As the room began to clear out, Repo kept his ass planted. Looking to his president, he asked, “What are you so eager to get back to?”
“I have a brand-new wife going through a pregnancy-spurred hormone spike. What don’t I have to be eager about.” He winked, a sly smile lighting his face.
“Good on you, brother,” Repo said, genuinely happy for the guy.
Standing, Blake pushed in his chair, and Repo followed suit as they headed for the door at a lazy pace. “How’s it going with Ginger? Any progress?”
Repo scowled at the floor. “She’s got a fortress made of steel and backed with barbwire in that head of hers.”
“She wasn’t always that way,” Blake murmured, and they both grew silent as thoughts of what Hawke had put her through flashed through their minds. “Keep at her,” Blake advised. “She’s a good woman, and she’s worth the fight. I’m sure you already know that or you wouldn’t be wasting your time, but maybe it bears repeating.” He shrugged. “All I know is, when you find a good woman, you fight for her.”
He wanted to ask why Blake hadn’t fought for her, but that was all water under the bridge, and he wasn’t sure he wanted the answer anyway, so he just said, “Yeah.”
Of anyone, Blake knew the truth of that statement all too well. He had fought hard for his wife, Gabby. He knew what it was to almost lose the only light to shine through the bleak and lonely days of life. He’d come out on top of that particular war, thank God.
The same was true for Country, too. He’d been a player before he’d had hair on his balls, but that all changed when he found Talia. The war between the club and the cartel had reached its zenith at the time, and he could have lost her, too, but he didn’t. Proof that someone up there was watching out for their sorry hides. Hopefully, their grace extended to him, too, because with a firecracker like Red, Repo was going to need it.
Repo wasn’t surprised to find the bar empty. He didn’t really figure Ginger would risk coming in on a day like today, knowing he’d be around. Too much heat after last night. She was keeping her distance, and he respected that, but it wouldn’t last long. Not just because she needed the job, but because he fully intended on getting back in her face come nightfall.
Ginger thought she’d shake him with a bit of time? Ignore him till he went slinking away with his tail between his legs? Not a chance in hell.
Repo was just regrouping, taking a moment to breathe. Let her lower her guard some. Then he was going to pounce. Because when Repo got his head wrapped around something—like her tight, hot, wet pussy—he went full steam and he didn’t stop till he had it.
She didn’t think so now, but he was going to lock her down.
And she was going to love every minute of it.
FIFTEEN
A day off it was. Ginger was normally a workaholic, choosing to keep busy and avoid the stale feeling of being alone with no one to talk to. But she was actually enjoying her solitude for once.
She’d woken up with a delicious feeling of satiation, and she’d been more rested than she could remember ever being. It would have been an excellent day to work, pull in some good tips with her bright and enthusiastic smile and wit…
But no. She knew the instant she stepped foot in the Spartan compound all of that good cheer would have fled right back out the door again. Plus, her feet still ached a little.
She wanted to preserve her peace, soak it up like a sponge. So she decided to play hooky.
Best damn day of her life. There was nothing quite like sitting around on a beautiful day in a tank top and jeans with an ice-cold Corona in your hand, listening to the chatter of birds in the trees while waiting for the sun to set. She’d been at it for hours.
She blamed the sky. It was gorgeous, as if someone had taken a paintbrush to it. The bright fuchsia, pink, blue, orange, and yellow canvas was mesmerizing to look at, and it made her feel peaceful. She honestly couldn’t remember the last time she’d watched the sun set. It must have been years ago, back when she was a kid.
Man, all the things in life that passed you by when you were too busy trying to grab onto something intangible. She’d missed the most important parts, hadn’t she? Missed the point entirely. When she should have been holding onto the little things, she’d been chasing after fairytales.
Funny how it took ending up alone, ripped from her comfort zone, to realize not only who she was and wanted to be, but to finally grasp what it was all about.
Ginger had no desire to return to the fast life she’d lived when she was married to Hawke, or even return to the girl she was before she’d met him. She’d always played it fast and loose, thinking it was better to live hard, die fast, and leave a pretty corpse.
In reality, Hans Christian Anderson had it right. You had to enjoy life because there would be plenty of time to be dead later.
“It’s all about the little things,” Ginger murmured to herself. With a contented sigh, she drank to that sentiment.
Looking around the lot behind the apartment complex where she’d parked her foldout lounge chair, Ginger wouldn’t exactly call it a retreat of any kind. Not like if she had her own backyard. The grass was scrubby and full of weeds and those thorny chunks of green that hurt if you stepped on them. She had a couple of burs stuck to her socks around her ankles, too, and there was a bit of broken glass a few feet away. Probably a beer bottle someone tossed while drunk. That said, the view beyond the tree line separating the complex from the highway was pretty special. At least she could enjoy the sunset.
And the intermittent snap! of a neighbor’s bug zapper.
The sound was what made her take notice that the night was coming on fast. She’d lost track of time, and the sun was well below the tree line now, although the sky still retained some of its color.
Still, she figured it was probably best to head back inside. The air was getting a bit nippy, and she was hungry for dinner.
Forcing herself to her feet, Ginger folded up her chair and slung it over her arm, tucking it in the crease of her elbow. With her beer in her other hand, she made her way back up to her apartment, feeling an inexplicable heaviness weighing on her.
She was so relaxed, but she felt a bundle of tension riding atop her shoulders. She couldn’t peg its source…until she heard the rough, gravelly voice of the man waiting at the top of the stairs for her and that tension added a little extra torque.
“You weren’t at work today.”
Fucking Repo. With a scowl, Ginger brushed past him and fished her keys from her pocket. Sticking the key in the lock, she said, “You’re like a cockroach. I thought I got rid of you.”
His breath was on the back of her neck, startling her. “You’ll have to try harder if you hope to do that.”
“Give me a minute. I’m sure I have a can of Raid somewhere…”
“You’re a laugh a minute, babe. By the way,” he added, hitching a thumb over his shoulder, “your neighbor’s been keeping an eye out. He’s fidgety.”
“So…”
“Ever have any problems with him?”
“He’s quiet as a church mouse.” Pushing the door open, she said casually, “Okay, you can go now.” A look over her shoulder told her he wasn’t going anywhere. Of course not. It was stupid of her to consider otherwise.
Ginger didn’t even bother attempting to close the door in his face. She’d barely stepped over the threshold, but he was following close enough to be her shadow, making it impossible anyway.
“I’d offer you a beer, but those are reserved for guests,” she said as she poured the last couple inches from her bottle down the sink drain.
“If I wanted a beer, I’d have had one at the clubhouse. Why didn’t you come into work today?” Repo asked.
Ginger’s shoulders inched a little closer to her ears, but she didn’t offer any explanations. She didn’t figure she had to. He wasn’t her daddy, boyfriend, or spouse. She didn’t answer to him.
Repo, ever the helpful male, supplied his own the
ory. “You scared to be around me then? That it? I make you nervous. Because you already know I only bite when asked.”
Oh, she knew. She knew well how his teeth felt on her skin, those blunt tips leaving a tantalizing sting in her most sensitive areas. Her skin erupted in goose bumps, but Ginger ignored them and reached for a banana—something to do with her hands, so she didn’t look as frazzled as she felt. “Now who’s being funny?” She peeled the skin from the fruit and took a chomp off, talking around it. “You don’t make me anything, Repo, so you should climb down off that high horse before you get a nosebleed.”
Standing across the counter from her, it hadn’t escaped Ginger’s notice that he was laser-focused on her mouth. Rolling her eyes, Ginger sighed. “You are such a guy.”
“I like how you work your mouth, babe. Sue me.”
“I wish I could,” she muttered to herself—for emotional distress, surely. “It’s just a banana, Garrick. Get over yourself.”
He stared a moment longer before blatantly reaching down and shifting the very noticeable ridge between his legs. The man had no shame.
Ginger tried to ignore the fact her clit had suddenly developed its own heartbeat. Even more, the ache between her legs that recalled last night when he’d feasted on her. God, Repo had a nice mouth. And he knew just how to use it.
“I’m hungry,” he announced.
“Well, don’t look at me.”
His heated stare softened. “Kind of hard not to, babe.” Then, to her surprise, he almost—almost—cracked a smile. “Wanna go grab a bite, or do you prefer to eat in.”
That wasn’t a question. Not really. Repo was giving her the subtlest of orders. She had to choose one or the other. There was no option three.
Exasperated, Ginger threw her hands into the air. “I prefer to not act as if we’re a couple.”
Cool as ice, Repo just stared at her. “I don’t recall giving that as an option.”
She glared, unamused. “You do whatever you want. I’m going to wash up, and when I come back, it’d be nice if you weren’t here.” She tossed the peel in the garbage.
In as deadpan a voice as she’d ever heard, Repo said, “Unfortunately for you, I’m not that nice.”
“No, you’re not.” Which meant he intended to stay for as long as it suited him. Which meant that Repo didn’t respect her wishes, so he wasn’t much better than a dictator. Which meant they were not going to get along. Not at all.
Flinging her hair over her shoulder, Ginger marched off, calling over her shoulder, “By the way, I own a Taser, so if you even think about coming into this bathroom, the only jumpstart you’re going to get is twelve thousand volts.”
***
Ginger was disappointed to find Repo in her kitchen. She was curious and mildly hopeful, though, when she saw that his head was inside the oven.
“While normally I might cheer you on and even crank up the heat, I’d prefer not to have a dead body in the place where I cook my meals.” She stepped over his feet on her way to the fridge for a bottle of water.
“I was going to cook some of those pizza rolls I found in the freezer, but this piece of shit just kept pumping out gas instead of lighting.”
“Sounds like my ex-husband.”
The man huffed something that sounded vaguely like a cross between a laugh and a dying hyena. After another moment of tinkering, he finally gave up. Sitting back on his haunches, Repo slammed the oven door shut with a dark scowl. “You need a new stove.”
“That’s hardly news.” She snorted. “That thing is older than me, but try getting the landlord to upgrade. I think he literally pinches pennies.”
The thing was harvest gold and had only half of its original knobs. She kept a pair of needle nose pliers in the kitchen drawer beside it to operate the burners without one. It belonged in the trash along with the rest of the seventies.
“You want me to have a talk with him?” Repo looked up at her, that dark smile oddly sexy considering the amount of menace in his voice.
Once again, Ginger found herself affected by him, and she didn’t like that one bit. She cared for Garrick Stone, too much maybe, but she just couldn’t allow herself to fall for him. No more bikers. Too risky.
Shaking herself, Ginger stalked off into the living room and dropped down onto the sofa. Curling her feet under her, she grabbed the remote and turned on the television.
Repo wasn’t far behind. “So…pizza?”
“It’s kind of late, don’t you think?” It wasn’t even eight, but as far as Ginger was concerned, he’d overstayed his welcome. She hated to think what might develop if he made a habit of hanging around.
“For a woman who tends bar well past the witching hour? I don’t think so.” He dropped down onto the cushion beside her and slung his arm over the back of the couch, leaving his fingertips to hover just over her shoulder so she could feel the electricity coursing between them like a warm breeze.
“Witching hour huh?” she mused as she settled on The Voice. That Blake Shelton was scrumptious. “Careful, Repo. Your age is showing.”
He just shook his head and sighed. “You’re not going to piss me off tonight, babe. I know you’re just being ornery to try and scare me away.”
“I’m just being my charming self,” she said with a lift of her chin. She didn’t have to scare men away. Once they realized she wasn’t a pushover, they ran off all on their own in search of easier prey.
Would Repo do the same?
Taking out his cell phone, Repo began typing. “So, what are we watching?”
“I’m watching a singing competition.”
“Still like those reality shows I see.” He said that like he found her preferences cute. “What was that one called…Real World.”
“I see your memory is still intact,” she rebutted.
Looking up from his phone, that frosty blue stare was somehow filled with warmth. “Babe, there isn’t a single thing about you that I don’t remember.”
If a heart could have feet, Ginger’s had just tripped over them. When it finally got back to beating right, it took off in a dead run, making her breathless. For the longest time, she couldn’t break away from that stare. It was as if he’d hypnotized her.
How could a man be so cold and distant and yet so sweet and charming at once?
Once again, she had to shake herself. Turning her attention back to the television, she tried her best to get absorbed in the show, but she wasn’t hearing anything but the beat of her heart in her ears.
Instead, Ginger was focused completely on Garrick, who was putting in an order for pizza with everything on it. He seemed so at home in her apartment, and she hated to admit that a small—incredibly minute—part of her kind of liked it. If only they had more in common…
“Pizza will be here soon,” Repo said, tucking his phone back into his pants pocket. He shifted around, making himself more comfortable, then settled in to watch the show. “Hey, is that Blake Shelton? I love his music. Kind of handsome for a guy, too.”
Ginger’s eyebrows arched. Well, there was one thing they could agree on.
SIXTEEN
The bastard had fallen asleep on her couch. Ginger glared daggers at his skull, willing him to wake up before she resorted to violence. He couldn’t sleep there!
But he was also so peaceful looking, she couldn’t bear to wake him.
Oh, the struggles of a single, horny woman!
The options were many, including but not limited to, hitting him over the head with a throw pillow. But that handsome face, so gentle and sweet in repose, was killer on her heartstrings. There was only one answer to why she was even debating it, and it was that she was going soft.
How many men had she kicked to the curb over the years? Dozens. Granted, they’d all been at the compound, because she flat out refused to allow men into her apartment, but still. A room was a room, and personal space was personal space.
And Repo was Repo.
Correction: Garrick.
He was a stubborn fool on his best day, and besides…she liked him. Kind of. Maybe.
Okay, she did. A lot.
But he didn’t have to know that!
She found herself staring at his mouth. Those shapely lips, outlined by a beard so soft and white it often earned him references to Santa Claus, had been between her legs last night, giving her such pleasure she’d thought she’d go blind.
The memory itself gave her shivers.
She shouldn’t, but she wanted more.
Touching her own fingers to her lips, she remembered the way his felt on hers, and even further back to when his body had had hers. They’d been together multiple times over the years, but none were as memorable as that one night so long ago. It was so hard not to relive it, and she’d spent years trying. The problem was, Garrick was a man who left an impression. Everywhere he went. It was the reason so many women fell to their knees before him—literally. Once you had a taste of Garrick Stone, everyone else was a poor substitution.
So, she should probably count herself lucky that she had his undivided attention. But she didn’t. Not at all, because hooking up with a biker always brought with it a host of problems, and Ginger liked her life uncomplicated, thank you very much.
Still, the way he tasted—
A commotion outside caught Ginger’s attention, and she looked toward the front door. Someone was arguing next door. She wouldn’t have even heard it if it hadn’t been so dead silent. On soft feet, she padded to the window, standing in the shadows of the curtains, listening to the strains of hushed, harsh whispers.
Whoever it was, they didn’t want to be overheard. But she knew from the direction, it was coming from her strange neighbor.
Now, what would he be doing with visitors at this hour?
She’d never known him to have any visitors, as he didn’t even appear to leave the apartment, even though she knew he must. He had to eat, at least.
Ears straining to pick out anything intelligible, Ginger was startled when something slammed up against the wall separating the two apartments. She waited, rooted in place, for more, but after a moment, she heard the apartment door slam shut and the heavy clomp of footsteps bounding down the stairs. Peeling back a corner of the curtains, she tried to catch a glimpse of whoever it was, but she only caught the top of a dark head.
Vigor: A Spartan Riders Novel Page 10
