Roman (Savage Kings MC - South Carolina Book 1)

by Lane Hart

  “I’m serious,” I tell her. “I’ve got a big house, plenty of beds, and I won’t charge you a dime, so you can stay as long as you need to. Although, I’ve got to be honest with you, my bed is by far the best, like sleeping on clouds.”

  “Of course it is,” Charlotte says with a roll of her eyes and a smile.

  “Well? What do you think?”

  “I think…that you’re just trying to get me into your bed.”

  “So what if I am?” I ask.

  “I’m not ready to be with you the way you may want…” she starts. The rejection stings, even though it was expected. “But, um, I don’t think I want to sleep alone tonight either.”

  Wow. I wasn’t expecting that, but I’m thrilled she’s not only agreeing to stay with me but sleep with me.

  “That’s fine. I can wait until you’re ready. I’m a grown-ass man, so I am capable of sleeping with a woman without touching her.”

  “Are you really, though?” she asks with a tilt of her head, again like she doesn’t believe me.

  “Even before what happened to Tessa I could keep my hands to myself,” I explain to her. “But after? Well, I may just have to get on my knees to ask permission to kiss you, then get you to put it in writing, sign it and have it notarized. I don’t want you to ever have to deal with even a whisper of what happened with Tessa.”

  “So you won’t rush me into anything,” Charlotte responds as a statement, not a question.

  “That’s right,” I agree. “I’m not an idiot. I know you haven’t been with anyone since Adam.”

  “No, I haven’t,” she says softly. Lowering her eyes to the wedding ring still on her finger, she twists the gold band around and says, “He was my first and only.”

  But you weren’t his.

  It’s a horrible thought, but it’s true, nevertheless. Still, it’s a truth that would only hurt Charlotte, not help her.

  “I get it,” I tell her. “You take sex seriously.”

  “I do. And you’re just about having fun…”

  “Nothing wrong with having fun, is it?” I ask.

  “No. You’re obviously an attractive, single man. And just because I take sex seriously doesn’t mean that I haven’t thought about having…fun with you.”

  “Is that right?” I ask, my chest swelling with hope from just hearing her admit that she wants me. That means more than anything.

  “That’s right,” Charlotte says while closing the small distance between us. She then places her palms flat on my chest, just underneath the open sides of my cut and goes up on her toes to place a soft kiss on my lips before sinking down to her normal height again.

  “Since you’re kissing me, does that mean I can kiss you whenever I want without signed documentation?”

  “Kissing is definitely on the table for any and all hours of the day. Or night.”

  “That’s good to know,” I reply before leaning down to brush my lips over hers. “How about tongue? Is that permissible?”

  “Tongues are good,” she answers before our mouths meet again, this time parting so that I can stroke my tongue over hers.

  And that small touch connects the two of us in a way that I’ve never felt before. I feel it in every cell of my body. It’s not about sex, although the throbbing behind my zipper would beg to differ. This kiss is about more. So much more.

  When Charlotte moans softly against my lips, I know she feels it too. The two of us are damn good together. I just have to be patient and give her time to let go of her husband once and for all so she can finally move on.

  Chapter Twelve

  Charlotte

  “You live at the bar? Should’ve known…” I tease Roman after he kills the engine and backs his bike into one of the parking spots.

  “Just need to have a quick word with my men,” he replies. “Won’t take long. You could wait here…” he trails off. When I don’t respond to that, he says, “But of course you’re going to want to come in. Not that I’m crazy about the idea of leaving you outside alone until we catch those fuckers.”

  “You think?” I reply as we climb off and I follow him inside the bar. Just like the times before, as soon as the guys see him, they all immediately stop what they’re doing and head into the meeting room.

  I fully expect Roman to shut the door in my face, but he actually leaves it open just an inch or so, allowing me to listen in.

  “So, what more do we know? Do we have any leads?” he asks.

  The responses are mumbled, but I get the gist of it…they’re trying to track down the men but don’t have anything concrete just yet.

  “What about a sketch artist?” a voice that sounds like Verek’s asks.

  “What about one?” Roman replies.

  “If we could find an artist to talk to the women, they might be able to give us a better description…”

  “That’s not a good idea,” I open the door wider and interject. “I don’t think any of you understand what those women have been through. Asking them to remember all the details of the men who hurt them would be cruel.”

  “Charlotte,” Roman grits out in warning.

  “I’m sorry, but you know I’m right about this! Please don’t subject them to torture just so you can get some black and white images that look like a million other men.”

  “For now, we’ll table the sketch artist as a last resort once we run out of leads,” Roman agrees. “We’re still hoping that Danny and his guys will find their faces on a camera, which would be a lot more helpful than a drawing; or better yet, track down their tattoo artist to get a name.”

  “Thank you,” I tell him, relieved that he won’t ask something so difficult from Tessa and the other victims.

  “Now, will you remove yourself from our meeting, or am I going to have to do it myself?” Roman asks, his words heated because he’s obviously angry at me for interrupting.

  “I’ll leave,” I agree when I pull the door almost shut, leaving it like it was before.

  “All the way, Charlotte!” comes Roman’s demanding voice from the other side. While I can be stubborn, I decide not to push him farther on this. I close the door completely and then sit down on a stool at the bar to wait.

  Roman

  Once I adjourn the meeting, I wait until all of the Kings file out before I flip off the lights and leave the chapel. Charlotte is sitting on a stool at the bar, her head lying on her crossed arms. “You look beat,” I observe. “Let’s get back to my place and eat something, then crash early tonight. We could both use a long sleep.”

  Charlotte stands up and nods to me, pausing to stretch her arms over her head. The motion makes the thin cotton shirt she’s wearing pull tight over her breasts and exposes a few inches of her stomach over the button on her jeans. When she catches me staring at her, she breaks into a grin and says, “I’m ready. Thank you again for letting me stay with you. Do we need to pick up food on the way to your place, or do you actually keep anything stocked at your house?”

  With a snort, I walk past her and lead the way outside to my bike. “I’ve got food,” I reassure her. “I’ll cook up something quick when we get there. I know it’s late in the afternoon, but how do you feel about breakfast for dinner? I didn’t get anything to eat this morning, and I’ve got a longing for some sausage and eggs.”

  “That sounds perfect,” she agrees as she swings her leg over the back of my bike. While she straps on the helmet, I climb on and crank the engine, feeling a strange swelling of admiration for how easily this woman has gotten used to riding. She was awkward as a newborn foal just yesterday getting on, but now she rides like an old pro.

  The ride to my place from the clubhouse usually only takes about ten minutes; but once Charlotte wraps her arms around my waist and presses herself into my back, I decide to take a slightly more scenic route up Ocean Boulevard. We’re both exhausted, but I’m enjoying having her with me too much to rush home. Weaving through all the beach traffic adds thirty minutes to the trip; and by the time
we rumble into the gravel driveway of my beachfront home, I can feel her shifting behind me in agitation.

  “Whew!” she exhales when I cut the engine and prop the bike up on its kickstand. “I was starting to wonder how far out in the boonies you actually lived! I figured you would have a place closer to your…what do you call it, your base?”

  “You mean the clubhouse?” I grin. “We’re only about five miles from it. The beach traffic slows things down out here, and I wanted to ride by the ocean.”

  “I’m glad you did,” she says as she hangs the helmet on my bike. “The smells, the sights, people relaxing and enjoying life…it helps you unwind. You feel so close to all of it on a motorcycle. I always just thought they were terrifying death traps, but I’m starting to see the attraction.”

  “I hope I can show you all kinds of things you’ll be attracted too,” I quip as I motion her towards the gate we rode through at the end of my driveway. “This first gate has a code you have to punch in, but it opens automatically when a vehicle approaches to leave. We’ll get your car later and bring it over here. The code is six-seven-three-six. If you forget the numbers, just remember the word Oreo.”

  When Charlotte bursts into laughter, I turn to her with my face reddening. “What’s so funny?” I demand.

  “Oh god, I must be getting an exhaustion high,” she gasps as she continues laughing. “The thought of your gate code being a cookie…Oreo…” she continues to giggle.

  “I’ve got a sweet tooth,” I admit, before stomping past her up the driveway.

  “A biker and a stripper with a sweet tooth!” she manages to choke out through her laughter.

  “Keep it up, giggles, and I won’t tell you the password for the main gate to the house,” I tease. “I’ll make you ring the bell and wait every time you come home!”

  “Okay, okay, I’ll try to behave,” she assures me.

  “This one is eight-nine-four-nine,” I tell her as I punch in the code and open the reinforced metal gate leading to the stairs up to my house. “Just remember the word…”

  “Don’t tell me!” Charlotte interrupts. “Let me see the keypad…eight-nine-four-nine… Twix!” she says with a clap of her hands, beaming a smile up at me.

  “Twix,” I confirm, unable to hide my own grin. “Not even my MC brothers know those codes, I always buzz them in, so you keep these secrets for life, understand?”

  “Oh my, do they know about your secret sweet addiction?” she teases as we climb the stairs.

  “They absolutely do not, and they will never find out,” I growl. “That’s another secret you will keep. You promise me?”

  I expect her to tease me further, or even joke about what great blackmail material I’ve given her; but instead, at the top of the stairs, she puts a hand on my arm to stop me. She turns me around and looks directly into my eyes. “I promise, Roman. There aren’t many men who would help me the way you have. You can trust me with anything, I swear to you.” She leans into me; and when our lips meet, the passion between us ignites instantly into a raging inferno. Her hands wander freely down my chest as I pull her as close to me as I can. After only a few short moments, however, she lightly pushes me back, smiling up at me. “I mean it, Roman. Anything, even your secret cookie fetish.”

  “It’s not a fetish, woman,” I growl. My voice is husky from the feelings she constantly awakens in me. “I’m not going to eat a Twix out of your…” I stop myself before I complete the sentence, turning abruptly and leading the way into the house.

  “What were you about to say?” Charlotte asks behind me as we step into my kitchen.

  “Nothing, I got distracted,” I deflect. “I’m going to start cooking. Do you want to take a shower or change or something?”

  “Oh God, you don’t know how good a hot shower sounds,” she moans. “Wait, is that a hot tub out there on the porch?” she asks as she looks out the huge bay windows in my kitchen.

  “Yeah, my back gets a little sore from long rides sometimes,” I confess. “That thing is a life-saver after a long haul.”

  “Good to know,” she says. “I don’t have any clothes or anything with me yet. I’ll need to go back to the rental to get all my things tomorrow. For now, could I borrow a t-shirt and some boxers maybe?”

  “Yeah, of course,” I agree. I lead her on a tour of my house, ending up in my bedroom. “There’s a big-ass tub in the bathroom if you want to soak, or you can just hit the shower stall there,” I point out.

  “Thanks, Roman. I can figure it out from here.” She gives me one last small smile before she takes the black t-shirt and boxers from my hands and disappears into the bathroom.

  I’m devilishly tempted to follow her in there when I hear the water start running in the tub, but I pull myself away and head back into the kitchen. Breakfast for dinner is a quick meal, but it will still take me fifteen minutes to whip up everything.

  I’m just setting out two plates on the dining room table when Charlotte emerges from the bathroom, her hair wrapped up in a messy, wet bun on top of her head.

  “Don’t say a word,” she warns me as she walks over and stands in front of me, before leaning up to kiss me lightly on the lips.

  “I can’t resist,” I tell her as I grab the back of the t-shirt she’s wearing and pull her to me. “You look adorable.” I lean in and kiss her back, more forcefully, until she practically melts against me and our tongues meet as the kiss heats up and the spark between us bursts into another inferno.

  “Whew,” Charlotte says as she pulls away from me a few minutes or an hour later. “We’d better sit down and cool off before our food does. No one likes cold eggs,” she adds as she pulls out her chair.

  “The blush in your cheeks could reheat them,” I tease her, causing her to become even more flushed than I had previously seen her.

  “I get a little red in the cheeks when I’ve been drinking, or…” she trails off as she shovels a bite of food into her mouth.

  “Or what?” I demand as I sit down at my own plate.

  “Or if I get aroused,” she says primly, before giving me a devilish grin. “I’m starting to worry my cheeks may never cool off around you, Roman.”

  “Cheers to that,” I tell her as I raise a glass of orange juice.

  We spend the next few minutes eating in comfortable silence, the only sound the scrape of forks on plates. Once she’s done, Charlotte leans back in her chair and watches me.

  “What?” I ask curiously, blotting my mouth with a napkin. “Egg on my face?”

  “No,” she replies with a smile. “I was just thinking that there’s a lot more to you than I expected.”

  “Is that right?”

  “Yes. You own several rental houses. That’s how you make a living?”

  “Well, the Savage Kings own them. I sort of oversee the administration and upkeep on them. The members of the Kings all have ownership in several businesses that we all profit from too.”

  “It seems so odd thinking of you all as businessmen. Do all the guys work within them?” Charlotte asks.

  “Mostly, yeah,” I confirm. “My boy, Winston, the guy with black hair and a black beard, he’s probably my best friend, but he’s a pain in the ass to deal with. Terrible with people too. He works over at the Harley dealership we own just outside of town as the mechanic on site. He’s damn good at it, and it keeps him away from everyone most of the time. The twins manage the dealership, and they keep him in line most of the time.”

  “The twins?” Charlotte repeats with a raised eyebrow. “You’ve got twin sisters managing your dealership? You’ve hidden them from me so far!”

  “No, the twins are club members, Cannon and Conrad. You know them. You met them both at the clubhouse – blond-haired with a surfer vibe.”

  “Oh my God!” she gushes. “You’re right. They were at the table when you had me in there. I didn’t even register it then; I was so wound up about Tessa. I don’t think I’ve ever seen them together other than that, and I just always
thought I was talking to Conrad!”

  “You’ll know if you’re talking to Cannon,” I snort. “Those two look alike, but their personalities are night and day. You’ll see once you get to know them better.”

  “Who are the other members of the Savage Kings?”

  “Well, there’s Verek, who you’ve met, that helps manage the night club. Nolan, Abel, and Marcus are sort of floaters that help where needed. Leo keeps up the clubhouse, tends the bar, keeps us stocked up on beer, booze, and weed. He just sort of fell into that role because he practically lives at the clubhouse, and we just told him to make himself useful.”

  “I’ll never remember all of this or their names,” Charlotte laughs when she gets up to take her plate back into the kitchen.

  “You’ll have plenty of time to get to know them over the next few weeks, I’m sure,” I say when I follow her even though I’m not thrilled about the idea of her spending any alone time with my brothers.

  “I’ll wash these up,” she offers, nodding to the rest of the pans I used to cook our dinner.

  “I’ll help. I can dry them off and show you where everything goes, give you the grand tour of the facilities.”

  “Thanks,” she says quietly as the water begins to fill the sink. The blush is long gone from her cheeks; and after our conversation, her entire demeanor seems to have shifted.

  “Hey, what’s wrong, Charlotte? The eggs were bad, weren’t they? I didn’t check the date on the milk I poured in when I scrambled them, so I hope it wasn’t…”

  “No, no,” Charlotte interrupts me with a small smile. “It was delicious, and you’re fine – a great distraction actually. I just had some dark thoughts suddenly intrude. God, I feel like the mistress of dark thoughts sometimes, every time I start to enjoy myself.”

  “Tell me about it,” I offer as I lean back and prop myself up by the sink. “Worries get lighter when you have friends to help carry them. Words of wisdom from Mama McNamara, some of the only ones I remember,” I quip.