed new color, and a towner who wanted a small butterfly tat on her shoulder blade. Neither appointment took long, so she spent the rest of the day hanging out with Mariah, helping prep and chopping vegetables for the dinner menu.
She managed not to obsessively watch the clock once it reached five o’clock. She took her dinner and a tall glass of tea back to the shop with her. Just in case.
She hadn’t seen her Daddy all day, but that was nothing unusual for a Friday. The Blue Mustangs had a ride nearly every weekend, which required a lot of organization and paperwork. Especially on weekends like the one coming up: a community in the next town over was having a fundraiser for a child who’d developed a rare form of brain cancer, and the Blue Mustangs were going to ride to collect donations.
Riding for kids was one of Christian’s contributions to the club. Usually they only did donation runs for members of other clubs who were hurt or ill and needed financial assistance for medical bills. Christian had pushed her Daddy to do the runs for sick kids in the area for two reasons: it was good for the community, and it improved the Blue Mustangs’ image with law enforcement.
A big part of the animosity between Christian and her Daddy had to do with their approach to the opinion of the public and of law enforcement. Daddy just didn’t give a damn what anyone thought and felt they were mixing too much with the towners, becoming less exclusive. Christian worried that the recent upsurge in certain TV shows and books depicting bikers as nothing but druggies, dealers and murderers was going to harm the good they did. He felt having a little more positive contact with law enforcement and locals would help.
Sandy had been raised by Atticus Rivers, a child of the sixties with a natural suspicion of authority and an arrest record as long as her arm for assault and battery, drunk and disorderly, and careless and imprudent driving. He felt the police targeted bikers because they lived outside the norms of society and formed tight knit groups that were treated more like gangs than a group that was only out to protect others like themselves.
Being Atticus’ daughter had gotten her some flack in her teen years. Certain girls in school had ridiculed her for her Daddy being a biker and a criminal. She’d gotten into more than a few fights, but she’d gotten good grades and learned to walk away from the kind of girls who were out to make a name for themselves by using her as a punching bag.
When she’d first started riding solo, she’d been pulled over a few times, nonsense stops that had pissed her Daddy off. They hadn’t pissed her off. She’d stayed calm, done as she was asked, and was always sent on her way with a respectful word from the officer.
Then there were the towner boys. There were two types that talked to her: those who thought hanging around her would make them look tough, and those who thought that, because she was raised with bikers, that she was easy. A real slut. It had made dating in her teen years especially trying, but she’d learned to spot the types easily enough and avoid getting her heart broken.
Of course, no boy had ever been good enough for Atticus’ little girl. She’d managed to hide the existence of her first boyfriend for almost a year before she’d slipped up and gotten caught. Daddy had scared the boy so badly he’d hidden from her for three weeks. It was funny now… not so much back then.
Her other two serious relationships had happened in the past two years while she was away at school. Daddy’s influence didn’t reach that far, and she’d been free to date and explore what type of relationship worked for her. Of course, none of the boys she’d dated had come close to comparing to Christian Belz.
She worried at times that she was never going to convince her Daddy that she was mature enough to handle her own life. He was overprotective by nature. It was partially because he remembered what he’d been like at her age: young, dumb, and full of cum. It was also because the idea of raising a daughter, alone, had terrified him. It still terrified him.
He’d compensated by raising her the way he’d raise a son. He’d taught her to shoot a gun, ride a bike, play darts and pool, handle her whiskey, and fight. In the midst of all that, Mariah had been there to teach her how to do her hair, dress up, put on makeup, buy her first bra, and act like a lady when she wanted to.
All in all, Sandy felt she struck a decent balance between hellcat and lady. Through it all, she’d had her art to get her by. Her birthmother had been an artist, or so her Daddy said. As she’d gotten older and her tastes had changed, so had her art. Then she’d discovered a tattoo gun. After that, all the other forms of artistic expression had fallen away. Her love of tattooing was all encompassing.
She looked up at the clock, her food half-eaten on the plate, and admitted that she was worried he wasn’t going to show. No matter what she tried to tell herself, she still had it bad for Christian.
CHAPTER SEVEN
He stood and watched her from the club doorway. She was a million miles away, picking at the food on her plate. Every now and then she’d smile or frown. He’d love to know what she was thinking about. “Sorry I’m late.”
She couldn’t stop a squeal. “I swear you live for scaring me.” He looked too good in a tight black t-shirt and equally tight black jeans. His hair was wet and slicked back.
He chuckled. “No, but it’s a bonus prize.” He moved closer and she hastily turned over a sheet of paper so he couldn’t see it. Her sketch, no doubt. “I went home to shower. I didn’t think you’d appreciate the smell of thirty-weight motor oil and sweat.”
Moving in close, she sniffed him. “You smell pretty good, but I don’t mind the smell of man and motors.” She winked at him cheekily. “I’m really glad you came.” She reached past him to flip the sign on the door to ‘occupied,’ then closed it.
“I wouldn’t miss the chance to have your hands all over me again.” Christian pulled his shirt over his head, looking around for a place to put it in the small space. He spied a hook on the back of the door and put the shirt there. “Where do you want me, boss?”
Ignoring the heat pooling in certain areas of her body, Sandy pulled out a shave kit and tore it open, pulling the gloves on. “Up on the table, arm over your head.”
“I like it when you get all professional.” Smiling, he hopped up on the table and lifted his arm high. “I’m pretty sure shaving my side is going to be the highli
ght of your day, but anything exciting happen while I was out fighting wild carburetors?”
“Not much,” she replied, smiling at his joke. “I did two tats today. A recolor and the cutest little butterfly ever on a Towner. She loved it.” She smoothed cream onto his side from right under his armpit to his waist and from side to side, trying to ignore whose skin she was stroking.
The rasp of the razor seemed loud to him in the small room. “So, two tattoos must not’ve taken long. What else did you do today?” He had to keep talking, needing serious distraction from everything about her. She smelled too good. Sweet tea, tart lemon, and spice.
Done with the razor, she tossed the pack in the trash along with the gloves. “I went apartment hunting.”
That shocked him. “You’re moving out of Atticus’ house?” Maybe Daddy didn’t have as much of a hold as he thought.
“I had actually planned to have a place ready for when I came home, but those plans fell through. So, I’m starting over with the search for a place.” She filled a small tray with a couple of colors, got out a new needle and a new pair of gloves. “I love my Daddy, but I don’t want to be living in my old bedroom all my life.”
“How did the search go?”
“Lay down on your side, please, arm above your head. No peeking.” She waited for him to get comfortable before checking the positioning and applying the transfer. “I found a place and I have plenty saved up for the deposit, first and last. I’m balking because I wonder if there’s a better spot that I haven’t seen yet.”
She turned the machine on with a click of a foot pedal and leaned over him to whisper in his ear. “Christian, this is going to take a good long time. Think you can handle it?”
He turned his head enough to see her face, her smile a bit on the evil side. “Bring it on, pretty girl.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
There was no doubt in his mind that she was purposely trying to drive him insane. The sting of the needles did nothing to help take away the raging hard-on behind his fly.
It was a million little things. The dirty jokes she told to try and distract him. How she laughed when he let loose with a string of the foulest curse words he could think of when she hit a bad spot, then blew on his skin to try and make it feel better.
It was the brush of her hair against his lower back, then his stomach, as she worked. It was the fact that she didn’t have a bra on, and her positioning sometimes gave him a good look at the flesh he’d had in his hands last night.
She wasn’t unaware of him. Hard nipples tipped those perfect breasts. When her skin touched his she caught her breath. Heat radiated off her, and it wasn’t because of the sultry temperature outside.
They’d talked about everything and nothing. Favorite foods and television shows, their love of art, and what they’d been like as kids. He told her about his first ride and his first wipeout. She told him about fights at school and growing up surrounded by big, bad bikers.
Hours went by, and the music in the club house got louder and louder as people drank their Friday night away. She was pushing the four hour mark when she finished the last of the shading. “You doing okay?”
“That last bit was rough, but I’m good. How much longer?” He shifted, uncomfortable and wanting to get up and stretch.
“I’m done.” She put out a hand when he went to stand. “Stop. I need to clean you up and get some ointment on there before you look at it.”
He groaned. “So bossy.”
“Mmm hmm, and I’m pretty sure you like it.” She got some wet paper towels and began to gently clean away the ink left on his skin. “You’re tough. The ribs are a bad spot to ink. You didn’t complain—much.” She got the ointment out and began to smear a light layer on.
“Since I was such a good boy, can I please look now?”
Nerves were suddenly eating her alive. What if he hated it? “Go ahead.” She followed him to the large mirror attached to the wall, leaning against it as if she wasn’t scared as hell.
For a second he was worried. He’d put a lot of trust in someone he really didn’t know. What if he hated it? Turning and raising his arm he took his first look and was stunned into silence.
It was the most amazing thing he’d ever seen. His skin looked like it had been ripped and slashed open, underneath were gears, wires and engine parts. Behind all that was a blue glow that seemed alive. “Are you kidding me with this?”
Her heart sank. “I’m sorry. I thought that it really fit you.”
His head whipped around towards her. “What the hell are you sorry for? This is—it’s beyond awesome! It looks alive, like you can see into my insides.”
Relief flooded her system, and she watched as he moved closer and closer to the mirror to check out every tiny detail. “Usually when I design custom tattoos I have an idea of what to work off of from the client. They have ideas, and I work with them or tell them it won’t work and guide them towards something that fits them more. I designed yours off of what I knew about you, which wasn’t much.” She smiled at his reflection.
“I’d say you knew more than I thought you did. I have one question: why the blue? I’d have thought red for the insides, like blood.” He couldn’t take his eyes off of what she’d created on his skin.
There was a moment when she thought about not answering. If he noticed the slight balk he didn’t comment on it. “I made it red in the sketch. When you think of fire, of passion, you think of red. Then you got here and I saw blue. When you look into the fire and it’s burning really hot, what do you see? Blue. The flames burn blue. Blue is supposed to be a calming color, a cool color, but under the right circumstances, blue is hotter than all the others.”
He watched her watching him in the mirror. He wasn’t as good with words as she was. Arguing he could do, and yelling was easy, but expressing his emotions wasn’t high on his list of accomplishments. So, he did what he did best. Moving in too fast for her to protest, he took her mouth with his and said with his lips what he couldn’t say with his voice.
When he’d moved in she’d expected his kiss to be rough, hard and passionate, like he was. She was blown away by his gentleness, a softness that he hadn’t shown her before. While she’d really enjoyed the wildness of him from the night before, this Christian melted her insides and made her knees weak.
Not thinking about what she was doing, she reached out to wrap her arms around his waist and scraped her arm across his fresh ink. His indrawn breath was loud, and she immediately pulled away. “I’m sorry. I need to cover that up.”
“Don’t run away again, pretty girl.” He leaned back, and his skin made contact with the cool glass of the mirror.
Her back to him, she gathered up the supplies she needed to cover his art. When she came back to him there was a sly smile on her face. “I’m not running away, Christian. I’m bandaging you up, then you’re going to take me home with you.”
His breath caught. “Well, what the hell are you waiting on? Get to bandaging, woman.”
CHAPTER NINE
From his office, he had heard every word of their conversation. It was why he’d let her have that space in the back of the bar. If Mariah or Sandy ever found out there’d be hell to pay, but it was worth the risk.
Their conversation had been innocent enough until the end. He was no fool. He’d thought his daughter would be able to see through the little game Christian was playing, but he’d been wrong. She was falling for his little ploy hook, line and sinker.
He was going to have to move up the time frame on his plan.
*****
Christian put his shirt back on once the bandage was securely in place and tossed her helmet at her. There was no way he was going to risk giving her time to change her mind.
“Anxious much?” She shot him a teasing look over her shoulder while she locked up.
He butted right up against her back and pulled her hair to one side, letting his breath rush over her neck. “You have no idea.”
The hel
met dropped to the floor with a thud as her knees threatened to give out once more. She slapped her palms flat on the door to keep herself upright when he nipped at her earlobe. God, he was too much.
Turning, Sandy reached up and wove her arms around Christian’s neck, pulling his mouth to hers, nothing gentle about it. She took and he let her take, holding onto her waist tightly. She ended the kiss with a short, sharp bite of her teeth on his bottom lip. “Take me home.”
*****
Being on the back of his bike with his hands occupied gave Sandy an unique opportunity to play the bad girl with no mind-numbing interference from Christian.
His back was an open expanse of flesh for her to explore. Her hands under his shirt, she traced every inch of skin, avoiding the area where he was bandaged. Trailing her nails down the bones of his spine made his muscles flex, then stiffen. She liked the response so much she did it again, then traced the same path with her tongue.
Devil's Angels Boxed Set: Bikers and Alpha Bad Boy Erotic Romance Page 3