Love by Design

by Wynne Roman

With a huff and hateful look, she flounces away, swinging her ass like there’s something to see. I’m tempted to laugh. Her bony figure has nothing on Ainsley’s lush curves.

  “Well, that was fun.” The woman on my lap sounds equal parts amused and sarcastic.

  “I told her a while ago we weren’t getting together anymore.” I don’t usually explain myself unless I’m talking to my brothers and it’s club business, but I know Ainsley. If I want her in my bed tonight, I have to give her something.

  “Why?”

  Do I go for honesty or some bullshit answer to hide a truth I don’t quite understand? Again, the reality of the situation hits me: I know Ainsley. She’ll see right past anything that isn’t the real, God’s honest truth.

  “I don’t know. She didn’t do it for me. It was a release. Sex for the sake of getting off. I could see she wanted to get clingy, that was never gonna work for me, so I called it off.” Truth be told, I haven’t missed her pussy one goddamn bit.

  Ainsley’s eyes flicker with every word of my explanation. It makes sense to her. I can tell by a soft if maybe a bit reluctant acceptance in her expression and the way her body relaxes against me.

  Her breasts heave as she takes a breath. She doesn’t look at me when she asks, “What about this?” She waves a hand around us. “About . . . me?”

  “You, sweet thing?”

  “Me,” she says again, more emphatically this time. “Is this just round two of the hook-up game? An ending to what got interrupted last weekend?”

  “No.” The word is out before I can stop it.

  “Then what?”

  “I want to get to know you. More than that you drink Patrón with a beer chaser. Or that you like the Seahawks but not the Mariners. Or that your dad taught you how to run a construction crew before he died.”

  She stares, blinks, and then an unexpected but completely naughty grin curves the corner of her lips. “Or that I have mean blow job skills?”

  I give a bark of laughter and push. “I think I need another demonstration.”

  I rise to my feet, cradling her against my chest, and carry her toward the staircase bridal style. A few shouts follow us, but I ignore them. I want to get this woman alone.

  I have her in my room, door locked, and my mouth on hers before she can protest. I know the instant she surrenders; she curls into me, parting her lips, and bringing her tongue into play with mine. We kiss until I can’t fucking breathe, and I have to lower her to her feet.

  She blinks like she’s as affected as I am, and then she gives me a soft, naughty smile. “Damn, you work fast.”

  “Why waste time?”

  “Well, then, it looks like I’m up.”

  “Up?” All the blood flow in my body has gone straight to my cock, and my brain isn’t quite with it.

  She sinks to her knees. “Demonstration time.”

  With sure fingers, she unfastens my jeans, tugs down the zipper, and then my cock pops out, free. She takes it in her hand and strokes up and down once. Twice.

  “Still going commando, I see,” she whispers as she leans close and swipes her tongue over and around the tip.

  My only answer is a grunt because . . . goddamn, her mouth feels good.

  As if to prove it, she takes me deep, almost to the back of her throat, and sucks. She moves her head back and forth, fucking me with her mouth, as her tongue strokes the bottom side of my dick. I shove my fingers into her hair as I help steady her movements.

  “That’s it, baby,” I groan. “Suck my cock like a good girl.”

  She complies, keeping up a seductive rhythm until finally she pulls back enough to lick around the top again. Using the very tip of her tongue, she finds that one place where all the nerve endings meet and pays it special, loving attention. My dick flexes in welcome as my hips thrust forward with an automatic response. Her satisfied chuckle turns into a hum as she takes me deep again.

  I close my eyes, drop my head back, and let the pleasure spread through me. My cock grows harder, my balls tighten, and I know I’ve gotta stop this or I’ll be coming in her mouth. As much as I want that, there’s a lot else I want more.

  “Stop, baby.” I take a breath and pull back. “You’re gonna make me come.”

  “And that’s a bad thing?”

  “Oh, no.” A guttural laugh sounds more choked than amused. “That’s a damn good thing. I’m just not ready yet.”

  I grasp her by the arms and haul her to her feet, stripping her of her shirt and bra as she stands. My shirt follows, my boots and pants, and then I take care of getting Ainsley as naked as I am.

  “You ready, baby?”

  She squeals as I swing her up in my arms, and I grin. She clutches my shoulders and demands, “Ready for what?”

  “The first night was just a practice run,” I promise with a wicked smile. “Tonight I really am gonna fuck you all night long.”

  Eight

  AINSLEY

  I shock myself by agreeing to spend the weekend with Talon. It isn’t something either of us planned; it just kind of happens. After that, spending damn near 24 hours in bed is less surprising.

  We do other things. When we aren’t fucking, we’re talking. About . . . well, pretty much anything. Favorite pizza? We agree: any and all kinds of meat, no pineapple. Favorite movie? Easy Rider for him, and Independence Day for me. Favorite vacation? He’s a Vegas kind of guy, and I’m a Hawaii girl.

  I find myself loving it and wondering how the hell we went from a simple hookup to being pissed at each other to this. Actually spending time together and getting to know each other. Even maybe liking each other.

  Okay, liking each other a lot. I can’t lie to myself. I know I’m a woman who’s too busy for a relationship, and he’s a man who isn’t looking for one. He’s a biker, for God’s sake. Bear laid it all out for me.

  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.

  But there is more to him — more to us — than that. Bear’s description doesn’t touch on the same man that Talon reveals to me.

  He’s naughty, he’s flirty, he’s funny, and he makes me feel so freaking good! Not just physically, like when he’s touching me — and that’s damn good! — but emotionally, too. He’s more caring than I would have expected, asking how I’m doing, if I’m comfortable, if I need or want anything. I’m actually kind of overwhelmed by the whole crazy thing.

  Sunday night, I finally insist that I have to go home. Part of me wants to stay, but I know better. I need some time to myself. A few hours away from Talon’s influence to clear my head.

  What does this mean? If anything. Those early thoughts and feelings from the night at Creed’s have returned stronger and more insistent. I’m not quite sure what to do about it. I mean, I’ve heard of love at first sight, but that isn’t what this is.

  Is it like love at tenth sight? And is it even love? How could it be after only a week? More than that, does Talon feel anything at all?

  Other than lust, obviously.

  I arrive at my office early Monday morning. I have paperwork, phone calls, and a few other things to take care of, and then I’m back at the Hell’s Creed clubhouse this afternoon to receive the late flooring tile delivery. That snafu irritated the crap out of me when it happened, but Joker and Sassy were good natured enough about it that I tried to let it go.

  Now, though, I’m anxious to finish the job. I want some kind of decision from Joker. Was this all bullshit, or will he actually let me bid the larger project? More than that, will things between Talon and me outlast this undertaking?

  Cappuccino in one hand, keys in the other, I stride up to the building with a purpose — and almost immediately skid to a stop. The front door hangs at an odd angle, half off its hinges, and the door frame is cracked and broken in several places.

  Shit.

  I’m a practical, capable woman; I’ve always thought of myself that way. I’m also no dummy. I’m no hero to go
charging in to the unknown when I know it could mean even more trouble. I’m physically fit and reasonably strong for a woman of my size, but whoever did this could probably tear me to pieces without breaking a sweat.

  I should notify the police. So why do I call Talon?

  “Morning, sweet thing.” His voice is gruff with sleep.

  “Talon.” I can’t help it; I breathe a sigh of relief. “I’m sorry to call so early, but I have a problem.”

  “What’s wrong?” His voice is instantly sharp and alert.

  “I just got to the office, and it looks like somebody broke in.”

  “Fuck.” I hear a clattering of noise in the background, like maybe he’s getting up. “Where are you right now?”

  “Standing in front of the building.”

  “Get back in your truck. Lock the door. Don’t get out until I get there.”

  “Okay.” It makes sense in the same way that me not charging inside makes sense: my own safety.

  Oh, realistically, I figure whoever did this is long gone. The office and shop were left empty all weekend, and it could have happened at any time. That it occurred at all is enough to make me cautious.

  “Should I call the police?” I ask as I hurry back to my truck.

  “No.” His tone is firm. “Wait for me. I should be there in ten. Fifteen at the most.”

  The clubhouse is at least twenty minutes away, but I don’t point that out. Ten days around bikers, and I already know when it’s a waste of time to speak up. Now’s a time to listen.

  True to his word, it’s no more than fifteen minutes before I hear the sound of Talon’s motorcycle. Actually, it’s more than that. I look around to see Talon, Joker, Crow, Bear, Tex, Wood, and a guy I don’t recognize pull into the parking lot. I wait in the truck until they’re all parked and getting off their bikes.

  “You okay, baby?” I open the door as Talon strides up to me.

  “Yeah, I’m fine. Just a little . . . I don’t know. Shook up, I guess.”

  “Stay here.” He drops a kiss to the top of my head. “Bear’ll stay with you. The rest of us’ll check it out.”

  “I —” He gives me a look, and I give up the argument before I say another word. Maybe I should go along, but that isn’t going to happen. I nod instead.

  Bear comes over with a grin. “Mornin’, Seattle.”

  I give him a halfhearted smile, but my attention follows Talon who points at the biker I don’t know. “You’re first, Shiner.”

  “Shiner?” I ask Bear as the others disappear into the building.

  “Enforcer.”

  Enforcer. I know what that means. The muscle, as they say in old crime movies. Maybe even a killer. Definitely the one who makes everybody pay for their fuck-ups. Even from a distance and my two-second exposure to Shiner, I can believe he’s capable of . . . well, just about anything.

  Hell. I’d laugh if I weren’t so nervous. All of the Hell’s Creed brothers look like they’re capable of just about anything.

  Bear’s phone buzzes after about 10 minutes. “Yeah?”

  He listens, nods, grunts a time or two, and then says only, “I’m on it.”

  “What?” I have to ask.

  He shakes his head. Either there isn’t much to say or he doesn’t want to say it. “Callin’ Snake.”

  “Snake?”

  “Hacker.”

  “For . . .” I let the word fade.

  “Talk to Talon.”

  I open my mouth to say — what, exactly? I’m not sure, but it doesn’t matter, because Bear gives me another of those biker looks that means don’t waste your time.

  He dials a number and walks away to make the call as Talon exits the building. I don’t know if it means anything, but the others are still inside.

  I meet Talon halfway across the parking lot. “So?”

  “It’s trashed. Office especially. Computers, phones, printer, copier. All beat to shit.”

  I close my eyes and take a breath. Ruined? I have insurance, but . . . I blink, unable to comprehend what, exactly this is going to entail.

  After another breath, I realize my heart’s pounding, but my stomach feels so damn empty somehow. I clench my hands into fists to stop them from shaking. “The shop?” I force myself to ask.

  “Tools and shit thrown everywhere. I’d check out the motorized and electrical equipment before I used anything, if I were you, but I don’t think it’s as bad as the office.”

  I nod. What else can I do?

  “I saw cameras. You got security?”

  I nod again. “Yeah.”

  “Bear’s calling Snake. Give me your login, and I’ll have him start looking.”

  He hands me his phone, I type in the information, and he sends a text. I watch silently, thinking and yet not. Just staring.

  “You okay, sweet thing?”

  “Yeah.” I’m still breathing hard but try to slow it to something more reasonable. “You know what the video is going to show.” It isn’t a question, but Talon gives me an answer, anyway.

  “The guy you fired.”

  “Cody,” I agree.

  “You had trouble with him before?”

  “Not like this.” I shake my head. “He always had a shitty attitude. I tried to work with it like my dad would have, but I guess he saw me trying to be professional as weakness.”

  Talon grimaces, like he understands on a personal level, and I hope he does. Certainly, he and Joker underestimated me. Maybe they learned something from that.

  Bear comes over, slipping his phone into his back pocket. “Snake’s on it.”

  Talon nods, and the men exchange an expression that contains something I don’t understand. “Looks like we’re gonna be paying Cody a little visit,” says Talon in a hard voice.

  Bear nods. “No surprise there. You givin’ Shiner the lead?”

  “No. But he’s my fucking second.”

  Bear nods again, and I get that part of it. Talon wants to take the lead in confronting Cody, with the club’s enforcer backing him. There’s a lot more to what will happen than what they’re saying, and I know it, but experience has taught me they aren’t going to tell me much more.

  Maybe I’ve watched too many episodes of Sons of Anarchy.

  “Should I call the police?” I ask again, probably not the time for a repeat of that particular question, but I have to do something. I hate standing here, doing nothing, while the men are planning to ride in and save the day.

  “Let’s talk to Prez first.”

  “Why does Joker get to decide?” I snap. The second it’s too late, I hear the bitchy tone. I dislike my reaction even as it gets away from me, but I can’t seem to stop myself. The shock of the break-in is wearing off, and a whole new set of indefinable emotions is rising to the surface. Worse, I’m not used to these rapid-fire reactions to outside forces that are shooting around inside of me.

  Talon takes my hand and leads me over to my truck. He opens the door, lifts me onto the seat, and turns me so I face him directly. He pushes close, working his hips between my thighs until my legs are spread wide. We’re almost eye to eye, and I have no doubt that he wanted it this way.

  “Listen, sweet thing. Nobody fucks with Hell’s Creed. You’re mine, and that puts you under my protection.”

  I blink, stare, blink again. “What?” I shake my head. “I . . . I’m yours?”

  I’m still blinking, like that’s going to make any difference. How many jolts am I supposed to take today? This one isn’t just a mild surprise. It’s like a major shocker the size of an atomic bomb going off inside me.

  I’m Talon’s? And what, exactly, does that mean? I have to ask.

  “I’m claiming you,” he answers. The look he gives me is as hard as it is tender, like there’s no argument. I don’t have my head together enough to even be thinking about any kind of debate.

  “Uhm . . . okay?”

  His chocolatey eyes flare with satisfaction. Does he think I’m agreeing? Am I? I only said it, becaus
e I couldn’t think of anything else.

  “Didn’t expect it, not sure I even wanted it,” he adds, “but after last weekend, I knew.”

  My mouth twitches as my emotions continue to race around inside me like they’re on a NASCAR track. Amusement, excitement, and happiness are all mitigated by fear and astonishment.

  “I . . .” No more words will come.

  Talon grins, leans in for a quick, hard kiss, and then he steps back. A more serious expression is back in place.

  “I’m your man now, and I’ll take care of this. But.” He lifts a shoulder. “Even if that weren’t true, you’d still have the club’s protection in this.”

  “What? Why?” I’m trying to think but my brain got hung up on another of Talon’s statements.

  I’m your man now. Does that make me his woman? And what a stupid question! Of course it does.

  “You’re working for the MC, and this bullshit started on our project.”

  “No.” I shake my head. “Talon, I told you, Cody was always a pain in the ass. He —”

  “Started some shit that I’m gonna finish.”

  Nine

  TALON

  The Sluice Box is a dive bar on the edge of town. Not worth the club’s attention, time, or trouble. We looked at it when we first came to town, but, instead, created Creed’s by buying Nuggets. The Sluice Box is where we’re gonna find that asshole Cody, though.

  As Ainsley predicted, Cody and a couple of his buddies showed up bright as day on Burton Construction’s security feed. They charged into the office with sledgehammers and shit for brains. Dumb asses — or drunk, high asses — did nothing to disable the cameras or disguise themselves. They practically gift fucking wrapped all the evidence we need to try and convict Cody Lawrence, Marty James, and Brian Beauregard.

  Snake tracked them down without too much trouble. They’ve been friends for years, and The Sluice Box has always been their hangout. Hacking into the bar’s lousy security system was so easy I probably could have done it. The instant they showed up here, Snake told us, and now we’re close behind.

  The place is as dark and filthy as I remember. Nobody here gives a shit about anything except where their next drink, their next hit, or maybe their next fuck is coming from. No question about it, they can get all three here.