by Geri Glenn
Randy’s arms reach for me and he yanks me to him so fast, I drop the wire and the spool rolls away from us. His hands grip my ass as he leans closer, his fingers digging into the muscle hard enough to cause pain. His hot breath reeks of stale coffee and cigarettes, causing my stomach to sour.
“Let me go,” I snarl, planting my hands on his chest. I squirm and thresh, doing everything I can think of to wiggle out of his grasp, but he just holds me closer.
“That a girl,” he says with a grin. “Fight it. I like it when you make me work for it.”
Randy lowers his head, his lips aimed at mine and I do the only thing a woman can do in my position. I pull my head back and then slam it forward, connecting the top of my head to his nose with a loud and wet sounding crunch.
“You bitch!” he screams, shoving me to the ground.
I scramble back on my ass like a crab, kicking and jabbing at his reaching fingers. And then Xander is there. He stands in front of me, facing Randy, his shoulders heaving and his voice low.
“Stand down, asshole.”
Randy glowers at him, his hand clutching his obliterated nose, blood running over his lips and fingers. “Fuck you,” he spits.
Xander looks down at me and then back to Randy. “Wrong answer, asshole.” I barely see him move. In the blink of an eye, the sound of fist against flesh fills the air, and Randy is on the ground on the other side of Xander, his wail of pain echoing through the empty house. “You’re done, Randy. I don’t give a fuck what your uncle says, but even he won’t tolerate laying hands on a woman.”
Randy doesn’t answer. Well, more like he can’t. He’s too busy crying at Xander’s feet, blubbering about a hospital and his nose and ambulances.
Xander turns and offers me a hand. “Nice head butt,” he says as he pulls me to my feet. “I only caught the end of it, though.” He takes a step back and looks me over from head to toe. “Did he hurt you?”
I glare down at Randy, hating him for making me feel like a helpless little girl. “I’m fine,” I say, finally meeting Xander’s eyes. “I stopped him before he could do anything.”
Xander nods, respect shining bright in his eyes. “I’m glad. I’m just sorry I didn’t get here sooner.” He winces. “How’s your head though? You hit him pretty hard.”
I grin and rub the tender spot on top of my head. “I’m good. I have a hard head.”
Xander grins back at me for a moment, but then Randy’s cries stop and he slowly rolls to his front, attempting to gain his feet. “You go,” he tells me. “I’ll deal with this asshole.”
I don’t know what to say to that. Thank you doesn’t seem like it’s good enough. So, I say nothing. I just smile and pick up the spool of wire, then go back to work without a word to either one of them.
∞ ∞ ∞
Xander
Nutsy takes a sip of his drink and nods toward the house. “Looks like we have company.”
I turn and watch as Emery makes her way through power tools and skids of building materials until she gets to us. “Mind if I sit?” she asks.
I hold out my hand, indicating the space around me. For days I’ve watched Emery eat her lunch by herself, her nose buried in a book, ignoring the workers that mill around her. To have her want to sit over here with us feels like a minor victory.
“Hi,” she says to Nutsy, leaning forward to offer him her hand. “I’m Emery.”
“Nutsy,” he says with a grin. He always gets a kick out of people’s reactions when he introduces himself that way.
Emery barks out a laugh, her eyes growing wide. She looks at me as if to ask if he’s serious, and when I nod, she just shakes her head and grin. “Nice to meet you, Nutsy.”
Nutsy’s name isn’t Nutsy of course. It’s a name given to him by my father back when we were children. His real name is Mark Marshall, but even as a kid, he’d been a bit of a goofball. Dad had taken to calling him Nutsy after he’d fallen out of a tree in my Gran’s backyard and broken his arm. He’d been a bit of a klutz back in those days.
“What about you?” she asks, her attention focused on me. “Do you have a weird nickname I should know about?”
Nutsy leans forward and grins. “We call him Crash.”
Emery pulls the lid off of her salad and pour the dressing over top. “Crash. That must have quite a story to go with it.”
I open my mouth to speak, but Nutsy beats me to it again. “Stupid fucker drove his motorcycle through the back of his Gran’s garage when he was a kid. The whole damn thing collapsed right on top of him. He’s been Crash to the club ever since.”
Emery laughs with Nutsy, the two of them enjoying a good old laugh at my expense. When the laughter fades, Emery stirs her salad. “What club?” she asks. “You said the club calls him that.”
“Satan’s Descendants,” Nutsy replies, pride clear in his voice.
I watch Emery’s reaction to that. You never quite know how people are going to react when they find out you’re in a motorcycle club. Especially women. They don’t get the beauty of it at all. They don’t understand the comradery or the brotherhood that comes from being in an MC.
“So you ride then?” she asks, this time looking at me.
I nod and point out to the road. My Harley sits alongside Nutsy’s, about fifty feet from the end of the driveway, it’s chrome gleaming in the sunlight. “Been riding since I was able to hold one up,” I tell her.
“It’s beautiful,” she replies. I don’t know that I’d call my ride beautiful. Badass maybe. Or sexy even, but I’m not sure I like beautiful. It doesn’t matter though. I can feel the weight of Emery’s stare on the polished metal as if she’s actually staring at me.
“You want to take a ride sometime?” I ask her, wondering what it would be like to have her on the back of my bike. “We can get that beer.”
Emery just grins and shakes her head. “Nah,” she says and points in the other direction. “I got my own.”
Sure enough, I follow the direction of her finger and see a red and black Harley Davidson Softail Deluxe parked under a tree in front of the house next door. I blink back at her at the same time Nutsy bursts out in laughter.
“Denied, fuck face,” he laughs, gathering his garbage and getting ready to go back to work.
Emery’s cheeks turn an intriguing shade of pink as he walks away and I turn my attention back to her. “You ride?”
“My father taught me.”
Goddamn. She really could be the perfect woman, if such a creature exists. “And you still won’t go for that beer with me?” I tease.
“Nope,” she says, popping her lips on the “p.”
Five
Emery
Imake my way to the truck, trying not to look at Xander’s ass as he squats over the skid out front and fail miserably. Three times now he has asked me out, and all three times I’ve said no, even though what I really wanted to do was drag him to my and attack his mouth with mine.
“Heads up!” I hear from the rooftop and look up just in time to see the power drill plummeting to the ground directly over Xander’s head.
“Look out!” I scream, but it’s too late. I watch in horror as the drill slams into the top of Xander’s hard hat and his entire body crumples to the dirt beneath him. I don’t waste any time making it to his side.
“Xander!” I cry, kneeling beside him, but he doesn’t reply. Oh, God. Placing two fingers at the side of his neck, I feel for his pulse, my own rushing in my ears. Finally, I feel one, strong and steady, but Xander is out cold.
“Xander, wake up,” I say, careful not to move him. Instead, I place my hands on either side of him and put my face in his. “Xander?”
His long, dark eyelashes flutter a little and then slowly, his eyes peel open and he blinks up at me in confusion. “Xander, are you okay?”
“What …” He swallows and tries to sit up, but I place my hands on his shoulders, forcing him to stay on the ground. “What happened?”
“You took a nasty blow
to the head,” I tell him, slowly pulling off his hard hat. I sink my fingers into his short dark hair, ignoring how soft and silky it is, and instead searching for any unusual lumps and bumps that may have been caused by the six-pound power tool that had just landed on it. Feeling nothing, I hold up three fingers. “How many fingers am I holding up?”
He stares at my hand, taking far too long to answer me. “Three.”
“Should I call an ambulance?” someone asks from behind me.
“Yes,” I say over my shoulder, but at the same time, Xander pushes himself to a sit and says, “No. I’m fine. Really.”
“You know, it’s funny,” I tell him. “It seems one of us is always reassuring the other that we’re fine.” I frown. “I don’t think you are fine though. You passed out and likely have a concussion. You need to go get it checked out.”
Xander’s pupils are slightly off and he wobbles a bit as he grins up at me. “You gonna take me on your motorcycle?”
I can’t help but laugh. “No, smarty pants. I’m gonna take you in Ron’s truck.”
It takes two men to get him to his feet and help him to the truck. As soon as he’s loaded in, I start the engine and gun it toward the hospital. Xander’s head falls back against the back of the seat and he closes his eyes.
I reach out and take his hand in mine and squeeze. “Xander! Open your eyes. You need to stay awake.” Xander’s eyes pop open and he slowly turns his head to watch me. “Just look at me, okay?”
“You’re so beautiful,” he says softly and my cheeks instantly begin to burn like they’re on fire.
“You hit your head just a little too hard, I think.”
Xander’s hand comes out and tucks a stray lock of hair behind my ear. “I’d still think you were beautiful if that drill and taken my head right off.”
∞ ∞ ∞
Xander
“It isn’t much,” I tell her as we step inside my house. “But it’s mine.”
Since Carla had cleaned me out, it had taken me a while to acquire the things I need to make this house my home. Couches and chairs I’d bought from some chick online. A television I’d gotten when Pounder upgraded to a larger model. Dishes, lamps and cooking utensils all bought one piece at a time as I could afford them.
“It’s cute,” she says with a smile, following me through the door. I’d tried to convince her she didn’t need to stay, but she had insisted. It was either her or my Gran, and the last thing my Gran needed was to be fussing over me.
I sway a little on my feet, my head throbbing in the place I’d been struck. Thank God I’d been wearing my hat, otherwise I’m pretty sure the whole crew would have been scraping my brains off the side of that shiny new house for weeks.
“Let’s get you into bed,” Emery says, her arm wrapping around me for support. “Which way?” I nod toward the stairs, and like an old drunk, I allow her to lead me up them and into my bedroom. I feel like an idiot. I’ve been thinking about getting her into my bedroom pretty much nonstop for over a week now, but I never would have imagined it would be like this.
When we get inside, Emery helps me sit and then turns to look around the room. “What do you normally wear to bed?”
I can’t help but smirk before I answer, knowing damn well it will embarrass her. “Nothin’.”
Emery’s eyes go wide and her face turns a gorgeous shade of pink, the color disappearing under the neckline of her shirt. “Not today, mister. The doctor said you can sleep, but that I need to wake you every two hours, and you’re going to be wearing clothes when I do.”
“My boxer briefs then,” I say with a chuckle.
It takes two of us to remove my t-shirt. Emery slips it over my head and I lift my arms so she can pull it off. Her eyes run along the bare skin of my arms and chest and she swallows. “You have a lot of tattoos,” she whispers.
I point to the blank area on my chest. “Not done yet. I have a really nice piece to go right here. Just haven’t had time to get it done.”
I push myself to my feet and unbuckle my jeans, but my head swims and I almost fall back onto the bed. Pain throbs in my head as I struggle, until finally I can’t take it anymore. I need to lay down. “Little help?”
Her teeth sink into her lower lip and her gaze flashes to mine before she sighs and pushes my hands aside. Emery crouches in front of me, slipping the heavy material down my legs and then glancing up at me from her place on the floor.
Her face is mere inches from my cock, and even with this pounding headache, I can already feel myself growing hard. She looks so beautiful down there, her eyes on mine, her lips parted and her chest heaving.
In that moment, I forget about the pain. I couldn’t care less about my headache or my concussion or the doctor’s orders to take it easy. All I really want to do is strip her naked, lay her out on my bed and sink myself deep inside her. And if she knew what I was really thinking right now, she’d probably cut my fucking balls off.
“Sit,” she says, her voice a little huskier than usual. “I’ll take off your socks and boots.”
I do as I’m told, folding my arm across my lap to hide the erection I am positive would embarrass her. She makes quick work of untying my boots, tugging them off and then my socks, followed by my jeans.
She stands, her cheeks still very pink, and tugs the blankets out from under me. “Lay down.” As I slip my feet under the blankets and position my head down on the pillow, my head spins and my cock forgets it’s mission to bed Emery. I couldn’t hump my way out of a wet paper bag.
She pulls the covers up over my chest and tucks them under my chin. “I’ll be right downstairs,” she says softly. “If you need anything, call out. If not, I’ll be in every two hours to check on you.” A fresh wave of pain has my squeezing my eyes closed and all I can do is nod. “Sleep well, Xander.”
Six
Emery
Setting your alarm to wake someone every two hours throughout the night is exhausting. The doctor had instructed that I was to wake Xander every two hours and ask him simple questions, like his name and the date and where he works, but I swear, every time I went in there, I was so out of it, it was him asking me the questions.
“Babe,” he says when I go in at four o’clock in the morning. “I’m good. You’re dead on your feet. Just sleep.”
“Uh uh, mister. The doctor said every two hours and I’m sticking to it.”
Xander sighs. “Well, at least sleep in here. That couch is lumpy as fuck and I hate that you’re climbing those stairs every damn time.”
I eye the fluffy looking pillow beside him, so very tempted to take him up on his offer. “I don’t think so.”
“If it’s your virtue you’re afraid of losing, I can assure you, I don’t think I could get it up right now if I tried.” I cock a brow at him. I had seen his cock earlier that night. Well, the outline of it anyway, and I know for a fact he can still get it up.
Xander laughs softly and pulls back the blankets beside him. “Get in. Unless it’s my virtue you’re worried about.”
I roll my eyes and spear him with a look. “Not likely.” I don’t argue though. I’m exhausted and that bed looks too tempting to ignore.
I walk around to the other side and lower myself onto the mattress. I can’t help but groan as I lay myself out on it. Xander was right about his couch. It is lumpy as fuck. I lift my phone to my face and set the alarm for two hours from now and tug the blankets up and over me.
I turn on my left side, which is the only side I can sleep on, and come nose to nose with Xander. “Why won’t you go out with me?” he whispers.
As I stare into his deep brown eyes, I don’t know the answer to that question anymore. At first I’d said no because I didn’t want to risk my reputation on the job. I’d kept saying no because I enjoyed the banter of him asking and me shooting him down. But now, I can’t figure out what I was thinking.
Xander is handsome, strong and after seeing him deal with Randy, admirable. If I was to pick the perfect
man for myself, he would look like Xander. He would smell like him. He would ride a Harley just like him. He would be covered in beautiful tattoos just like him. He had treated me with nothing but kindness and respect, and his patience at me constantly shooting him down was something most men did not possess.
“Xander?” I whisper. His eyes had fallen closed when I didn’t answer his question, but when I say his name, they flutter open. “Want to get a beer sometime?”
Xander’s face splits into a wide grin that makes my heart flutter in my chest. “Thought you’d never ask.”