The Sweet Under His Skin

by Portia Gray

  The Sweet Under His Skin

  Portia Gray

  (2014)

  * * *

  Rating: *****

  Tags: Literature & Fiction, Romance, Contemporary, Romantic Suspense, Mystery & Suspense, Suspense

  After winning a custody battle Arielle Taylor moves to Portus Felix to start a new life with her nephew while she undergoes surgery for breast cancer. But when her junkie sister finds her, Jolene brings the attention of an angry outlaw biker straight to Arielle's doorstep—bent on payback.

  Deadly, strong and fiercely loyal, Quentin's unassuming calm belies a man willing to get his hands dirty for the Dead Men Riders MC who’d been his only family. When a biker groupie seduces him into his bed, he gets more than a night of pleasure after she drugs him unconscious and steals his money, leading him straight to his neighbor's house.

  But when he first sets eyes on Arielle, he is blown away by her beauty and innocence. And when he accidentally strikes up a relationship with her eight-year-old nephew, he finds himself falling hard for a woman who manages to get under his skin and crack his hard exterior. He doesn't do sweet. He doesn't like sweet. He owes it to sweet to just leave it alone and walk away. But their attraction is instant and explosive—and one neither of them can afford… nor resist.

  But when the club finds a connection between a current threat and Arielle, it jeopardizes everything that he has ever believed in. And soon he finds himself not only having to keep Arielle safe from a mysterious drug lord but his own club—his family—threatens to harm, and maybe kill, the only woman he's ever fallen in love with.

  Will Quentin choose Duty over Love? Or will he betray his own club to save a woman who is already dying?

  Suitable for ages 18+ for strong language, violence and scenes of a sexual nature. Stand Alone Full-length (500 Pages) Novel

  The Sweet Under His Skin

  By Portia Gray

  Copyright© Portia Gray 2014

  The right of Portia Gray to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in retrieval system, copied in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise transmitted without written permission from the publisher. You must not circulate this book in any format.

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase as additional copy of each recipient. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Amazon and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter One

  Quentin scowled at the bright display in front of him. "Go get me gum," Mandy had ordered.

  "What kind?"

  "Just…gum. Doesn't matter."

  He shook his head. There's a wall of gum. What the fuck did he know from gum? But she was the President’s old lady and pretty much the Queen of the club and his life would be easier just to do as she asked.

  He was going to ask the broad standing next to him, leading her kid down the aisle looking at the opposite side of shelves. But she looked like regular people. In the club’s neighborhood, especially, he tried not to hassle the regular people.

  He reached for a peppermint flavor and a fruity bullshit one too, just to cover the bases. As he did, he felt a tug on his wallet chain. He looked down under his outstretched arm. The kid wasn't paying attention to his mom; he was reading a book and absently reaching out, looking for her arm or pocket or purse or something.

  "You trying to jack my wallet there, Charlie?" he said, loud enough to make the kid jump.

  Which he did. The kid's glasses nearly fell off as he jerked his hand back, leapt about two feet vertical, then just stared up at Quentin as he pushed his goggles back up his nose. His mouth hung open like a goldfish, and Quentin spared a moment to feel bad for scaring him.

  "It's okay, kid," he assured him, stepping back and bringing his arm down again. "I'm just messing with 'ya."

  "Calvin, what are you doing?" the broad pushed past behind Quentin to take the kid by the arm. "Try and keep up with me, Peanut. I'm so sorry—" she began, casting a look Quentin's way with a smile before her words and face froze.

  Quentin was used to this reaction. Most regular people were scared of him, the broads in particular. Especially the ones with glossy, walnut-brown hair, sharp chin and giant blue-green eyes, who looked like they showered every day and never woke up a place they hadn't intended.

  Not that he was noticing.

  "S'okay," he assured her. "He tried to take my wallet, that's all."

  "Calvin!" she admonished, disproportionately shocked.

  "No I didn't," the kid was whining.

  Quentin cracked up, bringing her head around his way again. "I'm kidding. He didn't try to do anything. He thought he was grabbing your purse, I'm sure." Now that he was looking, it was a black one with a chain strap. Honest mistake.

  She set her jaw, and something in the way her eyes flashed made his cock twitch, just a bit. "Is that what we do for fun? Scare little kids?"

  A regular broad with a bitchy mouth. He felt himself smile. "I was playing around, baby. That's it."

  She pulled the kid past him. "Play with someone your own size next time," she muttered, heading for the cash register, the kid staring up at Quentin as he was dragged past.

  "Later, 'ya little klepto," Quentin called out, chuckling as the kid pulled his eyes away and double-timed it to get ahead of his mom.

  He lined up behind them, not even trying to ignore her legs under those shorts, and the curve of her ass and hips. Nice tan. Nice legs. Great ass. Her waist sunk in above it, the lines of her back showing under the tightness of her girly top. His hand was itching to grab that hair too but he held back, noticing that the kid was peering around her hip to stare up at him again.

  Quentin smiled at the kid, who darted back into the comfort of mommy's stomach. Quentin hoped she was putting him in karate or some shit, otherwise that kid was going to get his clock cleaned every day at school.

  When she'd paid for her stuff and hustled the rugrat to the door Quentin was blatant about watching her the whole way. Those hips swayed like she knew how to use them, and he was pretty damn sure she didn't know how much she was telling with that walk.

  He felt the clerk staring at him,
but he just tossed the gum on the counter, an eye on the door. He could still see her walking with the kid through the parking lot. Quentin sniffed, cracking his neck when a tingle flared up along his jaw and back to his spine. It was the tingle he always got when he had a whiff of sweet, and he always fought against it. Always. He didn't need that kind of…

  "Bullshit," Arielle Taylor muttered, looking over her final pay check from the Portus Felix Town Office. It wasn't quite what she'd hoped for. It was a good thing she'd sold her house and moved into this cheap rental. But that final check being so small was really going to impair how she and Calvin could live these next few months. Hopefully it was only a few months. Then she'd have to start looking for a job again.

  She chewed her nail, running her totals for the umpteenth time. She was going to cancel cable, make Calvin start getting all his books at the library, and there was to be absolutely no eating out.

  Which stunk. Calvin was eight. He was living without any perks, and that sucked so much for a kid who was already incredibly socially awkward. Every time she told him they'd have to cut back on something he'd just adjust his glasses and shrug.

  And this wasn't his fault, it was totally hers.

  Arielle had expected being laid off when she told them about her impending medical treatments. She'd have to keep paying off her medical insurance for this reason, which was a lot of money. And if they didn't cover her she was so beyond screwed.

  She looked through the dining room window, smiling at the sight of her nephew on a patio lounger, nose buried in a book. He was reading the Hobbit. Again. He was beyond the rest of his grade in reading, comprehension, and mathematics. So smart, in spite of his genes.

  Arielle's sister Jolene had been smart in school, but none of it transferred into life skills. She'd traveled after high school, which was common. Then she wanted to model. Then she was going to act. But first, and foremost, she had to be high 24-7. Jolene also had no idea who Calvin's father was. She'd been on a week-long bender, was pretty sure there were about three guys for sure she'd been with, but she wasn't…certain. So whatever disgusting milkshake she'd created managed to produce a healthy, adorable son. She'd gone straight for about a year-and-a-half after he was born. The she was off and wild again.

  Arielle's parents worried about Calvin as much as she did. They had started a trust fund for him he would inherit at eighteen, and it would pay for college, maybe even a down payment on a house when he was ready for that. It was a relief to know it was there.

  When her parents died in a car accident three years ago, Arielle hadn't waited. She adopted Calvin immediately, despite only being in her early twenties. With Jolene's drug habit racking up five-digit numbers she didn't want to risk his mother taking away his college fund. And as long as Arielle was Calvin's legal guardian she couldn't.

  That had sucked up all her savings and a lot of her inheritance. Jolene tried to fight for custody in court, and Arielle knew she had her eye on that cash. It's what made her fight back. She won custody, and life would have all be fine.

  If she hadn’t gotten sick.

  Arielle covered her mouth, feeling a sob working its way up her throat. She didn't want to cry, she didn't want Calvin to know how scared she was. He knew she was ill. He knew he'd be staying with Crazy Great-Aunt Thelma while Arielle had to go to the hospital for an operation. And he knew after a while Aunt Arielle was going to get sick…very, very sick.

  Stage two breast cancer. Yeah, scary fucking word. Cancer. Small masses that had come back from the biopsy as cancer. So a lumpectomy was booked for the week after school was done so Calvin could go stay with Arielle's aunt, Thelma. Aunt Thelma was the cool aunt when Arielle and Jolene were growing up. She never got married, never had kids, lived in the country with an ever-changing menagerie of dogs, cats, ducks, chickens, she'd even had goats at one point. She made folk art, grew organic vegetables, made money at the farmer's market with homemade preservatives and played the guitar. Aunt Thelma was awesome, yet Arielle had the suspicion Calvin might be scared of her. But he'd never argue if this was Arielle's decision, and there were no other options.

  She pushed the papers to the side, her mind now distracted with hoping again that she recovered from the surgery fast and could get through chemo before the bank account ran dry. She just had to stay relaxed, calm, and let Aunt Thelma take care of the both of them.

  Arielle started as she realized Calvin wasn't on the lounger anymore. She crossed to the sliding glass patio door, scanning the yard. She still couldn't see him, but something was making a lot of noise in front of the house. A low but loud rumbling that shook the glasses in the kitchen cabinets. She crossed the crowded living room, still piled high with boxes from the move, and pushed the screen door open.

  Calvin was next to the driveway, leaning on the short fence that separated her driveway from the neighbor's. He was trying to sneak a peek at the source of the noise; motorcycles. Two of them, in the neighbor's driveway. A man was sitting on the one that was running, smiling at Calvin, shouting, "How you doing, little man?"

  The other bike was just parked on the driveway, waiting for its rider. She winced. When she'd toured this property, and in the past five days they'd lived there, she'd never seen the neighbor. She didn't want to live next to someone with a loud bike. And this man in front of them right now wasn't a weekend biker who worked at the bank during the day, either. He had the leather vest on with patches on the front that didn't read anything as generic as Harley Davidson.

  Shit. This was bad. No wonder the rent was so agreeable.

  "Calvin," she called, her voice sounding strained to her own ears. He turned to look at her, then looked back to the bike.

  Arielle didn't want to grab him and pull him away, show fear and over react. So she tried again. "Calvin, could you come inside please?"

  He kept staring. He'd been terrified of the one at the corner store. This one, while not looking quite as scary at first glance, was apparently fascinating to an eight-year-old. On the opposite side of a fence.

  "You should listen to your mom," the stranger suggested.

  "She's not my mom," Calvin declared, clear as a bell.

  Arielle's mouth fell open as the biker laughed. "She's not, hey?"

  Feeling like she had to do something now, Arielle stalked down the stoop towards her nephew, trying to keep her back straight and her head high.

  She felt the stranger's eyes on her. She ignored him. "Calvin, I asked you to come inside."

  "Relax, sweetheart. I'm staying on my side of the fence, swear."

  She looked at him then, and up close he was infinitely more scary.

  "I don't like it when he ignores what I'm asking," she explained.

  "I'm sorry Aunt Arielle," Calvin said immediately, making her feel like a supreme bitch.

  "You don't have to be sorry, honey," she said, more gentle. "You just have to mind what I'm asking you. Okay?" He nodded, and she pulled on his arm. "Now come back into the house, don't bother the neighbors."

  "No bother, honey. Promise."

  She caught the man on the bike winking at her. She looked away too quickly, sped up too obviously, but didn't care. She was looking for a new place to live immediately.

  "The fuck…?" At the sound of another man’s voice she turned, willing herself to wake up from the nightmare. There was no way. There was absolutely No. Way.

  The biker from the corner store was on the house stoop, stopped while sliding on sunglasses. Looking a lot like he lived there.

  As in, next door to her and Calvin.

  "Aunt Arielle!" Calvin exclaimed. "It's the man from the store!"

  She didn't respond. She met his gaze, feeling that same terrifying chill run down her back as his eyes met hers momentarily before he slid his shades on completely. She hustled Calvin up the steps, and for once Calvin recognized the concept of body language and he hurried along with her.

  What scared her more about the deadly biker living next-door was how physically
drop-dead gorgeous he was and how his deep voice was like silk to her ears. He had those pretty-boy features set-off by dimples but yet the square jaw-line and stubble and his general demeanor was incredibly manly. He looked like he just stepped out of a poster for the‘world’s most sexiest man alive’.

  Yes, definitely living somewhere else. Anywhere else but here.

  Chapter Two

  "What you thinkin', Quentin?" Flynn asked on a laugh. "Don't tell me you're tapping the neighbor. I call bullshit on that…unless you show up tased and pepper-sprayed."

  "Nah man," he said absently, swinging his leg over his bike. "I just didn't know the old neighbors moved."

  That wasn't true. He'd seen them throwing their flea-market furniture in a pick-up in the dead of night and figured they were ducking out on the rent. The guy that owned that place was a known slumlord. Not that it made a lick of difference to him, he just wondered why a broad that put-together was renting such a shit-hole.

  "Quentin? The fuck, man?"

  Quentin kicked the bike to life. "What?" he snapped at Flynn.

  Bastard just shook his head. "That's the kind you gotta stay away from, Quentin."

  "You don't think I know that?"

  "Then quit with the lovey-eyes and let's go, man. Pussy won't fuck itself."

  "Yeah yeah," he replied, backing the bike out of the drive. He hit the neighbor's house with a last glance over the shoulder and saw that weird little kid peering out the front window at him. Not thinking about it at all, he raised two fingers to the brim of his lid in a half-assed salute. The kid waved back.

  Dead Men's clubhouse was already loud and crawling, and the sun hadn't even gone down yet. Whenever the Nomads were in town they made themselves at home like they were their own hospitality committee or something. Bikes clogged the parking lot, people were all over, and as he killed the bike and climbed off he could already smell the grass and booze. Yep, it was definitely Friday night.