No Saint (Blood Legion MC Book 3)

by Rie Warren

  Chapter Four

  HONORÉ

  “WHAT ALL DID YOU do with the shredded cheese?” Momma Joan pulled her bifocals down to the tip of her nose as she frowned at me.

  I chuckled, pointing into the baking pan right in front of her. “You mean the cheese you just spread on top of the enchiladas?”

  She narrowed her gaze at me. “Wiseass.”

  “Hey, don’t forget where your glasses are while you’re at it.”

  “You’re just full of it today, aren’t you?” She harrumphed then set about searching for the jalapenos she’d already chopped.

  It was almost midday on Sunday, and she and I were preparing our usual weekly family dinner. A dinner for an untraditional family of three that was. Except today it was just her and me, because Caleb had gone on a sleepover with Davis last night and wouldn’t be home until later. I just hoped he wasn’t getting more of the wrong kind of education about roaches and spliffs.

  Sometimes I wanted to keep him cocooned in mother-love, but I tried not to be one of those annoying helicopter mommas who kept a rigid leash on her kid. He’d always be my baby boy, and I had to content myself with the fact that even if he didn’t let me hug him when I picked him up from school, he still insisted on smooches and cuddles at bedtime.

  I also selfishly wished he were here with his usual boyish boisterousness to help keep my mind off Saint.

  It had been two days, and I continued to reel from his impromptu drop-in.

  Had I actually propositioned the man?

  Yes, yes I had.

  My face heated every time I remembered telling him I needed to get laid.

  My body heated in a different way when I remembered his reaction—the gruff, raw promise that he was certain he could take care of my needs.

  I didn’t doubt him for an instant.

  Not when my skin still sizzled from his single sensual caress along my neck.

  Then he simply walked away. Well, I guessed I deserved that. But I had a feeling Saint would be back, and my body buzzed at the prospect of seeing him again.

  Momma Joan snapped her fingers in front of my face, bringing me back down to earth.

  “What?” I asked.

  “I swear, girl, you’re on a different planet right now.” Swiping her hands on a dishtowel, she considered me with shrewd eyes.

  “Oh, just thinking about a new composition I need to write down.”

  I was pretty sure she saw all the way through my excuse.

  “I asked if you picked up the avocados from the store yesterday.”

  Biting my lip to hold back a grin, I pointed to the bowl of peeled, pitted, and halved avocados sitting next to her elbow.

  “All right, smartass.” She rolled the dishtowel and snapped it against me.

  I put on a record, and we sang along to Etta James. Joan claimed she couldn’t carry a note, but that didn’t stop her from crooning the tunes.

  We worked easily together—she was more a mother to me than my own flesh and blood. I’d been kicked out of my house once I started running around with Caleb’s father. I’d been disowned entirely when I wound up pregnant.

  It turned out sometimes blood wasn’t thicker than water.

  Halfway through preparing a gargantuan platter of nachos smothered in chili beef and oodles of cheese to be topped with sour cream and bacon bits, I looked over the heaping load of food we’d prepped.

  “Why the hell are you insisting on making so much? It’s just the two of us.”

  “Nothing wrong with having leftovers stocked up, right?” Momma J’s excuse sounded suspicious, especially when her eyes twinkled in a mischievous way.

  Minutes later, I heard the distinct thunder of a motorcycle, and that time I didn’t recognize the rumble as Reggie’s.

  “Oh no you didn’t.” I wheeled toward Joan.

  “Oh yes I did.” She looked pleased as punch when the doorbell rang. “Aren’t you gonna answer that?”

  “What I’m going to do is kill you,” I muttered.

  I couldn’t believe it.

  I’d been hoodwinked by my own not mother-in-law.

  Drawing in a deep breath to exhale it slowly, I opened the front door.

  And there stood Saint with that insufferable grin and bearing a bottle of wine and a bouquet of flowers. I bet he didn’t know a Chardonnay from a Sauvignon Blanc. Beyond him, I noted the classic Harley chopper he’d rode in on.

  Then there was nothing to do but greet him.

  Except, once again, I wasn’t prepared for the sight of him. Tall with a nicely shaped goatee, striking green eyes, the dirty blond hair . . . a T-shirt that showcased many, many muscles . . .

  I forgot how to make my tongue work.

  Saint smiled. “Can I come in?”

  “Oh, oh sure.” Flustered beyond belief, I moved inside so he could enter.

  I probably had food gunk beneath my nails and flour smudged on my face, but he just stepped inside and ducked down to kiss my cheek.

  Immediately, a blush surged to the surface.

  “Just wait here a minute. I’ll be right back.” I tried not to look like I was rushing away from him as I darted to the kitchen where Joan looked like the cat that ate the canary.

  “You actually invited him?” I asked in hushed hissed words.

  “Sho did.”

  “When?”

  “Last night.”

  I groaned, cradling my head in my hands. “How?”

  “Wasn’t that hard to track him down at the Thunder Road Bar.”

  “You went to the bar?”

  “Sho did. You should try it sometime. Met all those Blood Legion studs. Even talked to that Mercy of yours.”

  “You are evil.”

  Joan shrugged. “You’ll thank me for it later.”

  “Fine.” I stamped down all other accusations. “One thing though, please, Momma Joan.”

  “What is it?”

  “Don’t tell Saint about Caleb. I don’t know where this is going, and I can’t have Caleb involved. I don’t want him disappointed by one more man.” The thought actually twisted my heart.

  I didn’t have to add it was her son’s fault I was so careful about men.

  Joan was under no illusions.

  “I won’t say a word.” Then her solemn expression lifted, and she turned to head out of the kitchen.

  “Where are you going now?”

  “I’m going to make sure our guest doesn’t think he’s in for the worst lunch ever while you get your shit together.”

  I didn’t know whether to be shocked or annoyed as she flounced away.

  Probably neither.

  Every unjust reaction I had to Saint was really a defense mechanism. Still, his unexpected presence rattled me.

  Joan clearly suffered no such nerves as she fawned so loudly I could hear her. “Saint, Honoré didn’t mean to leave you standing at the door. Come on in, sugar.”

  I still wasn’t sure about getting together with another biker, but Joan definitely approved.

  Oh god.

  I suddenly couldn’t catch my breath.

  This is ridiculous. You’re not a damn teenager. Get a grip, woman.

  I’d barely finished fanning my face and calming my heart when both of them joined me in the kitchen.

  The room seemed to shrink around Saint, and I felt rooted to the spot.

  Handing over the bottle of wine Saint had brought, Momma Joan said, “Why don’t y’all pop this open and pour a couple glasses. I’ll go set the table.”

  Excusing herself, she left me alone with the most sexually charged man I’d ever met.

  He held the bouquet out to me, and the flowers weren’t cheap carnations but a pretty bundle of local varieties.

  “Hope you don’t mind, but I didn’t buy them at a stall. Picked ’em from Mercy’s garden.” Saint shrugged, looking a little uncomfortable as though he wasn’t used to giving flowers to a woman.

  Touched by the gesture more than I wanted to be, I filled a
vase and carefully arranged the colorful blossoms.

  When I carried them to the dining room, Joan gave a low whistle and sent me a wink.

  “Can you just tone it down a little?” I whispered.

  “Doubt it.”

  The woman was damn meddlesome.

  I returned to the kitchen, and Saint handed me a glass of wine. He held one too, and the delicate stemware looked ridiculous in his big paw.

  “Your mom’s a damn flirt, you know that?” His eyes glinted.

  I thought about setting him straight about how Joan fit into this unorthodox family, but that would bring up questions about Reggie and possibly Caleb—a whole other can of worms I didn’t want to get into.

  “Oh yeah? Did she put the moves on you?” Taking a sip of wine, I glanced at him over the rim of the glass.

  “Hell, I think she put the moves on everyone at the bar last night. And she had a few shots with us too.”

  He chuckled, his laugh deep and rumbling, and I couldn’t help laughing along with him. I could just imagine Joan sinking shots at an MC bar, and something about seeing Saint grin gave me a tingly sensation in my stomach.

  After we both sobered, he kept gazing at me. “Look, I know Joan kind of ambushed you with this—”

  I touched his arm to silence him, then quickly withdrew my hand when some kind of forcefield built between us.

  “It’s okay. Really, Saint. Besides, now I know why she wanted to make all this food.”

  “You saying I’m fat?”

  I looked him up and down, and my interest had to be apparent.

  Saint lounged against a counter, a thumb hooked in his front pocket and an eyebrow quirked as if to say see anything you like?

  I did. I saw a lot I liked.

  “I’d say you’re anything but fat. But you are big.”

  “You don’t know the half of it.”

  I knew exactly what he was referencing, and my eyes darted to the front of his jeans and the telltale bulge.

  As he chuckled in a husky tone, I whirled around to the kitchen island. With shaky hands, I set out the ingredients for the guacamole.

  The avocados, some lime juice, cumin, a little garlic . . .

  “Need any help?” Saint’s deep voice came from right beside me.

  I reached around him to grab the mixing bowl. “Okay.”

  “Just tell me what to do, baby.”

  “Don’t you want to take your rings off?” I’d always hated that look—the biker brass knuckles so to speak.

  Yet seeing the chunky silver rings on Saint’s fingers just made me think about how long and strong and tan the digits looked. Then I wondered how they’d feel swirling along my rapidly slickening slit.

  I shut that thought off right quick.

  “You don’t like ’em?” He flexed his big hands, and I imagined his palms cupped around my breasts.

  Jesus.

  “All I meant was you’re gonna get your hands dirty.” My voice sounded breathless even to my own ears.

  “Baby”—he winked at me, and his tone lowered—“I get my hands dirty every day.”

  I just bet he did. Lord.

  “Maybe you should demonstrate for me,” he suggested, glancing from my widened eyes to the avocados to the bowl.

  And I did, quickly adding all the ingredients to the dish while he washed and dried his hands. As I began to mix the guac together, he came up directly behind me so I felt the barest amount of pressure at my back.

  His head tipped forward over my shoulder, and his breath cascaded chills across my neck.

  “I like the way you sing,” he murmured right next to my ear.

  “Was I singing?” I asked, my voice still reedy as his muscled inked arms slid around me.

  I thought he was going to embrace me, and I steeled myself for the heady impact. Instead, he slipped his hands with mine into the bowl.

  “Yeah.” His voice made my hair flutter, and the goose bumps on the nape of my neck multiplied. “It’s Etta James, right?”

  I couldn’t speak, and I couldn’t even think about singing anymore.

  His fingers massaged alongside mine, firmly sliding between my flesh as we mixed everything together.

  Oh my god.

  If this man could make me so hot by doing something so mundane, I’d probably be a screaming, creaming banshee if he ever fucked me.

  My pussy swelled, and I bit back a moan when he pressed the slightest bit forward, causing his hardened cock to brush against the top of my ass.

  Just when I wasn’t sure I could handle any more teasing—my temperature rising—Momma Joan bustled into the kitchen.

  “Who’s ready to eat?” she chirped brightly.

  Saint slyly rolled his erection against me again before moving slightly to the side.

  Then he grinned so wickedly I almost came on the spot.

  Especially when he looked straight at me and said, “I sure am.”

  Heat fluttered to my breasts.

  He wanted to eat me.

  Chapter Five

  SAINT

  HONORÉ STARED AT ME, pretty pink lips parted and her gorgeous blue eyes dilated.

  Gone was the caustic harpy. I’d finally gotten to her and, if I wasn’t mistaken, Miss Honoré Parrish was suddenly horny as horny could be.

  Still pissed about Ripper stirring up old trouble, I’d begun the day in a foul mood. I’d snapped at Angel and nearly cussed Lennox out.

  Only Sol had mellowed some of my rage when he’d sat down with me at one of the tables in the otherwise empty bar.

  Shoving a cup of steaming strong brew to me, he’d leaned forward on sharp elbows.

  “Dat Death Dealer done got all up in your head?”

  I snorted. “Somethin’ like that.”

  He lay a hand across one of mine, and I’d glanced into his deep brown eyes that had seen way more years than me.

  “Best med’cine for what’s troublin’ you g’on be the comp’ny of a good woman.”

  “Oh yeah?” I took a gulp of the hot coffee.

  He’d nodded, sitting back to cross his arms over his chest. “Sol always be right.”

  No doubt.

  He knew things most of us couldn’t fathom when the truth was right in front of our faces. I swore he was some kind of Creole conjurer or something.

  “So you think Honoré’s the ticket for me?” I’d asked.

  “Sol thinks she be better for y’all than gettin’ into a whole pack o’trouble goin’ back to your old ways.”

  He’d left me to mull over his wise words and to drink his strong coffee.

  Arriving here at Honoré’s, I’d steeled myself for her initial reaction to me showing up once again on her doorstep. ’Course she hadn’t invited me. Her mom was a sly one. Hell, I bet MJ hadn’t even told her daughter I was coming.

  I’d been damned surprised at her initial reaction. Instead of lighting into me, she’d lit up inside. She’d sure been nervous—deliciously so with a blush on her cheeks—and I didn’t miss her clear appraisal of me.

  It wasn’t like I made a regular habit of chasing around babes, and for once it was nice to get a hot reaction from the one particular woman I had been chasing around instead of the cold shoulder.

  I sure as hell wasn’t unaffected by her either.

  Wasn’t like she was dressed up or anything. She wore a pair of denim cutoffs that accentuated her firm round ass and her long slim legs. The tank top was loose enough that if she moved in a certain way, I could see the sides of her tits—two sweet globes—and she obviously wasn’t wearing a bra.

  Honoré’s platinum blonde hair floated to below her shoulders, down from the complex braids for the first time. I wanted to take a handful of the silky looking lengths and haul her up to my lips.

  The tats on her hands and wrists captivated me just as much . . . delicate black designs that faded away at her forearms.

  She was clean and fresh and just plain sexy with a definite edge and a different appeal than the o
ther chicks I’d been with.

  After making sure I’d turned Honoré on to a fever pitch of arousal with just a few smoldering innuendos and a couple sensual caresses, I had to will my erection into submission.

  MJ’s interruption in the kitchen wasn’t unwelcome. I liked the idea of keeping Honoré on her toes and on the verge of getting what she wanted.

  What she so clearly needed.

  Cock.

  Specifically, my cock.

  She needed a good long powerful fuck.

  She needed to be eaten out.

  She needed to be treated like a lusty woman, and I wanted her to unleash all her restrained passion on me.

  Yeah. I definitely needed to cool down.

  I focused on the delicious smelling food Momma Joan pulled out of the oven. Mm hmm . . . home cooking. Not that Sol was a slouch in the kitchen.

  I helped the two women carry platters of melty-looking enchiladas and mouthwatering nachos to the dining room.

  “Damn, this looks like a feast.” I rubbed a hand across my mouth before remembering my manners.

  Stepping around the table, I pulled out MJ’s chair for her.

  She beamed up at me. “Aren’t you the gentleman!”

  “Don’t let my secret get out,” I joked before moving over to Honoré and giving her the same treatment.

  “Here you go, baby.” Pushing her chair in, I smoothed my palms up to her shoulders, and my thumbs spanned softly along her skin.

  Her breath hitched, which pushed her breasts higher in the thin tank top.

  Nice.

  I took the seat right next to her, making sure I none-too-discreetly bumped my thigh against hers.

  She jumped a little.

  “Thanks for having me.” I looked directly at Honoré.

  She swallowed hard, barely nodding.

  And I was gonna have her real soon, no doubt about it now.

  Momma Joan plated up, giving me double the serving of everything, and I dug into the meal of chili chicken enchiladas and delicious spicy nachos.

  After I’d gobbled the first few bites, I groaned. “Holy, shit. That tastes good.”

  Both women laughed.

  “Sorry ’bout the language, but this is damn tasty.”

  “Glad you like it, Saint.” MJ glanced at her daughter. “Nothing finer than a big man enjoying a homecooked meal, ain’t that so?”