by Nicole James
She grabs my arm before I hit call. “No, please, you can’t.”
“Why not?”
“Because…”
“Because why?”
She glances toward the bed. “I’ll sleep with you if you want. Just don’t call my father.”
My brows arch. I can’t believe she’s making this offer. “This isn’t let’s make a deal time, Lola.”
“Isn’t it?”
“Is that what you think of me? Sorry, babe, while your charms are undeniable, I like my women willing, not as payment.”
She lifts her chin, maybe upset that she offered, maybe upset that I’m not so easily manipulated as to take her up on it. A second later her eyes fill and overflow, a silent tear streaking down a cheek to her quivering lip.
“Those won’t work on me, either.”
She lifts a hand to brush them away, dipping her head and refusing to look at me. I see her shoulders shaking, and she stutters in a breath. I realize in a split second, her tears aren’t contrived; they’re real. I try to steel myself against them, tightening my jaw, but it doesn’t work.
She goes over to the French doors, rubbing her upper arms as rain begins to pelt the glass.
I move to stand behind her. “Lola?”
“When I was fourteen my mother died. Ever since my family has been fractured, splintered into three damaged pieces: my brother, my father, and me. All hurt in our own way.”
“How’d she die?”
“My mother was on the back of my brother’s bike. He rounded a corner as someone was backing out of a driveway, and he slammed right into the car. The accident killed her instantly. My brother was severely injured, his leg shattered, his shoulder broken. In the years since the wreck, he’s been through a bunch of surgeries and a lot of painful physical therapy. He’s not healed yet, physically or emotionally. The pain is still there.”
“I’m sorry.” The words seem inadequate for such a monumental loss, but I don’t know what else to say, except to voice my concern for her. “And you?”
“Me?” She acts surprised, as if no one ever asks how it affected her. She huffs out a sad laugh. “I’m the most fucked-up one of the bunch.”
“Why’s that?”
“Ask anyone in the club. They’ll tell you I’m nothing but trouble and a pain in the ass, and probably a bitch to boot. I’m sure you’d agree with them.”
“I hardly think you cause that much trouble.”
“I do. I’m always stirring shit up.”
“Why?” She shrugs, and I press her. “Lola, why?”
“Maybe I want the attention. Maybe any attention, even if its only because I did something wrong is better than nothing. Did you know they call me the Ice Queen behind my back? Sometimes even to my face.”
It’s so absurd that laugher slips out my lips.
“It’s true. They say I’m a cold bitch. I wasn’t always.”
“So, the accident and your mother’s death did a number on you, on all of you. Then you’re letting it win.”
“It already has.”
“That’s fucked, and you know it, babe.”
“Do I?”
“It was tragic, no doubt about it, but you can’t let that ruin the rest of your life. It’s been what, six years?”
She nods at my calculation.
“You’ve given the grief that much. Don’t give it the rest. You deserve the life you want, the life your mother would have wanted you to have.”
“She wanted me to go to college. I failed at even that. Got put on academic probation the very first semester. I just couldn’t concentrate on school. I was just so…lost, I guess. So, you see I’ve already failed her. Her only dream was for me to get a degree.” She takes in a deep breath and turns to meet my eyes. “That’s why I have to save my brother.”
“I don’t follow.”
“If I’m going to save myself, I have to save what’s left of my family. To do that, I have to save Trez. Will you help me?”
“Fuck. You don’t ask for much, do you, Lola?” She smiles and its like I’m standing in the glowing rays of the sun. I roll my eyes. “Don’t pull that shit on me. I’m not some dumb prospect fallin’ over my feet for you.”
“Please.”
“Look, I take you back to the clubhouse, and for now I won’t tell Rock. That’s all I can promise. Savin’ your brother, that’s a whole other ball game. He got himself into this mess. Seems to me, he’s got to be the one to get himself out.”
She lifts her chin, but finally nods her agreement.
“And another thing, if you or I get dragged into this mess, he’ll have more to worry about than Lockwood catching up to him; I’m gonna kill him myself.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
Lola—
Thunder cracks and the rain becomes a steady downpour. We finish off the bottle of wine, and Memphis calls to see if the proprietor can bring us another and charge it to the room. He flirts shamelessly with the older widowed woman who’d chattered up a storm as she’d checked us in earlier. She was completely taken in by Memphis’s good looks and tattooed bad boy appeal. The killer smiles he gave her—I’m sure helped.
He hangs up and turns to me. “Said she’d see what she could come up with.”
Twenty minutes later, there’s a knock at the door. Memphis opens it and she’s standing there, an umbrella in one hand and a basket covered with a dishtowel in the other.
He grins big. “You’re a doll, Miss Ruth.”
“My pleasure, Mr. Ballard.”
“You be sure to add this to our bill now.”
“Oh no, it’s no trouble. It’s not much, just some leftovers.”
Memphis pulls a fifty-dollar bill from his pocket and holds it out to her. “Now, I insist. You went to all this trouble.”
“Oh, that’s too much.” She waves it off.
“You don’t take it, love, I’ll slip it in your bra.”
Ruth giggles. “Oh, aren’t you the devil.”
Memphis grins and holds it up; his chin pulls to the side when she waves it off. He eyes her bra and cocks a brow.
She snatches it from his hand. “Oh, fine. Breakfast is at eight. Don’t be late.”
He winks and shuts the door.
“My God, you’re such a flirt,” I say. “Rhett Butler has nothing on you.
“You catch more flies with honey, doll.” He sets the basket down and flips the cloth back.
“What did she bring?” I step over and peer over his arm, eager to see what’s inside, feeling like a kid at Christmas. There’s a bottle of wine, some croissants sliced and filled with chicken salad, some grapes, cheese, and a sleeve of crackers. I spot a little tin. “What’s in that?”
He pops it open. It’s filled with little square chocolates, the kind that comes in fancy boxes on holidays. I snatch one and take a bite, then moan as the creamy rich mint flavor melts in my mouth.
“Good?” Memphis asks.
“Sinfully good. I could eat them all.”
“Help yourself. I’m not much for sweets.”
“Oh, come on, try one.” I hold a piece out to his mouth, and he opens. Our eyes lock as he tastes it. Then my gaze drops to his lips. Before I can react, he lowers his mouth and kisses me, and oh my God can he kiss. I’ve never been kissed like this.
Lightning flashes brightly through the window, and a boom of thunder shakes the house. We both jump, breaking the embrace.
Memphis looks out the rain-streaked glass of the French doors. “That sounded close.”
A moment later, the power goes out. Without the mini fridge running or the hum of any of the other electronics, the room is suddenly very quiet.
“That bolt might have downed a tree and took out a power line.” He digs a lighter out of his hip pocket and lights a candle in a jar on the tiny dining table. “See anymore of these?”
I glance around in the dim light, spot one on the shelves above the mini-fridge, and bring it to him.
Their flickering flames
give off very little light. We sit at the table and eat quietly off plates we find in the cabinet. Memphis pops the cork on the new bottle and fills our glasses. I stare at the red liquid glowing in the candlelight. The crystal glass sparkles. The table is small and the candlelight gives another layer of intimacy. We polish off the croissants, and Memphis slices off a piece of cheese and pops it in his mouth. Then he feeds me a grape.
Neither of us say much, but oddly the silence is comfortable. I steal glances at him and catch him staring at me while he eats. Eventually he brushes his hands off and stands.
“You might as well go to bed.” He passes me a candle. “There’s an extra t-shirt in my pack you can sleep in.”
I stand, and my gaze drops to the bag on the floor. He moves to it and digs the item out. I take it and move to the other room. Setting the candle down on the nightstand, I step out of sight of the archway and strip off my clothes, and then pull the large shirt over my head. I grab the candle and step into the small bathroom. There are some little bars of scented soap and I wash my face and finger comb my long hair. My eyes drop to the reflection in the mirror to the Royal Bastards emblem on the front of the shirt.
I’ve seen a million of them before, but somehow knowing this one belongs to Memphis sends a warm heat through my body. I can’t deny how attractive he is. And when he looks at me, I feel something I’ve never felt with any other man. Not that there have been a ton.
The memory of his lips on mine has me staring unseeing. He’s a good kisser, there’s no denying that, and I wonder if he’s as good at other things.
I stare into the mirror. Stop, Lola. You’re just an errand to him, nothing more. Don’t let him worm his way into your heart and break it.
I take the candle and move back to the bed, setting it down and slipping under the covers. The sheets are as soft as butter, and my head sinks into the goose down pillow. Heavenly.
The honeysuckle scent of the candle slowly fills the room, lulling me. I glance through the archway into the living room.
I can make out Memphis’ shadowy form in the comfy armchair, his bare feet up on the ottoman, and a throw blanket over his torso. Evidently he’s already blown his candle out.
I lean over and do the same, then snuggle down and drift off to sleep.
I’m startled awake sometime during the night by the sound of a loud boom. I sit up in bed, not sure what it was I heard, groggy from sleep.
I hear the chair creak and see Memphis rise from the chair.
“What was that?” I call out.
I push the covers back and climb from the warm bed. The moment I do, I feel a cool breeze blow through the rooms. I walk toward the French doors, the only source of dim light.
“Stay back. There’s broken glass.”
I stop and try to focus. The light glints off the shards and a small tree branch pokes through one of the panes.
I snatch up a small throw rug and toss it to him. “Here, put this down over it or you’ll cut your feet. He takes it and drops it over the glass, then yanks the door free and looks out.
“Tree fell. Barely missed the house. We got lucky as hell it didn’t come through the roof.”
I step closer, trying to see. “Did it do any other damage? Is the rest of the place okay? Miss Ruth?”
“Looks like just this one limb.” He grabs the branch with his bare hands and his muscles bulge as he snaps it off and tosses it away. Then he steps in and pulls the door shut. “You see anything we can cover this broken pane with?”
I spot a stack of magazines and grab one. “Try this.”
He wedges it in the square. “It’s not gonna stay.”
I look around again and pick up a small throw pillow. “Maybe you can jam this inside. The rain will soak it, but we can buy her another.”
“Or her insurance can.” He takes it, busts out the remaining jagged pieces and crams the pale blue silk shantung square into the open pane. It fits snugly. “Works.”
He turns back to me and stills, his eyes sweeping over me in the dim light. I’m suddenly acutely aware of the fact that I’m in his shirt, my bare legs exposed and my braless breasts outlined.
“You look about seventeen.”
“I’m not.”
His gaze lifts to mine as my meaning sinks in.
“That chair has to be uncomfortable.”
“It is,” he admits.
I lift my hand toward him, my invitation clear.
He hesitates. “We do this, it’s only temporary, understand? I’m not looking for anything more.”
“I understand. I’m not either,” I lie. Whether he reads the lie in my eyes or not, he prowls toward me and backs me to the small peninsula that sticks out from the kitchenette. The countertop presses into my back.
His gaze is intent and filled with male hunger. My belly tightens as he braces his hands on the counter on either side of me, bracketing me in. My eyes drop to his chest, and I draw in a ragged breath.
“Look at me, Lola.”
I lift my gaze to his emerald orbs, and I’m lost in them.
“You sure about this?”
My pulse skitters, and I’m mesmerized by his penetrating stare. There are barely a few inches between our bodies, and that space crackles with the physical energy arcing between us.
He hasn’t even touched me, and already my body is humming with need.
He cocks his head, and studies me. “If you’re having second thoughts, better speak up now. Because if you want the truth, once we move to that bed, I’m going to be all over you.”
Holy crap, his words turn me on. A jolt shoots through my body, and I suck in a breath. “I want that.”
Slowly, his head lowers, and I hold perfectly still as he brushes his lips over mine. Our mouths are the only place we’re touching, and its erotic as hell. I can feel my entire body vibrating with awareness of how close we are. Finally, I break the standoff and wrap my arms around his neck.
His hands close around my waist and he lifts me onto the counter, prying my knees apart and stepping between them. His thick arms wrap around me to yank me flush against him, and I gasp, loving the way he’s manhandling me.
“Look at me.”
I shyly stare up, meeting his warm gaze.
“I need to know you understand who I am—what I am. I’m a Nomad, Lola.”
“I get that.”
“You’re gorgeous, you know that, don’t you? I’m sure you’ve got your choice of patches, if that’s what you’re after.”
“I’m not.”
He suddenly grins. “Every warning bell in my head is going off right now, telling me you’re probably more trouble than I need, girl. Probably gonna steal my heart, too, if I let you. But I really want you; warning bells be damned.”
I meet him halfway as his mouth descends on mine. Instantly, need jolts through me, like nothing I’ve ever felt before. My arms steal around him, and I’m just as determined to ignore those same warning bells I hear myself.
His kiss is like no other; his firm, knowing touch, his tall body and broad shoulders, they all work on me like no man I’ve ever known. Everything is different with him. Everything feels right, like this is fate and destined. Things I’ve never believed in.
It’s as if he’s everything I’ve been waiting for all these lonely years.
As he pulls back and stares down at me, his big chest rising and falling faster than before, I know he feels it too. That something is special here, but he doesn’t want to believe in it.
He brushes my hair back from my forehead, staring into my gaze. “I see it in your eyes. Don’t go getting attached, girl. I never stay in one place for long.”
“I won’t.”
“I just want to be up front with you.”
“No expectations. I’ve got it.”
“Doesn’t mean I won’t come back around. Doesn’t mean we won’t see each other again. We will. I guarantee it.”
“No. We made a deal. No guarantees, no promises, no expectatio
ns. Just now, just this moment.”
He grins at my reply. “Damn. It’s like you were made for me.”
His hands go to my ass, and he picks me up, carrying me to the bed where he takes us both down to the mattress.
My long legs wrap around him, and I sink my fingers in his hair, kissing him again and again. His beard is soft against my face, and I run my palm along his jaw.
He pulls back, staring down at me, then kisses my nose, and stands, unfastening his jeans, and kicking them off.
His erection springs free, long and hard. He takes it in his hand, and strokes it as I gaze up at him, my lips parted.
“Pull off the shirt, pretty girl. Show me that body.”
I grab the hem, and wiggle it over me head, tossing it aside. I stare up at him in nothing but my lace panties.
“Gorgeous,” he murmurs low.
I hold my hand out to him, missing the heat of his body weighing me down, but he shakes his head, and drops to his knees instead. With a palm on the inside of each of my knees, he shoves them apart.
I plant the soles of my feet on the bedspread as his palms stroke up my thighs, taking their sweet time, and drawing out my anticipation. I want his touch so badly, but he makes me wait; makes both of us wait.
I stutter in a breath, my belly quivering.
Finally, he reaches the apex, his hands stopping at the crease of my thighs, and his thumbs gently brush over my panties.
I moan, lifting my hips toward his touch; wanting more, more pressure, more speed, more everything.
I feel a flood of wetness drench down.
He dips his head, pressing a soft kiss to my panties and inhaling deeply.
“Fuck,” he growls, and curls his fingers around the fabric at both hips, and drags the lace down my legs. He turns, tucking them in his jean pocket.
I grin. “What are you doing?”
“A memento.”
I chuckle. “You’re keeping them?”
“Yup.”
He resumes his place, and this time his thumbs brush directly over my bare pussy lips.
“Oh, God,” I moan, my head rearing back in the pillow.
“Look at me, Lola. Watch me. I want to read every emotion in your eyes.”
I meet his glittering dark eyes in the dim light, and watch as he dips his head, never breaking our gaze, and runs the flat of his tongue across me.
