THE MAN WITH ALL THE HONEY: Sweet & Dirty BBW Romance #3

by Cathryn Cade

  Since she was a pretty, stylish Russian redhead with high cheekbones and pretty tits, Peter had hooked up with her. When he found out she was broke and on the point of being on the street, he hired her to clean The Hangar, and later to do the books.

  This led to her meeting the boys and watching her with them, finding out she also had three younger step-siblings that she'd helped raise so she understood boys, and from there to her becoming Stick's housekeeper and part-time babysitter.

  Stick also thought her very attractive, but she was worth much more as his employee than a careless hookup, he kept his hands off. Besides, she still had eyes for his younger brother, although Peter had moved on—several times.

  Stick had noted that in the usual tangle of lust that permeated the club at any given time, while Marta watched Pete, Streak watched her when she was around. She'd make a fine old lady for one of his younger men, if it worked out. Raised in a family of car thieves, she knew how to keep her mouth shut, and she didn't mind men who skirted the law. Stick didn’t have any use for her brothers, they were sly as weasels, but she was a good woman.

  Stick walked on, into his big, farm kitchen. His refrigerator was new, a gleaming white double-door monolith with an ice-maker and a special drawer at the bottom for growlers. Pulling one out, he poured himself a frosty glass of Hangar Hefe, and carried it into the living room. He flipped on a baseball game, sprawled on the leather sofa and sipped his beer.

  Sara, now ... she was not old lady material. And since she would make an even worse club whore, he wasn't certain why he was bothering with her. Well, four reasons. Her tits, ass, pussy and that mouth—so prim one moment and then so sweet and lush under his when he kissed her.

  And maybe the best part about her was the contrast between how prissy she behaved, giving him fire with her eyes but forcing her mouth to shape only polite words. Until she finally lost her temper and let him have it with both barrels, that is.

  He chuckled, remembering her look of horror when she discovered they'd been making out with the boys beside them in the SUV. And her fury when he accused her of using the boys to get to him. He could piss her off pretty damn fast.

  Too bad she was all wrong for him. He lived his life, he did what he did, and the rest of the world could suck his cock if they didn't approve. He didn't need a prissy-mouth blonde giving him shit every time he turned around.

  He shook his head irritably, and turned up the volume on the game, letting the announcers' slick voices drown out thoughts of her. The woman was all wrong for him in every way but one. And since he could get sex whenever he wanted it, he had no use for her. He would remind himself of this as needed.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  The next morning, Sara came awake with a gasp, and sat bolt upright in bed. She looked around her wildly, breath sobbing in and out, tears burning behind her eyes.

  "No," she mumbled. "No, I'm not ... not like that. I'm not."

  She scrambled out of bed and stood in the middle of the small bedroom, in the quiet house. Oh, God. She'd been dreaming ... so very, very vividly.

  She'd been surrounded by bikers and their women …

  Stick stood in the center, facing her. He'd looked her up and down and then sneered.

  "Why would I want a woman like you?" he'd demanded. "So plain and pale ... like your cookies. A man doesn't want plain, pale cookies when he can have this."

  And just like that, the brunette had been there, clinging to his arm, her flashy blonde friend at his other side.

  They'd all looked her over and then started to laugh.

  And Sara had looked down at herself and realized that she wasn't naked—she was worse than naked. She wore one of her beige business suits, hose and shoes, only they were all transparent, so everyone could see every bit of her, drab and heavy and plain, her armor of careful dress no shield at all.

  And when she'd tried to run, to hide, her old boss was there. George shook his head in distaste. "I knew you'd end up like this, Sara. I knew it."

  Ugh!

  "It was a dream," Sara said aloud now, her voice loud in the quiet bedroom. "It was just a damn dream." A nightmare, but still not real.

  Except, how different was she, really, than her dream self? Hardly daring to step out and experience life, unless she was full of alcohol. Wanting Stick Vanko, but shoving him away when he got too close.

  She shoved her hair out of her face, bundled it up in a messy bun, and went to wash her face, do her business and walked back into the bedroom. Outside, it was a beautiful morning, the morning sun just rising over the low mountains to the east in a golden haze, the grasses and shrubs around her yard a bright, fresh green.

  But when she opened the closet, which she'd commandeered for her things, and the upper drawer of the big bureau ... she saw that her underwear was all beige.

  And her clothing was ... careful, except for the little black-and-white outfit she'd worn to the barbecue, and that belonged to Lindi, to be returned now that it was clean.

  She went to the closet and yanked an armful of her own clothing off the hangers. More careful, tasteful beige. And these were her summer things. At her condo, in the spare room closet hung her winter clothing, mostly navy, gray, and black.

  God. Stick was right.

  She didn't belong at the club ... or anywhere else fun or exciting. She was the most boring person in the entire Inland Empire. And she looked it.

  She had made changes in her life, massive ones, but none of them showed, not on the outside. She didn't look like a daring leather-craftswoman who now owned a classic Cadillac, she looked like a—a washed up law clerk who hung onto her Lexus even though she was scrambling to make the payments.

  She rummaged under the bathroom sink for a garbage bag, took it to the closet, and began to toss clothing into it, the way she had her gran’s things only days before. She was going to change—she was going to transform herself into a woman any biker would be proud to have on his arm ... and then she was going to turn up her nose at all of them.

  Especially Stick Vanko. He could just take his 'joystick' and shove it somewhere painful for himself. Okay, that was anatomically impossible, but whatever.

  She carried the filled garbage bag downstairs, and before she could change her mind, tossed it out into the yard beside the other things waiting for pickup. Then she picked it up again, and carried it to her car. No, she’d deliver her clothing to the Union Gospel Mission in Coeur d’Alene next time she drove over. They specialized in a new start for women who’d gone through hard times, and could use nice clothing for job interviews.

  Waiting for the coffee to perk, she brought up her favorite country set on her iPod, turned her portable speaker up loud enough to distract her, and sat at the small kitchen table, hands wrapped around her phone. The clock over the kitchen stove said six-thirty. Early, but Lindi would be up, opening the cafe. Kit would be home, probably sleeping yet.

  Sara thumbed her phone and sent both of them a text.

  'Ladies, I'm ready for a fashion change. Make me an appt for the works, please? Then shopping.'

  Her phone pinged in just a few seconds. 'R U shitting me??' Kit said. 'I am so down with this!'

  Her phone pinged again. Lindi this time. 'Yessss!! Kit can make U an appointment soon as salon opens! I'll be there!'

  Kit. 'I'm on it! They open at nine this am. Call u soon as have appt.'

  Sara was smiling so hard she had to sniffle just a little. 'I love you both. So much.'

  A pause, and then two nearly simultaneous texts.

  Lindi. 'That effing Stick did something didn't he??'

  And Kit. 'What happened? Did Stick get in yr face? U need me, I'm there.'

  'No, I'm ok.' Sara texted hastily. 'See U soon.'

  And she was okay, or she would be. Because she was through waiting around for life to come to her. She was going to reach out and grab her some, and suck the sweetness out of it. And if that included using sexy guys the way they used women ... so be it. Didn't have to
be Stick Vanko, or any of his biker brothers. There were plenty of other nice, intelligent, attractive guys around the area. She just had to go and find one.

  And as soon as she was properly armored, she was going sashay through Stick's clubhouse and show him what he couldn't have, ever again.

  She poured herself a cup of coffee, and walked out to drink it sitting on her back stoop, smelling the fresh dew on the hayfield, and listening to birds twittering back and forth in the maple trees.

  Summertime was a good time for her to bloom and grow, just like everything around her.

  * * *

  Kit managed to get Sara an appointment for that very afternoon at To Dye For, a small but chic salon in Hayden, Idaho.

  The glamour of the place surprised Sara, in this little burg, adjacent to Coeur d'Alene, which wasn't exactly big, either. But there was evidently enough money in the resort community to support this place. The owner, Dar, a chic brunette with an unexpectedly sweet smile, stood behind Sara's chair, running her fingers through Sara's hair which hung loose and straight around her silver cape.

  To her own eyes, Sara looked as pale and blah in the big, lighted salon mirrors as she had in her nightmarish dream.

  Especially next to Dar, and Kit and Lindi who sat in the salon chairs on either side of Sara. The other three women all wore eye-makeup, lipstick, their hair—brunette, auburn and dark blonde—was styled, and their clothing enhanced their curves instead of muting them.

  Lindi wore a short skirt and silvery halter top, which emphasized her curves and displayed her deep cleavage, with a chunky silver-and-gold artisan necklace and earrings. Kit wore a dark blue play-suit that hugged her curves and bared most of her back and her long legs, with lots of silver bangles and dangling earrings. Dar wore black capris and sleeveless top that emphasized her reed-slim figure, with black pearls at her ears and throat.

  Under the salon cape, Sara wore what she'd thrown on after her shower, long khaki shorts, a modestly cut pale pink tee and beige flats. Under her clothing she wore a minimizer bra and plain panties—both beige.

  "So what are we doing for you?" Dar asked. "Please don't say you want me to cut much off, 'cause that might break my heart. There are women who would trade their husbands for this hair—thick, silky and the color ... amazing."

  "She's got the Princess Grace vibe," Lindi agreed, fingering her own wavy, luxuriant but much darker blonde hair.

  "Who?" Kit asked, wrinkling her nose. "I was thinking more Christina Santa Cruz. Except Sara's color is real. I betcha that singer's snatch is coal black."

  "Kit!" Lindi said, wrinkling her nose.

  Sara, for once, could not care less about language. Why worry about silly stuff like that when her life was imploding?

  Dar laughed. "She's right. Although some of those celebs tint their pubes when they get their Brazilian wax."

  Sara shuddered. "Waxing, no." Especially when she remembered seeing that stripper's waxed pubes in Stick's driveway. She liked to be neat, but she didn’t want to look artificial.

  Lindi nodded. "I'm glad Jack likes the natural look. I trim up, but that's it."

  Kit said nothing, but she smiled to herself. Lindi poked her with a sandaled toe and Kit poked her back, laughing. "I trim, too. But you want me to give any more info on anything else, I need margaritas."

  Sara listened with half an ear. The two were like her sisters, which was wonderful, because growing up with two younger brothers, she’d always longed for a sister. But she had bigger concerns than their love lives.

  She needed to make sure a certain MC president, and neighbor sat up and took notice. No, she wanted him to yearn ... the way she did—not for him, God no. Just for another round of incendiary sex, without the hurt that had followed.

  She wanted his tongue hanging out, while she strutted past on another man's arm. Which she totally would, as soon as she found one.

  She eyed her hair, which hung in its usual smooth curtain, just past her shoulders. She was so used to going for a subdued, elegant look that she had very little idea what to ask for.

  "I don't want any length off. I just want to look ... less like me, and more like a woman who's not afraid to let loose and live. Have fun. Be wild and free."

  Kit and Lindi's gazes shot to meet hers in the mirror. Lindi looked stricken. "Sara, why would you want to look less like yourself? Jack thinks you're gorgeous. I think you're gorgeous."

  "Uh, yeah!" Kit gave Sara wide eyes. "So do Keys and Remi. And what about that dude who was hitting on you at Lindi's engagement party downtown? He was hot."

  Sara snorted. "He was a lawyer. I could smell it on him. I am done with any man who has letters after his name."

  Lindi smirked. "The only letters Jack has after his name are H.B.M. ... hawt biker man."

  Kit kicked her, and Lindi glared, but then bit her lip. "Sorry, honey. I guess you don't exactly want to attract any bikers, hmm?"

  "Oh, I want to attract one," Sara said. "Just long enough to shoot him down, for good."

  "I'm all for that," Lindi agreed with narrowed gaze. Kit nodded approvingly.

  "Well, that we can give you the ammo for," Dar said, giving Sara's shoulders a warm squeeze. She winked in the mirror. "You could say hot biker babe is one of our specialties."

  "Really?" Kit asked. "Who else comes here?"

  The stylist smiled serenely. "Oh, just some of the Chase ladies."

  She whirled Sara's chair with an expert move and lowered the back so Sara lay back. "Now, let's start with a nice shampoo and condition. I'll give you a few layers to play with, maybe some bang. Then if you want, we can play with some makeup. I do makeup for bridal parties and special occasions, and I just got back from convention in Vegas, learned some fun new products."

  Kit and Lindi had their heads together. Sara heard the name Chase mentioned again, but since she had no idea who they were and thus had no interest, she stopped listening and gave herself up to the luxury of being pampered.

  An hour later, Sara sat looking at herself in the same mirror—but this time with a definite change in her mood. She looked fabulous, if she did say so herself. Dar had worked magic on both Sara's hair and her makeup, and thus her mood.

  She turned her head, admiring the way her hair swirled around her shoulders in a silky swathe, the ends blunt cut to curve under, with subtle layers around her face that emphasized her high cheekbones and the sleek angle of her jaw. Her new heavy bangs grazed her brows, the cut framing her face and adding drama to her face, the pale blonde emphasizing the dusky shades of taupe shadow on her lids, and the dramatic black of her lashes. Her lips glistened with red gloss.

  Her blue eyes sparkled, and when she smiled, her teeth glinted white against the red gloss.

  Sara lifted a hand and pushed her hair up, then let it fall again. "I look like a pin-up girl. Is it too much?"

  "No!" chorused Lindi and Kit immediately. Kit moved to stand beside Sara, her arm around Sara's waist, a smile on her face. "You look a-maze-balls, sistah. Promise you'll keep styling up like this. You'll knock those Heights brothers on their asses and they'll stay down."

  Sara pursed her lips. "Somehow I never saw myself striving to impress the male population of my Gran's little burg."

  "Small towns will surprise you," Lindi said smugly. "Jack never thought he'd find me in one."

  Sara smiled at her friends. "You're right. You two are definitely gems, and so is this salon." She turned to Dar. "Thank you so much."

  The stylist smiled. "Just get out there and show that certain dude what he's missing—before you grab another one to keep. And then come back and fill me in on all the juicy details."

  "Oh, we'll keep you posted," Lindi assured her. "Now c'mon, ladies, let’s pay the lady, and then we're going shopping!"

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Sara was exhausted by the time the three of them pulled back into the graveled drive of the wooded enclave that Kit shared with her two lovers, Keys and Remi. The summer sun was just sinking behind t
he tall evergreens that ringed the two-story house and the big auto shop on the other side of the graveled sweep, but the air was warm and still as they emerged from Lindi's SUV.

  Keys sauntered down the front steps to greet them. He grinned at Lindi and Sara, held out one arm for Kit, pulled her close for a kiss. "You buy something pretty for yourself, Red?"

  She nodded and whispered to him. His gaze traveled over her shoulder to Sara and he looked her over in a frank, but friendly way and then raised his brows. "Whoa. Nice, babe. Real nice."

  Sara lifted the shopping bags in both hands and gave him a wry smile. "Amazing what money will do, right?"

  He gave her a reproving look. "Speakin' as a man who appreciates women, takes more than money. You're a beautiful woman, just needed to get out of that legal beagle cam-ou-flage you had goin' on. Like my Red needed to get out of her teen thrift-shop shit."

  Sara looked to Kit, who was laughing against Keys' broad shoulder. "He's right."

  "I was in thrift mode too," Lindi agreed. "So extra money is nice. And you do look gorgeous, Sara. I love that outfit."

  Sara wore a black plunge halter top with a gathered peplum waist and fitted black shorts, with strappy red platform sandals, their narrow straps circling her ankles—which may or may not have caught her eye because she'd seen them on a certain stripper. Since the three of them had gone for mani-pedis—Jack's treat—her toenails were the same glistening red as her lips. Her fingernails were trimmed and buffed, but not polished, because that wouldn't last more than a day with all the leather-work she was planning to do.

  "You bodacious babes come on in," Keys invited. "Remi's in the kitchen, and Jack's manning the smoker. We got ribs, chicken, etcetera."

  "Well, this will be my only shopping spree for the foreseeable future," Sara told Lindi as they followed Keys and Kit into the house. "So thanks for making it a productive one."

  "A woman who's swearing off shopping?" Remi called from the kitchen, where he was chopping veggies at the big island. "Something wrong with that."