by Wynne Roman
I have no reason to argue with the idea. Besides, Ainsley has been a trooper. She works as hard as any of the men. If there’s something that needs to be done, she’s the first one to tackle it.
She’s been as good as her word.
Burton Construction and I could be the best choice for you, but you’ll never know because I have a pussy. Nothing smart about that.
She taught both Joker and me something about being smart. Her having a pussy has nothing to do with any of it. She’s worked her ass off all week.
It’s Thursday afternoon already. The old cabinets have been removed and the new ones installed. The countertops were measured and will be delivered tomorrow, thanks to some strings Joker pulled. The only holdup is the flooring. The store messed up on their inventory and didn’t have as much in stock as promised. That means it’ll be next week before the order is complete.
Watching Ainsley’s round ass as she bends over the shelving unit, I recall her reaction when the salesman called with the news. She was polite and professional, but angry frustration radiated from her. She’s taking everything about this project with enormous seriousness, and somebody else’s fuck-up isn’t in the timeline.
I’m not holding that against her, and neither are Joker or Sassy. None of us has told her that, but it isn’t time for that kind of discussion yet. Joker and I agree: we aren’t showing our cards until this project is complete.
“There!” Ainsley shouts in triumph and stands. “It’s done.”
Bear grunts, I suppose in approval or agreement. They push the metal rack into place and stand back, admiring their work.
“You two make a hell of a team.” I inject just the right amount of sarcasm into my tone.
Ainsley jumps, but Bear shoots me a look of disgust over the top of her head. “Somebody’s gotta do this shit,” he mutters.
“Are you checking up on us?” asks Ainsley stiffly.
I grin. “Nope. I’m here to invite you to a party.”
“I’m there,” announces Bear. He doesn’t need any more details; he’s always ready to party.
“What kind of party?” asks Ainsley. Her eyes are narrowed, and her expression is definitely suspicious.
“It’s Sassy’s ‘we’re-getting-a-new-kitchen’ party. What’s wrong, sweet thing? You don’t trust me?”
She blinks. “Should I?”
Bear snorts a laugh. “No. Never. He is luckier than shit at cards, he can drink you under the table, and he fucks all the women. Do not trust that man.”
Something oddly tense settles over Ainsley, and I swallow a sigh. Pretty sure she doesn’t give a damn if I’m lucky or can hold my liquor. After our night together — and the morning after — she might not want to hear that I fuck all the women.
Besides, I don’t fuck them all. Just most of them.
I swallow a grunt of disapproval. At me or at her? I’m not sure. Since our argument Saturday, we haven’t spoken about anything except the kitchen project.
I was okay with that at first; in fact, I liked it. I was pissed and disappointed. A great night of fucking was supposed to turn into some amazing morning sex. Then Nyet interrupted and things fell apart pretty goddamn quickly.
My balls have been blue ever since.
I didn’t actually accuse her of trying to find a back door into the club, I insist to myself for like the hundredth time. Okay, maybe I suggested she might have had ulterior motives, but — damn! It wouldn’t be the first time a woman tried that kind of shit.
In the past, it had never been because they wanted to go to work for us. No, the goal was usually to fuck one of us into claiming her as an ol’ lady or gain our protection as a club whore. It never worked. The brothers and I don’t tolerate women who try to top from the bottom.
I’m learning that Ainsley Burton’s a different sort of woman, though. She’s worked her ass off all week, dedicated herself 100% to the job. I’ve allowed her to ignore me for the most part; it fits with my plan, in fact. Her being here on her own is easing her into clubhouse life, and I can tell she feels safe. Those are good things, because once the shit with this kitchen project is over, all bets are off.
No way am I done with this woman.
AINSLEY
A party at the Hell’s Creed clubhouse? After the way things ended with Talon a week ago, I didn’t think I’d ever see such a thing. I was wrong, obviously, because here I am.
I’m sitting in the cab of my truck, staring at the big Hell’s Creed sign that hangs above the main door, and trying like hell to give myself a meaningful pep talk before going inside. I can’t tell if it’s working or not.
I’ve been busting my ass all week. Yeah, I want to make this kitchen rehab the best small reno project Burton Construction has ever done, but there’s more to it than that. I’ll do anything to avoid Talon however I can.
I need it. I deserve it.
His accusations hurt. A lot, even if I couldn’t admit it at first. It took me something like 24 hours after leaving the clubhouse on Saturday morning to concede the truth.
Words, his and mine, had pounded through me relentlessly.
Find a back door into the club.
Fuck for a chance to work with you?
Sitting there looking all sad and lonely.
What the hell?
I had let the anger, the pain, and finally the self-pity all run their courses. That’s when a new determination had been born. I might have been spending my days lost in my work, but at night, I make sure to nurture and protect my resolve. I am who I am: beautiful and talented in my own way. Not the most beautiful or talented, not even in the top tier, but I’m worthy. I haven’t done anything wrong.
More than that, I always try my best to do the right thing, and only those who recognize that in me deserve my friendship.
Talon? He sure as hell isn’t worthy of the hours I’ve put into thinking about everything that went down.
Yeah, he’s hotter than a Mexican pepper and part of me would love to get to know him better. On the other hand, most of me knows that’s never going to happen. I understood from the beginning that our hookup was one night only. The way it ended might have been unpleasant, but it didn’t change anything.
A week later, Talon hasn’t done anything to show me that he feels any differently. And, why would he? He’s the one who insulted me in the first place!
“Forget about it,” I mutter to myself as I force myself to take a breath. I need my mind and body filled with fresh, cleansing air to think properly. Talon’s doing his biker thing, I’m giving Hell’s Creed the best kitchen rehab in all of goddamn California, and in a few days, we’ll go our separate ways.
That is, of course, unless I get lucky enough for a chance at the ultimate prize: bidding the renovation project that H.C. Enterprises is holding out like a carrot on a string. I have no clue what the project actually entails; they’re keeping that piece of information pretty close to the chest. The request for proposals only described it as the renovation of an existing restaurant-type facility.
That could mean anything.
“So what?” I mutter to myself, suddenly impatient with myself over all this procrastinating. “Are you going to sit out here in the truck all night and think about it?”
I grab the door handle, slip from the vehicle, and take a few seconds to stand in the parking lot. I swallow and smooth my shirt down over my stomach. Judging by the few women I saw last weekend at Creed’s and then here at the clubhouse, I know I’m overdressed.
I don’t care, I remind myself. I’m wearing what makes me feel confident and attractive, and that’s all that counts.
My jeans are torn with a couple of big chunks missing over the thighs. They might be impractical as hell, but I love them. I’m wearing a sage green tank top decorated with criss-cross straps at the neckline and gladiator sandals that have a couple of sets of straps that wind around my ankles. My hair is loose around my shoulders, and I even put on a bit of mascara and lip gloss.
Not for Talon, I remind myself, but because I wanted to do it for me.
Another breath, and I’m pulling the door wide. Heavy bass and the sound of Iron Man by Black Sabbath thud through my chest. I let a corner of my mouth twitch. I love this song; it reminds me of my dad. Tonight, it sets the atmosphere for me.
Sometimes it feels like, even gone, he still has my back.
I step inside and sweep my gaze around the room. The place is packed with bikers and their women, some I recognize and some I don’t. On one side, Bear and Wood are playing a game of pool. On the other, a couple of guys I don’t know are sitting on opposite ends of one of the couches. Each one has a woman on his lap, and I decide they must be club mamas. Would an ol’ lady party dressed in little more than her underwear?
Looking away, I see Sassy and Joker surrounded by a few others, and beyond that I recognize my guys. Jack, Ryan, and Kyle are standing against one wall, looking equal parts interested and shellshocked. A couple of those scantily-clad chicks circle nearby like sharks sensing blood.
I want to smile — okay, maybe smirk — but the impulse dies the second I catch sight of the bar. Yeah, it looks familiar, with Keg in his usual place behind the counter and bikers occupying most of the stools. What grabs my attention is seeing Talon at the far end — and the woman who’s snuggled up against him.
So Bear was right about Talon. He fucks all the women.
This one has club mama written all over her. She’s wearing a black leather skirt that’s so short and tight, the bottom of her ass cheeks peek out. Her stretchy tube top is some animal print, at least a size too small, and she teeters on a pair of mile-high fuck-me shoes.
I drop my gaze, search for a breath or two, and will my body to relax. This isn’t a surprise and, truthfully, none of my business. I sure as hell don’t have the right to be upset about it.
One night, I remind myself again. We had it, it’s over, time to move on.
That’s just what I’m going to do.
Slipping into an empty spot at the bar, I give Keg a smile that’s probably too wide and brilliant, but I don’t care. If it gets me through the next few minutes, that’s all I need.
“Hey, Ainsley.” Keg grins back. “What can I get you?”
“Tequila. Beer chaser. And keep ‘em coming.”
Seven
TALON
Ainsley is standing at the opposite end of the bar, drinking and talking with Joker, Sassy, and a couple of other brothers’ ol’ ladies. I noticed her the second she walked in, like some zing of electricity connected us. Not sure how I feel about that.
I didn’t look at her right away, didn’t let her or anyone else witness my reaction. I don’t understand it myself, so I’m sure as hell not ready to let others see anything.
Instead, I drink my beer and try to ignore Bumblebee. She’s not taking the hint. It’s my own damn fault; I fucked her a few times, maybe a couple more than some of the other mamas, and now she thinks it means something.
It doesn’t. It was just easy. I haven’t touched her in three or four weeks and don’t have any interest in her now. My dick is soft and indifferent to her attention. I talked to her about it once, but I’m gonna have to do it again.
Not now, though.
I grab my beer and stand, my movements sharp and unexpected. Bumblebee stumbles back a pace, and I smile to myself. It satisfies me to be so unpredictable.
I stalk over to Ainsley just as Joker separates himself from the group and heads over to where Nyet is calling for him. Well, shit. There goes my wingman.
“Hello, ladies,” I say, deliberately aiming for a flirty tone. They laugh and give me smiles, as expected.
All except Ainsley.
I train my gaze directly on her. “How’s your first Hell’s Creed party, sweet thing?”
Her eyes narrow. “Fine.”
So she hasn’t warmed up, even in this social setting. I grin, enjoying the challenge.
“Your guys look like they’re having fun.” I point to where Fishnet is chatting up Kyle. The girls don’t usually have the go-ahead to randomly fuck guys from outside the club, but Joker made an exception for Ainsley’s crew. They’re doing us a solid, and we can return the favor.
She glances across the room, but I get no clues from her expression or body language. After a few seconds, she gives a quick, simple nod, and says, “Thank you for inviting us.”
“We wouldn’t have a reason for the party without you,” Sassy laughs.
Ainsley’s lips twist like she’s supposed to be smiling. “Lucky for you, then, Talon.” Ainsley shoots me a look. A frowning, judgy look.
“What does that mean?”
“Looks like you got right to it.” Her eyes flicker to where I was sitting at the bar. Bumblebee stares back with a frown.
“What —” I stop, start again. “You mean her?”
“That’s my cue,” announces Sassy with a laugh. “See you later, Ainsley.” She and the ol’ ladies scatter like rats off a sinking ship.
What the fuck?
Is Ainsley jealous? The idea intrigues me enough that I flash her a shit-eating grin and take a couple of steps closer. Enough to put us practically toe to toe.
“What are you doing?” she whisper yells.
“Nothing. Talking to you.”
“Well . . .” She huffs a sharp breath. “You should stop.”
“Why?”
“Your girlfriend’s watching.”
I was right. She is jealous.
“Bumblebee?”
“What kind of a name is that?”
“She makes this weird humming noise when she comes.”
Ainsley flinches, and I almost feel bad for saying it. On second thought . . . no, I don’t. It’s true, and I didn’t actually admit that it was me fucking her to orgasm. Still, I know most women don’t like those kinds of comparisons.
Ainsley’s gaze darts in Bumblebee’s direction and then back at me. “Clearly, she’s ready for another round.”
I don’t look. Instead, I lean in to whisper, “That’s her problem.”
“Mine, too, if you’re talking to me and already fucked her today.”
“I didn’t.” I catch Ainsley’s earlobe between my teeth and give it a sharp nip. “I haven’t in a while.”
She shivers, and I’d bet the new pipes I ordered for my bike that her nipples are hard. I’m ready to look when she asks stiffly, “How long’s a while?”
“Weeks.”
“She’s still not going to like this.” I notice Ainsley doesn’t say that she doesn’t like it.
“Then she’s really gonna hate this.” I straighten and grab her hand. A soft, oversized chair waits in a secluded corner, and I head straight there. Sinking down to sit, I pull her onto my lap.
“Talon!”
I tighten my grip around her squirming body. “What?”
“What are you doing?”
“Talking.”
“This —” she wiggles against my crotch “— doesn’t feel like talking.”
“It doesn’t?” I laugh. “Maybe it’s all that squirming around you’re doing.” I flex my hips against the curve of her ass so she can feel my growing length. “My cock likes it.”
She stops immediately and frowns at me. “Your cock likes too many things.”
“It likes you.”
She blinks, surprising me when her cheeks turn pink. She hasn’t seemed like a girl who gets embarrassed.
“What is this about?” she asks a second later, almost like she’s pretending she can’t sense the attraction between us that’s never disappeared.
“What do you mean?”
“You flirting with me.”
“Why wouldn’t I flirt with you? You’re a beautiful woman.”
Ainsley snorts and shakes her head. “That is such bullshit, and you know it.”
I tighten my grip at her waist, tilting my head to one side as I try to figure where she’s coming from. “Listen, sweet thing —”
“Oh, you might find me attractive enough.” She shrugs when she interrupts, acting like it doesn’t matter one damn bit. “Enough for a hookup. But you showed me what you thought of me the next morning, and I got the message loud and clear.”
Fuck. Okay, maybe I deserve that.
“Look, I’m . . . sorry.” I don’t apologize often, so the words come awkwardly. “Joker got me thinking one way, and I didn’t have the sense to pull my head out of my ass quick enough.”
She doesn’t look impressed. “You sure as hell didn’t.”
I shake my head. “I’ve watched you this week. You’re as good as you say.” Maybe better, but I’ll keep that to myself until Joker and I talk to her at the end of the project.
Ainsley arches back and shoots me the oddest look: part surprised satisfaction and part death glare. “Why couldn’t you have trusted my word, like you trusted those men?”
“Talon,” disrupts a whiny voice. Fuck.
I don’t look away from Ainsley as I answer. “What do you want, Bee?”
I can feel the mama’s stare, which means if she’s looking at me, she’s looking at Ainsley. I hold us both steady.
“I’m horny.”
Ainsley’s muscles flex, like she’s ready to pop up and run away at any second. I tighten my hold. Slowly, I drag an admiring gaze over the woman in my arms to stare less appreciatively at Bumblebee. Fuck. Guess we’re having that talk now.
“Sounds like a personal problem to me. Go find Tex or one of the other guys.”
“But . . .” She shrugs. “I thought maybe —”
“I told you weeks ago we’re done with that.”
“But, why? Is it because of her?”
There it is, the bitchy edge I’ve been waiting for. Makes it easier not to answer, because I’m not telling her it’s because of me.
I shoot her a sharp look she can’t pretend to misunderstand. “Not interested. Get gone, Bee.”
“But —”
“Now.”