“But I’m going to bury myself deep in you, Creampuff, before I change my freakin’ mind.”
Cursing, he pushed inside her, holding true to his promise, filling her with a long smooth thrust. She saw stars.
He spewed more filthy words until, abruptly, they ended with his sexy animalistic moan.
She tightened her thighs around his waist and, grabbing onto his shoulders, hoisted her bottom off the bar, deepening his penetration as she took him in. Completely.
Her body arched backward and her eyes closed as wave after wave of sensation coursed through her. An appetizer to his main course, as he cupped her bottom and lifted her. The friction of him against her as he withdrew, his hard cock just at her entrance, making her wild with delight, and so ready to explode. The thought of continuing seemed unbearable. Her body throbbed against him, shaking with need. Want.
Does he feel the same way? The unwarranted thought broke through her haziness. His hips spiraled and she felt the tip of him roll a fraction of an inch deeper. Hot and thick and oh-so incredibly tempting. Almost causing her train of thought to shift back to the climax building within her. Almost. But she had to know. Had to catch a glimpse of some truth in the self-proclaimed liar. Is this as real to him as it is to me?
Anchoring her thighs on his hip, she slowly rose, laying a trap by taking control. Surprising him. Working on instinct alone, and sliding him out of her to the point where the head of his cock barely touched her. Pausing, she bit her lip, the rush of her climax still building, despite his departure. She couldn’t contain the moan that seemed to come from her heart and up through her throat. Too much sensation. Too much pleasure. No time for hesitating.
She had to know.
Snapping her eyes open, she relaxed her thigh muscles.
Down she sank, taking him completely inside her. Her body quaked around him as moons collided and stars fell from the sky in a thunderous, blissful rush.
“Bracken,” she screamed.
That’s when she saw it. What she’d been searching for. What she’d been needing to see from her one-night-turned-multiple-night stand. Her liar. Her heartbreak.
His rich sapphire eyes were unguarded. Transparent. Raw with passion and some unidentifiable emotion that caused her heart to flutter. She’d never seen him like that. Didn’t they say that eyes were the window to a man’s soul? Bracken’s guarded and blackened soul had opened up, gifting her with a dazzling spring flower.
“Bracken,” she cried out again, shaken to the core from the depth of her discovery.
Suddenly, the countertop was at her back and Bracken on top of her, his arms anchored on either side of her as he quickened his devastating thrusts. Eyes locked, he pounded into her mercilessly until she peaked.
Off in the distance she heard her name, a low sound. His pupils dilated, and his stiff rod thickened inside her. “Fuck, Huntley,” he groaned, low and deep. On the next thrust, he stayed within her, climaxing, his eyes wild and his heart racing alongside her own.
At last he stilled, his head nestled in her neck. Breathing surprisingly hard for a man in top physical condition.
What now? Would he try and lie to her? Backtrack, and cover up the truth?
He rose up onto his elbows, looking at her as if it was the first time he’d set eyes on her. Taking in every minute detail without saying a word. Searching for something? Or realizing something else?
“Aw, fuck it.”
Bending in, his lips claimed her own in a kiss that caused her to stop thinking, completely.
Chapter Fourteen
“A Harley, a Ford pickup and...a Chevy Impala? This doesn’t quite live up to your badass reputation, Bracken.”
“It’s a loaner,” he’d replied, not expanding on the details. A shitbox department-issued vehicle, which he kept hidden in a rented garage. Might as well march into the MC club waving an “I’m a narc” flag. Still, it was the lesser of three evils. The Harley and his pickup would be easily recognized if one of the crew spotted him. They’d likely wonder how a dead man could be cruising down the Vegas strip.
He’d felt Aiden’s gaze on him from the back seat, but had ignored it. Huntley’s brother had more important things to worry about than him—kicking a meth habit, for one. Yet like Huntley, her brother was no joke. Bracken had to be subtle with his questioning, act like Aiden telling the law to go fuck itself didn’t faze him in the.
Hell, he’d signed off on Aiden’s paperwork, concluding there was no case to be had against him, that his questioning had led him to nowhere fast.
If Bracken wasn’t careful, that’s where he’d end up, back at a desk or worse, buried six feet under with no one aside from his brother and his sister-in-law giving a rat’s ass.
Huntley’d care.
Jesus. Fuck.
He could barely look at her. The rough, reddened skin around her mouth, along her neck and leading down across her beautiful tits. Her stomach. Her inner thigh. Goddamned whisker burn had left its mark all over her body. Except for the one on the side of her neck, the one he’d knowingly left with his mouth.
Distance. That’s what common sense dictated. Keeping her an arm’s length away. Not so close. Not up on her countertop with him fucking her. Not him shouting out her name. Not letting her upset his equilibrium so he didn’t know if he was coming or going. Or, rather when he was coming deep inside her next.
Yet, when he’d carried her into the shower and took her from behind this morning, he knew it was time to face facts. He wasn’t ready to let her go, hadn’t had his fill of her. Not yet.
Foolish move, and one that might get them both killed.
Well, so fuckin’ be it.
Her brother knew it. The guy had been eyeballing him like watch dog, was doing it again now. Bracken’s eyes met his in the rearview mirror.
“Don’t hurt her. Because if you think you’re some kind of tough guy, I’ll kill you when you least expect it.”
“Not if you’re strung out on crystal. You wouldn’t know your own mother if you saw her.”
Damn it to hell. That’d done the trick. Classic, dumbass move, unintentionally bringing up their dead mother. Another sign he was losing his touch, that the sooner he retired to his cabin, the better.
Huntley flinched, and Aiden looked like someone had held his head under water. He appeared to be physically struggling for breath.
“I’m kicking your ass the second you pull over, Bracken,” she’d threatened, scowling at him. “Asshat.”
Yeah. He wasn’t letting her go. But she just might leave him yet.
They stopped once at a restaurant to break up the six-hour ride, and over an egg white vegetable omelet, he made a little progress with her brother.
Turns out, he’d been in town for ten days, and was staying at the motel on the outskirts of Reno, the very one they’d jogged past a few times en route to the tire push.
“As soon as I’m done with him—” she punched Bracken in the arm as payback for his earlier comment, just hard enough to cause his cock to stir to life between his thighs—man oh man, he loved her aggressiveness, “—you’re next in line. What are you doing in Reno in the first place, Aiden? Tell me it wasn’t to spy on me?” Huntley demanded, furious and beautiful beyond belief.
“I was worried about you, with your crazy talk about fighting in some brawl. Thought we squashed that idea back in Savannah.”
“Damn it. When did we become such strangers, huh? What happened to the brother that used to let me tag along on his fishing trips? The brother that would whistle to me when I was sad? The brother who treated me like an equal, not some broken, fragile doll. You know what? It’s been a long time since I’ve needed anyone’s protection.”
“Aw, that’s not fair. I care about you, why else would I fly all the way out to Reno to check up on yo
u?”
“You have a funny way of showing it, Aiden. You show up because you’re concerned about me, then decide to inject a little meth?”
Huntley wasn’t holding back. Bracken almost felt sorry for her brother. Almost, but not quite. It’d do him good to hear the pain he’d caused her.
“I got in late, time change and all. I crashed at the motel for a night. Bad decision. A couple foreigners, Russians maybe, were partying in the next room. I couldn’t sleep, and one thing led to another...”
“Jeez. Why didn’t you call me?”
“You’d probably have hung up on me. Figured it was better to show up on your doorstep. Tougher for you to go ballistic on me for coming out here.”
Huntley wrinkled her nose at her brother. “No, I wouldn’t have. You should have called me. You should have contacted me the second you found yourself in that situation. You’re in recovery, remember? Four years of sobriety down the drain, and I’m ignoring the pot in between. Yeah, you should have called me. Pop. Anyone.”
“Robert?”
She pulled a face.
Bracken raised his eyebrows, studying her carefully.
Aiden paused and, from his spot next to her in the booth, scowled furiously at his sister. Strung out, drugged up, whatever, it was apparent he loved her. “What’d he do to you that had you changing your number and moving cross country?”
“Nothing.”
“That’s a bunch of bullshit,” her brother replied, clearly frustrated.
Bullshit was right. If her ex had hurt her...
“I should have listened to you, you know. I didn’t realize the bastard was using me for a power play on our business. But I was angry after what had happened with The Georgia Peach Annihilator. Looking to show you boys what for. Bad mistake. Those Hardings are like rattlesnakes, always lurking about, waiting to strike. Even as a kid, I thought Mr. Harding was way too presumptuous with Mama, always slithering around, spying on her. Looking for a moment to steal her away.”
Bracken watched as Aiden paled, the healthy glow from his stint in the hospital draining from his face. “Kind of like Robert was with you.”
Now it was Huntley’s turn to blanch. “Everyone makes mistakes in life. It’s how you deal with them that matters most.”
Score, Huntley. Aiden looked downright remorseful.
Bracken thumbed the edge of his napkin nonchalantly, in an attempt to not tighten his fingers into a fist. Listening attentively.
“Geer found the lawyer’s letter about bailing Wittaker Fine Smokes out of debt, you know. Pop told you about the robbery right? How some jerk off broke in and made off with Mama’s stuff? For whatever reason, they left behind Robert’s lawyer’s letter. Go figure, right? Anyway, just another example how those Harding assholes have coveted our business for centuries. Why would Robert be any different? But it looks like we ran good ole Robert right out of Savannah—”
“What? He left home?”
“I brought you two shoeboxes full of Mama’s stuff for safe keeping. Pop said to tell you he tucked her diary inside. They’re stashed inside my bag. Make sure you take them with you.” Aiden paused, and glanced out the window. “I thought I’d check in on you, that a change of scenery would do me some good.”
Bracken caught his look of agony reflected in the windowpane. Regrets were hard enough. But withdrawal was a son of a bitch. The sooner they admitted Aiden into rehab, the better.
A noise came from Huntley’s direction, a choking sound, and Bracken’s gaze shifted back to her. She was clutching her stomach, with her jaw clenched tight.
“Yeah, all I did was cause my baby sister more heartache,” Aiden muttered.
“Enough,” Bracken commanded. He grabbed the pitcher of water from the table and refilled her glass. “Drink.” He pushed it across the table. She listened, and after a long sip, leaned her head back against the headrest and closed her eyes.
Aiden wasn’t the only one with regrets. Fuck, Bracken had more than his fair share of them. But Huntley—who was loyal to a fault, trustworthy, too fuckin’ caring of others and unselfishly looking after for everyone around her—deserved better. Watching her distress over some prick ex who’d been using her to get in on her family’s business had Bracken ready to throttle the bastard.
“I wonder if the Russians who sold your sorry ass the meth are friendly with the fighters at the Warehouse? Reno isn’t very big...”
Mother of god. Too freakin’ intelligent, too, his Huntley. “Reno’s full of them.”
She opened her eyes, not expecting his response.
“Must have been a direct flight from Moscow, or something,” he smoothly lied. The less she knew, the better. “Finished?” he demanded, and stood, knowing damned well she hadn’t eaten more than a couple bites. “Four more hours’ drive.”
Huntley and Aiden wore similar exasperated expressions. Job well done, he gave himself a mental pat on the back.
He didn’t feel much like talking but with these two, it’d be better if he directed the flow of conversation. “I hooked you up with three different sparring matches,” he informed her. “This time with women. It’s one thing to fight a man...” That did the trick.
“What? You didn’t say anything about me taking on some bouts.” Her tone was filled with genuine excitement. Thatta girl. Leave it to Huntley to be up for a fight in a moment’s notice.
“It’s time to test out your technique on fighters your size. Unlike Reno where the pickings are slim, Vegas is full of talented women.”
Yeah. Talented, all right. He’d fucked all three fighters he’d lined up for Huntley during his one and only hiatus from the crew. His way of unwinding. Brief. Pleasurable. Temporary relief. In retrospect...a bad idea.
Shit, there’d been no way around it. Opportunities like this didn’t exist in Reno. No matter how much it went against his “get in then get going” motto. It was for Huntley’s own good. She had to get in some training with the real deal, opponents she’d likely be fighting in the Brawl.
He wanted to do this for her.
So he’d called in a favor to their ringleader, Veronica, who was a grade-A cop, a terrific fighter in her own right and pretty fucking incredible in the bedroom. In not so many words, he’d asked her to set things up. Let her know that Huntley was part of his assignment. Hoping like hell Veronica was still crushing on him and he’d have her cooperation. Hell, maybe she’d forgotten what he’d done?
“You’re one cold bastard,” Veronica had said, the only response he’d gotten out of her, except for her agreeing to organize things. Still pissed off? Yep. He couldn’t blame her. He’d been brutal, a real unemotional shit, using her for release and nothing more. A sexual bender that she alone hadn’t satisfied. Yeah, hooking up with her two best friends a night later was a real shitty move. But he’d been strung out, neck deep in a brutal undercover assignment, and months without a woman. Plus his other form of release—knocking some Mayhem heads in—had been tolerated only so far. But maybe her friends, whatever their names were, hadn’t snitched?
He was banking on no one figuring out the truth. Or truths—his sex-fest of a weekend, and that somehow, in some unfathomable way, Huntley had become more than a job.
“Tell me more about them. Are they part of an MC crew or genuine fighters?” Her eyes positively sparkled.
“Just a few women I know.”
Aiden interrupted from the back seat. “You sure you won’t get hurt?”
Huntley snorted.
“Do you think I’d set this up if she wasn’t ready?” Bracken demanded.
To his credit, Aiden held his ground, studying Bracken’s face in the rearview mirror until something flitted across his eyes. Like he’d reached some kind of conclusion. Then, her fucking brother smiled broadly. “No, I don’t think you’d do that. No siree.”
“I can take care of myself, Aiden. You have to stop worrying about me and focus on yourself. Get it together and get better.”
The love in her voice did a number on his heart. What would it be like to be on the receiving end?
Jesus. What the fuck was wrong with him?
As they drove into Las Vegas, Huntley seemed pleased. Aiden seemed resigned to his fate. And Bracken was once again thinking he was fucked in more ways than one.
* * *
“Holy crap. You shaved?”
After arriving in Sin City, situating Aiden in the rehab facility, and settling into their adjacent Vegas Inn rooms, Bracken and Huntley had gone for a grueling late night run. Only to repeat it early the next morning. Not that Huntley showed any signs of fatigue. Quite the opposite, in fact—his freshly shaved face seemed to perk her right up, her eyes widening and then fixing on him like he was some freakin’ stranger she’d just met. And despite his own fatigue, he felt a charge of energy between them. One that stirred up all kinds of naughty thoughts that had nothing to do with training.
He’d scowled, a lame attempt at getting a grip, and rubbed his fingers across a bare chin, unaccustomed to the feel of soft, smooth skin beneath his fingertips.
“Jeez, when I started calling you handsome, it’d been tongue in cheek. Guess the jokes on me because you’re...” She’d blushed prettily, and he’d fought back the urge to scoop her up, toss her onto his mattress, and show her how handsome his lips could be. He’d have started with her taut abdomen, working his way across body, the moisture from his tongue being the only thing left behind on her tight body.
“Why the sudden change?”
He’d straightened and stepped away before he spilled his guts. How it ripped him raw seeing the gruff marks he’d left behind on her pale skin. How she’d managed to see beneath the goddamned beard. How she’d been handling him and his overbearing ways with a steely strength he admired. How he couldn’t hurt her—which was a total crock of shit because that’s exactly how this was going to end if he let her in. If he didn’t keep things strictly on business. He should have left the freakin’ beard alone.
Out for the Count Page 20