by Em Petrova
When she found a big red playground ball, she set Jay up across the yard from her. With a few feet between them, she proceeded to roll the ball. He retrieved it and rolled it back. She had to run for it a few times when it went far out of range, but that only made Jay laugh at her more.
“You like making fun of me. I see how you are now.”
He chuckled more.
“What you don’t know is I have five boy cousins who always make fun of me.” She rolled him the ball. At that moment, she heard the thumping coming from the garage roof. The newly built garage was just being roofed today, and Mrs. Post told her to ignore the construction going on, but if the noise began to agitate Jay to take him inside and put on some of the music he enjoyed in order to drown it out.
Aarica swung her gaze to the roof and the workers and then to Jay. He stared at the source of the noise too but didn’t seem to care at the moment. She waved her arms, encouraging him to roll her the ball.
He bounced it instead, sending her running after it while he laughed at her.
So happy to see him in good spirits and tolerating the pounding on the roof, she bounced the ball soft enough that the toy came within his range and he didn’t have to chase it very far.
They went back and forth a few more times, but then Jay froze with the ball in his hands, staring at the roof. The workers were calling out to each other, giving directions about where to pick up when the other left off.
With a scream, Jay threw the ball at the fence. Alarm bells sounded in her brain, and the workers on the roof stopped what they were doing and looked down at them.
She corralled Jay toward the house, but then she stopped dead as one crewman straightened to his full height and his gaze burned into her from above.
With the noise stopped, Jay seemed okay for the time being, which gave Aarica a long heartbeat to stare back at the man…the man from the campground who haunted her dreams.
Patriot. Logan. The gorgeous biker who she still throbbed for whenever her thoughts touched on him.
Dizziness washed over her, and she realized between Jay and Patriot, she hadn’t taken a breath in too long. Sucking in a wobbly breath, she continued to stare at him. She never thought she’d see him again, let alone standing on the roof at her new job, body glistening in the sun. Did he recognize her? Only days had passed since their strange and lust-filled meeting in the mountains, but it had been dark then.
Their eyes locked, and she saw that he did know her. And her body remembered his like her body recognized the air now burning in and out of her lungs with each labored, needy breath.
Another crash sounded as a couple of the workers dropped something. Jay cried out and slapped his hands over his ears.
Quickly, she led Jay inside the house. For several seconds, she stood there with her thoughts in a riot. She wanted to go out and look at Patriot, but her obligations lay with Jay, and of course she wouldn’t shirk that duty.
While focusing on her ward, her body felt too hot and tight, as if her skin had shrunk in the heat of the day or she got a sunburn. Patriot’s eyes scorching down into hers had stolen her mind. She pressed her fingers to her hot cheeks she knew bore a blush from a mere exchanged glance.
She got Jay settled with a picture book and headphones that read the story aloud to him. While he grew engrossed, she drifted to the window and looked out. From here, she couldn’t see the garage roof without going outside. She wanted to see Patriot again, but she couldn’t leave Jay’s side.
Sinking to a chair near the boy, she kept an eye on him while listening to the low thump of hammers and power nail guns as the crew nailed shingles. The dark, exciting moments of being in Patriot’s arms returned, leaving her breathless all over again.
From the moment she walked into Ben and Mel’s campsite, the man intrigued her. Not only gorgeous and rugged but capable of driving her mad. She practically threw herself at him, and he’d respected her enough to back off—at first. But soon she learned he was made of flesh and blood and unable to resist her pleas for more.
She might have lost her mind out there on the mountain, but she definitely would do it all over again. When she told him she was innocent, she wasn’t lying. She had little male attention due to her cousins. She also knew enough about her own desires to have zero regrets about being in that man’s arms…or having his lips on her body.
She squeezed her thighs together at the memory of his touch between her legs.
Jay made a sound, and she looked up to find his book had finished and he wanted another put on. After that, she sank to the chair again. The thumping on the roof went on. Patriot was up there. Did he think of her the same way she thought of him right now?
When her day finished and Mrs. Post returned home from work, would he still be up there working? If so, Aarica could stop and speak to him.
And say what?
She heard a light thunk and looked over to see Jay’s head down on the table. She scrambled up to see him fast asleep. She smiled at the sight of his long eyelashes and lips open as he drooled on his book.
Gently, she took him by the shoulders. He woke enough for her to ease him over to the sofa. He curled onto his side, and she spread a throw blanket over him.
She stood smiling at the sleeping child. She enjoyed being with Jay so much.
Her aunt’s friend knew Mrs. Post, and word of the nanny position had come through to Aarica. She jumped at the chance to leave the farm, on her own, and to begin her life. She loved her family so much, owed her happy life to them all, but she wanted to find out some things for herself. Like how to survive and who to love.
She couldn’t do either of those things while totally protected in her family’s arms. They were far from thrilled that she took the job offer and struck out for Mersey two days later. She settled in a one-room apartment over the Mersey Bakes and Treats, where delicious scents of pastries and coffee wafted through the cracks in the walls and ceiling to torment her. Of course, she had to pinch pennies and hadn’t yet given in to her desire to buy up half the shop and gorge some afternoon.
The boy snuffled in his sleep, and she rested a hand on his shoulder until he soothed to sleep once more. Watching over him felt rewarding. But she only cared for him a few days a week, and his grandmother took him for the others, leaving her in need of more income.
Which brought her around to the second job she needed. Inspiration hit, and she rummaged through a magazine holder and located a recent newspaper. She perused the want ads, wrinkling her nose as she scanned the list.
All these jobs required prior experience. Well, she could milk a cow. Goats too. Shoveling, making hay, all those skills seemed worthless here in Mersey. See? This was her reason for leaving her family’s safe haven and striking out alone—to find herself and what she was good at doing.
She quietly folded the paper and replaced it in the magazine rack. Then she drifted to the window again, staring out across the sleepy neighborhood. Down the block a bit and across the street, an older man pushed a lawnmower, and he looked ninety if he was a day. If not for Jay, she’d run out and offer to do it for him.
Sighing, she turned to watch the boy sleep. After her shift here, she’d hit the streets and search for a job. Convenience store worker, janitor, waitress…surely, someone had a position that would suit her.
She went to the back door and poked her head out. The men weren’t on the roof anymore—it was nearing lunchtime. But seeing the ladder stretched to the yard and the powerful thighs navigating down the rungs left her breathless.
Patriot paused at the bottom, facing away from her. He pulled his shirt out of his jeans pocket where it was tucked.
Her mouth went dry. She dug her fingers into her thighs to keep from tearing off her own clothes and begging him to turn around.
He proceeded to spread the cloth of the shirt, and she won the grand prize in getting to watch him dress. Spine muscles rippled, and his torso streaked with sweat and so damn yummy that she had to clamp her thighs
to hold in the forbidden desires of wanting a stranger.
Not a stranger anymore—she knew him. His kisses, his fingers on her wet folds.
Without glancing around to find her gawking at him, he walked out of the gate and closed it behind him, which left her staring after him, hot and bothered in a way that had nothing to do with the Tennessee weather.
Chapter Three
Christ, he’d never roofed a damn house with a fat fucking hard-on. His cock was a steel rod sliding down his thigh and making it impossible to maneuver on a roof. If he fell to his death, he’d blame it on Aarica.
What the hell was she doing here, anyway? The woman was supposed to be a one-time thing. A mountain make-out session fit for fantasies only. Yet here she was, in the damn house his crew was working on.
Spotting her from the roof while she played with that boy left him aching and his chest burning. He wanted to climb down that very minute, pick her up and carry her off to his bed. The only thing keeping him from doing just that was her innocence and the fact she took the boy inside.
He seemed to have some disability. When they started pounding, he placed his hands over his ears and Aarica had been quick to calm him.
Her touch could calm the devil in anybody, even himself.
Finished for the day, he climbed behind the wheel of his truck, throwing looks around for any sight of the woman who kept haunting his every waking thought. Thankfully, she wasn’t in view and he could drive away without the urge to go back and act like some caveman.
After he reached his house, showered, changed and hopped on his bike, he still couldn’t relax. He wanted a woman he couldn’t touch, and the woman who wanted to touch him, he didn’t want. His crew was a bit behind on the roofing project too, having gotten a few days off schedule from unexpected rainstorms the previous week…
Then the business with the crimes.
The ride to the clubhouse was too short to offer time to relax, but at this point riding three hours wouldn’t help. He couldn’t relax, not when everything hung up in the air.
When he pulled into the parking lot and spotted the sheriff’s car, his gut clenched.
Fuck. Here goes.
The lawman stood in the parking lot with Dixon and Tank. A few of the others stood around, set apart from the trio but close enough to listen in.
As Patriot approached, Dixon and Tank threw him take-it-easy-man looks. He kept his fists from clenching as he closed the gap between them. Sheriff Gardener looked up.
“Sheriff,” he drawled out.
“Mr. Stone. I thought I’d find you here.”
“The sheriff was just asking some questions about the thefts you mentioned,” Dixon informed him.
He nodded and looked to Gardener. “I’ve told you all I know, but I’m willing to answer more questions if that helps your investigation.” He wanted to remain as compliant as possible, shake the law off his back and put this all behind him.
“Maybe we can go inside and talk,” Gardener said.
Patriot traded a look with Dixon. “Why don’t you come inside and have a good look around?”
To the side, Tank nodded his agreement. The best thing to do was open every door to the law and show them they had nothing to hide. They wouldn’t need a search warrant—the Dark Falcons welcomed them.
“Lead the way.” Gardener gestured to the door.
Dixon walked in first, with Patriot and Tank at his six. The rest of the guys took up the rear, solid as one. The brotherhood rode together and stood together in all things, including this.
After Dixon and Patriot walked the rooms of the clubhouse with Tank standing guard, the sheriff seemed to understand that he wouldn’t find three grand laying out in plain sight, the heirloom ring or a stolen Harley.
“Mind if I check some serial numbers against the bikes parked out front?” Sheriff Gardener asked.
Dixon spread his hand, gesturing toward the door. “Have at it.” His tone said don’t-let-the-door-hit-you-in-the-ass, but he served it with a smile.
Patriot walked outside with the lawman and tracked his progress along the row of bikes. Knowing he’d find nothing, he still felt relieved when the sheriff climbed into his car and drove away. As he passed a biker on the road, the biker raised a hand.
Patriot squinted at the man rolling into their lot. Who the hell? Then the young kid parked alongside the other bikes and removed his helmet decorated with flames.
A smile broke over his face as he spotted Patriot. “Boss man!”
Patriot smiled at his former employee and shook his head at the nickname the kid used for him. Putting the sheriff’s search behind him, Patriot strolled over and stuck his hand out to shake Hunter’s hand. The young guy gripped it with all the firmness Patriot gave him.
“Good to see ya. You ridin’ now?”
“Yeah, been riding the past nine or so months. My brother got me into it.”
Patriot looked over the bike. “Lookin’ great.” He circled the motorcycle and chuckled. “I dig your license plate holders.” Two chrome hands with middle fingers up locked the plate into place.
Hunter rubbed at his jaw. “Thought it might be your speed.”
“You’re right.” Now more than ever, he felt the need to rebel and flip off the world, but he couldn’t do that in his present circumstances—he had to play nice if he wanted to clear his name, and that of the club.
“Your crew stayin’ busy?” Hunter asked.
Patriot eyed him. He refused to put up with whiners or poor attitudes. Hunter displayed neither—then or now. They’d parted on good terms. Patriot simply let Hunter know that his skills were a passing grade, but he demanded more of his team, and he’d understood.
Seeing nothing but a smile on the guy’s face, Patriot nodded. “Busy enough. What have you been up to?”
Hunter leaned against his bike, ankles crossed and arms folded, settling in for a long bullshit session. “I’ve been working with my brother. He’s heading a crew down near Union.”
Patriot arched a brow. “I’ve heard of some good workers down there. Sounds as though you found your place.”
With a nod, Hunter said, “That’s another reason I’m here.”
“Oh?”
“I’ve heard nothing but good about this club. How do I become a Dark Falcon?”
Considering the guy, he realized Hunter had all the substance they required of a prospect. Hard worker, eager to please. He was a straight shooter, as direct as they came. While Hunter might not have worked out on Patriot’s construction crew, he might be exactly what the club needed as far as a new member went.
“You need a sponsor to become a prospect.”
He arched a brow. “Sponsor? Like in AA or something?”
“Yeah, sorta. Someone to stand up and guide you through the process of becoming a fully patched member.”
“Does this involve some college frat-boy hazing shit?”
They shared a laugh. “No. But you won’t be given cakey jobs—we’ll make you work to prove yourself worthy.”
He nodded. “That’s what I’m lookin’ for. Know anyone who’d sponsor me?”
Patriot shot him a crooked grin. “I might know a guy.”
Hunter slid a glance down along the line of motorcycles parked in front of the club. When he looked back at Patriot, he recognized the desire to be part of something bigger than himself written on Hunter’s face.
“Whattaya say about coming inside and talkin’ to the president?” Patriot asked.
A smile stretched over his features, and he gave a single nod. Pulling away from the bike he leaned against, he said, “I’d like that.”
Patriot twitched his head toward the entrance. “C’mon.”
What better time to initiate a new member into the fold? To show him that even when shit went south, they stuck together.
“You sure about this?” Hunter asked as they reached the door.
He shot him a look over his shoulder. “Having a prospect under me will gi
ve back to the club. Besides, you saw all those dirty bikes out there needing a good wash and shine. That ought to keep ya busy for a few days.”
Hunter tossed his head on a laugh. “Yeah, I guess you’re right. I better get out my polishing cloths.”
Patriot held the door for him to pass through. Then he located Dixon seated with his spine to the wall, talking to Tank. Dixon caught his stare and raised his jaw in question.
“Everyone, this is Hunter. Hunter, the guys. The honeys are off-limits to prospects,” he added as a side note.
Dixon pushed to his feet. “Did you say prospect? Well, welcome to the Dark Falcons. You better do what this guy says and you’ll do just fine.” Dixon pointed a finger at Patriot.
Grinning, Hunter stuck out his hand and the guys all crowded in to shake it.
Dixon looked to Patriot again. “What’s his first task, man?”
Patriot walked to the bar and a thick stack of fliers they were meant to hang all over the tristate area for an upcoming event at the fairgrounds. He picked up the fliers and returned to Hunter. He shoved the stack at him. “His first task is to hang up about four hundred fliers.”
Hunter wagged his head. “Aw, man, what did I get myself into?”
Patriot thumped him on the back. “Welcome to the Dark Falcons.”
Aarica smiled up at the sign on the front of the bar. The Painted Pig. The illustration of a pig wearing lipstick aroused all kinds of questions, which she intended to ask inside. Then she’d ask about job openings.
She wiped her sweaty palms on the thighs of her jeans and entered the bar. The place looked clean and smelled of fried foods and spirits. Two TVs were at opposite corners of the bar, and a couple guys sat there watching sports highlights.
They looked around at her and gave her nods of greeting before returning to their sports.
Well, her cousins would approve. The place seemed reputable, anyway.
“Can I help you?” A woman appeared, her arms burdened with a heavy crate. She moved behind the bar and dumped it on the counter before turning her attention to Aarica.
