by Vivian Gray
“Whoa there. Is it time for bed?” He helped right her, searching out her gaze.
She opened one eye again, nodding hard. “Can’t hang with the bikers. You guys drink a lot.” She let a tiny laugh, her words slurring. “Like… so much.”
Silas steered her toward the clubhouse. They hadn’t talked about what the arrangements would be for that evening, but Silas had imagined her spending the night in his room at the clubhouse. It only made sense. And then going forward… well, in the light of day, they’d have to make their final decision about whether Silas would move in with her or vice versa. Terribly adult, married things to decide.
“Where are we going?”
“You’re going to go pass out in my room while I keep partying.”
The music faded slightly as they neared the clubhouse. People milled around everywhere, tiny pockets of brothers and guests raising their drinks to the couple as they made their way toward the house.
“Oh yeah? What if I want to keep partying?” The slurring was getting worse.
“Uh, it looks like you’re partied out.” Silas tugged open a heavy iron door at the back of the house, which led to the hallways where most of the brothers had their individual rooms. The clubhouse was part iron fortress, part ski lodge style – a heady blend of protection and soothing aesthetics.
Jessa grunted, tripping over something as he dragged her along. She yanked her arm out of his grip, then bent down and rummaged under the hem of her dress. A moment later she produced a sparkly cream heel. Gripping onto his arm, she steadied herself while she searched out the other.
“That’s better,” she said with a sigh.
He led her down the bright hall, pushing open the last door on the right. “This is my room.” His wood-paneled sanctuary came into view under the sliver of light from the hallway. He flicked on the lights, showcasing a big King-size bed and a huge oak dresser. Clothes formed small piles at random intervals in the room – discarded jeans, kicked off boots.
Behind a coat of arms hanging on the wall was a tucked away safe box with his most treasured knives and guns. But beyond the hidden assets, his room was pretty plain.
“Cool.” Jessa stumbled forward, plopping belly first onto the bed.
Silas laughed but then paused, stepping closer to determine if he was hearing things.
Nope. She was snoring. From partying to passed out in two seconds flat.
He kicked aside the heels she’d dropped and tugged back the covers. He’d come back a little later to check on her, but for now… at least she was safe.
Silas watched her sleep for a minute before letting himself out of the room.
He had a wife.
And surprisingly, it didn’t feel nearly as horrible as he’d expected.
Chapter Seven
Jessa pushed open the front door of her house, the hot late afternoon sun bearing down on her. Her black Harley T-shirt clung to her sweaty back – the standard uniform at her job running the Harley repair shop the next town over. Even though she didn’t own a bike and probably never would, she couldn’t deny some parts of her upbringing. She just felt comfortable around bikes – even if she’d opted to cut out her father for the better part of her adult life.
She paused in the front hall, keys jingling as she pulled them out of the lock. The rush of water came from somewhere. Her gaze fell to Silas’ clunky boots strewn about like he’d removed them mid-stride on his way to the kitchen.
She frowned. Only three days living under the same roof and she already knew plenty about this guy. Namely, that he did not clean up after himself. No matter what. She toed his boots into a neat line, out of the path of the hallway and headed into the kitchen. Her eyes shot to the pile of dirty dishes in the sink. Her nostrils flared.
Yep, it was time for a talk.
She’d figured that a nearly thirty-year-old man would know how to clean up after himself, but apparently, she’d been wrong. Silas flung his clothes around worse than a teenager getting ready for a school dance. The only thing he took any precaution with was that damn kutte, which he hung in the same place every day, with acute care.
It was infuriating.
The annoyance came to a boil as she followed the rushing water to the bathroom inside the master suite. The bed was rumpled and messy, totally unlike when she’d left for work this morning, and her bed was neat, tidy. She gritted her teeth. The water snapped off.
Silas hummed from inside the bathroom. She drew a sigh, setting her purse down on the messy bed. A moment later the door opened, and steam poured out. Silas came out into the bedroom, one of her mauve towels wrapped around his waist, his biceps on full display. The hard lines of his abs completely erased whatever it was she’d been about to say.
“Hey. Welcome home.” Silas was so cocky and smooth, even when he wasn’t trying to be. Or maybe he was always trying to be.
“Hey.” She snapped herself back to attention, crossing her arms over her chest. “What is this?” She jerked her chin toward the rumpled sheets.
“Oh. Took a nap earlier.” He eased onto the bed, poking a Q-tip into his ear.
She blinked a few times, waiting for the absurd logic of this to settle into him. Apparently, it didn’t register. She needed to spell it out. “Okay, but you’ve been sleeping on the couch.”
“Yeah. Exactly.” He looked at her like this was the simplest concept in the world.
She blinked. “Okay. Listen. You can’t sleep in my bed.”
“But you weren’t here. And I’ve been sleeping on the fucking couch.”
“Right.” She sort of felt like an asshole, but this was her house. Her rules. “But our agreement was separate beds.”
“You only have one bedroom.”
Her resolve was deflating. The guy had opted to live in her house after the wedding, was actively looking after her, and she couldn’t even let him nap in her bed like a free-range house pet? She expelled a puff of air. “Can you just make the bed after you’re done? You’re so messy.” She tossed her hands out to her side. “Like, I trip over your shoes when I come home from work. Come on.”
He shrugged.
“I’m not gonna be your maid, you know?” She spun on her heels, pointing at him. “This is a fake marriage, so I’m not obligated to clean up after your dirty ass.”
“Dirty?” He held his hands out to the side. “Just took a shower.”
“You know what I mean. Have you ever washed a dish in your life?”
He rolled his eyes. “I’ll get to it.”
She grimaced, nodding. “Yeah. That’s what they all say – all the husbands who never wash dishes. Which, by the way, you’re actually not. You’re just… a stand-in.”
He looked amused now, which only fanned her anger more.
“And by the way, when I meet my actual husband—” She circled her index finger in the air between them. “—this is done. I’m not gonna stop seeing other people in the meantime. You shouldn’t either.”
He ran a hand through his hair, his abs rippling. She groaned, feeling the anger spark again. God damn his sexiness. His perfect body. His complete and utter off-limits-ness.
“Anyway, point is, learn how to use a sponge.” The word condom flashed through her head. Nope, that was definitely not the right direction. She needed to avoid that direction at all costs. “Please.”
He looked like he was fighting a grin as he nodded. “Anything else?”
“Uh, put some clothes on?” She scoffed and stormed out of the room, feeling every inch a hormonal teenager. She covered her face with her hands, groaning inwardly at the ridiculous display. She’d never been good at confrontations – even worse when a hot guy was involved in any way, shape, or form. Especially when she was married to him.
Jessa ran to the kitchen, busying herself with preparing a snack. She wasn’t even hungry – just needed to do something to occupy herself while waiting for some sign of Silas. To see if she’d gotten through to him. To get one more goddamned glimpse of h
im.
This was only week one. How was she supposed to survive an indeterminate amount of time?
A few moments later, Silas’ boots clunked against the hardwood of the hallway. He walked into the kitchen, looking every bit a hardened biker. His long-sleeved black Henley was rough and ripped, almost threadbare in a patch by the ribcage, covered only by his kutte. Dark jeans led to those big black boots. His hair hung wet, tucked behind his ears.
“All right, honey.” Sarcasm dripped from his words. “I’m off to work. Need me to pick up the kids later?”
She narrowed her eyes. “Funny.”
“Just thought we should go full-bore into the marriage bit, ya know?” He sent her a flat look as he turned to leave. “We’ve already got the fighting, the nagging, and the no sex part down. All we need are three kids and a mortgage.”
His footsteps receded down the hallway. A moment later the front door slammed shut, and Jessa was left in a strange, tense silence.
She shoved the snack away, mulling over the last fifteen minutes. She didn’t want to push him away; there was still so much danger.
But there was another reason. She wanted another taste of him, and despite trying to convince herself every hour of every day that she didn’t want Silas, her body begged to differ.
Only she knew the very real way moisture had stained her panties the second Silas came sauntering out of the bathroom… The way her heart rate picked up when she laid eyes on him, wherever it was… Even if she was actively pissed about the rumpled sheets and misplaced bedspread.
She wanted him.
And maybe she could sanction just one more taste.
***
One week into their “marriage” and they already had a routine.
Eat. Hang. Fight. Eat. Hang. Fight.
Evenings with her were nice. He was usually out on club business for most of the afternoon and evening, which meant when he got home around nine they hung out for a little bit, watching shitty TV or drinking a beer. And then she went into her bedroom, and Silas fell asleep alone on the couch.
Like the watchdog he was.
It didn’t bother him, really. Not the couch part. He’d slept in way worse places for way longer periods of his life. Hell, his whole seventh-grade year at school he’d slept on his mom’s couch because his room had bed bugs and she couldn’t be bothered to properly exterminate.
No, this was still luxury to him. It was just the goddamned sexual tension – eating away at he and Jessa like termites. Because when they weren’t at work and not fighting about his piles of clothes in the living room, they were staring at each other like they might fucking resort to cannibalism. Even when they were watching a shitty reality show about two brothers rehabbing ugly properties in Vegas, Jessa’s gaze raked over him like she planned to leave scratch marks.
It was nice in a way that felt normal, like they were two regular people, and he was enacting a version of family life he’d always dreamed of growing up.
But even when it felt normal, it felt too normal. Especially when Jessa would start reaming his ass about ridiculous shit – about putting the dish sponge in a certain place because who even knew why. He’d washed more plates in the past week than his entire lifetime, but she didn’t seem to notice. It still wasn’t quite good enough.
When Silas got to her place at just before ten, the house seemed quiet. His senses went on high alert, as always – teasing out suspicious noises, listening for signs of something amiss. But when he rounded the corner into the kitchen, he saw the cause for the quietness. Jessa was on her way out. And she was dressed to kill.
Silas leaned against the doorway, not bothering to hide the trek of his gaze up and down her body. She had another skintight dress on, something that stopped mid-thigh and showed off those tantalizing tops of her breasts. The breasts he’d cupped with his bare hands what seemed a lifetime ago.
“What’s this?” He jerked his chin her way, crossing his arms. Jessa was nuts if she thought she was going anywhere.
She sent him a wry look. “Just about to clean the house. What does it look like?” She scoffed, strutting past him on her way to the bedroom, leaving behind a pleasant cloud of her feminine scent.
“It looks like you’re going someplace other than work and home,” he said, following her, taking up post in the doorway to her bedroom. “That ain’t allowed.”
Jessa paused in her search for some earrings on her dresser, sending him a flat look. “Excuse me?”
“You want to get attacked again? I’m here to keep you safe. Alive. And that doesn’t include you going off, looking like that, where any Spawn can get their hands on you while you’re half drunk and grinding up on someone.”
Silas’ words hung heavy in the air, the image of her grinding up a stranger making him feel weird. He shouldn’t care what she did, or planned to do, in her free time. The marriage wasn’t even real. But it left a funny taste in his mouth all the same.
“So not only are we married, but now you’re going to micromanage my every move?” Jessa scoffed again, approaching him with hands on her hips. “That’s ridiculous. You can fuck right off.”
Irritation sliced through him and he grabbed her wrist as she shouldered past him, spinning her around against the wall. He pinned her there, slamming his palms on either side of her head.
“Let me make this clear.” Silas’ voice came out as a low growl, but it wasn’t entirely because he was angry. No, there was desire shuddering beneath his skin, a slow pulse urging him to take this someplace he definitely shouldn’t. “This isn’t micromanaging. Me telling you where to go, who to hang out with, and when to do it is going to keep you alive. Because if you don’t listen, you die. It’s that simple.”
Jessa’s nostrils flared, chest heaving as she watched him. Spotting those amber flecks in her eyes from so close felt familiar, like seeing an old friend again.
“Got it?” His fingers twitched with the desire to smooth his palms over the curves of her hips. To grab the round apples of her ass cheeks and bring her against him so hard it left them both breathless.
Jessa jerked her gaze down, then pushed on his chest. “Fine. So you wanna come with or what?”
Silas lifted a brow. He hadn’t expected her to extend the invite. And maybe it sounded fun. Something was fascinating about her, made him desperate for more. Even when they were fighting about stupid shit. Part of him just wanted to keep it going because it was with her.
“Sure.” He shrugged, watching as she resumed her hunt for the perfect earrings. His gaze traveled up and down the exposed lengths of her legs. No, this wouldn’t be half bad. “Where we going?”
Chapter Eight
Jessa leaned over the wooden bar, ordering another rum and coke. Her ass cheeks tingled as she awaited the drink; she knew exactly what that was – Silas’ gaze burning a hole through her, eating her alive with those sky-blue eyes.
He’d agreed to come, but he was more watchdog than dance buddy. Even though she’d come with Trixie and Monica for the sole purpose of a girls’ night, she was half disappointed he didn’t assert himself more. Sure, he was probably just respecting her space – giving her the distance she had claimed to need.
But maybe what she wanted more was his hands all over her… For those fire eyes to see her, and only her.
She took a healthy drink of the newly arrived rum and coke. Trixie nudged her way up to the bar beside her, flagging the bartender. They’d taken a break from dancing to all the Top 40 songs the bar was known for. It wasn’t Jessa’s favorite type of music, but she loved the outlet of dancing and the chance to strut her stuff. Not that she expected to meet Prince Charming here. But still, one never knew.
Maybe Prince Charming is already here, sitting across the room.
She groaned inwardly. Thoughts like those weren’t helpful. Her Prince Charming could never be an MC guy.
“Sooo, check out what Mr. Security Guard dragged in.” Trixie giggled, leaning against the bar with a heel kicke
d behind her.
Jessa followed her gaze across the room, where Silas had been propped against the wall like he was too cool for school for at least an hour. A pretty blonde was at his side, grinning up at him like he was a celebrity. The smile he gave her as he shifted to face her made Jessa’s stomach pitch downward, all the way to her toes.
“Oh, Jesus.” Jessa nibbled at the straw of her drink, uncomfortable with how uncomfortable it made her. She shouldn’t care. He was just a hottie in an MC. One who was just doing her dad a favor.
“Wow.” Monica sidled up to Jessa and Trixie, her eyes on Silas and the new girl. “Look at her. Are you gonna go rescue your husband?”