by Anna Edwards
She was shocked at the ease talking with Tymber was. The guys she’d been with before were all about themselves, yet here was this gorgeous stranger wanting to know about her and her life. The only problem, or main problem being she couldn’t tell him too much, or he’d run for the hills.
For the next hour and a half, two cups of latte and another piece of cake later, Ivy didn’t know if the guy was for real or a figment of her imagination. He listened when she spoke yet didn’t push when she stopped.
“I don’t know what your past relationships were, but from the look on your face, I figure you must’ve only been with assholes. Ivy, there ain’t a man or woman alive who should make you feel as though you were worthless.” His gaze ensnared her almost the same as the hand he placed over hers. She realized he had tattoos on his hands, the designs clearly meaningful.
“How do you know what my past relationships were like?” she asked, her heart racing. No way had he seen or heard of her before today.
Tymber smiled, not the megawatt, melt the panties off of every woman within his vicinity, but a knowing one that had her pulling her hand back. His words ringing in her ears. He’d change his mind if he knew her past.
“I really should head out. Thank you for the coffee and cakes, although my ass isn’t going to be thanking you when we can’t wiggle into our favorite pair of jeans,” she joked, hoping her tone rang true.
“I’ll walk you to your car.” Tymber scooted out of the booth before she could protest.
“You don’t have to do that. I’ve been on my own for a long time. I’m pretty sure I can make it back to my car just fine.” She looked up into his gorgeous eyes, willing her voice to be strong.
He nodded. “Just the same, I’ll walk you to it, if you don’t mind.”
“And if I mind?” she asked.
He shrugged. “I’ll still do it, only I’ll be the asshole who walked you to your car instead of the nice man you met.”
She laughed. “I have a feeling you really can be an asshole.”
The cooler air slapped at them when they walked outside, making her suck in the fresh scent. Silence greeted her words, which gave her a chance to look around the area. A few bikes were parked along the road outside of shops. She didn’t recognize any, but fear skated up her spine.
Tymber watched her look around the neighborhood, not missing the shiver that shook her petite frame. Something had the gorgeous woman scared. Something that also had her running to a suicide help meeting. He vowed he’d find out more. There was a mystique to Ivy that called to him on a visceral level. A connection he’d never felt for any other woman, and he’d met a lot of women, but none brought out such a protective side to him that he wanted to wrap her up in his arms and protect her from the world. His sisters would laugh their asses off if they saw him right now. Being the baby with four older females in the family, he’d been brought up to respect the fairer sex. They’d taught him a lot of things. One of his greatest lessons was their body language, and Ivy’s was screaming self-defense. Whoever had hurt her, had her running, would have to go through him to get to her.
He saw her glance toward the row of bikes, then saw her shiver again. Shit, was she scared to ride? He and his buddies liked their rides. Although they weren’t affiliated with any of the MCs that were all over California, he was friendly with the club that ran a lot of businesses in Santa Clarita. The president and a few others were clients of his. He took another look at Ivy’s appearance, thinking of the women who’d come into the shop with King and Duke and the others. Those women appeared in a lot less clothing than Ivy, but that didn’t mean Ivy wasn’t an old lady of a biker, or a wannabe. Hell, he fucking hoped she wasn’t either of those, because he sure as shit didn’t want to get into it with the Royal Sons.
They walked back toward the center, her eyes darting around them as if she waited for someone to jump out at them. Tymber couldn’t stand it. By the time they rounded the corner, his nerves were frayed, or maybe that was his control. Either way, he came to a stop, pulling Ivy with him. “What the fuck has you so damn scared? What sent you to a suicide meeting only to chicken out, Ivy?” he asked, his voice more of a growl than he wanted.
Her bright green eyes widened. She darted a look around, her tongue coming out to moisten her lips. “I…I don’t know what you’re talking about. I wasn’t going to a…a suicide meeting. I was lost.” She looked down when she said the last.
Tymber gave her a little shake. “Dammit, don’t lie. This is fucking serious.”
She jerked as if he’d hit her. “You think I don’t know that? You think I don’t know what is and what isn’t serious? Let me tell you what’s serious, Tymber.” She poked him in the chest. “Walking into your apartment to find your best friend arguing with their boyfriend. Seeing the desolation on his face, the utter defeat stamped on every feature, and then watch as he locked himself in the bathroom. Imagine hearing him crying, telling you he loves you but that he can’t do it anymore. Have you ever heard the sound of a gun cocking, the way it echoes in a small space? I have. It’s a sound I hear night after night, along with the last words he said before a single shot rang out,” she sobbed.
He pulled her into his chest, holding her shaking body against his, absorbing her words. What the fuck? Her best friend was a dude who’d killed himself over a breakup or some shit. “I’m sorry, Ivy. So damn sorry.” Shit, nobody deserved to witness something like that.
Her tears soaked his shirt while she cried. Tymber kept one hand on the back of her head, the other he ran up and down her back, murmuring words he couldn’t recall if asked. How long they stood on the street like that he had no clue. Finally, she sniffled, the sound almost cute. “I got your shirt all wet,” she mumbled.
He almost made a sexual reference but stopped himself. “That’s alright, it washes.”
“That was hard, wasn’t it?” she questioned, leaning back slightly to meet his eyes.
Tymber raised a brow. “What was?”
Ivy wiped the tears away. Her chest rose and fell with her deep inhale. “I could see the wheels turning in your mind. You normally would’ve made a sexual quip right then but didn’t want to be an asshole.”
He chuckled at her astuteness. “Do I get points for not saying anything?”
She tried to step back, but his hold prevented her from moving too far. “You get points for a lot, one being the restraint you showed then.”
“I’m sorry about your friend,” he said, his heart aching for her loss.
“He was my best friend since kindergarten when he beat up a boy for pulling my pigtails.” She smiled at the memory.
If he’d been in class with Ivy back then, he’d have done the same. “That’s the mark of a good best friend for sure.”
“Luke claims I became his best friend when I punched Sally, after she dumped him in junior high because he found out she only wanted to get closer to his brothers.”
An image of a younger version of Ivy beating another girl made him smile. “I’d have paid to see that.” And he would. The thought of this sassy woman knocking the shit out of another would be hot as hell in his mind.
“I fell in love with him that same year when he beat my stepdad up after he tried to…well, anyway, that was when we became a couple.” Her voice cracked.
His mind came to a halt. He wasn’t following, or he was missing vital parts to the story. “Ivy, I’m not on the same page. Who are we discussing?”
Her green eyes were shiny with her tears. “Luke. My best friend. My first love. He’s…or rather he was gay. We figured it out in high school, but I still loved him, and he still loved me. Our relationship wasn’t like, that. I protected him, and he protected me. Only I didn’t protect him in the end. I should’ve known. I should’ve been there. If only I’d have—” she sobbed.
Tymber gripped the back of her hair, tipping her face up to his so she had to see him when he spoke. “Ivy, I don’t know who Luke was. I don’t know why he did what he did
. What I do know is this. He pulled that trigger, not you. You have survivors’ guilt, which is very common I’m told. People say that when someone commits suicide life goes on. What they don’t understand is that life is forever changed for those left behind. Many times, suicide is a permanent solution for a temporary problem. I’m not saying that was your friend’s issue. Hell, I know nothing of your life or his, but what I do know is that it wasn’t your fault. It wasn’t the boyfriend’s fault either.”
She shook her head. “You don’t understand.
Staring up at Tymber, she soaked in his words, wishing they were true, wishing Luke’s family agreed. God, she wished she believed them to be true. What she knew for a fact, and without a shadow of a doubt, was her life was forever changed and not for the better. Luke had been more than just her friend, they were family. His family had been her family. They’d allowed her to be a part of them only because of him. Now that he was dead, they blamed her. They thought Darian was her boyfriend and that Luke had offed himself because he couldn’t stand life without her in it. God, it was so fucked up. “I really wish I could believe that was true. I wish everyone else thought the same way, too.”
The feel of his hand gripping her hair, sent a tingle of awareness through her body, reminding her she was still alive, that she still had needs. It had been too damn long since she’d thought of herself as a sexual being. Hell, with her playing the part of Luke’s beard, she couldn’t just go out and find a guy to scratch the itch. Truth be told, she’d not actually had a boyfriend other than Luke, and well, that hadn’t worked out. “I should go,” she whispered, but didn’t step away.
His grip didn’t ease. “Can I get your number?” he asked.
His words were an invitation. She knew it, and he did too. She licked her lips. For one moment in time, she wanted to forget, wanted to escape reality and pretend all was right in her world. Tymber Black looked like the type of man who could help her do just that. “Where are you going?” she asked him instead.
Tymber looked up and down the block. “Home, to my place.”
“If I give you my number, are you going to call me if I don’t go home with you now?”
Ivy was aware she was taking a huge leap of faith. He was a virtual stranger. Hell, nobody even knew where she was or would even care, but she tossed her proverbial last fuck in the air and nodded. “Want some company?”
He gave a slight tug to her hair, reminding her he had control. “You sure?”
Her mouth had gone dry, but she nodded. “Very,” she agreed.
“Want to ride with me?” He pointed toward his bike.
She swallowed, noticing his ride. Just because he rode a bike didn’t mean he was part of an MC. She’d never seen him around the Royal clubhouse or around any of the guys. “I’ll follow you.”
“Where’s your car?”
Ivy pointed to where her 1974 orange Ford Bronco sat. “Right there.”
“Dayum, girl. That’s a sweet ride. Is it a six speed?” he asked, walking over to peer inside.
“Yeah, but it’s been modified. I’ve pretty much replaced everything under the hood, so it’s all brand new, right down to the six point roll cage.”
Tymber whistled. “You did the work?”
Ivy rolled her eyes. Men couldn’t wrap their head around a female who liked to work on cars and trucks. She was that girl. The one who could and would take an engine apart and put it back together even better than it had been. Case in point, her Bronco. She and Luke had found it sitting in a junk yard up in Sacramento years ago. Slowly, but surely, she’d rebuilt and replaced everything until she had what sat on the road today. The fact she and Luke would never be putting anything back together almost brought her to a crying mess, again. “I had help,” was all she said.
His phone ringing had him stiffening. “I need to take this.”
She stared as he pulled the little phone out, his jeans hugging him in all the right places. No matter how hard she tried, tearing her eyes away from his back was near impossible. What kind of person does that make her, drooling over a man, thinking of going home with said man she’d met at a crisis center? For all she knew, he too was a suicide survivor. Would being with her cause him more grief?
“Carly, calm the fuck down. I’m sure it’s fine. Yeah, I’ll be right there.” Tymber ran his hand through his hair, turning to look at her over his shoulder. His heated stare conveying more than words could.
Was this the universe’s way to tell her she was crazy to go back to his place, with a man she didn’t know? Her mind caught up to what he’d said or rather didn’t say. She was sure they’d discussed significant others, but here he was promising some faceless woman named Carly he’d be right there. The flex and bunch of Tymber’s muscular ass when he pushed the cellphone back into his back pocket was truly enough for most red-blooded women to lose their mind. “I lost my mind years ago, no reason to question its lack of existence now, Ivy Girl,” she told herself. If he had a girlfriend, or whatever, she’d find out and walk away now, rather than later after she’d made another mistake.
“I don’t think you’ve lost anything, Ivy. Maybe you’ve forgotten or misplaced it somewhere along the way.”
Chapter Three
Tymber wasn’t sure what had made Ivy retreat from him, but he’d be damned if he allowed it. There was something about the woman who was dressed to kill, yet her demeanor was that of a woman in need of saving. He watched and waited for her to process his declaration.
Ivy let out a deep breath. “You should get going. It sounds like Carly is in need of you.”
He almost smiled, only knowing Ivy might just kick him with those black boots kept him from following through with it. Nope, he definitely wasn’t going to crack a shit-eating grin, even though he understood why she was backing away. Jealousy was a bitch, one that he didn’t usually like seeing on a woman he wanted. However, with the gorgeous Ivy, he found he liked it. “My sister tends to go into theatrics when one of her offspring is being a little hard to handle. Hence the frantic call. My nephew is giving her fits,” he explained.
Wariness clouded her gorgeous green eyes. “You better get going then.” She tilted her head toward his bike.
“You gonna give me your number?” He ran the back of his fingers down her cheek, the softness of it making him wish they’d had more time together. If she didn’t give him her number, he wasn’t sure how he’d track her down. Of course, he could call a friend who could run her plates, but that would only cause him grief, sure as shit his buddy would demand he explain before he’d run them. How would he explain the crazy need to see Ivy again, to make sure she was safe and happy? Shit, maybe it would be better if she denied him her digits.
“What’s your number?” Ivy asked instead.
His brows rose, then he rattled off his number, thinking she’d never call. Ivy pulled her phone out of her bag, typing in his number. He figured she’d delete it once she was away from him. The sound of his phone ringing made the grin he’d fought earlier appear. He slipped his cell out of his back pocket, keeping his eyes locked on hers. “Hello?” he said into the phone, hoping it was Ivy, hating the thought it wasn’t.
Silence met his words. Ivy let out a deep breath. “There’s my number.”
Tymber quickly added her to his contacts. “You’ve got mine too. Are you going to answer if I call?”
Ivy laughed. “You act as though women turn you down, Tymber. If they have, then you’re either a dick once they get to know you, or you have a small dick, which for the record I’m not asking, just saying.”
He stepped closer to Ivy, her tongue peeking out to lick over lips he wanted to do the same to. “I can’t say I’ve never been a dick, but I can assure you the size of my dick has never been an issue, except that it might be too big. However, I’m a patient man so even those complaints I can erase.”
Her throat worked as she swallowed. “Good to know.”
“I’ll call you tonight.” He made it a statem
ent. If she didn’t answer, he wouldn’t stalk her or call again.
“My phone will be on. See you, lumberjack.” She moved back, then rounded her vehicle, leaving him alone on the sidewalk.
“Yeah, you will,” he promised her. Shit, he needed to have his head examined, he thought while watching her tail lights disappear around the corner. Walking over to his bike, he grabbed the skull cap he never rode without and strapped it on. The familiar rumble of the bike usually eased his mind, giving him a respite from reality. However, the vision of Ivy standing on her toes outside a meeting for suicide survivors and those who were on the edge kept him from shutting down. “After I deal with Carl, I’ll call her. If she doesn’t pick up, I’ll leave a message, but then the ball would be in her court,” he muttered while easing into traffic.
“Carly, you need to be consistent with the kids. You can’t give them their way one day, then expect them to not be pissed when you deny them the next. If you don’t want Carl hanging out with certain friends, letting him go to a party with them last week, yet telling him he can’t be friends with them isn’t going to sit well.” He took the cold bottle of water his sister held out. He was thirty-two to her forty-five. Times like this made him wonder how she’d gotten through life without falling flat on her face.
“Tymber, there are reasons for everything. For one, the party I let my fifteen year old son go to last week was being monitored by adults. This one isn’t. Hell, the kid he wanted to go with drove a sportscar like a…teen let loose for the first time. I didn’t want to see my son get in with him. I don’t know how to explain it, but I have a feeling he wasn’t going to come home. Call it mother’s intuition, but that’s what I got.”