by Regina Cole
“Where’s your car?”
Bethany nodded toward the neighboring lot. “I parked in front of the department store.”
“No time,” Trey said as blue lights lit up the distance. “Hop on my bike.”
He passed Bethany his helmet as he cranked the engine. She locked her grip around his strong midsection, her heart in her throat as he left the lot at speed.
They passed the cop car as it peeled into the parking lot.
With his strong back against her cheek, Bethany held tight as the wind tore at her clothes and her hair where it streamed from beneath the helmet.
He’d saved her. Again. How could she ever repay him?
* * *
Trey would have found the whole situation hysterical except for two things—one, he’d been planning to take a bunch of those breadsticks home with him. And two?
That dick-for-brains had insulted Bethany.
The urge to deck the drunken asshole had been strong, but the need to get her away from the situation had won out. Good thing too. He’d had plenty of close calls with the law in the past, and he knew what happened if the cops started remembering you. It would be nothing good. No matter how innocent he’d been, he’d have a much harder time proving it than the belligerent asshole, drunk as he was.
Bethany’s arms were locked around his middle as they moved into a more rural section of the county. Trey’s temper eased a little as he sped down the road. The feel of the wind, the speed, the beautiful woman who’d leaned on him that day, her arms and legs still around him—how could he stay angry when he had that?
It was as if something in him had broken. No. Something in him had been broken, and it was healing, slowly but surely, with every minute he spent in her presence.
He didn’t want to think about that too much. Distraction.
Maybe it was the intensity of the day, but this fake relationship was feeling all too real right now. Wouldn’t it feel good to just keep pretending? He’d need to grab a second helmet if Bethany would be riding with him. He’d had short-lived relationships in the past, but none of those women had been on the back of his bike that often. But Bethany… Now that was a pleasant thought. She was thin and lean, but her grip was strong. He wouldn’t take any chances with her. She needed some leathers too. The wind wasn’t as cold as it had been, but at speed, those jeans and that sweater she wore would act like lace—all holes and no warmth.
He was insane to be thinking about having a future with her, but he’d never claimed to be wrapped too tight. After all, he had decided to pretend to be a goddamn wedding planner to impress his mommy.
“Where are we going?” Bethany shouted over the sound of the engine as they stopped at a red light.
“My place,” he replied. “That okay?”
She nodded rather than yelling again, and he kicked off the pavement when the light turned green.
He hadn’t really thought about his destination. He’d just automatically turned his bike toward home. Felt right, somehow, the idea of showing her his private hideaway.
Nobody but his brothers in the Shadows had been to his house. Hell, only Wolf and Jameson had been inside it. None of the women he’d spent time with had been invited.
After the childhood he’d had, Trey was much too protective of his private space to share it with just anyone.
As a foster kid, there wasn’t much that he could call his own. He’d shared clothes, bedrooms, books, toys, everything. When he’d gotten attached to something, it was inevitably taken away. The idea of keeping his home private and sacred was ingrained, and the relief he’d felt at being able to keep the space safe had been worth a lot.
But Bethany he trusted. He wasn’t sure why, or how, in such a short time. It might be because she’d revealed so much to him that morning.
Her family was obviously a huge source of discomfort for her. No wonder she stuck close to the Yelvertons. They were as different from her grandmother and company as night was from day. And though he knew there were things she hadn’t told him, she’d showed him her vulnerability. Had trusted him with it.
How could he not do the same?
The wooded path that led to his house split in two, with the left branch leading to the bigger houses on the property, and the right branch heading toward the little house Trey called his own. The rumbling of the engine echoed off the trees as he slowly rolled toward home.
He could feel her body move as she looked around, and he smiled a little.
Was she worried he was dragging her out to the woods to take advantage of her? Or was she hoping for it?
Well, he couldn’t deny that lying her down in a private bower wasn’t tempting, but it’d be with her full support and on a much warmer day.
He cut the engine in front of his house, and the silence was loud around them.
“You live here?”
He lowered the kickstand. “Yup.”
“I pictured something…different.”
Trey snorted. “Sorry. Would you rather I hole up at the bar?”
“No, no, not what I meant. Sorry.”
He reached beneath her chin and unbuckled his helmet. It was a little too big for her. He’d grab a spare from the house for her. “I’m just giving you a hard time. Come on.”
Lacing his fingers through hers, he led her up the front porch steps.
“It’s beautiful,” she said as he unlocked the door. Her voice was soft as a flower petal. “So quiet and private.”
He didn’t say anything, just held open the door for her. And for some reason, his nerves stretched tight as she entered his private space.
It wasn’t that he felt violated. In fact, quite the opposite. He was desperate for her to feel welcomed, to like what she saw.
What was wrong with him?
As she turned slowly, examining the room she’d entered, he found himself standing stock-still, spine ramrod-straight, hardly breathing, his gaze trained on her.
She looked from the extra-long couch done in dark green to the cream-colored rug in front of the cold wood-burning fireplace. TV, game consoles, and DVDs lined the opposite wall. Just beyond was his kitchen, small, quaint, but neat. The hallway to the left led to the single bedroom and bathroom. And, straight ahead…
“Your view is gorgeous.”
She walked toward the sliding glass doors, straight to his favorite spot on the whole property. And something inside him fell into place.
In his whole life, nobody had seemed to get him that way. Nobody loved the things he loved, nobody felt the way he did. But when he saw Bethany’s eyes light up at the sight of the duck pond outside his deck, the weathered wood and rushes surrounding the little dock, the way her hand caressed the back of his chair as she sighed happily, he knew.
There was someone like him in the world. And she was it.
Chapter Thirteen
Bethany hid her nervousness as well as she could by staring out Trey’s back door and into the beautiful scenery.
He really did live in a picturesque, secluded haven. The way the trees surrounded his little house, the light shining on the small pond a hundred feet from his back door, the simple, clean scent of the place…
She could quite happily spend a lot of time there.
Of course, that wasn’t even mentioning the man who was standing behind her. She was keenly aware of the way he moved, even though her back was toward him.
He had surprised her at every turn, and it looked as though he intended to continue on that path.
Standing up for her against her family. Whisking her away from the turmoil before it got worse. Settling her on the back of his bike and showing her the homiest little cabin in the woods she’d ever seen.
His body heat leached into her from where he stood, just behind her left shoulder, and she fought the urge to lean into him.
Th
is was dangerous territory. She’d promised herself that she’d treat him like a brother. And she’d been determined to do just that. But the charade in front of her family had given her a glimpse of what it might be like to be by his side in actuality, instead of playing pretend.
She liked it. No, more than liked it. She craved it, craved his touch, craved his caring, craved him.
“What’s wrong?”
She started at his question. “What?”
He reached over and pressed a broad fingertip to her forehead. “You’ve got wrinkles here. Like you’re worried.”
She let her eyelids flutter closed as he gently rubbed his finger back and forth over her skin. His touch trailed along her eyebrow, down her cheek, along the edge of her jawbone.
Why did such a simple touch feel so good? So intimate? She felt it all the way down in the pit of her belly, which trembled with need with every sweep of his thumb.
“Bethany.” His husky voice covered her, and she looked up at him.
He was staring deep into her eyes, his big body close, his hand the only contact between them, but it seared her all the way to the core.
“Let me kiss you.”
It wasn’t a question, but he clearly waited for an answer. She nodded, and he leaned down, and then his lips were on hers.
Last time had been hungry, hard, and fast. This—this was a quest. A journey, with each step paid loving attention.
First his lips took hers, gentle, sweetly asking rather than demanding. When she opened her mouth to his encouragement, his tongue first danced along the edge of her lip.
As if he were tasting her from the outside in, he took his time, exploring her lips, her tongue, the very edge of her teeth. She wound her arms around him, trying to get closer, deeper.
He obliged, his big, strong arms surrounding her, pulling her against his body. Pressing her against the door, his knee nudged her legs apart, and she moaned against his mouth as his thick, muscled thigh wedged against her core.
Her body was pounding, her pulse thready and hot inside her veins. She wanted, oh God, she wanted him.
He tore his mouth away just long enough to bury his face against her neck. With his fingers tangled in her hair, he pulled her head to the side, giving him greater access to the tender skin of her shoulder and neck. She gasped as his lips and teeth explored her sensitive column, his hands wandering down her sides to cup her ass.
His breath was hot, his kisses hungry, and she wanted every bit of this. Of him.
“More,” he said and reached down to the hem of her sweater. She raised her arms willingly, and he tore both sweater and tank top off in one smooth motion.
His eyes darkened with hunger as he looked down at her lacy midnight-blue bra. She swallowed, wondering if she could be as demanding as him.
Her uncertainty lost the battle to the hunger that consumed her, the hunger that he’d driven into her. She reached for the hem of his shirt. He didn’t wait for her to remove it. As soon as he realized what she wanted, he whipped the shirt over his head.
She paused, motionless, at the sight of him.
She’d known he was big—it was an impossible-to-miss fact. But somehow the image of him in clothing and the reality of his bare skin were worlds apart.
His muscles were so well defined, made even more impressive by the beautiful tattoo work that adorned his skin. Broad, strong shoulders tapered to a narrow waist, his arms hung loosely by his sides as he enjoyed her perusal.
“Do you like what you see?”
She nodded, breathless.
“Touch me.”
Her fingers acted as if they had a mind of their own, spanning the space between them and landing on his left pec. The slight dusting of hair crinkled beneath her fingers as she let her hand trail downward over the flat masculine nipple to the slight dip in the center of his chest, and down, bumping lightly over his abs. God, she’d thought bodies like this only existed on airbrushed models in magazines.
But no. This was Trey. And he wanted her to touch him. The thought made her dizzy, and she swayed.
“Easy, Strong Girl,” he said and wrapped his arms around her.
Bethany buried her face in his bare chest, hardly daring to believe this was happening to her.
It had been so long since she was with anyone, and even then, it had been a drunken fling that she’d later regretted. But somehow, with Trey, this felt like something much more.
“You’re cold. Come with me.”
She didn’t bother to tell him that her shiver had less to do with the temperature than the magnitude of feeling he drew from her. She just let him lead her down the narrow hallway to his bedroom.
* * *
She’d surprised him, yet again. He wondered if he’d ever get used to the ways she changed, like quicksilver. So strong and determined one moment, so hesitant and questioning the next.
It made him proud as hell and then made him want to protect her. But the one constant that he could not deny was the fact that he wanted her. And by the way she’d looked him up and down, it was clear that she wanted him too.
He led her to his bedroom, her small, slender hand enveloped in his large, rough one. He wanted to hold her, take her to heaven, and then wrap her in his arms for the night.
He was insane. This was insane. He wasn’t supposed to be doing this.
The bedroom door opened with a creak, and he let her precede him inside. He flicked on the bedside lamp, watching as she looked over the room.
It was a simple place, like the rest of his house. Plain bedding done in solid navy. Dark wooden furniture. A simple bedside lamp. It was a boring room, now that he thought about it.
“I like it,” Bethany said, smiling shyly at him as she turned around. “It’s very you.”
He just shook his head. He didn’t give a good damn about interior decorating at the moment. His body was throbbing with need, she was standing there in nothing but a bra and her jeans, and he was ready to show her just how crazy she’d been driving him over the past few weeks.
“Trey,” she said, looking down at the floorboards. “I’m nervous.”
He stepped close to her, wrapping his arms around her. “Don’t be. I’ve got you.”
“But what if…” She stopped and shook her head, her hair falling over her shoulder with the movement. He watched, mesmerized as the ends of one of those blond tresses caressed the soft swell of her breast.
God, he wanted her.
“I don’t sleep with just anyone,” she tried again, not looking him in the eyes. “It’s important that you know that.”
“Good to hear,” he said, indulging his itchy fingertips by picking up that strand of golden hair and rubbing it across his lips before letting it fall behind her shoulder. “I’m not just anyone.”
She reached up, standing on her toes as she kissed him with need akin to desperation. He lifted her off her feet as he met her, caress for caress, stroke for stroke. Her hunger stoked his own, the way her body undulated against him sending waves of need to curl around his cock.
His body throbbed for her as he walked her backward, settling her down on his bed. She looked up at him, eyes glinting, lips swollen, hair mussed.
It was a beautiful picture, but it would be much nicer if she was wearing less.
Well, there was the golden rule to consider.
He reached down and unfastened his jeans, sliding them down his thighs to pool on the floor. Stepping free of them, he was keenly aware of the fact that she was watching.
“Yours too,” he said, nodding toward her clothing.
She stood and shimmied free of her own pants before tossing them aside. Her panties were lacy and blue, a perfect match to the bra he was determined to have her lose in mere moments.
Lingerie was beautiful, but in his mind it was solely a floor decoration.
“Let me see you,” he said, dropping his hands.
This was up to her. He wouldn’t take from her. He wanted to give, but it was up to her whether or not to accept it.
She turned her back, and the slim, pale expanse of her bare skin made him want to weep. Her waist was narrow, her hips almost boyishly slim. The scrap of blue lace fell to the floor while her back was still turned.
She reached behind her then, hooking her thumbs in the waistband of her panties. He didn’t dare to breathe as she worked them over her hips, down her ass, to the floor.
Sweet Jesus in heaven.
Then, slowly, agonizingly so, she turned to face him.
His heart was in his throat. His body was straining as if his skin was so tight it was threatening to burst at any moment.
Her nipples were a dusky, dark pink, puckered sweetly at the tips. Her breasts were small, just a scant handful, but they were so, so perfect. There was a mole just below her belly button, a little mark that he couldn’t wait to kiss. His eyes traveled lower.
God, he wanted to shove her back onto his bed and bury his face between her thighs.
She stepped forward and ran her fingers beneath the waistband of his black boxer-briefs. Stretching them forward, she brought them under his straining cock. Her lips parted as she knelt and worked them down his legs.
“You’re big everywhere, huh?”
God, she said the sweetest things. But he was done with waiting.
The moment his underwear hit the floor, he reached down, scooped her up, and deposited her on his bed. She bounced with the movement, laughing with delight as he knelt on the bed beside her. He laughed for a moment too, the sheer joy of being beside her, seeing her mirth, taking her in, overwhelming him.
Then he leaned in to brush his mouth across her skin. He started with her collarbone, his kisses wild and unmeasured as he tasted her. She moaned in pleasure, her fingertips digging into his shoulders, her thighs spreading wide, the scent of her hunger causing his body to roar with need.