Sinful

by Scarlett Sanderson

  “So you haven’t been sitting in your window seat for the past four weeks watching us?” His amber eyes blazed seeing directly into her soul.

  Busted.

  Heat rushed to her cheeks. “I beg your pardon?”

  He reached up and flicked a strand of her hair. “At first I wondered, new tenant in the neighborhood. A woman who likes to spy. Maybe a threat. Maybe sent by the authorities. But now I understand.”

  His soft, baritone voice lulled her. She watched his sensual lips move. Zeke was dangerous. Extremely dangerous. She knew that now, yet she couldn’t move back. Moth and flame came to mind, and she was going to get burned.

  “What do you understand?” Her voice sounded huskier than she wanted it to be.

  Her breasts swelled and tingled inside the confines of her bra. She yearned to reach out and run her palm across his bearded jaw, feeling the wiry hair abrade her skin.

  “I understand you aren’t a threat. You’re a voyeur. You like to watch don’t you, Grace? When you came into the kitchen, I wasn’t sure which one of us you wanted to fuck. Rafe and Gabe are real pretty. You wouldn’t have to choose between them—they’d do you together if that’s your thing. But it’s not them, is it?” He didn’t wait for her to answer. “It’s me you want to fuck.”

  She inhaled, started to protest even as her body screamed yes.

  Yes, she did want to fuck him. Deep and hard and all night long.

  He stopped her with a finger pressed to her lips. “Ssshhh. No need to lie to me.” He rubbed the pad of his thumb across her lower lip. Zings of pleasure followed in its wake. “If I kissed you now, I’d have you naked and under me within five minutes. I’d probably be the fuck of your life. I like sex. I like beautiful women.” He waited a beat, rubbed her lip some more. “But there is one problem.”

  “What’s that?” Her mind was still trying to process the image of him, naked and on top of her. She had no doubt he’d be an excellent lover.

  He pushed the tip of his thumb gently inside her mouth. “I don’t fuck good girls.” He cupped her cheek. “I’m not a good man, Grace. I’m bad and dangerous and damaged. You may think you want me, but you don’t. Now go back to bed, get out your conventional vibrator and bring yourself off thinking about me. And then forget I exist. I’m not for you.”

  He brushed his lips across her cheek in a tender, brief kiss that ignited her senses. And then he was gone. He’d set her body on fire and destroyed her with his words.

  Arrogant, conceited asshole.

  Anger bubbled in her gut. Where did he get off presuming to know her?

  Not wanting him to have the last word, she called after him. “Zeke?” When he stopped and looked over his shoulder, she continued. “I’m not a good girl.”

  She flipped him the bird and slammed the door.

  Good riddance to the misogynistic asshole.

  Chapter Two

  Zeke drummed his fingers on the oval table. He smoothed them over the wooden grains as Jay briefed everyone on the last month’s earnings. He loved this table—engraved oak overlaid the metal. He knew every crack, crevice and groove. He’d grown up around it. Even the room itself, the Knights chapel, held hundreds of memories. He loved everything about his club and the brotherhood it represented.

  After his father was killed six years ago, he’d become president of the Knights of Hell MC and inherited a shit storm of responsibility. He wanted to move their businesses from illegal to legit. With the authorities cracking down and constantly breathing down their necks, he was sick of looking over his shoulder. If he hadn’t made some powerful friends in high places, one of the agencies would have taken them down by now.

  The illegal bullshit was killing them and he was currently trying to get them out of.

  “Trying” being the key word in that sentence. Over the past few years he’d worked successfully to cut their ties with the gangs. He’d left on good terms, even managed to throw work towards some of the guys they no longer ran for. That was drugs out of the equation.

  The club businesses were now ninety per cent legit. The only problem was the fucking Chinese. Chang and his crew of Triads would not budge on his request to stop running their guns across states. No matter what he offered, what solution he came up with, that fucker had him by the balls and squeezed tight.

  “You get that, Prez?” Jay frowned at him.

  They all knew Chang was a pain in his ass, but they didn’t know the extent of the problem. If Chang refused his last, reasonable offer, the Knights might have to go to war. A war with a division of an international organized crime syndicate didn’t sit well.

  Zeke rubbed the back of neck. “Run that by me again.”

  “The custom bike shop cleared more than a hundred grand last month.”

  “Fuck.” He’d known it was taking off, but hadn’t realized it was that popular.

  Jay nodded, sliding an iPad containing all the figures across the table towards him. Yeah, they had iPads. And a hacker in the form of Sammy. Books and tv shows mostly got it wrong about bikers. They weren’t all boneheads.

  He glanced over the top of the tablet and watched Tiny flick a cigarette end at Rafe.

  Well, maybe they were boneheads, but they were boneheads with all the latest technology and brains to make it work.

  He scrolled through the figures. “This is good. Damn good.”

  Jay nodded. “Yeah. We’re equaling the amount we used to make from all the other shit. In a few more months, maybe a year, we’ll be doubling that legitimately.”

  With the illegal shit behind them, they could focus on the body shop and tattoo store. For him, the two smaller businesses were the tip of the iceberg. He had big plans to expand.

  Tiny snorted. “And most of that we have to give to good ole Uncle Sam.”

  “Not necessarily,” Sammy grinned. “I’ve been working on a program that can help with that.”

  Tiny ruffled his hair. “I fucking love you, kiddo.”

  “Settle down,” Zeke reprimanded, but he couldn’t keep the amusement out of his tone. “The legit businesses stay legit.” There was no way he was putting their legitimate businesses at risk for tax evasion.

  “Speaking of legit,” Rafe interjected. “What the fuck are we gonna do if Chang doesn’t accept our offer?”

  The mood around the table turned sour. He could feel the tension. “Then we come back to the table, and we decide how to deal with him.”

  “Could get bloody,” Gabe said as he reached for the bottle of tequila in the middle of the table and poured out a shot.

  Zeke’s chest tightened. “Already did.”

  Chang’s man put a bullet in Jay’s arm because he didn’t like the proposal they’d put forward. Another MC taking on the gun running seemed like a perfect solution but Chang had a hard-on for Zeke and his crew.

  He’d never forget the night Jay bled for the MC. He vowed it would all fucking ended.

  It was also the first night he’d met Grace.

  Talk moved on. The guys banded around ideas about how they would deal with the Triads. None of it was serious—yet. Just bullshit. He tuned out and thought about how calm Grace had been the night she’d barged her way into his house. How she’d taken charge and fixed his brother’s wound.

  Even now it made his dick hard.

  He shifted in his seat, trying to ease the ache as the head of his cock bit into the zipper of his jeans.

  The woman was all fire and intelligence. He’d seen it in her and it drew him like a moth to god damn flame.

  And he’d been a complete asshole to her.

  He lit a smoke, inhaled and brought an image of the curvy brunette into his mind. In his fantasy, she was on her knees, naked except for a pair of patent, dark red heels. Her tits and pussy were on display for him. All for him. Her lips parted and her eyes begging him to touch her.

  She whispered his name in that sexy voice of her.

  His legs jerked and his knee hit the table sending shooting pains
along his nerve endings. His grit his teeth, but not from the pain.

  Jesus, he almost came in his fucking pants from an image in his head.

  “You okay there, boss?” Jay asked, a sly smirk pasted on his face.

  “Fuckin’ A,” he grumbled.

  The woman was driving him crazy. Despite what he’d promised himself, he couldn’t stay away from her. He had to have her. Maybe once he’d tasted her pussy it would cure his raging erection and let him on focus on business.

  But first he needed to apologize.

  After her encounter with the local MC, Grace lost herself in work. She moved from the big city, gave up her career in nursing due to severe burnout, to open a specialized bookstore and coffee shop. Ironically, the specialization was romance novels. She rolled her eyes as she envisioned the conceited asshole who lived across the street.

  This is why romance novels rocked—you could fall in love with the bad boy and avoid all the messed up shit that came with the reality of dating one.

  She hammered in another nail, working out her frustrations on the shelving for the small storefront she’d rented on Main Street.

  Contractors came and went. Over the past few days, she’d dealt with stock shipments and infantry. She kept herself busy.

  Mooching around town meant she picked up bits and pieces about Zeke and the MC. Zeke Knight was the club president. The Knights of Hell—the name of the club she’d found out from Dana at the bakery— owned the tattoo parlor on Main and a custom motorcycle store on the edge of town. The body shop also doubled as a club house. From the tidbits of gossip she concluded the town folk thought the gang harmless. They’d been part of the fabric for decades. They were a tolerated part of the community. The MC took part in charity drives and kept the town safe from drugs and crime. On the surface, it appeared they lived a peaceful existence running their businesses like any other law abiding citizens.

  So why did one of their members end up with a gunshot wound? That question kept going through her mind.

  She pushed thoughts of Zeke and the club out of her head. She refused to remember how softly he’d caressed her lips. She refused to picture him stripping her naked and screwing her on the antique dining table she’d purchased in New York. She wouldn’t give the arrogant asshat the satisfaction.

  After a long day of lugging around boxes, she drove home and ran a hot bath. Her muscles screamed as she removed her clothes. She wasn’t used to this amount of physical labor, but it felt good to see her store coming together. She added a few drops of the expensive oils her sister got her for Christmas, filing away a mental note to call her at some point. As she was about to sink into the soothing water, her doorbell rang. She waited a few seconds, hoping whoever it was would leave. She wasn’t expecting anyone. Probably just a marketer looking to make a sale.

  It rang again. Longer this time.

  Grace sighed as she tugged on a robe and belted it tightly. She padded down the stairs and opened the door as wide as the security chain would allow.

  She smiled when she saw Jay standing there holding a semi-wilted potted orchid.

  “Hi,” he said, shifting his weight awkwardly. “Bad time? I just brought you a housewarming slash thank you present. I can leave it out here.”

  From the way he eyed her robe, she wondered if the lapels were fully closed. “No, it’s fine.” She unlatched the chain. “Come on in.”

  As he entered, she was grateful her thick, cotton robe fell to the floor. She wasn’t afraid of Jay, just a little uncomfortable with his presence. Especially after her blunt conversation with Zeke the other night.

  She didn’t really know the men across the street. Despite their reputation in the town, they scared her a little.

  Jay looked around. “Nice place you got here, Doc. Cozy.” He handed her the potted plant. “Thanks. Again.”

  She took the pot, placing it on her coffee table and moving onto a subject she felt comfortable with. “How’s the arm?”

  He patted his shoulder gently. “Doing good. No infection, I think.”

  “Good.” Awkward. So very awkward. Although Jay was in his late forties, he was a handsome man. The blond hair, stubbled jaw and easy smile were completed by warm, blue eyes that appraised her. His lean, rangy frame filled out a black t-shirt, patch waistcoat and blue jeans well. He wasn’t her type, but she could appreciate a handsome man.

  Jay cleared his throat. “So, we’re having a party tonight. Nothing formal or anything, just thought you might like to come over.”

  “Are you asking me on a date, Jay?” The teasing question just slipped out. She didn’t know whether to smile, laugh or panic.

  “No. No.” He held up his hands. The mortified look on his face almost made her giggle. “Not that you’re not…shit…fuck…sorry. I’m no good at this shit. I don’t have many female friends. Okay, no female friends. Just thought as we were neighbors…and you helped with my arm…”

  Grace found his babbling endearing.

  Cutting him some slack, she answered, “I’d love to, but I don’t think Zeke would appreciate me being there. I don’t think he likes me.”

  Understatement of the year, yet she couldn’t deny the shiver of desire that ran down her spine as she spoke his name. Damn her traitorous hormones.

  Jay waved a hand, dismissing her concern. “Ahhh, don’t worry about Zeke. He can be a complete douche sometimes. So what do you say? Have a drink with an old man?”

  This time she did smile. “You’re not an old man and you know it. Give me ten minutes to get dressed.”

  “Ata girl.”

  Upstairs, she delved into her closet. What did someone wear to a biker party? She didn’t really have many dresses. What she did have were too formal. She never wore jeans either, so those weren’t an option.

  After a few minutes deliberation she pulled out a pair of soft, navy Capri pants and a crisp, white button-down shirt. Navy boat shoes completed the look. She added a few touches of makeup, fluffed her hair and she was ready.

  “Does this look okay?” She asked as she came down the stairs, unsure about the conservative look.

  Jay rubbed a hand over his jaw, scratched his head. “Yeah, you look good. A little preppy.”

  She scowled. “I can change.” She wasn’t sure she had anything else more appropriate.

  “No you’re perfect. Let’s go, Doc.”

  The house looked completely different from when she’d been there a few days ago. Music blared from the various surround sound speakers. Mostly rap which surprised her. She’d expected bikers to be into heavy rock.

  This time she got a good look at the place. The layout was similar to her own, but the décor screamed bachelor. The monotone color schemes of creams, black and grey dominated the den. As did numerous pieces of technology. A huge flat screen tv adorned one wall. The oversize couches filling the space were built for comfort rather than style.

  “Whose house is this? Is it club owned or something?”

  “Nah, this is Zeke’s house.” Jay said loudly, trying to be heard above the music. “Clubhouse is over town. Main parties go on there, but sometimes Zeke likes to have people over.”

  She raised an eyebrow. I just bet he does.

  People milled around chatting, drinking, smoking and, in some cases, heavy petting. There were numerous women in scant clothing. Some men wore patches, some didn’t.

  She recognized Tiny and smiled. A blonde in a very tight, short, black leather skirt with huge, perky breasts barely covered by a see-through lace tank-top, ground her ass against his groin in time to the beat.

  When he saw Grace, he nodded in greeting. “Hey, Doc.”

  She nodded back, tried to ignore the huge erection Tiny sprouted as he pawed at the woman.

  Jay took her elbow in a gallant gesture and steered her through the throng of bodies to the kitchen. The table she’d fixed his shoulder at held copious amounts of alcohol—various beers, bottles of tequila, whiskey, rum and vodka.

  Rafe a
nd Gabe stood by the kitchen sink. Sandwiched between them stood a pretty brunette, her head laid back on Gabe’s shoulder. Her eyes were closed as his lips trailed up and down her neck, and a hand tweaked her nipple. Rafe stood in front of her, his hand under her skirt. From the look of pleasure on her face, the woman was very happy with whatever he was doing. Her hand rubbed against his groin in a reciprocal gesture.

  Jay cursed. “For fuck’s sake, take it upstairs.”

  The men turned almost at the same time. It was disconcerting to see the resemblance between them, especially during such an intimate moment.

  Rafe grinned. “Got a new plaything, Jay? Hey there, Doc.”

  She gave them a small wave, pretty certain her cheeks blazed like beacons. “Hi guys.” She wasn’t a prude but she’d never seen such blatant sexuality on display.

  Gabe whet his lips. “Wanna join us, Grace? Always got room for one more.”

  Hell, what an invitation. “I think I’ll pass. You enjoy yourselves though.”

  Jay rolled his eyes. “Let’s get something to drink and head out back. What’s your poison?”

  She surveyed the liquor, once again avoiding eye contact with the erotic scene playing out in the corner of her eye. She could hear the sighs of pleasure growing louder and wanted out of there as soon as possible. Her self-imposed dry spell meant the show made her hotter than hell. She’d never thought of herself as a voyeur, but she wanted to watch with every fiber of her being.

  Instead of giving into temptation, she located some Herradura anejo tequila. She loved sipping tequila, but only good stuff. None of the nasty stuff bars sold in bulk. “I think I’ll take the Herradura.”

  Jay looked impressed. “Never would have pegged you for a hard liquor gal, but good choice.” He swiped the bottle and two glasses before ushering her outside onto the back porch.

  He balanced the glasses on the porch railing, poured out three fingers in each glass and handed one to her. “Cheers, Doc.”

  She tipped hers against his and sipped. The smoky tequila burned a path to her stomach, and she reveled in the warmth spreading to the rest of her limbs, loosening the knots.