by Jani Kay
Focus. Think with the big head.
Chapter 3 ~ Jade
The rumble of the Harley sounded completely out of place in the quiet neighborhood. I stood in front of the door, tapping my foot, my impatience at getting this over with, making me on edge.
Renting this house to a biker was a mistake. I knew Uncle Eric would admit to it later, and regret his decision, when the lovely garden was destroyed and the house trashed. Yet, I was only an employee, doing my job to the best of my ability.
Unease settled in my gut as I watched Ryder take the helmet off his head and hang it over the handlebars, running his fingers through his thick, dark hair. I took the moment to stare at him openly. Biceps bulged under his T-shirt and he appeared more relaxed than the day before.
I had to admit, reluctantly and against my better judgement, that he cut a fine figure sitting on his bike, as if he melded into it, completely in tune with the metal beast.
Man and machine were hot as hell.
But… definitely not my style. Still, I was mature enough to admit when something was beautiful, even if not to my tastes. Each to their own.
Yet I kept staring, my mind a whirl. I moved in all the right social circles, met plenty of new people—and men—all the time. It was just a matter of time till I met Mr. Right. The man who ticked all my boxes and would provide my happily ever after. I narrowed my eyes against the sharp afternoon sun, a faint unfamiliar flutter in my stomach. There was something about this man that challenged all my senses. But why? Why him? I just couldn’t quite put my finger on it.
His raw edginess was sensual on a level I wasn’t accustomed to. He definitely had the whole bad boy thing going on. He was gruff and stern, his stubbled jaw permanently clenched, his dark brows knitted ominously into a frown. Sexual power rolled off him in waves, causing my mouth to go dry as I sensed his primal animal magnetism.
No doubt women flocked to him, some even believing they’d be the one to finally tame the badass biker and make him their man. Luckily I had no intentions of ever going there. I’d leave him to the rest of the female population to tame. Good luck to them. This one wasn’t going to be easy.
He looked up, his unfathomable eyes locking on mine. A lazy smile spread across his face and he slowly and very deliberately raked his gaze up and down my body. I tugged at my skirt, then rested my arms across my chest in a protective fashion against those eyes that were practically undressing me.
He swung a long muscled leg over the bike and made his way up the path, his eyes trained on mine, apparently oblivious to the roses lining the path and the freshly mowed lawn. I fidgeted with the clipboard that I clasped tightly to my chest, distressed that my heart was beating so furiously at the sight of him striding toward me, with a cocky grin plastered on his face.
Yes, Ryder Knox was sex on legs.
“Hello, Princess,” he drawled, his eyes piercing mine, “we meet again.”
“Ugh,” I replied. Very eloquent, considering I’d just written my final exams and was practically a qualified lawyer; I’d soon be making my living out of my gift to articulate at daddy’s firm. Go figure.
Pull yourself together Jade, don’t let him get to you.
I pushed the door open and stepped inside.
“Listen, Ryder. Since you won’t fill out any forms, I’m going through every room with you, one by one. We’ll agree on the condition of everything on my checklist, which I’ll require you to sign. That way we have an undisputable record in case anything goes wrong. That along with photographs I’ve already taken, so that there’s no arguing or any bullshit afterwards. Your deposit will be used to fix any damages to the property and the appliances and fixtures. Understood?” My voice was curt and what I hoped he would perceive as don’t-mess-with-me.
His nostrils flared and his brow knitted. Good. He understood my message. I flashed him my tight lipped professional smile.
His lips curled into a snarl. “Stop being so fucking uptight, Princess. I’m not going to trash the goddamn place. Just so we are clear, I want every cent of my fucking deposit back when I leave.”
“Hmmpf,” I snorted, quite unladylike. “That will be a miracle.”
His eyebrow raised in warning. “You don’t know me. Are you always so fucking quick to judge other people?”
“I’m a pretty good judge of character. I haven’t been wrong before,” I smirked, my heels clacking on the polished hardwood floors as I made my way to the newly installed chef’s kitchen. I stood by the stainless steel oven and turned to him.
Angry eyes glared at me, creasing at the corners as he narrowed them. “You’re a kid. What do you know about life? Real life ain’t no fucking picnic, Princess. Not everyone lives a goddamn fairy tale. It’s time you grew the fuck up.” He gripped my shoulders and squeezed, his thumbs pressing hard into my skin—I was sure I’d have bruises the next day.
My gaze burned into him. “F.Y.I., I’m twenty-three next month. That makes me an adult.” I poked a finger into his chest. “Just because you’re acting as if you’re over the hill, doesn’t make me a damn kid.”
He threw his head back and let out a deep guttural laugh from within his belly. “I’m not even ten years older than you, sweetheart. I guess compared to your life experience I am an old man. But I still have a fucking lot of living left in me.” His thumbs caressed my shoulders in large circular motions, relieving the pain he’d inflicted just moments ago. A shiver ran down my spine. Abruptly, I shrugged out of his grip and stepped backward so he was no longer touching me. I needed the distance between us to think clearly.
I turned to the state of the art kitchen units and mustered my most professional voice. “These units and appliances are newly installed. Pity you will be eating mostly take-away food.”
“Fuck, Princess, there’s that smart mouth of yours again. I’m going to have to find a way to fucking shut it up. It’s really pissing me off.” His gaze lingered on my mouth as he rubbed over his own lips with his index finger, deep in contemplation.
Bristling, I pulled my shoulders back and straightened up so that I stood taller. Even in my heels, I was at least a foot shorter than him.
I stormed off into the rest of the house. Right now I wanted to be anywhere but here. We went through each room, one by one. Mostly we agreed on the condition of each room and I could just tick the boxes on my list. Thank God, it was nearly over and I could get out of here.
Why the hell had I insisted on doing these freaking inspections? And what’s more, why had I insisted on conducting them myself?
Smart, Jade, real smart.
Angry at myself and lost in my thoughts, I marched into the main bedroom.
“Ah, the best room in the house,” he chuckled behind me.
Annoyed by his comment, I spun around on my heels and came up against a hard chest. I drew in a sharp breath; his manly smell filled my nostrils. I hadn’t expected him to follow that closely. Amusement lightened his eyes as he grinned down at me.
He sauntered over to the king sized bed that dominated the room and tested the mattress. “Hmm, feels nice and firm. Not that I’ll be sleeping much in it,” he said cryptically.
He lay down on the bed, his head leaning up against the headboard, and patted the space beside him. “Want to join me so that we can see if we agree on the condition of the bed? The springs and responsiveness of the mattress?”
Turning on my heels, I smirked and marched out.
”Not in a million years,” I replied over my shoulder.
Cocky asshole.
Chapter 4 ~ Jade
This was the twenty first century. I wasn’t having some pigheaded alpha male—especially cavemen, like Ryder Knox—ordering me around. To be at his beck and call. To serve him as my master. Hell no. I was a modern woman. I had equal rights—same as any goddamn man.
Submission was not for me.
I was smart and I knew it. Not only because I’d finished school in the top one percent of the national scores. Not because I�
�d earned my law degree cum laude. No. Simply because my mom told me so—every day, since I’d been a little girl.
Mom told me to always be smart. To learn to take care of myself. To never be dependent on any other person, let alone a man. She insisted I saved twenty percent of my earnings every month, and that as soon as I had enough money saved, I learned how to invest it wisely into property and shares. I was a twenty-two year old woman with a kickass investment portfolio.
That way, I’d have way more options open to me. Options to choose where I wanted to work, who I worked for, and where I lived.
I’d also have other options—I could pick carefully who I married, and never be tied to a man because I needed him to take care of me. I’d be able to take care of myself. Always. Because often, after many years in a relationship, things went bad. And then the woman was usually tied to a man she resented, but had no way of escaping. Trapped.
No, my mom was wise. Sylvia Summers didn’t want for her only daughter what she’d seen so many of her friends, and their daughters, go through. And she maintained that her and my dad’s relationship was as great and as healthy as it was because she was financially independent. Dad knew from the get go that if he messed up, she could leave, because she had the means to look after herself. She didn’t need him financially. She was in the relationship because that’s where she chose to be. Fate did not control her future.
Smart woman. I wanted to be just like her.
It was also her idea that I worked for her brother, Uncle Eric, during my university years, so that I’d get a feel for the property market. That way, as my portfolio grew, I’d know how to manage it. So while most of my friends just lazed around the pool on hot summer days, I was working at Clarke and Sons Agency, learning the ropes and the ins and outs of the property market. I was far from being a property tycoon, but I was way ahead of other women my age, and damn proud of myself.
OK, there was one area they beat me at. I’d only ever had two boyfriends, and both of them complained that I studied too hard and wasn’t much fun to date. Especially since I wouldn’t even have sex with them on a regular basis.
I wasn’t a virgin, I’d tried it a few times in my late teens, and also with both boyfriends, but I really didn’t know what all the bother was about. It was messy, condoms were awkward, and afterward he’d turn around and fall asleep, at the time when I wanted to cuddle, and told how special I was to him.
During a winter vacation, a few years back, when we were snowed in and I was house-bound for several days, I found a few books on a shelf. That's when I discovered that book boyfriends were far superior to real boys. I didn’t have much time for boys and real sex after that.
When I didn’t have my nose in a book, studying, or wasn’t working on my computer checking the share prices, I was reading romance novels on my e-reader. On a Friday and Saturday evening, I’d rather read about sexy fictional men with square jaws, chiselled abs and rock hard chests than to actually have to interact with the male species, just to be disappointed by the whole experience. So I’d lose myself in as many books as I could devour when I had down time.
“Book nerd” was a title I wore proudly. It’s what Lexi, Uncle Eric’s daughter, called me when I refused to go partying with her until the early hours of the morning. It didn’t bother me one bit. Because I knew that the devastatingly handsome book heroes couldn’t break my heart. Every story ended with a happily ever after. What wasn’t to love about that?
Everyone who knew me well, teased me about being a hopeless romantic; the only times I ever really ugly cried, was while reading or during a sad movie. I didn’t do crying in real life.
Not anymore.
There really wasn’t much need for it; I lived a pretty charmed life. I had mostly everything I ever wanted. My parents were loving and wealthy, my home life was near perfect.
Besides, I’d done all the crying I had in me, enough for a lifetime. I’d been a mess for a year after The Incident—crying for weeks and months on end. Then finally, after nearly two years of therapy, the coping mechanisms I’d been taught to help me get on with my life, started working.
My tears dried up.
One day I stopped crying. Just like that, the taps closed. I’d used up my all my tears.
On a good day, I could block the memories completely. Sometimes I wouldn’t think of ‘it’ for weeks on end, carrying on with my life as if The Incident never happened. It was better for me, there was nothing I could do to change it, ever. So why linger on it?
I had to get on with my life.
For my family’s sake. But especially for my brother’s sake.
Harrison was still struggling to come to grips with what’d happened, even though ‘it’ occurred nearly ten years ago. That day had changed him forever—we lost not only our friends, but also the real Harrison.
Ten years later, the carefree, loving seventeen year old had turned into a bitter, angry—and overprotective—man. One who was set on revenge and righting the wrongs of the world.
I was luckier. Books and reading were my escape. A way to leave this world and engross myself in the lives of the heroes and heroines on the pages of a romance novel.
As long as it worked for me, I would keep on reading. My fantasies helped me cope with life.
I was truly blessed just to be alive.
Chapter 5 ~ Ryder
If anyone knew how unfair life was, it was Max. And me. Born on the wrong side of the tracks to a wild-child mother was a tough life for any kid.
Marianne Knox got knocked up before she turned sweet sixteen.
A pretty runaway teenager who lived a carefree life as a rock band groupie—with no fixed address and no ambition in life other than to be a hippy—my father could have been any one of the band members she was sleeping with.
Free love, peace, smoking weed and rock concerts were what filled her days. Unlike most other hussies who fell pregnant, her sweet, easy-going nature ensured that she was taken care of by the band. Marianne was their lucky charm. Especially after they wrote a song about her, which went straight to number one, and put the band on the international map.
The contracts and the money rolled in. It ensured that Marianne and her offspring always had a place to stay, even though it was a constantly moving home, because they were usually traveling the country—from one concert venue to another.
Spreading her own unique brand of love and peace, the band members shared her loving. Even when her belly was round and she couldn’t give them much more than a blowjob in return for a place to sleep, and food in her stomach.
She took care of the band member’s needs, and in return they accepted her bastard child as their own. Since she was underage, not one of them wanted to claim being my father; instead they took turns to look after me when they needed Marianne to service one of them.
Most days she walked around with me on her hip, humming a tune, with a sweet smile on her face. Everything worked out well for her. She even managed to breastfeed me for a full eleven months before one of the guys refused to share her tits with me any longer.
That was when she fell pregnant with Max. Same scenario: father unknown. The only thing that was certain, was that we were definitely not fathered from the same loins. Max and I couldn’t be more different. I was labelled the grumpy one, serious and brooding. My eyebrows were permanently knitted into a frown and I learned to scowl before I could walk.
Max was the “sunshine boy”, always happy and smiling and cooing his way into everyone’s heart. As he grew older, his blue eyes and blond curls softened the heart of every female within a thirty foot radius. My scowl became permanent as Max got away with just about anything.
Yet even I couldn’t help loving the little shit. As much as I wanted to hate him for stealing the limelight, Max had a heart so generous and forgiving, he epitomised loving freely and unconditionally. He was every inch Marianne’s baby.
Actually, a paternity test in Max’s case was quite unnecessary. It was c
lear as daylight who his father was. The lead singer of the band, Jake, had the exact same eyes and features as Max, down to the slightly crooked Romanesque nose. Both were left-handed and walked with the same swagger. Like father like son.
I always got the feeling that Marianne was in love with Max’s dad, and that he was the real reason she stayed with the band for so long. But because Jake was married, she only got to sleep with him on tour. Whenever the tour bus got back to Los Angeles, I noticed the sadness in her eyes as he went back to his home and family for the duration of our stay. It was then that we shacked up with any one of the three other guys who weren’t in a serious relationship at the time.
Any one of them could have fathered me. They were all tall, dark haired men.
Yet only Tiny, the six foot three, hard muscled drummer, had eyes the color of mine. Steel grey. Usually he was high, sniffing white powder up his nose with a rolled hundred dollar bill. Sometimes he’d give the bill to Marianne once he’d finished snorting with it. And the fact that she always used that money to buy something I needed, further convinced me that it was more than a hunch that Tiny had indeed fathered me.
It turned out that Tiny was aggressive as all hell when he came down from a high, so Max and I were kept out of his way. He was angry most of the time and I often heard him and Marianne scream at one another through the curtain that separated us in the bus. He kept on telling her that she was his woman and that he didn’t want to see her sleeping in anyone else’s bed.
Every muscle in my body coiled when I heard him say that. My chest grew so tight that I could hardly breathe. I wanted to jump up and punch him, because my mom was mine and Max’s—nobody else’s.
Luckily she told him no. She said she wasn’t in love with him. That’s when he said nasty things about Jake, which only made my mom cry and tell Tiny she hated him. He’d hit her, then he’d call me and Max ‘little bastards’ and her a whore and laugh, his voice thick with anger.