“You come here often?” It’s a lame line, but it works on her.
She shrugs. “I’ve been here once before.”
I nod toward the bar. “Have a drink with me?”
“I’m here with friends.”
I look over her shoulder to the table they occupy. “When your friends take off. Stay.”
“I… I don’t know.”
“Just a drink. I’d like to talk to you.”
“Why?”
“Why?” I huff out a laugh. “Because you’re beautiful, and I like your smile.”
She blushes and looks away, glancing around the place. I think she’s going to blow me off when she meets my gaze.
“I’ll try. I can’t promise.”
I nod. I’ll wait all night on that hope. Fuck, I feel like a lovesick adolescent. I’ve probably got eight or nine years on this girl, maybe more, and she’s got me totally captivated. Considering the situation, this is so fucked up, but I can’t help feeling elated. One night. One shot. That’s all I want. Just to see if I could get a chick like her to look at me without all the trappings of the MC. And to like what she sees. I know I’ll never have another shot at finding out, and I know nothing could drag me from this place tonight.
I wink. “I’ll be at the bar, darlin’, waitin’ for as long as it takes.”
Her eyes light up, and a small smile tugs at her pretty, kissable mouth. She likes my answer, and that fact has my own mouth pulling up in response.
She nods and walks away. I grab her wrist and stop her, my hold gentle but firm. “My name’s Dante.”
“Dante,” she repeats it back, and I’m already addicted to the sound of it on her lips. “I’m Kara.”
“Kara,” I whisper. With that I let her go.
I’m a fucking idiot for telling her my real name, but in that instance, wild horses couldn’t have stopped me.
***
I nurse two more beers before her friends finally gather their things to leave. She stands as well and slips the strap of her tiny purse over her head, and my chest tightens at the thought of her following them out, but she makes an excuse and points toward the bathroom. I hear her tell them she’ll see them tomorrow and that some kid named Tommy will walk her home.
I glance around. I want to find this Tommy and beat the crap out of him.
Her sorority sisters hug her and head out the front door.
I hold my breath, watching her in the mirror, waiting on her next move.
She stands there until they’ve disappeared, and then her head turns toward the bar, searching me out.
Our eyes meet and hold, and a connection zings through the air between us, like electricity crackling in the air, like heat lighting spearing across the sky overhead in long spidery fingers trailing between us.
I smile and jerk my head, mouthing the words, “C’mere.”
Like she’s under a spell, she moves slowly toward me, obeying my command.
I stand and slide my barstool out, then take her hand and pull her forward. “Sit down, beautiful.”
She scoots onto it and looks up at me. I’m lost in her gorgeous dark eyes.
“What do you want to drink?” I ask.
CHAPTER SIX
Kara—
“I’ll have a lemon drop,” I reply, staring up at him. Dante. It’s an unusual name, but then, he’s nothing like the boys on campus. He’s a real man. Mature, tall, and fucking gorgeous with a hint of badass in his wicked smile.
I love his broad shoulders and the ink that scrolls up his arm to disappear under his thermal shirt. I like the way it’s pushed up to his elbows, revealing his forearms. They’re muscular, and even they attract me. Everything about this man is sexy as hell.
Judging by the thermal shirt with the dark T-shirt over it, the jeans and boots, I gather he probably works in construction. There are half a dozen buildings going up around town. Or maybe he’s part of the crew working on the overpass.
“You go to school here, Kara?” he asks, motioning the bartender over.
I nod, digging in my purse for my fake ID, the one I paid beaucoup bucks for last month. I’m almost of age to drink—my birthday is in six months—but I didn’t want to miss a day of fun. Besides, if I get into any trouble, Daddy can always get me out of it. He has in the past, anyway. Speeding tickets, even a DUI last year.
He blew a gasket over that one.
Dante gives the bartender my order, and the man asks for my ID. I produce it, giving him a smile. I know he can’t tell it’s a fake; it’s that good.
He nods and moves off to make my drink.
I can see out of the corner of my eye that Dante is trying to read it, but I quickly tuck it back in my purse.
“So, how old are you, babe?” he asks.
Babe. I should be offended, but I’m not. I like how it sounds rolling off his lips in that deep sexy voice. Suddenly I’ve got a vision of him on top of me, brushing the hair back from my face and dipping to kiss my neck, murmuring that word in my ear.
I mentally shake myself. “Um, twenty-one,” I lie, not wanting to push my luck with a higher age.
He nods. “You go to school here?”
“I do.”
“What are you studying?”
“I can’t decide between business administration and teaching.”
His brows rise. “Teaching, huh? Like what age?”
“My mother was an elementary school teacher. All the kids loved her.”
“Loved? Past tense?”
“You’re quick to pick that up.”
He smiles. “She still teach?”
“No, she passed away when I was a teenager.”
“Oh, I’m sorry. Is that why you want to be a teacher? Because of your mom?”
“I suppose.” The bartender sets my drink before me, and I take a sip. Dante watches me.
“You don’t sound too excited by it.”
“I guess I’m not.”
He nods. “So, the business administration thing… What’s that about?”
“Well, if I ever was to open my own business, I thought it would come in handy.”
“I see. You want to start a business?”
I shrug, dabbing at the sugary rim of my glass and licking my finger. “Maybe one day, but enough about me. What do you do?”
He’s distracted by my finger and mouth. “Oh, I’m in town working on a construction job. That’s pretty sexy… What you did there with the sugar.”
I laugh. “God, you’re such a guy.”
“That I am.”
“Do you travel much?”
“I do. Seems I’m always on the road, actually.” He stares at me a moment.
I laugh. “What? Do I have a smudge on my face or something?”
He shakes his head.
“Then what are you staring at?”
“You have the prettiest damn eyes.”
I blush. It feels nice, flirting with him. “You do, too.”
“What, pretty eyes?” He makes a face like I’ve insulted him, and then turns it into a silly face.
“Stop.” I punch him in the arm and find that it’s all muscle.
He laughs, grabbing the spot. “Ow. Okay, woman, no need to get violent.”
“Like I could even hurt you.”
“Oh, sweetheart, you’re already breakin’ my heart. I can feel it.” He lays his palm over his chest.
I roll my eyes. “Do these lines work for you?”
“Ain’t never tried ‘em. Are they workin’?” He grins.
“Uh, no.”
“Damn.” He tilts his head. “So, tell me, Kara, what’d you do this week?”
“Well, actually, I pledged a sorority.”
“Really? What’s that involve? Is something like that hard to get into?”
“Sort of, but my mother was a member of this sorority, so I’m what they call a legacy.”
“A legacy, huh? That guarantees you a spot?”
“Just about.”
�
�So, you’re in?”
“Yep.”
“Does that take away from your classwork and studies?”
“God, I hope not. I’ve got English Lit this semester, and I hated Shakespeare in high school.”
“Ah, Shakespeare. Ignorance is the curse of God; knowledge is the wing wherewith we fly to heaven.”
“You know Shakespeare?” I ask, surprised.
“I had to take that stuff in high school, same as you.”
“Yeah, but I can’t quote it.”
“What, you didn’t love Romeo and Juliet like all the other girls?”
“No, did you?”
He takes a sip of his beer. “Hamlet was more my style. All that betrayal and treachery, murder and vengeance.”
“I see. You must be well-read.”
“Like I said, had to read it.”
“But you enjoyed it.”
He shrugs and grins. “It had a good plot.”
I laugh.
“What else are you taking?”
I take a sip of my drink. “History of American Civilization Since 1865.”
“Ah, skipping over all that messy Civil War stuff, huh?”
“Well, it’s not that I don’t like that time period, but I’ve always been more fascinated by the twenties, thirties, and forties, especially how women’s roles evolved.”
“I see.”
“In the space of a couple decades we went from wearing corsets and mutton sleeves to building fighter planes for the war. It’s really remarkable.”
“Some women even flew those planes you’re talking about.”
I frown. “They did?”
“Yep. They were called the WASPS, the Woman Airforce Service Pilots.”
“I’ve never heard of them. What did they do?”
“They became trained pilots who tested aircraft, ferried aircraft, and trained other pilots. Their purpose was to free male pilots for combat roles during World War II.”
“That’s fascinating.”
“I’m sure you could find lots of books on the subject.”
“How do you know so much about them?”
“My grandmother was one before she got married and had my mother.”
“Really? How cool is that!”
“Yeah, her dad taught her to fly crop dusters back in the thirties when she was just a teenager. She had a pretty amazing life.” He pulls a chain free of his shirt and holds the medallion out to show me. “She gave me this Saint Christopher medal. Her father had given it to her to wear to keep her safe. Guess it did. She never crashed a plane in all the years she flew, and she lived to be ninety.”
“Wow. Do you fly?”
“Me? Naw.” He tucks the pendant back in his shirt.
“Do you wear that all the time?”
“Always.”
We talk so long I suddenly glance around to find the place almost deserted. The band calls out their last song. Dante surprises me by pulling me from the barstool and nodding toward the tiny dance floor.
It had been packed earlier, but now they’re playing a slow song, and there’s no one up there.
I’m dying to be in his arms, so I take his hand, and he leads me through the tables. I like the feeling of following in the wake of his broad shoulders. He keeps me close, pressed against his back, and I like it. It feels protective and all kinds of hot.
We reach the dance floor, and he pulls me into his arms. I’m not short, but my chin doesn’t even make it to his shoulder. I like tall men, I decide on the spot. He’s so different from the frat boys I’ve been introduced to since school started.
My hands slide up his chest to his shoulders and then around his neck. His big hands land on my hips and pull me even closer. He dips his head, his forehead brushing mine, and his mouth finds my ear.
“Perfect fit,” he murmurs.
I pull back and grin. He returns my smile, and then his mouth comes down on mine. It’s soft at first, a tender brush of his lips. I love the way his beard feels against my skin. He comes back again and again until I sigh and open for him, my head falling back. He doesn’t hesitate, sweeping inside with his tongue. And oh, my God, can he kiss.
My moan is captured in my throat.
He trails one hand up my back, skating along my spine until he reaches the nape of my neck and sinks his fingers into my hair. He cradles my head as his mouth moves over mine. His hand fists in my hair as the one on my hip moves down to my ass and squeezes.
A rush of heat floods my body, and I slide my own hand up his corded neck. His skin is hot under my fingertips, and my touch seems to spur him on.
You can scarcely call what we’re doing dancing, but he keeps us swaying back and forth. I’m barely aware of the room around us, but I hear when the music finally ends.
Have we kissed through the entire song? Holy crap.
He pulls back and stares down at me, and the heat I see in his eyes is hypnotizing. The hand in my hair slips free and brushes along the bare skin of my arm from my shoulder to my wrist, and a tingle dances along everywhere he touches. His hand closes around my wrist, and then he’s stepping back and pulling me along with him.
But he’s not heading to the bar. He’s moving down the hall where the restrooms are located. Are we leaving? I’m glad I thought to sling my cross-body purse on.
He stops at a door, and I frown. What is he doing? Does he work here? Hell, I didn’t even ask him what he did for a living.
He turns the knob and opens the door. It’s dark, but he finds a light switch and pulls me inside. It’s some kind of supply closet. Rows of metal shelving stand on either side. Did he know this was here or just get lucky?
He closes the door, and with one hand splayed on my belly, presses me up against it. Before I can say anything, his mouth comes down as he crowds me against the door. I’m overwhelmed by him, his scent, his big body, his hands moving over my hips and waist, up, up, until he’s finally closing his palms over my breasts, and I’m stuttering in a breath between kisses. Good Lord, everything about this is hot.
His mouth trails across to my ear and down my throat, pressing soft kisses and sexy little nips that are driving me crazy. I roll my head to give him better access, moaning in pleasure.
“You okay with this, baby?” he whispers.
I nod. Oh, yes. I’m more than okay with this. Maybe I shouldn’t be, but the rebellious girl in me longs for this excitement, this little walk on the wild side, this escape from all the planned-to-the-tee social life I’ve been leading so far.
“Yeah?” he presses for a verbal response.
“Yes. Yes,” I moan.
A moment later his mouth finds my neck, and he sucks. I know I’ll have a mark there, but I don’t care. I want it, that mark, to remind me of this crazy, hot moment with this sexy-as-hell stranger.
I don’t do things like this. Ever. Sure, I partied and dated in high school and University of Georgia before I transferred here, but always with boys I knew. Not like this. Never like this. My God, he’s practically a stranger, and I don’t give a damn. I don’t want to stop. I pray no one makes a trip to the supply closet anytime soon.
His hands move up my body, and my breath comes in little pants as he feels my breasts, squeezing and kneading them. It’s bold and presumptuous, and totally arousing, and God help me, I don’t want him to stop. He doesn’t. Instead, he presses against me, taking my wrist and dragging my hand down to the erection swelling against his jeans.
“You feel that, Kara? That’s how much I want you right now.”
I stroke my fingers along him. Good Lord, he’s big.
His mouth covers mine, his hand moving my palm against him. A moan rises from deep in his throat, and it’s the sexiest sound I’ve ever heard.
His mouth travels slowly down my neck to my collarbone, and I tip my head back to gasp in a breath. I sigh, “Oh, Dante.”
The strap of my cross-body purse is in the way, and I pull it off and drop it to the floor.
“Better,” he
murmurs and reaches a hand up to curl his fingers around the scoop neck of my tank. He tugs it aside, and his mouth drops to the swell of my cleavage.
I’ve got on a pink satin demi bra that pushes my small breasts up high.
He groans and trails the tip of his nose along the edge. “Fuck, you smell good.”
My shirt is restricting his access, and he’s not having it. A moment later his hands are on the hem, and then he’s tugging it over my head. I raise my arms, letting him pull it off and drop it to the floor.
His eyes are locked on my bra, and he lifts a hand, trailing the back of his index finger along the edge to the bow in the center. He toys with it, and his gaze melds with mine as he steps closer, one hand resting on the door above me.
“Can I see?” he asks.
I give him a cocky smile. “If you take off your shirt first,” I say daringly. What’s gotten into me tonight? Who is this woman standing in a dim supply closet with a totally hot stranger, anticipating getting naked with him?
He grins wickedly, steps back, and grabs two handfuls of shirts between his shoulder blades. In one quick motion he tugs them both over his head and drops them to the floor, and oh, my God, I’ve never seen a chest like his. It’s broad and muscled, and it’s got some beautiful ink on it. I can’t make out what it all is, but it’s good. Whoever did the work has skill.
“You have a lot of tattoos,” I whisper, my eyes moving over them.
“You don’t like tattoos?”
“I think I like them now.”
“Now?”
“Now that I’ve seen yours.”
He grins again, and his eyes sweep over my bra and the bare skin of my belly, down to my low-slung jeans. He hooks a finger in one of my belt loops and gives it a little tug. “I keep goin’, darlin’, am I gonna find any ink on your pretty skin?”
“Maybe.” I was peer-pressured during Spring Break in Daytona freshman year.
“Bet you’ve got a pretty little heart somewhere. Or maybe a butterfly.”
I can’t lie. I nod.
He cocks an eyebrow. “Really? Then the hunt begins.” He slides his knuckle along my cleavage until he gets to the strap, then he hooks his finger around it and slowly drags it down my arm. I can’t keep my breathing from accelerating; my breasts rise and fall as the anticipation is drawn out.
Dirty Deeds Page 4
