Just the Tip of the Iceberg: Mile High Matched Books 1-3

by Christina Hovland

  “Maybe we could…ah…you know. That thing we started the one time, at…” Fudge, she couldn’t exactly say “at your mom’s house” when she was propositioning him.

  He pulled away and frowned. “You wanna hook up on my bike?”

  She made a noise in the back of her throat. This was a bad idea then and a horrible idea now. “I shouldn’t have said anything.”

  He stood and offered her a hand to help her up.

  She took it.

  “You only have to ask once.” His words rumbled against her earlobe while his hands smoothed the fabric over her bottom, pausing at a very intimate spot.

  “You’re going to make me ask?”

  He gave her a look that indicated he was, indeed, going to make her ask. Oh, for goodness’ sake.

  “Brek?” She tilted her head to the side.

  “Yeah, V?”

  “Will you have sex with me on your motorcycle?”

  His grin practically split his face in two. “I thought you’d never ask.”

  He let go of her hand and turned on his heel to swing his leg over the seat—which was great and all, but what the heck was she supposed to do? She crossed her arms around herself. There was no way this could work. Sex on a bike was physically impossible.

  He turned over the engine and stepped off the bike. “Take off your panties.”

  They could always try, though. Drawing on the small bit of courage she still had, she hiked her skirt up, hooked her fingers over the edge of her lace underwear, and pulled them to her ankles. She wasn’t exactly the picture of grace, but she managed to tug them over her pumps.

  “Hand ’em over.” Brek held out his hand and snapped his fingers.

  What on earth did he want with her panties? Cautious, she placed the lace in his palm. He gripped the scrap of fabric and her hand to pull her into his arms.

  He leaned his lips to her ear and ran his hand along the small of her back to the edge of her skirt. He lifted it to run his hand between her thighs. She parted her legs at the familiarity of his touch, and a shiver of carnal desire coursed through her.

  “Shoes stay on.” His voice was rough, his fingertips sliding against her already wet core.

  She leaned against him, relaxing into the movement of his hand.

  “I let go, you swing your leg over the bike. Like you’re gonna ride her,” he continued.

  “Her?” Velma’s own voice turned throaty.

  “Don’t worry. She’ll treat you nice.” Brek chuckled, his firm erection obvious through his jeans against her hip. “You two are about to become very good friends.”

  He circled her sweet spot with his thumb.

  A moan escaped from between her lips.

  “Just climb on. That’s all?” Thoughts weren’t coherent at the moment. She glanced up to him.

  “To start.” He did not look at all like he found her boring.

  He withdrew his hand, and she nearly begged him to put it back. But, no, she was being brave and trying new not-boring bedroom activities—activities that now involved his motorcycle.

  Hopeful the dark night would continue to provide cover for what she was about to do, she stepped to the bike. The red gravel crunched under her pumps. Unsure, she tossed her leg over the seat.

  Oh. Well, hello there. Brek was correct. She and his motorcycle were going to be good friends. Exceptionally good friends. The motor purred right where her lace thong had been. Her eyes seemed to close involuntarily as she placed her hands on the tank in front of her. Somewhere in the dark, the clink of Brek’s belt echoed, but she didn’t care because, at the present moment, his bike was teaching her how wonderful vibrations in a gravel parking lot could really be.

  He slipped behind her on the bike and, sweet starlit heavens, the man wasn’t wearing his jeans. He lifted her skirt, and his erection settled against her back. Only for a moment, because before she could say, Hey, that feels nice, he’d tilted her pelvis and, holy God, the stars in the sky blurred as her sweet spot slid into contact with the vibrating seat. His erection settled between her thighs, not entering her…just stopping by to join the party.

  “Holy crap.” She gripped the tank harder.

  “Shit, V.” He bunched her skirt around her waist. “I’m not even in you, and I’m about to—”

  “Remedy that,” she demanded, squirming against the erection near her entrance. “The inside part.”

  He chuckled low, his hand passing over her leg to pat the side of the motorcycle. “I see you two have gotten to know each other.”

  “I like her a lot.” She pressed her bottom to his abdomen.

  “Just wait.” He rubbed the length of himself against her, his thickness throbbing between the leather of the seat and…well…her.

  He ran his fingertips over her, spreading her open and, with one amazing thrust, joining with her. Immediately, he withdrew.

  She nearly sobbed his name.

  His breathing stilted as he seated his erection in her once more, a ripple of pleasure pulsing through her. Clearly, he was done with the cat-and-mouse portion of the evening, because he took her with everything she’d ever known him to have.

  She gripped the tank as he delivered all he’d promised. Brek moving in and out of her with delicious force, she spiraled as the knot inside tightened—begging for release.

  One hand around her stomach, holding her so she didn’t fall, he reached the other to her fingertips and peeled them from the chrome. His hand entangled with hers as he moved it to the handgrip, turning something so the motor between her thighs revved in unison with his thrusts.

  The knot inside her released, and while she’d never been a screamer, she was pretty sure an extremely unladylike sound came from her that was anything but a squeak. Her internal muscles clamped around him. His body stilled, the way it always did right before he finished.

  Her body had effectively turned to mush.

  With rough breaths, he cradled her against the heat of his body—pulling her up to him. He pressed his lips to the crown of her head. “Fuckin’ beautiful.”

  Suddenly aware that he was in possession of her panties and his pants had been tossed on the gravel, Velma pulled herself together and started to move from the bike.

  His arms tightened their grip. “Nope. Not yet. You need to hear what I’m about to say.”

  She paused.

  “Turn around.”

  It took some maneuvering, but she managed to turn so they faced each other, her legs around his middle.

  He stroked her cheek, his touch light. “You are a lot of things, Velma Johnson. You’re high-strung. You’re organized as all fuck.”

  She opened her mouth to defend herself, but his fingertip over her lips stopped her.

  “Don’t get on me about cussing right now, because what I’m sayin’ is important. You take your living room art too seriously, and you care too much when my socks don’t hit the hamper. But don’t let anyone ever tell you you’re less because of it. Or make you feel like you’re boring because you like things the way you like ’em. Even me. You care deeply about the people in your life. If they can’t see that, fuck ’em.”

  She glanced to the exhaust pipe, unable to meet his gaze as a tear slid out of the corner of her right eye.

  He ran a fingertip under her chin and lifted her gaze to meet his. “If people can’t appreciate all you bring to the table, they don’t deserve to be in your life.”

  In that moment, for the first time in a long time, the stars aligned and the world righted itself. She believed him. Freedom-loving Brek, who would soon ride out of her life as easily as he’d ridden in. The thought caught in her throat, burning her back to reality. What on earth was she supposed to do with herself when he left?

  Chapter Eighteen

  Countdown to Claire & Dean’s Wedding: 16 Days

  Velma doodled a sketch of a poorly drawn motorcycle on her yellow legal pad. Annuity sales meetings were tedious. Her mind drifted from the conference room to her adventur
es on Brek’s bike the night before.

  “Velma.”

  She glanced up. Crud. How long had her boss been standing over her? “Sorry, yes?”

  “There’s a man in your office here to see you.”

  Velma’s pulse dropped at the way Tim, her boss, said “a man.”

  “Um…” She glanced from where her boss stood at the door to her colleagues situated around the polished mahogany conference table.

  “Perhaps you should take care of this…Brek?” Tim’s eyebrows puckered, making the lines more prominent than usual.

  “Yes, of course. Excuse me.” She snatched her leather portfolio with the company logo embossed in gold on the cover and shuffled past him.

  “Velma.” Tim’s voice commanded her attention.

  She paused and turned toward him. “Yes?”

  He strutted toward where she’d stopped in the hallway. “I trust this won’t be a common occurrence? Guests are strongly discouraged while you’re working.”

  She read between his lines easily enough—long-haired, leather-clad bikers were strongly discouraged. The sour feeling in her stomach doubled at the way Tim’s pinched expression broadcast precisely what he meant.

  “I understand.” Velma’s fingertips went cold. Portfolio pressed against her chest, she beelined for her office.

  Brek stood there holding a marble paperweight from her bookshelf, turning it over in his hands.

  Oh, no. No. No. Brek had his tattoos on display today with a short-sleeved black tee and one of his excessively ripped pairs of jeans. This pair was missing both knees and a decent amount of thigh material. The tee sported screen-printed lips with a giant tongue. Holy crap, her boss must’ve burst a blood vessel when he saw Brek waiting in the plush lobby next to their two-o’clock clients.

  “Hi,” she said.

  “Hey.” He dropped the marble paperweight back on the ledge with a thump. “Tried to call.”

  “Sorry. They’ve had me in meetings all day. What’s up?” She skirted around the edge of the desk, dropping her notepad next to the phone.

  He shoved his fingertips into his pockets. The bags under his eyes and the frustration etched in his expression were unusual for him. “Meeting Dean and Claire at the courthouse in thirty. Can’t find where you put their stuff.”

  “Sorry, I have it in their file. I double-checked on the country club and the photo booth place over lunch.”

  “Everything set?”

  “Yes.” She grabbed her briefcase and pulled their file. “I thought you guys were doing this next week?”

  “Change of plans. Dean’s mom’s coming to town, and they’re goin’ up to Vail for a few days. Has to happen today.” Brek’s gaze raked over her. “You look pretty.”

  Her pulse skipped at his perusal. “Thank you.”

  She had picked the most professional power suit she owned that morning and twisted her hair in a French roll. So far it had only given her a headache.

  He stepped close behind and ran a hand over her shoulder. Her stomach clenched. What would Tim think if he walked in right now?

  “Not here, Brek,” she said, her voice low. Not where her boss could see them.

  His hand immediately dropped. “You have the papers?”

  “Everything for the marriage license is on this side.” She opened the brown file folder and pointed to the correct tab.

  Brek slid an envelope across the desk with one finger. “We need this, too.”

  Velma ripped open the envelope and laid the papers in the pile, smoothing the creases. The wedding was two weeks away. Family members had booked nonrefundable airline tickets. Velma was absolutely fine with all of it. Excited, even. The weight against her chest when Claire and Dean announced their engagement had lessened to nothing, and there could only be one reason. Brek.

  He was scowling at his phone. Again.

  “What’s going on?” She dropped the pages in the folder and flipped the file closed.

  He ran a hand over the long hair she’d grown rather fond of. A lump lodged in her rib cage near her heart at the defeated look on his face.

  She scooted across the office and pushed the heavy wooden door closed. Brek watched her without a word.

  Screw Tim and his ideas of who could visit her at work. She stepped to Brek and ran a palm over the planes of his back, up to his shoulders. He leaned into her hands, a too-deep breath escaping his lungs. His back had been in knots lately. More than once in the past week, she had given him a massage before bed. The massages always led to other things. Whatever bothered him, he never said.

  “Want to talk?” she asked.

  “Nothing to talk about.” He stared straight ahead. Clearly, there was a load to talk about.

  “Liar.” She leaned her head against his shoulder. “Maybe I can help.”

  “Not unless you can get my guys to behave. We’re already knee-deep in promotion and ticket sales, and if they don’t get their shit together, we’ll have to cancel.”

  Well, seeing as the entirety of her music connections stood next to her, she probably wasn’t any help in that department. “Has this ever happened before?”

  “Normally, I’m out in the thick of things. Not a big deal. It’s all about being present and keeping the connection.” The exasperated tone in his words ached.

  “If you weren’t in Denver helping Aspen, what would you do?” She wished like heck there was more she could do for him than rub his arm.

  He lifted a shoulder. “What I always do. Hop on my bike. Make shit happen.”

  She remained silent. He’d be able to do just that soon. After Sophie and Troy finally made it down the aisle—or whatever they would be walking down—and Claire and Dean said “I do,” Brek would be free to do what he needed to do for the sake of rock ’n’ roll.

  Velma swallowed the heavy feeling rising in her throat.

  Brek would be gone, dealing with his band. He was temporary. He wasn’t about happily ever after. Soon she’d be alone, and this time the emptiness would be permanent. She would have to go back to her spreadsheet.

  “I need a miracle.” He dropped to the chair in front of her desk. “Things’ve been tight. More than tight. Sophie’s mom caused a shit storm when the wedding didn’t happen. This Rosette thing has to work or Aspen’s gonna be out.”

  Velma’s stomach turned upside down. “Out?”

  “Of business.” He let out a broken breath. “Did you have your meeting with Jase about their account?”

  “I’m supposed to have dinner with the entire family.” She was a little nervous. Their account would be huge. “Jase said they’re loud.”

  “Maybe you should bring a hot date with you. A guy who knows a thing or two about being loud. A guy who also grew up close to the Dvornakovs. I’ll come to dinner. Drink some vodka. Eat Russian food—which is the shit. I’ll get a front-row seat when they agree with my assessment that they are totally fucked without you.”

  “You’d do that for me?”

  He chuckled. “Yeah, V. I’ll go hang out with my friend’s family if it’ll help my girlfriend feel more comfortable.”

  Her whole body tingled.

  “Am I your girlfriend?” she asked.

  He stared at her a beat. “You banging other guys?”

  “No.” Of course she wasn’t.

  “I’m not banging other chicks. So, yeah, that makes you my girlfriend.”

  Girlfriend. The word sounded sticky to her ears. Temporary girlfriend, maybe. Fling, even.

  He stood to press a quick kiss to her forehead. “I gotta go.”

  He swung open the door. Her boss was loitering in the hallway right outside her office. A pointed glance her way made it clear she hadn’t disposed of Brek quickly enough.

  Brek caught the look and glanced from Tim to Velma. Not an idiot, Brek clearly got what was going on here. Namely, her boss could be a jerk.

  “See you at home.” With that, he left—without even a glance toward Tim.

  Chapter Nine
teen

  Countdown to Claire & Dean’s Wedding: 15 Days

  Brek had two jobs: ensure Sophie got married and prevent anyone from getting arrested. He did a quick head count. Bride and groom. Check. Minister. Check. Photographer. Check. He and Velma would stand as witnesses. Check. Check. He held the walkie-talkie to his mouth. They could’ve used Aspen’s Bluetooth setup, but the two-way radios were way more A-Team. “Ready to go, Eli. You copy, Dean? Jase?”

  “In position,” Jase replied. “Traffic cones going up now.”

  “What he said,” Dean’s voice crackled over the radio.

  “In position,” Eli parroted.

  “Let’s roll,” Brek replied into the handset. He dropped the radio beside him on the wooden bench inside the back of the bread delivery van and settled Buttercup on his lap. The dog wasn’t happy about wearing a mini tux again.

  They had borrowed the box truck from one of Eli’s suppliers after the owner finished his morning deliveries. Eli covered the bakery logos with new ones for the fictional Cal’s Famous Pizzeria while Brek swept out the crumbs and installed the benches. They even added fake license plates so it couldn’t be traced.

  Velma squeezed in next to him.

  His hand found hers. When she was nearby, it seemed he couldn’t help but touch her.

  “I’m suddenly craving some French bread with a side of extra carbs. This is torture.” Her stomach rumbled in agreement.

  “Didn’t you eat before you came?”

  “No time. Busy at work, then I had to grab supplies for Claire’s shower and find a dress for tomorrow’s dinner with Jase’s family.”

  “They’re gonna love you. I’ll make sure of it.”

  She had been stressed about making a good impression. Jase’s family could be intense, but Brek would be there as her buffer.

  “I hope so. I really do. By the way, he told me how lilies are your go-to flower to pick up women. I’d be grumpy, but I really like lilies.” Her eyes danced with laughter.

  “You’re the only woman I’ve ever picked up with flowers.” Truth. Usually, he didn’t need to buy flowers to get a woman to drop her panties. “And Jase needs to keep his trap shut. What else has he told you?”