by Nicole James
I slide my hands around his neck and pull him closer. He steps in, his hips pushing my legs apart, and suddenly my body is flush against his, his heat enveloping me.
We make out for a long time, and he cups my breast, squeezing the fullness, but doesn’t press for more. With each line he doesn’t cross, I relax more. Eventually, he pulls back, groaning, and presses his forehead to mine.
“I promised you no strings, so we’re gonna have to slow this down, babe.”
“What if I don’t want to?” I whisper.
He shakes his head, grinning. “I’m keepin’ my word to you tonight, even if it kills me. Only way you’re gonna know my word’s worth something.” He brushes his thumb down the side of my cheek. “For a girl like you, I’m willin’ to put in the effort.”
“Okay,” I squeak out, because that may be the sweetest thing any man’s ever said to me. He comes in for another peck, and then stares into my eyes.
“You could tempt a saint, though, so I could use all the help I can get with keepin’ that word.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning don’t go trying to make me break it, deal?”
I smile. “Deal.” I breathe in a delicious aroma. “Mmm. Something smells good.”
“Hop down, beautiful, before I burn it.” He helps me down and takes the skillet out of the oven, then lifts his chin to the cabinetry. “You want to grab some plates?”
“Sure.” I get them, melting on the inside because he called me beautiful. I look in a drawer for silverware and follow him to the round wooden dining table, where he sets the skillet down on a trivet.
He slides a chair back for me, and I sit, then he takes the seat next to me and dishes me up a serving.
“Where’d you learn to cook?” I ask.
“My grandfather was an honest-to-God cowboy back in the day. I spent a lot of summers with him. He taught me how to throw together a meal in a skillet. This is his breakfast skillet.”
I take a bite. It’s cheesy good comfort food. I moan around the fork.
“Good?” His fork pauses on the way to his mouth as he waits for my response.
“Delicious.”
“Glad you like it. Next time you come over, when it’s not so late, I’ll make you my skillet biscuits.”
Next time. He wants me to come back. Do I want to come back? I think I do. We eat quietly, because it’s so good. When we finish, he clears our plates.
“Let’s sit by the fire. You want an Irish Coffee?”
“That sounds great. Yes, please.”
“Go on. I’ll be there in a minute.”
I wander around the room, looking up at the vaulted ceiling and large bank of windows. There’s a big deck out there, but I can’t see much of the view in the dark of night. I stop at a long buffet against one wall and check out the framed photos. I pick one up. It’s of a line of men on motorcycles parked in front of what looks like the Grand Canyon. There’s another one of Daytona with his arm around Trick, both laughing. I see a small hand print in clay and run my finger over it, wondering whose it is. I return to sit in a chair by the fire, and Daytona walks out with two mugs. He hands me one and sits on the hearth, facing me.
I take a sip. “Mmm. Perfect.”
“Good.” He drinks a swig of his, then sets it on the stone and swivels my chair to face him, his hands on my legs. “So, let’s talk.”
“Sure. What about?”
“My Club wants to buy your bar.”
I blow out a breath. This again. “Why?”
He shrugs. “We just do.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“We’ll give you a good price for it. Set you up.”
“It’s not for sale.”
“Everything’s for sale if the price is right.”
“Not everything. Not self respect.”
“Point taken. Okay. Thing. Every thing is for sale. Not lookin’ to buy your soul, Cherry.”
I stare down at my mug. “We were having a nice time. Why did you have to bring this up?”
“Because I feel like it’s this big elephant in the room. We need to get it out of the way. You owe the club money. This will be an easy solution for both of us.”
“That bar is everything to me.”
“Is it, though?”
I frown. “What do you mean?”
“I heard you sing. I heard you play guitar. You’re way too good for that dive bar.”
“You keep calling it a dive bar, and maybe that’s all it is to you, but to me, its home. And I don’t want to sell.”
“We’ve got a problem that needs a solution. Soon.”
“I’ll get you the money. Soon. I promise. Now can we talk about something else?”
He stares at me for a long moment, then looks away. “Okay. I’ll give you that. We’ll drop it. For now.”
“For ever.”
He grins. “I’m a persistent guy.”
“I think I’ve figured that out. But I’m a determined woman.”
“And I like that about you, babe. So, we’ll drop it.”
“Thank you.”
“What do you want in life, Scarlett?”
I shrug. “I want what everyone wants. To be happy. To be loved.”
“And are you happy?”
“I think so. Are you?”
He takes my hands in his and turns them palm up, stroking them with his thumbs. “I’ve found that happiness comes and goes. Some years are great; some years suck. But they don’t suck as bad if you’ve got someone to go through life with you.”
“You want that?”
“Sure. Doesn’t everyone?”
I huff out a laugh, thinking about most of the male population. “No.”
He chuckles. “Okay, true. I’ve got a bunch of brothers in the club who feel that way, but on some level, everyone needs companionship. I’m not above admitting I’d be a better man with a woman in my life. I’ve been alone for a long time. That was my choice. Lately, I’ve realized the hole that it leaves. I’ve looked around, but haven’t met anyone I’ve wanted to expend the amount of effort a relationship takes or wanted to contemplate that kind of commitment with. Until tonight. Until you.”
I blow out a breath; what he said was a lot. “I barely know you. I don’t even know your real name.”
“Rawlins. Dave Rawlins. My brothers call me Daytona. You want to call me Dave, that’s okay. I’m thirty-nine. Turn forty in a couple months. Grew up in Daytona. Spent summers with my grandfather in California. Been in the Evil Dead since I was in my mid-twenties. Worked my way up. There was an opportunity to come to Vegas and start a chapter a few years ago. I had a lot goin’ on in my life at the time, which, we get some time invested in this relationship, I’ll tell you all about it, but suffice to say, for my own sanity I needed a change, so I took it.
“Came here and started this chapter from nothing. I’m proud of it. Got some good, loyal brothers. You called us criminals before. I’m not gonna lie to you, because I told you I wouldn’t, so yeah, some of the shit we do is not legal. I’m trying to get us in a new direction, one not as dirty as the stuff that has financed this chapter and got it off the ground, but that’s gonna take some time.
“I’m not a boy scout. I don’t claim to be. If something threatens what I have or what I love, I’ve got no problem dealing with it in whatever way it needs to be dealt with so that I know I’ll never have to deal with it again. Understand?”
“I’m trying to.”
He smiles. “That’s all I’m asking. Just for you to try. Just for a chance.”
“That’s a lot of information. And I appreciate you shared all that, and I want to reciprocate and tell you about me. I’m just not sure I’m ready yet.”
“Understood. I said I wouldn’t push, and I won’t. I just want a shot, Cherry. That’s all I’m asking for.”
“Okay. I can give you that.”
He smiles, picks up his mug, and holds it out. “Here’s to giving it a shot.”
&
nbsp; I clink my mug to his and meet his eyes over the rim. Yep, those lines that crinkle around them are going to be the death of me.
Like he promised, he takes me home not long after we finish the coffee.
We pull up to the little white cottage behind Badlands. The truck’s headlights illuminate the porch, and the black German Shepard comes to his feet.
“You got a dog?” Daytona stares at it.
“No. I think he belongs to the guy who lives behind the gas station.”
Daytona runs a hand down his jaw like that news troubles him. He looks back toward the gas station.
“What?”
He meets my gaze. “Nothin’.”
He gets out and comes around to open my door, holding my keys out to me.
“Thanks.”
He lifts his chin toward the door. “I’d feel better if you check the house before I pull out. Just to be safe.”
I frown, but nod. “Okay, sure.”
The dog slinks off to stand ten feet away, watching us, while I unlock the door and we both step inside. I turn on a lamp. The living room, dining room and kitchen are all visible; the only area we can’t see is the bedroom and bath.
“Wait here.” Without invitation, Daytona walks down the hall, his boots thudding on the plank flooring. I stand where he ordered, waiting. I hear his boot-steps backtracking and he comes around the corner. “It’s clear.”
“Did you think it wouldn’t be?”
“You’re a long way from anything.”
“Do you think I’m vulnerable out here?”
“Does a chicken have legs?”
“What?”
“Woman alone, one who looks like you? Yeah, I think you’re vulnerable.”
I swallow and look toward the window and the lights of the gas station.
“What’s your number?”
I turn to see Daytona with his phone out, his thumb moving over the screen. I give it to him, and a moment later I hear my phone ring. He shoves his in his pocket.
“Now you got my number. You need me, you call, understand?”
“Okay.”
“You got a gun, Cherry?”
“I—yes. I have one.”
“Keep it loaded and keep it close at hand when you’re here alone.”
“Okay.”
“All right. I’m gonna take off now. Lock the door and get some sleep.”
“Wow, not going to try to jump my bones, huh?”
“You’re a beautiful, sexy woman. Smart, funny. And I’m not just saying those things to get in your pants. I’m gonna leave you at your doorstep, just to prove I can be a gentleman and a man of my word. But you will sleep in my big king-size bed soon. That, baby doll, is a promise.”
“I like a man who keeps his promises.”
He chuckles. “Good. I have to go out of town. Timing sucks, but it’s unavoidable. When I get back, I’m making you another meal. Hopefully next time it will be breakfast after a night of amazing sex in my big ass bed.”
“Promises. Promises.”
He smiles big.
I can’t help returning it. “Thank you for cooking dinner for me. Or breakfast or whatever meal happens at two a.m.”
He steps to me, his hands on my hips, he pulls me flush against him. “My pleasure.”
“I’m not a very good cook, but I’ll have to reciprocate. What do you like?”
His eyes lift to the tiny kitchen over my shoulder. “I’ll eat anything you make me, sweetheart.” He dips his head and kisses me. It’s slow and gentle, and it only makes me want more. He pulls back and steps toward the door. “Good night, Cherry.”
I follow him to the door, then remember I still have his shirt over mine. “Wait, your shirt.”
“You keep it. Sleep in it and dream of me.” He winks and walks out.
His answer sends a thrill through me. I watch him walk to his bike, my gaze dropping to his cute ass. He turns back and catches me.
“Lock the door, angel.”
I step inside and watch through the window. He mounts up and pulls out, and the dog runs off at the loud roaring engine. I watch his taillight and see him turn onto the highway. I start to step away from the window but pause when he doesn’t roar off, like I expect. Instead, his engine slowly putts as he rolls onto the lot of the gas station. He circles through. I know it’s closed, and I wonder what he’s doing. I see him pause to the side of the building, in view of the shack behind the station. Then he revs his engine, doing a burnout and smoking his back tire. I realize he’s sending a signal, warning that guy off. At least that’s what I think he’s doing.
Then he roars out of the lot and hauls ass down the road.
I drop the curtain, and my brain goes back to the mind-tingling kiss he just gave me. I press my fingertips to my lips, smile, and head to bed to do what he said, sleep in his shirt and dream of him.
.
CHAPTER SIX
Charlotte—
Midafternoon the next day, a thundering roar brings me out on the porch of Badlands. I see a line of chrome glinting in the sun on the dusty highway, heading this way. The hoard of motorcycles roars past the front of the bar in two-by-two formation, Daytona at the front of the pack, his VP, Trick next to him. Daytona looks over at me and lifts his arm as he blasts by. I wave as a dozen bikes roar down the highway, headed east in the direction of Las Vegas.
In a text this morning, Daytona told me they were headed four hundred miles up to Carson City. He said it was almost a seven-hour ride, six if they haul ass. He didn’t tell me why they were going, just that it was club business, and they would be gone for a few days, and he’d try to call when he could.
I go inside the bar and return to washing glasses. It’s not very busy this time of day, so I go in the office and make the order that Scarlett told me had to be done each week. I check the stock in the storeroom, and then call it in. Just before the evening rush, I decide to check in with Daryl but realize my phone is almost dead.
I head out the front door to where Pete’s washing the front windows.
“Hey, I’ll be back in a few minutes. Okay?”
“Sure thing, Scarlett.”
I walk to the cottage and find a cell charger, then plug it in near the kitchen counter and call Daryl.
He picks up on the third ring.
“Hey, Charlotte.”
“How is everything?”
“Okay. How’s it going with you?”
“It’s been relaxing. Scarlett doing okay?”
“She wants to know when you’re coming back.”
“Yes, she’s texted me. I promised her I’d be back by the end of next week when we have our shows.”
“I’ll tell her that.”
“Anyone suspect anything?”
“I think there have been a few instances when she didn’t know things she should know, but the grumblings I’m hearing from the band and her publicist… they’re just putting it down to exhaustion.”
“But she’s handling it okay?”
“Sure. I think knowing that it’s only temporary, she’s enjoying it to the fullest.”
“Good.”
“It’s you I’m worried about.”
“Why?”
“’Cause you have no one lookin’ out for you.”
“I’m fine.”
“You sure?”
“You just take care of my sister.”
“You know I will.”
“Thanks, Daryl. I’ll talk soon.”
“Okay. Bye Charlotte.”
I disconnect, then set the phone on the counter and make a can of soup for dinner. When I’m through eating, I carry the bowl to the sink and rinse it, leaving it in the sink to wash later tonight.
I wipe my hands on a dishrag, grab an apple, and head to the bar. The sun has sunk behind the mountain range, and the sky is a beautiful orchid color. I’m munching on the apple as I approach the front boardwalk. Just before I round the corner, I hear a man talking. His words stop me in my tracks,
and I press against the side of the building to eavesdrop.
“She’ll sell it. Don’t worry about it. I’ve got a couple of things in mind. Yeah, I’ll take care of it. By the time you get back, with what I’ve got planned, she’ll be ready to let it go.”
I peer around the corner. He disconnects and walks in the bar, and I see the Evil Dead patch on his back.
Oh my God. Was he talking about me? Getting me to sell? Am I the thing he just promised to take care of? Was he left behind today for that reason? A chill moves over me.
I go inside, and like a robot, I move around the bar, pulling draft beers and wiping down counters, my mind going over and over that man’s words. My eyes flick to where he sits at a table, totally ignoring me, his eyes on his phone.
I move near Pete, who just served him a draft.
“Hey.”
“Yeah, Scar?”
“What’s that guy doing on his phone? Could you see?”
He grins. “Playing Candy Crush, if you can believe it.”
I give him a disbelieving look.
“I know, right?”
Late in the evening, a band Pete knows shows up to play, bringing with them a bunch of friends and fans. They’re not bad, and I stay busy, waiting on tables.
At some point I lose track of the biker and look up to see his chair is empty. I go about filling a pitcher for a table and ringing them up and never check to see if his motorcycle is gone.
I’m exhausted by closing time. After cleaning everything, Pete and I head out the front door, and I lock up.
“I’m off tomorrow, so I’ll see you the day after.”
“Okay, thanks, Pete. Tell your friends I liked their music. Maybe they can come play again sometime.”
“They’d love that.”
I laugh. “If they can fill the place, I may even be able to pay them.”
“I’ll tell them, but to tell the truth, they’re just happy to have a place to play.”
I wave and head to the cottage as he gets in his car and drives off. I watch his taillights head down the road through the desert toward Las Vegas.
