Running Hot (Hell Ryders MC Book 2)

by J. L. Sheppard

Because she was still frozen, he kept going. “All I’ve ever done is protect you, like I did tonight, like I did with that biker, with your stalker, with that asshole who spiked your drink, with Miles. Protecting you is the only thing I’ve done my whole life that makes any sense, that makes any difference, that means any-fucking-thing.”

  Her jaw dropped. She tore her gaze from his. Then her hand went to her chest, fingers clutching herself. The tension lining her body melted, anger fading, but it was replaced with something else, something he didn’t like one bit.

  After several moments, she met his stare. Then he saw it, the tears shining in her eyes. “You’re right, Thomas. I need too much saving, and you always do it, but I don’t want to be saved anymore, not if it means I lose you.” She blinked, and those tears flowed out of her eyes and down her cheeks.

  His breaths slowed. Was she out of her mind? She’d never lose him. No chance in hell he’d ever let her go.

  “Maybe I don’t have a reason to be mad because it’s my fault. I’m a radar for shit men, you said it. I’m the reason any of this is happening.”

  No. This wasn’t her fault. Nothing was her fault. Shaking his head, he took a step in her direction. “No, it’s not your—”

  She nodded, tears continued to flow down her cheeks. “It is, and you, because you’re you, because you always do, went to fix it. Someone could’ve been hurt. You could’ve been hurt, and you didn’t even say goodbye…”

  She wiped her face. “What if something happened to you because of me? I wouldn’t’ve even had a last kiss.”

  His chest tightened, a pain too deep to seem real seared him. He finally understood what he couldn’t before. This wasn’t about her leaving him. This was about her being worried about him, about him not giving her a goodbye before he left. He’d been too stuck in his own head, believing his own fears to stop and realize his fears weren’t hers. His fears were stupid and unfounded.

  Still, she’d been pissed, lost her cool and because he’d never said goodbye? He couldn’t wrap his mind around it. She’d acted like…like…

  There it was again, that look, that fucking look that said so much, that made him want to rip out his heart and hand it to her.

  Now, he finally knew what it meant.

  She loved him.

  Shit.

  She loved him.

  Not just him doing the loving anymore. They loved each other. They could last. They could make it work.

  As long as he didn’t fuck it up, he’d have her.

  He released a loaded breath. “Didn’t think you wanted a kiss, didn’t even think you wanted to see me.”

  Eyes widening, she wiped more tears. “Why wouldn’t I?”

  “’Cause of this fucked mess, Tiff. ’Cause this is more proof you don’t belong in my world.”

  “Right, because my parents have money?” Her voice dripped in sarcasm.

  His arm shot out. “Hell yeah, and ’cause you don’t deserve to be dealing with this shit.” He looked at his feet and ran his fingers through his hair.

  She closed the distance between them and pressed her hand against his heart. Lifting his head, he met her gaze.

  “I belong with you, Thomas. I can deal with anything as long as you’re with me.”

  Shit.

  She did love him.

  His heart stopped dead then kick-started, pounding loud and hard, heating him.

  Basking in that, he didn’t say anything, didn’t move, couldn’t do anything but stare straight at her.

  Her brows drew together. She tilted her head to the side. “Thomas?”

  He grinned. She smiled that smile that made the world fade.

  He had the urge to tell her then just how much he loved her. Instead, he cupped her cheeks and kissed her deep, thinking he didn’t have to say what was clear as day.

  Chapter Twenty

  Tiff woke with the soft caress of his lips against hers. Thomas hovered over her, warming her, the smell of him around her. Best way to wake up. She smiled against his lips. He dragged his fingers through her hair until he cupped the back of her neck.

  “Happy birthday, baby girl.”

  Her eyes fluttered open and met his. “How did you…”

  The question died on her lips. It didn’t matter how he knew. She just wondered. Though she and Thomas had been official for a little more than two months and although they’d been friends before, she never mentioned her birthday.

  “Got my ways.” He grinned, shifted to reach onto his side of the bed under the pillow, pulling out a black velvet jewelry box and holding it out to her.

  Her gaze glued to the gift for an elongated moment. He chuckled. She drew her stare away from it and toward him. Wrapping an arm around her back, he lifted her into a sitting position, maneuvering so he sat in front of her. He released her. A moment later, he opened the box.

  Her gaze gravitated to it and widened. A beautiful emerald pendant on a thin white gold chain lay there. Simple but beautiful. She knew enough about jewelry to know it cost him a pretty penny, money he shouldn’t have spent on her.

  She shook her head. “Thomas, you shouldn’t—”

  Carefully, he took it out of the box and dropped the box beside him. The next instant, his arms circled her neck, fastening the necklace. He then angled it so the stone rested on her chest. “Yeah, baby girl, I should’ve. Question is, do you like it?”

  Like it? No, she loved it. How could she not? Beautiful in a simple way, meaning she could wear it anytime, all the time. Besides, he gave it to her, irrefutably making her love it more.

  “Didn’t know what you liked, but I knew I wanted to get you an emerald to match your eyes. I saw this, and I thought it was perfect.” He looked to it then met her gaze again. “…Unless you don’t like—”

  To match her eyes? Biker Thomas put that much thought into her present? Any moment, she’d be a puddle of mush.

  She smiled, placed her hand over the pendant on her chest, and said the God’s honest truth. “I love it.”

  He grinned his unhindered, wide grin.

  “It’s beautiful. It’s perfect.” She then hooked her arms around his neck and pressed her lips against his. When she pulled away, she whispered, “But you shouldn’t have spent so much money on me.”

  He shook his head. “Tiff—”

  “I’m serious, Thomas. I don’t need expensive jewelry or—”

  “Maybe not, but I wanted to get it for you, and I’m gonna continue buying you expensive shit as long as I have the means ’cause I wanna spoil my girl.”

  “But—”

  He shook his head again. “Enough ‘bout that. Thank me, and kiss me then make me some French toast.”

  She twirled her finger on his chest.

  His gaze shot down then up, and he grinned.

  “I had planned to show you how much I love it.”

  His gaze darkened. After hesitating briefly, he shut his eyes and shook his head. “Got a full day planned. There’ll be plenty of time for you to show me later.”

  She chuckled. “Thank you.”

  A moment later, out of bed, they headed into the kitchen. He started the pot of coffee, something he always did. She did not mind one bit. She set out the ingredients for breakfast and began cooking.

  Just when they’d been ready to sit and eat, the doorbell rang.

  Thomas turned to her and cocked his head to the side. “You expecting anyone?”

  She shook her head.

  “I’ll get it. Get dressed.”

  Still wearing her nighty, an olive green one, she rushed into her room, grabbed her silk robe, donned it then headed back into her living room.

  The minute she walked out, she froze. Her father stood stiff dressed in a pair of khaki slacks and a red polo. His gaze deadlocked on Thomas, barefoot and shirtless wearing only athletic shorts. No hiding his tattoos, the one stretching the length of his arm and right pectoral muscle nor the other, the club’s insignia on his hip. Her mother, red-faced, looking lik
e any minute she’d run out of her apartment, wore a peach silk blouse, a knee length fitted skirt, and a pair of matching heels.

  Tiffany couldn’t blame her mother for looking like she’d bolt. She knew too well what met the eye. Barely nine, and Thomas was half-dressed in her apartment, opening her door. No denying, he spent the night. Her parents didn’t think she was a virgin, but she never told them she and Thomas were an item, knowing they didn’t approve. This, they made clear when they insisted she shouldn’t be friends with him.

  Her father’s gaze slid to her. “Tiffany.”

  “H-hi, Dad, Mom.” Tiffany tried to keep her voice level, but it didn’t come out that way. It sounded high-pitched and shaky. She took several steps in Thomas’s direction, coming to a stop by his side. “You remember Thomas.”

  Hoping to garner the courage to face her parents, she turned to Thomas, muscles bunched at the shoulders, jaw locked. His expression compounded with his stance clued her in. It wasn’t just him being uncomfortable, it was something else.

  Her mother forced a smile. “Why…yes. Of course, it was a long time ago, but I remember.”

  “Thomas, my mom, Angela and dad, Robert.”

  Thomas met her mother’s gaze and nodded. “Pleasure to see you again, Mrs. Hamilton.” He then looked to her father. “Mr. Hamilton.”

  Without bothering to look Thomas’s way or address him, her father held her gaze. “We need to talk to you in private, Tiffany.”

  Her father couldn’t have been ruder. She knew they were shocked, but so was she. No excuse to ignore Thomas, especially after Thomas had been so polite. He didn’t deserve to be treated that way. He was a good man and so good to her. She loved him and had every right to love who she wanted whether her parents approved or not.

  Tiffany would not stand by and watch anyone, even her parents, treat Thomas like he didn’t exist. She would not let her parents have their say with Thomas nearby either. Not that Thomas didn’t already know what they wanted to talk to her about, they’d made it clear they disapproved.

  Thomas took a step away. Before he could take another, she gripped his wrist. “If you have something to say to me in private, then you should’ve called before coming over. Thomas isn’t leaving. I made him breakfast, and it’ll get cold if he leaves.”

  Her father’s gaze hardened. “Very well. After you’re done, we’ll be home.”

  With those final words, they left.

  Taking a deep breath, she shifted Thomas’s way.

  God, Thomas. He stood still, frozen, the same expression she couldn’t read on his face. She could see it though.

  He slightly angled his head down. “You didn’t tell them ‘bout us.”

  He hadn’t phrased it as a question, so she didn’t respond.

  Lifting his head, he met her gaze. “You hadn’t.”

  She then knew he wanted an answer. “I didn’t.”

  “Why?”

  “We haven’t been dating that long,” she said part of the truth. Though they spent every waking hour together, they didn’t officially live together, and he hadn’t even told her he loved her. She loved Thomas, always had, but she couldn’t let her imagination run wild. They were young, and there was no guarantee they’d last. Besides, her parents didn’t approve. No point in telling them until she knew there was a future for them.

  “They don’t approve.”

  Her throat clogged. She knew he knew it, her parents having made it so obvious, but it hurt to admit it to him.

  When she didn’t say anything, he repeated, “They don’t approve.”

  It would only serve to reinforce his long-held belief she belonged with someone of her own class-standing. Even so, she knew he wanted to hear it from her. “No, they don’t.”

  “It bother you?”

  “No.” She didn’t care what anyone thought. What she felt for Thomas was real, more real, more powerful than anything she’d ever felt. She’d felt it a long time, and it had yet to fade. Instead, her feelings grew with every passing day.

  He released a breath then took her hand and tugged her until her chest rested against his. One arm around her back and the other pressing her cheek to his bare chest, he then planted a kiss on the top of her head. “Glad it doesn’t bother you, but I’d be lying if I said it didn’t bother me.”

  She slanted her head to meet his gaze. “Why?”

  Rubbing the back of his fingers against her cheek, the muscle in his jaw twitched. “’Cause it could mean them or me.”

  With that, she finally understood the expression on his face she hadn’t been able to read. He was worried her parents would make her choose, worried she’d choose them.

  She shook her head. “It won’t—”

  “I’d never make you chose, Tiff, ’cause I’d want you to have them, but I’m not so sure your father would do the same. Can’t say what I’d do were the roles reversed, but I’m thinking I have a daughter as beautiful as you, I probably wouldn’t want a man like me with her, so I can’t blame him.”

  Her heart clenching, she whispered his name on an exhale, loving the warmth that settled in her chest.

  She didn’t know if Thomas was right, if her father or mother would make her choose, but she knew with certainty, the decision was made.

  She wouldn’t survive a day without Thomas.

  ****

  That didn’t go as planned. Though Tiffany expected it, she hoped for the best. The best hadn’t come.

  She and Thomas had eaten breakfast in silence. The whole time, she hoped and prayed her parents, once she explained how she felt, would accept him. Every now and then, she drew her gaze away from her plate and to him. Brows furrowed, face drawn, same expression every time she looked.

  She knew how he felt about them, “their differences,” but she thought after she continued to persist it didn’t matter, he would believe it, believe it like she believed. Now, she knew he didn’t, and she hated him worrying about it.

  After breakfast, Tiffany drove to her parents’ house, the home she grew up in. It was big, lavish, and expensive, and though it’d been just her home to her, to others, it was a mansion, a two-story Victorian mansion with a full wrap around porch sitting on seven acres of land.

  Tiffany walked up the brick circular drive, her gaze scanning the manicured lawn and rose bushes scattered throughout. She climbed the steps onto the porch, stopping at the cherry wood, glass panel double doors. There, she took a deep, steadying breath, parted one door, and stepped inside. Her gaze went to the large chandelier hanging from the high vaulted ceiling in the foyer to the staircase to her right, and finally to her left, the formal living room. In the center of the room, two couches were positioned opposite each other. In between the couches, a coffee table and toward the back end, a fireplace and mantel. The right wall lined with bookshelves. The books in those shelves, she knew were all first editions. In front of those shelves, a chaise.

  She found her parents there. Her mother resting on the chaise, head lying against the back, a moist towel draped over her forehead. Her father stood by the fireplace, an arm resting on the mantel, a glass of brandy in hand though he wasn’t much of a drinker.

  Her father’s narrowed gaze met hers. “He’s not for you.”

  Wrong. So very wrong. Thomas was for her, her dream come true. But her father wouldn’t understand, no use in trying to make him. She took a deep breath, lifted her chin, and met his stare head on. “He’s what I want.”

  It went downhill from there. Her father insisted she break up with Thomas, her mother nodding in agreement. He’d even gone to extreme lengths. This, he did before knowing they were an item. He hired a private investigator to run a background check and dig up anything and everything he could about Thomas. Naturally, her father told her what the PI discovered. He told her about Thomas’s deadbeat father, the one who abandoned Thomas, his brothers, and his mother to run off with a younger woman, who he’d since married and fathered three children with. He told her about Thomas’s m
other, who worked three jobs to put his brothers through school and still couldn’t afford it. He also told her Thomas’s brothers were unemployed and milking their mother for the little she had, told her those brothers constantly harassed their mother for money, money Thomas gave his mother monthly.

  With the exception of the information on Thomas’s father, her father hadn’t mentioned anything she didn’t know. Thomas told her why his father left, told her his mother worked hard, and how inconsiderate and entitled his brothers were. Thomas also mentioned he thought his mother gave his brothers the money he gave her every month.

  None of it had the desired affect her father wanted. None of it made her doubt Thomas. It only made her love him more. A man whose father abandoned his whole family managed to make himself a good man. A man who worked hard to give to the people he loved—his mother in particular, a mother she’d met, who, yes, enabled her younger sons but was a kind, sweet woman, who loved her sons with all her heart and welcomed her with open-arms.

  When she grew tired of hearing her father badmouth Thomas, she simply admitted, “I’m in love with him.”

  Her father grew silent. Her mother paled.

  “I’ve loved him for a long time. I love him despite everything you’ve told me. All of which I knew because he told me.”

  “You’re just another random woman to him—”

  “No, I’m not.” She knew that much true. Maybe he hadn’t said the words, those three little words, but he said others. Every day with him, she felt loved because he showed her, even in the smallest things he did.

  “Don’t be foolish, Tiffany. He’s—”

  “He’s a good man. Everything you said proves it. He treats me so good, and he cares—”

  “He loves you’re rich,” her father snapped, slamming the glass of brandy on the mantel.

  She sighed and shook her head. “I’m not rich.”

  “You have a trust fund.”

  “I don’t use it. Thomas makes good money, and he always pays. Always.”

  “What he does isn’t legal.”

  She had enough then. Her eyes narrowed. She let anger seep her tone. “What you paid him to do isn’t either.”