Breathing His Air

by Debra Kayn

  He laughed. “No one’s given me dough before.”

  “Get out.” She studied him. “Really?”

  He stared down at the cheap plastic bowl. “No Mom around, and Dad didn’t bake.”

  She stared in surprise. “None of your girlfriends made you treats before?”

  He tilted his head and peered at her. “I keep women too busy to spend much time in the kitchen.”

  Of course he did. He was probably a sexual God.

  “Oh.” She gazed intently at him, trying to figure him out. He raised his brows and gave her a seductive grin. She glanced away.

  Headlights flashed across the room. She fell silent. Compassion for a grown man who’d never experienced something as simple as cookie dough filled her.

  He held out the bowl, breaking the tension. “Wanna share?”

  She jumped at the excuse to escape from his attention. “I’ll get us some milk.”

  “Milk?” He chuckled. “You’re so whacked. What are you, twelve?”

  “Double that.” She glanced over her shoulder. “Why? How old are you?”

  “Triple it.” He chuckled, and murmured, “Milk.”

  “You’ll see. It makes everything better.” She opened the fridge and removed the carton.

  He followed her across the room and set the bowl on the counter. She grabbed two plastic cups out of the dish rack and poured them both milk. Then she grabbed two spoons and handed him one.

  “You go first.” She removed the foil and waited.

  He studied the contents, dug his spoon in, and put the mound of dough in his mouth. She watched him as his eyes closed and he worked the food around in his mouth.

  “Good,” he mumbled, swallowing. “Real good.”

  She handed him his cup. “Drink some milk.”

  His Adam’s apple bobbed, and she checked out his goatee. He had a lovely shade of whiskers, black with a hint of gray down the middle, apparently not from age, but natural shading. It matched the blackness of his hair, which he kept long enough to be wild and unprofessional. She liked it. The style fit him.

  He fingered her bracelet, and then laid his hand on the back of hers, fingers lined up, except hers were dwarfed by his size. She glanced at him, curious to know what he was doing.

  He removed his hand and picked his spoon back up. “Thanks.” His strong, broad hand held the spoon without any trouble, and the roughness on the palm of his hand told her he worked with tools on occasion. He also had a solid body, muscular and fit.

  He pointed his spoon, going in for another bite. “Eat.”

  She took her own turn from the bowl, too happy with his willingness to try something for the first time to say no. “What do you think?”

  “Better than baked cookies.” He popped another spoonful in his mouth and chased the bite down with another drink from his cup.

  She walked over, removed a couple bags of cookies from the sack, and returned to his side. “Here. You can have them tomorrow with your lunch.”

  “Why are you doing this?”

  She shrugged. “I know you don’t want me here, for whatever reason, but I need to stay. Three months, Rain. Then I’ll be hitting the road, and you’ll never have to see me again.”

  He studied her, and she thought he was going to argue. She leaned against the counter and gazed at his boots. She wanted to get along with him. They’d be business neighbors and should get along for the duration.

  “What time do you open the shack?”

  She lifted her gaze. “Six.”

  “I’ll walk you over.” He set the cup down.

  “You don’t have to.”

  “Don’t argue. It’s not safe.” He walked across the room to the door, stopped, and turned around. “Where’s your phone?”

  She searched the one-room cabin, spotted her cell on the buffet. “Right there.”

  He walked over, picked it up, and punched some numbers. “You call me when you shut down for the day. I’ll walk you home.”

  “That’s silly. It’s a hundred feet away. I don’t understand why you think it’s unsafe. Do you mean those men who rode into the parking lot will be back?”

  “Yeah, they’ll be back. You don’t belong here.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Like I haven’t heard that before.”

  “Where?” His mouth tightened.

  She shrugged. “Doesn’t matter.”

  “You’ll call me.” He pinned her to the spot. “My place. My rules. You’re in Bantorus territory.”

  He exasperated her. She raised her hands. “Fine.”

  “Good.” He opened the door, stepped outside, and turned. “Babe?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Next time you stand there with your tits pointed at me and your legs giving me more ideas than is legal, I’ll want more than cookie dough from you.” To prove his point, his gaze dropped to the front of her shirt and his eyelids grew heavy.

  She blinked at him, stunned. Unsure why he kept calling her babe, she could only stand there and stare. No one had called her a name in such a soft, gentle voice before. She wasn’t sure if she liked it or not. Then her heart skipped a beat, and she decided she kind of liked it. A lot.

  “Yeah, you think you can hide being a goof behind that attitude, but I see it. Don’t hide, babe. You might be whacked, but men like that. It makes us feel like you’re the only person in a crowd of boring.”

  She stared. What kind of man said such things? She wanted to run away, knowing he could see through her, but she couldn’t move. She liked that he saw past her defenses, even though it scared her.

  He chuckled as he shut the door, leaving her in the room alone. She hurriedly threw the bolt lock and hooked the chain. Afraid it wasn’t the taste of cookie dough she craved, she stacked the only wooden chair in the room in front of the door too. The last thing she needed to do was get a taste of Rain.

  Chapter Four

  No one ever wandered into the bar before eleven o’clock in the morning, yet here it was ten o’clock and the place was full as a Friday night. Rain slid a plate of burger and fries down the long counter. He had a feeling he knew who was responsible for the crowd.

  He’d counted six people walking into Cactus Cove, munching on a cookie and wearing a shit-ass grin as if they’d talked to an angel moments ago. An angel he suspected answered to the name Tori.

  “Hey, Bruce. You’re on your own for a few.” He walked around the bar, ignoring the customers, and pushed through the front door.

  The day already warming, he inhaled the fresh air and scanned the area between the motorcycles parked outside Cactus Cove and the Coffee Shack. His chest tightened, and when that happened, he knew something wasn’t right.

  There were approximately twenty-five people inside the bar. He studied the bikes. There were at least twice that many rides parked in his lot, and none of the guys were hanging around the mobile coffee shack. Shit.

  He jogged toward the rear of the building. A sense of anxiety pushed him forward.

  Behind the bar, he found the source of his concern. A group of bikers surrounded the porch outside cabin B. He marched across the gravel, pushed his way through the crowd of at least twenty men, and stopped when he reached the person that riled him faster than a slow Cadillac in the left lane.

  Tori sat in a lawn chair, wiping tears from her cheeks. He fisted his hands at his side. They’d already reduced her to tears.

  He ignored the crowd, who’d gone silent when he’d walked up. “Babe?”

  “Oh. Hi, Rain.” She sniffed and her smile trembled. “Do you know Johnny?”

  He glanced at one of the mechanics at Shift’s Garage, back at Tori, and nodded. “Yeah.”

  “He’s such a strong man. His wife” — she closed her eyes, inhaled, and then loo
ked up at him — “was so brave. I can’t imagine what kind of strength it takes a woman to not only fight cancer once, but three times.”

  “What are you doing out here?” he asked gruffly. Not many people knew about the struggles Johnny had been through watching and supporting his wife as cancer finally took her life.

  She lifted her feet and stretched out her legs. “Getting a little sun.”

  The pink-striped bikini top barely contained her breasts. The slinky scarf tied around her hips, hanging down onto her left thigh only added to the mystery of what exactly she wore underneath the material. That explained why the men were huddled around her.

  She’d piled her long hair, the color of cinnamon, on top of her head in a messy array, showing off a slim neck. He’d stepped forward to drag her into the house when a loud buzzing came from behind her.

  She bounced out of the chair with a laugh. “Last batch, boys.”

  The crowd groaned. He stared after her as she flounced into the house out of sight.

  “Johnny.” Dave, his part time driver at Cozy Inn, put his foot on the porch and leaned against his knee. “You calling dibs?”

  Johnny pushed back his hair and studied the ground. “Nah. Not ready.”

  What was the matter with everyone? Moreover, what was with Johnny spilling his guts to a total stranger when it had taken Rain and a couple of the guys to get him to talk about what he was going through at home the last several years? The hell he’d allow any one of the men to call dibs on Tori.

  Tori returned with a plateful of cookies. “A dollar a piece and free love advice. Who wants one?”

  She had to be kidding. He stepped out of the way when the others pushed forward. Unprepared for what she’d planned, he could only stand there in shock and listen.

  “Will my wife come back to me?” Pete, a member of Bantorus, handed Tori a dollar.

  Tori held out the plate. “Why’d she leave?”

  Pete took a bite of the cookie he’d bought, cleared his throat, and dug the heel of his boot into the gravel. “Uh, she caught me with someone else.”

  “Bad move, Pete.” Tori laid her hand on his arm. “Would you go back to her if you caught her with another man?”

  “Hell, no.” Pete frowned, his blond brows coming together.

  “There’s your answer. All you can do is move on with your life and learn from your mistake.” She leaned closer. “She’s watching you, though. That’s what women do. Shape up and prove you’re not that type of man anymore. If she wants you, she’ll contact you.”

  “What if she doesn’t?”

  “Then you’ve taken the time to heal and learn from your mistake, and you’ll be able to move on to someone else who you can cherish without worrying if you’ll screw up again,” she said. “Cheating is bad news, but people have and do change if they’re serious about changing.”

  “Thanks, Tori.” Pete turned and let someone else have a turn.

  Skeeter, a wannabe who hung out at the bar every day from the time he got off work until it closed, stepped forward. “H-how do I g-get the attention o-of” — he paused and swallowed — “someone I w-want to ask out?”

  Tori collected Skeeter’s money, passed him a cookie, and tilted her head. “It’s not what you say, but the ability to leave yourself open to communication. Remember, body language tells women more than pretty words. Offer your hand during a dance, and she’ll walk into your arms. Smile and hold her gaze over dinner and let her talk to you. She’ll know what you want without you having to say a word.”

  Skeeter grinned, his crooked eyetooth showing. “Th-thanks.”

  “You’re welcome,” said Tori.

  Hell, she’d pegged Skeeter’s whole problem. He let his stuttering keep him from going after what he wanted. In his own right, he had the looks, the bike, and although he couldn’t cut the club life, he had a full time job at Cozy Inn in maintenance. Rain had hired Skeeter because the man was good with his hands and kept Rain’s business in prime condition.

  He watched Edge move forward, and he stepped closer. Edge had left the Lagsturns two years ago, begged admittance into the Bantorus, and had hidden out in Pitnam ever since. Rain couldn’t remember the last time he even saw Edge around other people. If anyone from Lagsturns spotted him, he’d get his ass kicked from here to Seattle.

  Edge leaned down and whispered in Tori’s ear.

  Her smile fell. He spotted the moment Edge filled her in on his life because her eyes widened, and she scanned the crowd until her gaze locked in on him. He wanted to bust Edge’s nose. No one had a right to burden her with problems that were none of her concern.

  Edge removed a pen from his back jean pocket. Tori held her hand out, palm up, and allowed Edge to write on her skin. She nodded, closed her fingers, keeping whatever he wrote to herself.

  He’d seen enough. Digging in his pocket, he pulled out the first bill he came in contact with and held it in front of him. “Dibs.”

  The guys backed away, parting the crowd and giving him space to walk right up to Tori. He tucked the money under the tiny string between her breasts, heard her gasp, and removed the plate of cookies from her hands.

  “Rain?” She snatched the cash out with her fingertips, looked down at it, and raised her brows. “Seriously? Is your problem with me big enough that you’d spend a hundred dollars?”

  “You’re closed for business.” He turned to the men. “Clear out.”

  Heads nodded and, as a group, all the bikers pivoted and headed toward the bar. He relaxed, but he was anything but cool. He’d done exactly what he’d sworn he wouldn’t do, and that was to involve himself with a woman outside the biker world. He’d taken that path before, and it had almost cost him his sanity.

  “Don’t tell me that meant what I think it did.” She spoke quietly behind him.

  His attention went back to Tori. “What?”

  “Don’t tell me — ”

  “I heard you, babe.” He ran his hand down his goatee. “I stamped you.”

  “You stamped me?”

  “That’s what I said.”

  “Exactly what does that mean?” She pursed her lips.

  “You’re my woman.”

  “Oh, no, I’m not.” She backed away and stood on her porch, looking down on him. “You can go right back to your bar and drown yourself in a mug of beer until you forget all about claiming I’m your girlfriend. You can’t open your mouth and expect me to … to do whatever you want me to do.”

  “I just did.” He gazed off into the distance. “Wouldn’t take you as my girlfriend, babe. You’re not girlfriend material. From here on out, you’re my woman.”

  “Take it back,” she whispered.

  He stomped up the step and stood in front of her so she had to look up at him. “Gotta keep you safe.”

  “But, Rain … ” She fiddled with the knot of material covering her hip. “I don’t do boyfriends.”

  He smiled. Then his smile grew until his cheeks hurt, leaving him wondering when he’d last found such entertainment talking with a woman. “I don’t do girlfriends, either.”

  She let her hands fall to her sides. “Thank God. Then you understand how ludicrous — ”

  He planted his lips on her mouth. A man could only take too much yapping, and he put his foot down. And his tongue in her mouth.

  He sank his fingers into her mess of hair and held her in place, taking what he wanted from her and giving her what she could expect if she hung around his territory. Then he softened his mouth, slowed down, and smiled through the kiss as her hands gripped the front of his vest and held on for dear life. He gave her what he knew she wanted. Pulling her to him, he cupped her ass and supported her weight. Using his tongue, he stroked her until her eyes closed and she mewed. The verbal acceptance wrapped around him.

&nb
sp; Needing more, he backed her up against the wall of the cabin, pinning her in place. He slowly swept his hands down her sides, skimming the swell of her breasts, her ribs, and the indention of her waist. She sagged, and he shifted his leg between her thighs. Her heat warmed him through his jeans.

  He tilted his head to the other side, tugged on her bottom lip, and tasted her plush mouth. Starved and aroused, he wanted to take her here on the porch. He wanted to claim her in front of everyone. No one would mistake his intentions. He’d stamped his woman.

  Women he claimed stayed in his bed until he tired of them. They were interesting in bed, an irritation out of it. Not classy women who came by their sexiness naturally, with a side of wacky that made him weak.

  Nor did they make cookies for him and give love advice to bikers who’d rather screw her than talk. He pulled back. He recognized the disoriented look she aimed at him.

  “My woman. Got it?” He kept hold of her because if he let go, she’d sink to the porch. “Hear me, babe?”

  She nodded. “Yeah.”

  “Say it.”

  “Your woman,” she whispered.

  “Damn, you’re trouble.” He brushed the loose strands of her hair off her cheeks. “You call when you open shop tomorrow.”

  She trembled against his body. He lifted her off him and held her at arm’s length. She gathered her strength, and her pupils constricted.

  “I’m fine. I don’t need your help.” She rubbed her hand over her mouth.

  “Listen.” He backed away. “You might not have asked, but you stepped in my territory, and I won’t let anything happen to any woman that’s here. I’m keeping you safe. You call when you’re done working. I’ll walk you to the cabin. Every. Single. Time. I’ll walk you to work again in the morning, and we’ll repeat it all over again. That’s the rules.”

  “Rain — ”

  “My rules.” He stepped off the porch. “And no more cookies.”

  “What?”

  “You heard me.” He jumped back up on the step and cradled her head in his hands. “Don’t share your cookie dough with anyone else. That’s our thing. I don’t want any other man eating your cookies. Understand?”