by Joanna Wylde
It took a warm bath, an hour of snuggles, and four books to get Noah to sleep.
Me? I wasn’t sure I’d ever sleep again.
The summer heat didn’t help—I swear, the place had zero airflow. After an hour of sweating in the darkness, watching his little chest rise and fall, I gave up. I popped a beer and sat down on our couch, a thousand plans running through my head. First, I’d kill Miranda. Then either I needed to find a new place to live or she did. I also pondered whether to call the cops.
I liked the idea of throwing her and her stoner boyfriend to the wolves. They deserved a friendly visit from the boys in blue.
But since her man was in a motorcycle club, calling the cops might not be the smartest move. Guys in MCs generally weren’t fond of the police, a perspective he and his club brothers might feel the need to share with me once he made bail. Not to mention Child Protective Services would get involved, which could also get pretty ugly.
I loved Noah and would do anything for him. I was a damned good mother. When other girls my age were out partying and having fun, I was taking him to the park and reading him stories. I spent my twenty-first birthday holding him while he puked from stomach flu instead of hitting the bars. No matter how rough things got, I spent time with Noah every day and made sure he felt loved.
But I didn’t look so good on paper.
Single mom. Dad out of the picture. No family around, crappy studio apartment. Probably unemployed after tonight … What would CPS make of that? Would they blame me for leaving him with Miranda in the first place?
I had no idea what to do. I took a long pull on the beer and then turned on my phone, where Ruger’s message glowed at me accusingly. Crap. I hated calling him. No matter how much time he spent with us (and he made a point of seeing Noah regularly), I just couldn’t relax around him. Ruger didn’t like me and I knew it. I think he blamed me for destroying his relationship with Zach. God knows, I played my part. I pushed that memory away.
I always pushed that memory away.
If only I unnerved him, too, but apparently that was too much to ask. Instead he just looked right through me, hardly bothering to acknowledge my existence.
Even more frustrating? Ruger had to be the hottest guy I’d ever met. He was all danger and hard muscles, with his tattoos and piercings and that goddamned black Harley of his. When he walked into a room he owned it, because it only took one look to see he was a fucking badass, the type who takes what he wants and never says he’s sorry.
I’d been nursing a hell of a crush on him for longer than I cared to acknowledge, something he’d failed to notice despite his apparent fascination with every other woman under the age of forty within five hundred miles. Well, failed to notice all but once, and that hadn’t exactly ended well.
At least he never brought any of his club whores around (which I greatly appreciated), but that didn’t change the fact that he was one of the biggest sluts in north Idaho.
So that’s where we stood.
Presented with my nonthreatening charms, the panhandle’s sexiest, most prolific man-whore still preferred hanging with my seven-year-old child during his visits.
I sighed and hit the play button.
“Sophie, answer your fucking phone,” he said, his voice cold and unyielding, like usual. “I just got a call from Noah. I talked to him for a while and tried to keep him calm, but then some bitch started yellin’ and took the phone away. Nobody answered when I called back. I don’t know what the fuck you’re thinking, but your kid needs you. Get off your ass and go get him. Now. I swear, if anything happens to him … You don’t wanna go there, Sophie. Just fucking call me when you find him. No excuses.”
I dropped the phone and leaned forward on my knees, rubbing my temples with the tips of my fingers.
In addition to everything else, now I had to deal with Mr. Being-a-Biker-Isn’t-a-Crime losing his shit on me. Which he would do, I had no doubt. Ruger was scary enough in a good mood. The one time I’d seen him truly enraged still gave me nightmares, and that’s not a figure of speech. Unfortunately, he had a point. When my son needed me, I hadn’t answered the phone. Thank God Ruger had been there for Noah. But still … I really didn’t want to deal with him right now, either.
I couldn’t leave him hanging, though, worried about Noah all night. He’d called me a bitch the last time I’d seen him, and maybe he had a point, but I wasn’t a big enough bitch to torture him like that. I hit the callback button.
“He all right?” Ruger demanded, not bothering with a hello.
“I’ve got him and he’s fine,” I said. “I couldn’t hear the phone ring at work, but I found his message and left about forty-five minutes later. He’s okay. We got lucky and nothing happened, not that I can tell.”
“You sure that asshole didn’t touch him?” Ruger asked.
“Noah said he tried to tickle him and make him sit on his lap, but he ran away. They were completely cross-faded. I don’t think they even noticed when he took off. He was hiding outside on the fire escape.”
“Fuck …” Ruger said. He didn’t sound happy. “How high up was he?”
“Four stories,” I replied, closing my eyes in shame. “It’s a miracle he didn’t fall.”
“Okay, I’m driving. I’ll talk to you later. Don’t fucking leave him alone again, or you’ll answer to me. You got that?”
“Yeah,” I whispered. I hung up the phone and set it down on the table. The room felt stifling and I couldn’t get enough air, so I crept softly across the floor to the window. The splintery wooden sash slid up with a groan and I leaned out, looking down at the street, sucking in the cool breeze. The bars had just emptied and people laughed outside, walking along like everything was fine and dandy.
What if I hadn’t checked the voice mail? Would any of these happy drunks have looked up and seen a little boy clinging to the fire escape? What if he’d fallen asleep out there?
Noah could be dead on that pavement right now.
I finished my beer and grabbed a second one, then sat on my ratty couch and pounded it. The last time I checked the clock, it said three a.m.
A noise in the predawn darkness woke me.
Noah?
A hand covered my mouth as a large body came down over mine, pinning me to the couch. Adrenaline poured through me too late—no matter how I struggled, bucking my entire body against his, my attacker held me trapped. All I could think about was Noah, sleeping right across the room. I needed to fight and survive for my son, but I couldn’t move and I couldn’t see a damned thing in the darkness.
“You scared?” a rough, dark voice whispered in my ear. “Wondering if you’ll live through the night? What about your kid? I could rape and kill you and then sell him to some sick pedophile fuck. You couldn’t do a goddamned thing to stop me, now could you? How you gonna protect him livin’ in a place like this, Sophie?”
Fuck. I knew that voice.
Ruger.
He wouldn’t hurt me. Asshole.
“I didn’t even have to break through the fuckin’ pathetic lock you have on this shithole,” he continued, shifting his hips over mine, emphasizing how little control I held. “Your window’s open and so is the window in the hallway. I just stepped out on the fire escape and walked right over, which means anyone else could, too. Including that sick fuck who messed with our boy earlier. That bastard still in the building? I want him, Sophie. Nod your head if you’ll stay quiet, and I’ll let you talk. Don’t scare Noah.”
I nodded my head as best I could, trying to calm the racing of my heart, torn between the remains of fear and my building anger.
How dare he judge me?
“You scream, you’ll pay.”
I jerked my head. He pulled his hand away and I took several deep breaths, blinking rapidly, trying to decide if lunging at him with my teeth would be worth it. Probably not … Ruger was heavy and he covered my entire body, his legs clamping down across mine, my arms trapped deep in the couch. I couldn’t remember h
im ever voluntarily touching me before—not for four years, at least. That was a good thing, because something about Ruger turned off my brain in a bad way, leaving my body in charge.
I got knocked up the last time I left my body in charge.
I’d never regret my son, but that didn’t mean I should let my libido do the thinking for me again. After I finally got shot of Zach, I’d only gone out with very safe, very boring men. I’d had three lovers total in my life, and numbers two through three were nice and tame. I didn’t need a complication like my son’s biker uncle … But I’d caught his familiar scent now—gun oil and a hint of male sweat—which led to an annoyingly predictable response down below.
Even angry, I wanted Ruger.
In fact, I usually wanted him more when I was angry. This was unfortunate, because he had a gift for pissing me off. Life would be so much simpler if I could just hate him. The man was truly an asshole.
He just happened to be an asshole who loved the hell out of my kid.
So now he lay on top of me and I wanted to head-butt him or something, but I also felt embarrassing heat pool between my legs. He was big and hard and right there and I didn’t know how to handle that. Ruger always kept his distance from me. I expected him to let me up now that he’d made his point in the least constructive way possible, but that didn’t happen. Instead he shifted again, leaning up on his elbows on either side of me, holding me trapped.
His legs moved, one coming to rest between mine. Way too intimate. I tried to close my knees, but he narrowed his eyes and slid his hips into the cradle of my pelvis.
Wrong. So wrong … And unfair, too, because clenching him between my legs didn’t exactly make my brain work better. I squirmed, needing him to be far away from me. Immediately. Yet I couldn’t help wondering whether I could reach down between us and open his fly.
The man was like heroin—seductive, addictive, and a damned good way to wake up dead.
“Hold still,” he whispered, voice strained. “The fact that my dick’s in its happy place is probably saving your life. Trust me when I say I’m seriously considerin’ strangling you, Sophie. Thinking about fuckin’ you helps balance that out.”
I froze.
I couldn’t believe he’d just said that. We had an agreement. We’d never discussed it, but we both followed it scrupulously. Sure enough, though, he pressed his hips into mine again and I felt his hard length growing against my stomach. My inner muscles clenched, sending a wave of need wrenching through me. This was cheating. The infatuation went one way—I lusted after him, he ignored me, and we pretended nothing had ever happened between us.
I licked my lips and his eyes followed the small movement, unfathomable in the dim light starting to filter through the windows.
“You don’t mean that,” I whispered. He narrowed his eyes, studying me like a lion scoping out the slowest gazelle. Wait, did lions eat gazelles? Was this really happening?
Think.
“This isn’t you, Ruger,” I told him. “Think about what you just said. Let me up and we’ll talk.”
“I fucking mean every word,” he replied, harsh and angry. “I hear my kid is in trouble and his mom’s nowhere to be found. I spend hours driving across the state, scared shitless that someone’s molesting or murdering our boy, and when I finally get here I find you in a total shithole with a broken lock on the downstairs door and easy access to your apartment through an open window. I crawl in and find you passed out on the couch half naked and smellin’ like beer.”
He dropped his head down, scenting me and twisting his hips into mine. Shit, that felt good. I actually ached between my legs, it felt so good.
“I could’ve taken him away from you, easy as fuck,” he continued, raising his head, eyes burning through me. “And if I could, so could anyone else, which is not fuckin’ okay. So you’ll just have to sit tight and wait for me to cool down a little because right now I’m not feeling particularly reasonable. Until then, I’d suggest you not tell me what I mean, you got that?”
I nodded my head, eyes wide. I believed every word he said. Ruger held my gaze as he shifted his legs again and then both were between mine and I felt every inch of his dick right up against my crotch. He surrounded me completely, overwhelming me with his strength, and I had a sudden, crazy flashback to that night I’d lost my virginity to Zach in Ruger’s apartment.
Me sprawled on a couch, legs spread, watching my life fall to shit.
Full circle.
Adrenaline still raced through me, and he wasn’t the only one who needed to cool down a bit. He’d scared me, damn it, and now the bastard was turning me on, a sensation that mixed disturbingly well with the anger and fear already overwhelming my system. I really couldn’t move, either. Ruger dropped his head down next to mine and groaned, grinding his hips into me. A swirl of tingling, tightening, traitorous desire twisted up along my spine from my pelvis. I moaned as he pressed hard against my clit. This felt good. Too good.
My inner slut suggested a surefire way to burn off tension …
As if reading my mind, Ruger’s breath caught. Then he pushed into me harder, rubbing his length back and forth against the thin layer of cotton covering my center. Neither of us said anything but I tilted my hips up to feel him better and he stiffened.
This is a bad idea, I thought, arching into him, closing my eyes. I’d wanted him for years. Every time I saw him, I secretly wondered what he’d feel like inside me.
Of course, if we did this, I’d still have to look at his smug, smirking face. He wouldn’t even be embarrassed, the stupid jerk. We had to stop immediately. But he felt fucking incredible. His scent surrounded me, the hard strength of his body pinning and spreading me like a captured butterfly. His nose brushed the curve of my ear and then he dropped lower, giving my neck a slow, sucking kiss, lips dragging across my skin until I had to bite my own to stay quiet. I twisted underneath him and acknowledged the truth. I wanted him deep inside. Now.
I didn’t care that captured butterflies die when they’re pinned.
“Mama?”
Shit.
I tried to speak but nothing came out. I cleared my throat and tried again, the heat of Ruger’s breath playing across my cheek. My entire body throbbed, and he shifted, slowly dragging his hips across mine again, deliberately taunting me.
Bastard.
“Hey, baby,” I called to Noah, my voice unsteady. “Um, give me a sec, okay? We have company.”
“Is it Uncle Ruger?”
Ruger thrust against me one last time before jackknifing up. I sat up unsteadily, rubbing my hands up and down my arms. Noah’s voice should’ve been cold water on my libido, but no such luck. I still felt Ruger’s delicious hardness between my legs.
“I’m here, little man,” Ruger said, standing and running his hands across his head. I studied him in the dim morning light, wishing with all my heart he looked more like my former boss, Dick. No such luck. Ruger was over six feet tall, roped with muscle and annoyingly handsome in an I’m-probably-a-murderer-but-I’ve-got-dimples-and-a-tight-ass-so-you’ll-still-lust-after-me kind of way. Sometimes he wore a mohawk, but the last few months he’d taken to wearing the same buzz cut he’d had when we first met, the slightly longer hair on top dark and thick.
Combined with his size, his piercings, his black leather club vest, and the tattooed sleeves on both arms, he belonged on a “Wanted” poster. Noah should’ve been terrified of him. But he didn’t seem to notice how scary his uncle was. He never had.
“I promised I’d come get you, didn’t I?” Ruger said softly. Noah crawled out of bed and stumbled over to Ruger, reaching his arms up for a hug. Ruger caught my boy and swung him high, meeting his gaze eye-to-eye, man-to-man. Ruger always did that—he took Noah seriously.
“You okay, bud?”
Noah nodded, wrapping his arms around his uncle’s neck and clutching him close. He worshipped Ruger, and the feeling was mutual. The sight was heartbreaking.
I always thought Z
ach would be Noah’s hero. Obviously, my instincts were shit.
“I’m proud of you, little man,” Ruger told him. I stood, planning to join them, but Ruger turned away. So he wanted some privacy. I wasn’t going to argue if it made Noah feel safe, but I still strained to hear the conversation as he carried my boy back to bed.
“You did good callin’ for help,” I heard him say faintly. “You ever get in a situation like that again, you call me. Call your mama. You can call the cops, too. You remember how to do that?”
“Nine one one,” Noah muttered, his voice sleepy and thick. A giant yawn caught him off guard and he slumped against Ruger’s shoulder. “But I’m only supposed to do that in an emergency and I wasn’t sure if I’d get in trouble.”
“A bad man touches you, that’s an emergency,” Ruger murmured. “But you did your best, you did what I said. You hid and that was real good, little man. I want you to lie down and go back to sleep, okay? In the morning I’m taking you to my house and you’ll never have to see those people or this place again. But you can’t come with me if you’re too tired.”
I caught my breath. What the hell?
I watched as he tucked Noah in, my mood far from mellow. Seconds later my kiddo was out again, clearly still exhausted. I pulled on a robe and waited for Ruger to come back, crossing my arms and bracing for battle.
He cocked a brow at me, deliberately checking me out. Was he trying to use sex to bully me? That might explain his little seduction-on-the-couch game …
“You forget the part about not pissin’ me off?”
“Why did you tell Noah he’s going to your house? You can’t make promises like that.”
“I’m taking him home to Coeur d’Alene with me,” Ruger replied, his voice matter-of-fact. He tilted his head to the side, waiting for the fight he had to know was coming. His neck was thick with muscles and his biceps flexed as he crossed his arms, matching my stance. It really wasn’t fair. A man this frustrating should be short and fat, with hairy ears or something. But it didn’t matter how sexy he was this time, I wouldn’t cave—he wasn’t Noah’s dad and he could step the fuck off. “I’m betting you’ll want to come with us, and that’s great. But he’s not stayin’ in this shithole another night.”
