Alamo nodded. “True. Aubrey’s good people, even though I can’t see how a sweet girl like her fell for a prickly bastard like him. He’s a lucky man.” He met my eyes. “But Dash is a fool.”
“Because?” My voice grew all wobbly when I asked. I hated that he thought ill of me for my past with Noah.
Alamo shook his head, but he didn’t clarify. He never brought it up, never mentioned the day we’d met. I wished he would. I wished he’d just tell me that he thought I was an idiot or a slut or whatever it was that he thought. All I knew was that when Dash’s name came up or Alamo saw me talking to Dash, he turned away. Maybe he had never made a mistake, but that shouldn’t mean that he judged me for one I made a long time ago.
“Right, then.” I took a breath and stepped closer to the tub and, consequently, closer to Alamo. There was no way to check the water and hold the jacket closed—or avoid bending over. Truthfully, though, I wasn’t sure I wanted to either. I wasn’t careless with my body, but I wasn’t a prude either. If he was going to think I was a pass-around girl, maybe he’d end this ridiculous distance between us. There was no reason for him to know that I could count my bedmates on one hand and have fingers to spare. I hadn’t been with anyone since Noah and I split.
I let go of the edges of the jacket, letting it gap open. Almost involuntarily, Alamo dropped his gaze to the middle of the bright blue bra and then down to the matching panties that I’d exposed. Earlier, it was dark enough and I was cold enough that I wasn’t sure what he’d thought. I knew this set was a good choice for me though. The blue was a nice contrast against my pale skin, but it wasn’t something predictable like black or red.
He took a moment simply staring at me, and I felt like my skin burned where his gaze touched. I rolled my left shoulder so the jacket fell off that side, and then pulled it forward over my right side. It looked as practiced as it was. I might not have a long list of ex-lovers, but I’d spent more than a few hours learning how to make myself look natural and relaxed at things that were terrifying. My body wasn’t perfect, but whose is? Confidence was sexier than physical perfection.
Seeing Alamo’s eyes darken was renewed proof of that truth.
“Here.” I held his jacket out to him. “Thank you for keeping me warm. Sorry it got a little wet. I guess I was pretty soaked.” I ran a finger along the inside of one of my bra straps. “I appreciate not having to ride home in just this, though.”
His gaze tracked my hand as he accepted his leather without looking at it. He watched as I propped a foot on the tub and rolled one of my stockings down. When I repeated the action on the other one, his hand fisted on his leather jacket.
I bit back a smile.
Once he looked back at my hand, I slowly slid it down my hip until I reached the top edge of my panties. I paused, enjoying hearing the quiet exhalation as he waited, and then I started to slide my panties down.
“What are you doing, Ellen?” His voice wasn’t as soft and comforting now. He sounded like he was struggling. I loved that I was finally getting a reaction.
“What does it look like?” I paused in my disrobing.
He looked at my mostly naked body. “Either trying to seduce me or getting naked so you can get in the tub.”
“Does it have to be one or the other?” I asked softly.
He tossed his jacket toward the door, and the next moment he grabbed me and yanked me closer. After months of barely being within a foot of me before stepping backward, he had me so close that his wet jeans were harsh against my now-bare legs.
I looked up, and he caught my mouth in the sort of kiss that made me think every other man had been doing this very wrong. My arms twined around his neck, and he lifted me up so I didn’t have to stretch.
I wrapped my legs around him, cherishing the strength in his arms as he moved to support me with one hand under my ass. His T-shirt was sopping wet, and worse yet, it was between me and his skin. I started trying to tug it up.
Bare stomach. Bare chest. I could feel each wet, hard inch of Alamo as I tugged the shirt up. I wanted to look, to touch, but seeing that exposed skin meant stopping kissing him.
I pulled back only long enough so I could get the shirt over his head, but as soon as I started to do so, he lowered me and my feet touched the floor again.
“No. I don’t do halfway, Ellen.” He stared down at me. “I can’t do this. I can’t mess around with someone under club protection.”
My kiss-addled brain clearly wasn’t working right. Seeing the bit of a tattoo that was visible above his belt wasn’t helping. I wanted to see the rest, to see him. He, however, was stepping backward.
“What do you mean?” I managed to force my gaze higher so I was looking at his face. The wet T-shirt clung partway up his chest, baring skin I’d finally been able to touch. He was right there. He’d been kissing me. Now? Nothing but a glimpse of bare skin that was distracting me from my attempts at conversation.
“Protection?” I repeated stupidly.
“I’m not going to start shit in the club for a one-nighter,” he clarified—or seemed to think he’d clarified.
My temper washed back over me. I’d been doing so well, telling myself I didn’t mind that he thought I got around or that he thought I wasn’t attractive or whatever his drama was, but his words hurt enough that I was suddenly furious instead of aroused.
“Okay,” I said as carefully and calmly as I could. “You’re not from here, so maybe you’re confused or something. I’m not under protection. My father was a Wolf, but he’s gone. I’m not anyone’s old lady, and I’m an adult. I can choose my own bedmates without anyone’s approval or permission.”
Alamo shook his head. “Then maybe you need to tell Dash that.”
“Excuse me?” I stepped back and crossed my arms over my chest again. “That was a long time ago.”
“Was it?”
“I’m not the one in his bed tonight, in case you forgot that,” I snapped.
“And I’m not interested in being a revenge fuck because he stepped out on you again,” Alamo said just as sharply.
“Now you listen here, Mister Judgmental.” I pointed my finger at him like he was a misbehaving child. “Not that it’s any of your business, but I haven’t been in his bed since the day I climbed on the back of your bike.”
Alamo looked . . . surprised. There was no other word for it. He hadn’t expected that answer. It was obvious in his expression.
There were only a few possibilities: Dash had lied to Alamo, he’d presumed rights that weren’t his and told Alamo I was off-limits, or Alamo was simply confused. I wasn’t particularly pleased with any of those possibilities.
“Then . . . that doesn’t make sense,” Alamo said, frowning now. “You’re not with Dash?”
“I’m not with Noah,” I stressed. “I have not been since the day you picked me up in the alley.”
Alamo shook his head. “That’s not what I heard. He made it very clear that you were under his protection, and I was to keep my hands off.”
“That was months ago!” I pointed out. “Before—”
“Not before,” Alamo interrupted. “After.”
This time I was the one shaking my head in confusion. I opened my mouth, but there wasn’t anything I could say other than calling Noah or Alamo a liar. Finally I managed to say, “Oh.”
My temper was dowsed, as was my libido.
“I don’t poach, Ellen. He said you were his, and . . . he hasn’t rescinded that. He’s repeated it in case I forgot.” Alamo took a step back, as if being close but not touching was as difficult for him as it was for me. Gently he asked, “Why do you think I’ve stayed clear of you?”
“Because you aren’t interested,” I said, but my voice lifted at the end, making it seem like a question instead of a statement.
“Christ, woman! I stayed away because I forget myself when you’re near.” He laughed, not like it was funny but like he was uncomfortable. “Killer’s been on my ass about it too. I don�
��t want trouble. I tell myself that over and over, but then I see you, and all my logic starts evaporating.”
Again all I could muster was a quiet “oh.”
I wanted to say more. I wanted to call Noah or Killer. Hell, I wanted to call Echo, but it was the middle of the night, and my wanting a man wasn’t the sort of emergency that justified calling Killer or Echo. And Noah needed to look me in the eye when we sorted this shit out.
Unfortunately, that all meant that I was standing in Alamo’s bathroom, nearly naked and having been kissed like kisses were art, and I was still going to bed alone. I’d wanted Alamo more and more over the past few months. He was kind and funny and sweet and sexy. Here I was in his house, and I was no closer to progress.
“I’ll get you a shirt you can sleep in,” Alamo said after several moments of staring at me in silence. “I’ll leave it outside the door so you have privacy.”
And then he left me there, and I felt like screaming again. My day wasn’t ending any better than it had been going since I’d left for the interview. The difference was that this time I could blame it on one very specific person: Noah Dash.
Chapter 16
ALAMO WALKED INTO HIS FRONT ROOM AND HUNG UP HIS jacket. Knowing that Ellen was naked in his tub wasn’t doing wonders for his resolve. She’d seemed genuinely confused when he’d mentioned Dash, although Dash had all but hung a “do not touch” sign on Ellen six months ago.
Alamo had followed the rules. He’d kept it light and easy, and he hadn’t smacked Dash despite seeing him flirting with everything with a pulse. He’d kept clear of Ellen as much as he could—and to find that she and Dash weren’t even together was infuriating. Maybe they did this regularly. That had been what Alamo had assumed, that they were one of those insane together-apart-together couples.
Tonight, though, Dash was in bed with some girl while Ellen was cold and stranded. There was no reason he couldn’t have come to pick her up tonight, or have taken her to sing or to see Killer in the hospital. Honestly, Alamo couldn’t understand why Dash wasted his time with the girls he did when Ellen was around—or why she put up with it if they were actually just on the outs—but relationships weren’t exactly his thing.
He’d had exactly two that were anything semi-serious, but in both cases they’d fallen apart over Alamo’s prioritizing Zoe or the Wolves over his then-girlfriends. If he met a woman who didn’t think his devotion to his family was a problem, maybe he could consider settling down. He wanted to. Unlike a lot of the bikers he’d known in his life, Alamo wasn’t interested in the women who waited around like groupies hoping to be upgraded into something more. He’d moved to Tennessee for a clean start, and he wasn’t going to mess up because he broke club rules. The Wolves were family. Aside from his sister, they were his only family.
That didn’t change the fact that Ellen was in his thoughts far too often. After her comments tonight, he was starting to think that Dash had simply marked Ellen as off-limits in case he wanted her back later. It didn’t matter, though. Being interested in Ellen didn’t change the fact that she was off-limits until Dash rescinded his claim.
Alamo grabbed a beer out of the fridge. It wasn’t what he wanted, but what he wanted would land him in trouble—and he had plenty of that dogging him already. After he’d put a beating on that asshole in North Carolina, he’d worked to put that rage away. He’d slipped here and there, especially when the car full of jerk-offs in traffic had been eyeing Ellen.
He’d hoped that the fact they had Carolina plates was a coincidence, but he’d been a bit wary afterward. Nothing else had surfaced since that day, though, so he was hoping that mess was in the past. If not, he’d deal.
The one thing that set his temper on edge faster than lightning was someone disrespecting a woman he cared about. Zoe and her roommate Ana were both careful to remind him that they could hold their own in many cases, and he was grateful for that. Honestly, he couldn’t fathom even dating someone who wasn’t ballsy because his temper simply wouldn’t bear it. It wasn’t like he’d ever so much as raised his voice at a woman, so he wasn’t worried that he’d hurt one. It was more that he worried that he’d get so protective over one that he’d hurt someone else. His little sister’s friend was crying on their sofa that night, and he’d just snapped. Afterward, the guy he’d put in the hospital had claimed he hadn’t seen his attacker, and the girl offered Alamo an alibi.
Thinking of his sister made him realize that he’d gotten so caught up in Ellen that he hadn’t checked his phone. That was the first time in months that he’d failed to check in with his baby sister. He went to his jacket and grabbed his phone from the inside pocket. He couldn’t get it to check for messages earlier because the jacket was wrapped around a nearly naked woman, and he wasn’t about to go pawing at her to find his phone.
He turned it on to see eight texts from Zoe. He was relieved, even more so as he scrolled through them all. That was the trade-off they’d agreed on when he moved. He was willing to go and let her stay there, but she had to keep him updated on where she was. Some people might think it was a little excessive, but her regular—and often smartass—texts were a salve for his constant worry at being away from her.
As he read the long scroll of messages, he smiled. Apparently Zoe and Ana had been out to a movie, bought coffee, stopped to buy tampons, and then headed home. She also pointed out that they were back home and the door was locked. Oh, and that they both needed tampons, so “Hey, no worries that anyone’s knocked up!” He snorted and texted back that the immaculate conception might be her greatest life achievement if she could pull it off one of these months. Her reply—“I could’ve gotten laid! One day it’ll happen”—was instant and accompanied by a picture of her sticking her tongue out at him as if she was two, not twenty.
Knowing she was home and safe always made him sleep better. The past year or two, he’d felt the same about Ana. They were his responsibility. He’d failed by missing Ana’s text the night she was attacked. He hated worrying that he’d fail them again by being a state away, but they weren’t willing to move or to agree to his moving back home. These nightly texts were what made it possible for him to sleep.
He tapped out: “Check in with Nick this weekend too.”
“Yes, dear.”
“Either you let the Wolves know your schedule or I move back.”
“Already called N,” Zoe replied. “Stop worrying. We’re both fine.”
He smiled and typed, “Love you, lobita. Sleep well.”
Her reply was as routine as his last one had been: “Love you too. Kisses.”
His guilt over not checking in earlier lingered, but his sister and Ana were both fine. Ellen was too. That was the important thing. The thought of all of the things that could’ve happened earlier made him want to grab Ellen and elicit promises that she’d never end up alone along the road again. He couldn’t, but he wanted to.
Instead, he went into his room to get changed out of his wet clothes.
Walking out a few minutes later to find Ellen standing in the living room wearing nothing but his T-shirt made him reconsider his earlier decision about not calling Dash to ask why he claimed she was off-limits when she knew nothing about it. Alamo wasn’t looking for trouble—still—but it seemed absurd that the woman he wanted was here, single, interested, and still forbidden.
“I didn’t realize you were out here,” he said stupidly. “Let me get you a sweatshirt or something.”
“This shirt works,” Ellen said. She stood there with her hair in a towel, her body barely covered in black cotton, and her nipples visible through the shirt like an invitation he wanted to accept.
Instead he said, even more stupidly, “It’s cold.”
He went right back into his room and pulled out the heaviest, longest shirt he could find. He grabbed a pair of sweatpants too. They’d be too big, but maybe she could use a belt or tie them in a knot at the hip or something. He needed not to see her, needed some sort of reminder that she
was out of his reach, and she wasn’t doing anything to remind him of that. He had to.
Ellen’s expression when he returned to the main room made him stop in the doorway. She looked like she wasn’t sure if she was angry or hurt or both, and he didn’t know what to do with that. Women usually fit into three categories in his life: his sister and her friends he wanted to protect, brief hookups, or strangers he didn’t notice or chose not to notice. Ellen didn’t fit in any of those. She wasn’t someone he wanted to be with for a brief encounter—and he sure as hell didn’t feel brotherly toward her.
“You thought I was with Noah,” she said finally. “That was why you called him when you found me earlier along the road. You think I’m his . . . what? A woman who takes scraps?” Ellen’s hands went to her hips, the movement easing the hem of her shirt higher. “I put an end to that the day I met you. Noah hasn’t been in my bed in half a year. When he told you that, it was right after you picked me up, right?”
“Yes, but . . .” Alamo held his hands up in surrender.
“Well, that was then, and this is now. Tomorrow, if he brings my car here before I’m awake, you drag his sorry ass in here and wake me. You’re about to owe me an apology.”
“An apology?”
“For not just asking me,” she explained.
“Yes, ma’am.” He tried to keep his emotion out of his voice, but there was something fabulous about a woman in a temper. He wouldn’t want to be on the receiving end of it, but seeing her like this made him certain that she’d be everything he could want in life. There was nothing inherently wrong with women who were sweet-tempered. They just didn’t appeal to him. Ellen did. He’d done his level best to ignore it, but it was far from easy to do so.
“Alamo?”
“Yes, ma’am,” he repeated.
Ellen crossed her arms over her chest, and he thought she was going to turn her temper on him for woolgathering, but instead her voice grew soft and she asked, “Can I get a pillow and blanket for the sofa?”
Alamo blinked at her and realized he hadn’t told her he had a guest room. It wasn’t typical of single guys, but he had a sister who visited often enough that there was no way he could have a house with only one bed. Doing so would mean he had to try to sleep on the sofa, which was far too uncomfortable for him and had been since he was too young to drive, or that he’d be asking a woman to sleep on the sofa. That was completely impossible for him. He might not have been raised by the classiest people, but he was still a Southern man and that meant that he was duty-bound to treat women like the precious creatures they were. No exceptions.
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