Luckily there was a free parking spot. Friday night at six wasn’t exactly the right time to go anywhere. People were off work, madly trying to get home after a long week. Also, it seemed like the entire city poured downtown in search of good night life, the best beer on tap, or just simply for the fact that it was Friday night and no one could be bothered to cook.
Damon guided the car into the small space. He nearly rubbed the front bumper of the car behind him. Nearly, but not quite. He smiled at the back up camera as he shifted into park and watched the image disappear. He killed the ignition, but sat in the car, watching.
He didn’t move. He sat perfectly still as couples, passed down the icy sidewalks, dirty snow and icy slush lumped up beside the salted, scraped concrete. They walked hand in gloved hand, laughed and talked. They took their time despite the chill of the February night.
Mothers hurried by with children attached to their hands or pulling at their arms. Some were smiling. Some looked frazzled and exhausted. One mother stopped to wipe a small girl’s nose, but after searching her purse and coming up empty, she decided to whip her scarf off from around her neck and use it as a mock tissue.
Businessmen wearing suits and wool button up coats strolled by, laughing and talking with each other, decompressing after a stressful week. A group of younger men and women, probably in their mid-twenties, spoke and joked loudly as they strolled down the sidewalk. He overheard one of the women in the group of six talking about a comedy show. Their laughter trailed after them as they headed down the street.
All those people Damon observed, as he leaned back against the driver’s seat, arms folded across his leather jacket, they all had somewhere to be. They were either coming or going. They were enjoying themselves or they weren’t or they were somewhere in between, but they all had a life. They all had problems. They all had something they were running from or running to. Things could have been better or they could have been worse.
But at least they had a life.
He’d been waiting for seven months for his to start.
Damon’s hand slid to the door handle. He pulled it open smoothly, without so much as a tremble of nerves, though his stomach remained tied in knots. It had been that way for weeks. He wouldn’t say he was tortured, but it was something close to that.
He’d been watching her for two weeks. Tracing her movements. Watching her patterns. She looked different. She now went by the name of Emily Neil, aged twenty-seven. She took night classes on Tuesday and Thursday nights, studying Business Admin. Her hair was short now, cropped into a bob. She’d dyed it a bright red and with her eyebrows tinted to match, it looked perfectly natural with her skin tone. No one would ever know that she’d once been a blonde.
She looked good. She worked out. She ran three times a week, Monday, Wednesday, and Friday, before her shift started at ten. She was off at six, but never left before seven, unless she had class, since the place was so busy.
Damon knew all of that about Kirstin. The one thing he didn’t know was whether she’d be happy that he’d found her or not.
He was guessing it was going to be the latter.
Generally when a person left in the middle of the night, kicked some biker’s ass by grazing them with a bullet and then saving them from drowning, trekked through an entire woods, hitchhiked their way up into the Canadian prairies and changed their identity, it wasn’t exactly because they wanted to be discovered.
Damon locked the car with the fob and tucked the key into his jeans pocket. He hadn’t bothered with a disguise for the evening. Kirstin was either going to see him and run or she’d stay and find out what he had to say. He might have been tailing her for weeks, but he was done with that.
He walked up the sidewalk to the diner. The canopy was red and white striped. The place was small, a quaint brick building with two bay windows on either side, split by the glass door. The menu was posted on the upper glass section and his eyes scanned it for a brief second, staring at the home cooked fare.
His hand tucked into the handle and he pulled. The glass door was heavy, and as soon as he stepped inside, the din of conversation rose up from inside. He gave the place a quick glance. It was decorated like a traditional fifties diner, at least, their version of it. The counter was red with a chrome top. The bar stools matched and the booths featured red vinyl and white tabletops.
There was one booth near the back, but instead of making for it, he sauntered up the counter. Kirstin stood behind, her back turned. She was giving instructions through the small window, where she could converse with the kitchen staff. She had on her diner uniform, an appropriate knee length pink smock with a white frilly apron, white runners and white socks. She wore a pink visor over her red hair and he already knew it had the name of the diner written across the front.
He leaned against the counter, ignoring the aggravated stare from a middle-aged woman to his right. He knew he was up in her space and he’d correct it soon enough.
He watched Kirstin grab a round plastic tray and load it up with glasses of soda and water. She tucked a red and white plastic striped straw in each drink and hefted the tray, though her shift was officially over a half hour ago at least.
She hefted the tray, tucking it in against her body. When she turned around, intent on delivering those drinks to her thirsty customers, her eyes went straight to his face. She let out a little gasp and her mouth parted in shock. She started and dropped the tray with a loud crash.
The sound of glass breaking and Kirstin’s high-pitched scream as the cold water and sticky soda splashed all over her, temporarily silenced the diner.
“You,” she breathed. She didn’t move or bend to pick up anything that she’d just spilled. Another waitress took pity on her plight, a younger blonde, and rushed behind the counter to help.
Damon shrugged. “Me.”
“What are you- what are you doing here? How did-”
“How did I find you?” He shrugged again, feigning a casualness that he sure as hell didn’t feel. Seeing Kirstin again, and having her see him, sent a shock racing through his body. His mind took him right back to that morning they’d spent in the woods, to the brief time in the motel room. She wasn’t just the best sex that he’d ever had. She wasn’t just the most beautiful woman, the most sensual, the most incredibly haunting, she was the first woman who ever made him feel anything. At least with parts of himself that existed above the waist.
“Yes, how did you find me?” Kirstin breathed. Her hands flew to her hips and she glared at him accusingly, as if by chance he’d missed how she’d dropped her entire tray of drinks.
“I can tell you that later. After you’re off.”
“Oh really?” Her eyebrow arched and that sass that he remembered so well was back in her eyes, on her face, pulling her lips into a hard line. She stared him down, and he couldn’t help it. His cock stiffened just looking at her.
“Yeah. Really. I was hoping you’d let me take you for a drink, and we could talk.”
“We can talk here,” she snapped. She pointed to the booth in the back corner. “Wait for me there.” She dismissed him as she bent down, helping the blonde clean up the spilled drinks and broken glass.
Honestly, it was a better reception than he’d hoped for. He bit his cheek to keep from smiling, in case Kirstin had suddenly sprouted eyes and could see him as he turned his face and walked away. He headed to the back and slid into the booth. The vinyl was sticky and slightly hard and felt strange against his jeans, like one or the other was going to tear against the friction.
He folded his hands on the cool table top and waited. There were no windows in the place, but a few overhead lights buzzed from the ceiling and some fifties inspired domes hung over the tables. A retro looking poster for laundry soap adorned the brick wall. The place had tried hard to create an atmosphere. He’d give it a solid six out of ten, but then again, he hadn’t tried the food. That might improve the rating. It remained to be seen.
Ironically enou
gh, another waitress, an older woman with dark hair, approached the table. She raised a brow and looked him over. Though she was probably at least fifteen to twenty years older than he was, she winked right after she asked him if he wanted a menu.
“Sure, I’ll take a menu.” He nodded and flashed her a charming smile. At least, he hoped it was charming. He didn’t have much practice with it over the years.
It must have worked, because the waitress, Betty, her name tag said when she turned to place the red folder down on the table, flushed. “The burgers are the best here. They can’t be beat.”
“Well, in that case, I’ll have whatever you think is best. Whatever burger and fries, please. And a water, if that’s alright?”
“Certainly.” Betty picked up the menu and dipped low, giving him an ample view of cleavage that was either a little more youthful than its owner or was pushed up by a very good bra. Possibly both. She flushed a little deeper and scurried off towards the kitchen.
Ten minutes later, a plate was set down in front of him containing what did indeed look to be a delicious burger, a heaping pile of fries, and a side of gravy. He looked up, expecting to thank Betty for the thoughtful addition that he hadn’t asked for, and found Kirstin staring down at him. She kept her face stoic as she slid into the booth across from him.
“You’re not eating?”
“Yeah, I am. Why do you think you have so many fries?” She snatched the silver gravy pot off the side of his plate. “That sure as hell isn’t for you. I just wanted to save the kitchen a plate, so I used yours.”
“Riiiight.” he drew out the word, letting her know that he didn’t quite believe her. She kicked him hard under the table, right in the shin. He tried hard not to wince, though it really did sting, even with her runners on to cushion the blow. If she’d been wearing her riding boots, she might have broken his damn bone.
“Shut up and just tell me how and why you found me.” She shook her head. “On second thought, do me one better and tell me when you’re going to leave.”
Chapter 18
KIRSTIN
Kirstin occupied her hands with the fries and gravy. She pretended that her palms weren’t sweaty and that her stomach wasn’t a mess of nerves and that it didn’t currently feel like she’d attempted to swallow down an entire sock. The lump wedged in her throat refused to budge, but somehow she was able to choke down a few gravy drenches fries.
She was comforted by the familiarity of the diner. If she had to do this with him, she was glad that it was there, where she could get it over and done with.
Damon leaned in. He hadn’t touched his food, which she expected. She still couldn’t believe he was there. It had been seven months and she didn’t know if she was happy to see him.
No, of course she was happy to see him. That was and always had been the problem. She couldn’t stop the way her stomach fluttered. She couldn’t stop the snowballing memories that assaulted her. Most of them included she or Damon in various states of undress. She hated that she dreamed of him all the time, that she’d wake, aching and longing. She hated that she’d left so that she could put him behind her and start a new life, but she hadn’t been able to keep him a part of her past.
The pain of the past had dimmed, though knowing the way her parents passed painted a gruesome picture of grief across her heart. Their ghosts, for the most part, remained silent. Damon was different. She’d never be able to remove his ghost from her being.
Literally, since he was sitting right across from her, no longer the ghost that tortured her dreams and wreaked havoc on her body, but a real flesh and blood being.
He looked exactly the same. Same sparkling, glacial blue eyes. Same hard, handsome features. Same sharp jawline. He hadn’t shaved in a day or two and a shadow of dark stubble made him look edgy and dangerous. And sexy as sin.
His full lips quirked into an amused smile. God, she remembered that look all too well. “You’re looking at me.”
She dropped her eyes. “I’m not.”
“You were.”
She raised her head, anger rising up in her throat. She liked anger. It was safer than any other emotion. “Because you showed up here out of nowhere. How did you find me? Tell me now, or I’m getting up and leaving and this time, I’ll make sure you never get another chance.”
“Creed,” he said simply. “I knew I didn’t have a hope in hell of tracking you down. Hiring people would have been a waste of money and it’s not like I had a ton to spare. Creed is the best at what he does. Or rather, the people he knows, people who owe him favors, know people who know people, who know people. Anyway, it’s quite a domino effect and eventually we got word that you were here. Working here. That you’d changed your name and cut off your hair. I followed that lead. I’ve been here for two weeks. Watching you.” He sighed. “There was one point, around month five or six, where I really thought we’d never find you. I’d just about given up.”
“I wish you had.”
“Do you?” His brow arched up. He picked up his burger and took a bite, attempting to mask emotions he wasn’t sure if he had a right to. Just like she was doing.
God, we are such a pair. “I’m not going to dignify that with a response. If I left you behind, didn’t you ever figure, in that thick skull of yours, that I wanted to be left alone?”
“Honestly…” Damon set down the burger and licked mayo off his fingers. Just watching his index finger slid in between his lips, watching him suck it and pull it out, shiny and wet, made her insides quiver.
She squeezed her legs together, trying to still the ache, resenting her body for being so easily swayed and as completely traitorous as she remembered. How had she ever thought it was a good plan to gain her freedom by seducing this man?
“We had some good times, didn’t we?”
“When?” she rolled her eyes. “When we were naked or when we were running and fighting for our lives?”
Damon grinned and it was a wicked grin that cut straight to her soul. “Both?”
Her stomach clenched and she swore that her panties dampened. She wanted to slap herself, to see if she could knock some good sense and better judgment back into herself, but she knew it wouldn’t help. When it came to Damon, her physical response had always been beyond her control. Which was why she’d needed to put distance between them in the first place. So it could never grow and turn into anything that had a chance of destroying her the way her parents’ murder had.
“Look,” Kirstin sighed. “I- I didn’t want to be found. I knew I had to get away from you because I felt like you’d never let me get away. I know you said you wanted to see me to safety, but… I could see myself there. I could look after myself. I didn’t need you to save me. It was noble that you did, but you got me as far as you needed to. I knew you’d be okay, with Creed. I could leave with confidence knowing that you wouldn’t be hurt because of me.”
“Why leave at all? We could have gone together. You didn’t have to strike out on your own. You didn’t have to do it all alone. You had nothing to prove. Not to me, not to anyone. Certainly you shouldn’t have had to prove your own toughness to yourself. I’ve never met a woman who could handle herself as well as you do. Weapons, feeling from evil bastards who want her dead, kicking a guy in the nuts, kicking another guy’s ass in the woods, saving him from drowning, finding her own way across the country to a new life… the list goes on and on. What haven’t you done?”
“I wasn’t trying to prove anything. This wasn’t a game.”
“I know.”
“Do you? It wasn’t some adult version of hide and seek. I never wanted you to find me.”
Damon frowned and his eyes glistened with intensity and emotion that she didn’t dare try to discern or pick apart. “I know that. I know it wasn’t a game. Do you really think this was some kind of challenge that I took upon myself? That I spent months and months hoping that Creed’s people could locate you just to show up and say I did it?”
“I don’t know
,” Kirstin shook her head. “I don’t know what you want from me.”
“I don’t want anything from you,” Damon said, his voice gentler. His eyes burned into hers, right through her, straight into her soul, like they always had. “I want to give you something.”
“Oh my god. If you knew where I was, why didn’t you just mail it? You didn’t have to come all this way. You could have called, sent an email, phoned, texted. There are a thousand ways to get in touch with a person. I’m willing to bet that Creed’s people found them all for you.”
Damon’s smile spread into a full on, shit-eating grin. “You’re right. He did.”
“Then why the fuck didn’t you just call for shit sakes?” Kirstin asked, exasperated.
“Because,” Damon winked. “What I want to give you, is me.”
Chapter 19
DAMON
“I’m going to pretend you didn’t just say that.” Kirstin rolled her eyes, but the pink flush on her cheeks gave her away. She laughed, but the sound was nervous. Her hand shook, so she tucked them into her lap.
“Why? It’s true.”
“Because…” she shifted uncomfortable under his direct gaze. “I- we…” her eyes flew up and there was no hiding the pain in those beautiful emerald depths. “Damon, you saved me. You didn’t have to, but you did. You got me out and I’ll always be thankful to you for that. I- we never had a future though. I thought I made that pretty clear. I was always going to leave. I was always going to go and start a new life. You were never in my cards.”
There was no way he was going to settle for that, especially not when Kirstin’s face looked anything but firm and he sensed both her loneliness and her resolve slipping. “And what if we’d been dealt a different hand?”
“We weren’t though.”
Lonely Rider - The Box Set: A Motorcycle Club Romance - The Complete Series Page 50