by Harley Stone
Her expression fell. “I did. I’m so sorry, but I did.”
“Don’t even worry about it. You’re an attractive, intelligent, single woman. You are single, right?”
To my satisfaction and relief, she nodded in confirmation.
“As fucked up as the world is, you should be gun shy around any man. But most people in life will surprise you if you give them the chance. Sometimes it’s even for the better.”
She gave me a rueful smile. “Touché”
“Come on. I’ll take you to the station.” I drifted toward my bike, hoping she’d follow.
Her gaze shot past me to my Road King, and her eyes widened. “On that?” She made it sound like a poisonous snake rather than the sleek (although temperamental and unreliable) piece-of-shit it was.
“Yeah, babe. That’s generally how I get from point A to point B. It’s this or the work truck, and I’m not exactly on business right now.”
She gave me the stink eye like I was screwing with her. “I’ve never been on a motorcycle before. They’re dangerous.”
Her cautious nature was fucking adorable. “Nothing in this life is safe, but riding’s just like anything else. You hold on tight, learn to lean with the curves, and you’ll be all right.”
“Deep.” She grinned, still eyeing my bike. “How much is that Spade wisdom going to cost me?”
If she thought my words drilled deep, I couldn’t wait to introduce her to my cock. Returning her smile, I mentally added ‘sassy’ to the growing list of qualities I liked about her.
“It’s your lucky day; wisdom’s on the house.”
“That’s good, but I can’t afford to take time off if that thing explodes between my legs.”
I’d be the only thing exploding between her legs. Fuck. I couldn’t keep my mind out of the gutter. I wanted her on the back of my bike so I could feel her body pressed against me, but I refused to be a dick about it. I knew I’d keep her safe, but her comfort with the situation had to take priority. “You’ve been through enough today and if you’re not up for riding on the back of my bike, I can order you an Uber.”
She considered me a moment longer before shaking her head. “I really am too safe, aren’t I?”
She was clearly working through some shit, so I arched an eyebrow and waited for her to do her thing.
“Dang it, that little weasel was right.” She dropped her shoulders and let out a deep breath. “I’m game. I’d love to accept a ride and a place to stay from a biker I just met. My parents will be so proud that I’m out here making such hasty, reckless decisions.”
I chuckled. “I got you, babe. I won’t let anything happen to you.”
She stared into my eyes for a moment before dropping her gaze. “Thank you. Can we stop by my apartment on the way so I can grab a few things and maybe take my car in case I come to my senses and need to make a quick escape?”
Her kick-ass sense of humor had me chuckling to myself as I tugged the spare helmet out of my saddle bag and gestured her forward. “Come here. We need to protect that magnificent brain of yours.”
“Are you sure you’re supposed to use words like ‘magnificent’? You’re not violating some biker handbook, are you?”
“Normally I just grunt and shit, but I’m being fancy for you. Carly often calls you a life-saving angel, but she didn’t say shit about your quick wit and sharp tongue. I think you’ll be just fine staying with a bunch of bikers. Be sure to flick them as much shit as you’re giving me, and they’ll respect the hell out of you.”
She laughed. “Noted. I appreciate the advice.” Chewing on her lip, she stepped forward. Once she was close enough, I positioned the helmet on her head and tightened the strap. Her big brown eyes watched me as I took my time pretending to adjust the fit so I could buy myself more time to touch her. I wasn’t normally so intrigued, but everything about her drew me in and made me want to stay close. Dragging myself away before I crossed the line into creepy, I swung my leg over the saddle and waited. She awkwardly climbed on behind me and settled in, leaving a few inches between us as she rested her hands chastely against my hips. Smiling to myself, I grabbed her wrists and gently tugged her against me, settling her palms on my abs.
She sucked in a breath, letting me know she was just as affected by the contact as I was. Good, because her proximity was fucking with my entire body. Her breasts pressed against my back, making my jeans hella uncomfortable. Her soft skin felt so damn good under my calloused fingers that I couldn’t stop myself from rubbing little circles on the backs of her hands.
“Keep a tight grip so you can move with me, Jess. I won’t let you fall.”
She nodded against my back. “I know you won’t. You saved me.”
Her words were barely a whisper, and I wasn’t sure if she’d meant for me to hear them. Still, her appreciation and trust felt damn good. Yes, I had protected her, and I would do it again. The world needed more people like Jessica in it. People who took in a single mom and helped her care for her child. Carly had praised Jessica’s kindness and generosity, but I was beginning to realize that there was so much more to Jessica than that.
I started up my bike. It roared to life, and then immediately sputtered out. Silently cursing the piece of shit, I tried again. The third time was the charm, and I made a mental note to start looking for a new ride sooner rather than later. My bike could be as temperamental as it wanted around me, but there was no excuse for acting up in front of a lady.
Regardless of my bike’s hesitant start, I liked having Jessica riding behind me. Wanting to extend the experience, I took a few wrong turns on the way to her apartment, hoping she enjoyed the ride so much she wouldn’t call me on my bullshit route. I had nothing to worry about. By the time I lowered my kickstand and helped her off my bike, she was grinning ear to ear.
“That was fantastic,” she gushed, her cheeks rosy and her eyes bright with excitement.
She tugged at the helmet strap and I intervened, opening the clasp for her. The tight bun her hair had been confined in was now a full-on mess with loose brown wisps framing her face. Between the messy hair, the glasses, and the rumpled business attire, she looked like a librarian who’d been roughly fucked against a bookshelf. She looked perfect.
“That’s nothing. You should ride with me on the freeway sometime.”
Her grin only widened. “I’d like that.”
Already thinking about all the places I could take her—and drive her—I followed Jessica up to her apartment, watching her pause in front of the officer guarding her door.
“We can come back later,” she said, turning around.
Her meekness was something we’d have to work on. I put my arm out to stop her. “It’s been more than six hours.” Turning my attention to the cop, I asked, “This is Jessica’s apartment. Can she go in and get clothes and shit to get her through a few days?”
The officer held up a finger and spoke into his radio before answering me. “They’re wrapping things up now.”
We waited, then after Seattle’s finest left, I followed her down the hall and watched as she paused at the door to her bedroom.
“They took the body,” I assured her. “They wouldn’t have left it in there.”
She nodded. Her fingers trembled slightly when she reached for the doorknob. Moving closer, I settled my hand on the small of her back for support. “You don’t have to go in there. If you tell me what you need; I can get it for you.”
Her shoulders rose and fell with her breath. “No. I need to do this. I need to see…” Her words trailed off as she turned the knob and shoved open the door. The rust-colored stain on the carpet drew her attention.
“He was crazy,” she whispered, as if afraid to break the silence of the room. “I thought he was going to kill me.” She didn’t sound scared, or even concerned. More like resolved. She stepped into the room and drew closer to the stain. A strangled noise escaped from her throat and she immediately clapped a hand over her mouth. Eyes wide, she looked
at me.
“You okay?” I asked, wondering if she was cracking up. Some people couldn’t handle death. She’d seemed all right, but if she lost her shit, I planned to pick her ass up and get her the hell out of there.
But she wasn’t crying. It took me a moment to realize her shoulders were shaking from laughter. She fought for control of herself, and then dropped the hand that had been covering her mouth.
“I know it shouldn’t be funny. It’s not, but it is,” she said. “Not funny as in silly, but funny as in ironic. Today has been a minefield of irony, and I’ve lit the charge and now I’m dancing through the blasts.”
I quirked an eyebrow at her, waiting for more details.
“I came home for lunch because I got passed over for a promotion at work. I was pissed and needed some time. According to Chad, the weasel who got the promotion, I’m ‘too safe’ and ‘don’t take enough chances.’ But you know what? I bet Chad, with his ‘innovative ideas’ and ‘ground-breaking ads’ has never had a gun jammed in his ribs. ‘Too safe’.” She snorted. “Nobody appreciates thorough research and extensive market analysis anymore. They just want some reckless troublemaker who takes it in the ass to march in and do something new and exciting. Well, guess what? I could have died today. Doesn’t get any newer and more exciting than that, does it?”
Having no idea what to make of her rant, I shrugged. “Sure as hell doesn’t.”
Her gaze snapped to me, as if she was surprised to see me still standing there. “You don’t think I’m boring, do you?”
No, she was intriguing as fuck. Maybe a little crazy, but I could work with that. “Not a word I’d use to describe you, babe. Chad must be one dumbass motherfucker.”
She grinned. “Yes! That’s perfect. Chad is one dumbass motherfucker.” Her voice lowered around the expletives like she was afraid of being overheard. Jessica wasn’t boring. She was a good girl. Big difference.
“You’re exciting, Jess. You’re smart and kind and funny and sexy as fuck.” And I hated that some bastard had made her feel like less than the angel she was.
She stared at me like she couldn’t believe the words coming out of my mouth. Like nobody had ever complimented her before.
Frustrated, I glanced around her room, looking for more clues about her. Novels were stacked on the nightstand beside her bed. Knowing I could learn a lot about a woman by the books she read, I wandered over and thumbed through the stack, surprised to find half-naked men splayed across most of the covers.
“What are you doing?” she asked, sounding scandalized.
Finally, I came to a title I recognized. “Fifty Shades of Grey?” I asked, holding up the book. “You read this?”
Her face turned bright red. “It was… educational.”
I bet. I hadn’t read the book, but hearing the club whores talk about it made me curious enough to catch the movie. Not solo in the theater like some lonely pervert, but in my room, alone, after it was available to rent. Women raved about it. I liked pleasing women, so I had to see what the fuss was about. Turns out chicks are into being tied up and told what to do.
What a coincidence; I could be a bossy motherfucker and the idea of restraining Jessica in my bedroom made my dick so hard it chafed against my zipper.
“Any time you want a real-life education, babe, all you have to do is ask.”
She blinked. More color flooded her cheeks and her eyes dilated enough to tell me she was considering the idea.
In the game of Spades and in life, I made it a point to play the cards I’d been dealt, and I recognized a good hand when I saw one. If this kind, sexy, nerdy girl turned out to be a closet freak, she’d be wearing my property patch by Christmas.
Jessica
I COULDN’T BELIEVE Spade was hitting on me. I mean, sure, men hit on me. Occasionally. But they usually wore suits and enjoyed pastimes no more rigorous than chess or golf. Spade was a biker with tattoos and rock-hard pecks that were trying to bust out of his tight T-shirt. The knees of his jeans were dirty, his hands were rough and calloused, he smelled like a cup of coffee in a hardwood store, and the bulge in his pants was so massive I couldn’t stop staring at it.
The last guy who asked me out smelled like vanilla, wore cardigans, worked in accounting, was lactose intolerant, and teared up during romantic comedies.
In contrast, there was nothing metrosexual about Spade. Even the way he studied my mommy-porn novels was masculine. “You ever try any of this shit?” he asked, thumbing through one of the kinkier books.
My hands itched to yank it out of his hands before he read anything too risqué. Knowing I shouldn’t be ashamed about the books I enjoyed did nothing to stop heat from flooding my cheeks. Why couldn’t I have had War and Peace or Little Women on my nightstand?
Because you haven’t read any classics since college.
Right. There was that little detail to contend with. Lately, my chosen reading material had been drifting more and more toward BDSM. I was strangely drawn to the lifestyle and curious about all its secrets. But I wasn’t ready to tell any of that to Spade. Determined not to let him rile me about my reading habits, I held my head high and ignored his question.
“I’m gonna take your silence as a no.” His eyes widening as he scanned a page. “Any of it you want to try? Because this spreader bar bit sounds kind of fun.”
Spade had saved my life, but he was virtually a stranger. We were having an inappropriate conversation in my bedroom, where a man had been shot only hours ago. I should be repulsed, but that’s not the reaction my body was experiencing. My nipples pebbled as I crossed my arms in front of myself and stepped into my closet to find a suitcase.
“You’re not a virgin, are you?”
Shocked he’d even ask that, I stared at him.
“Come on, babe. I need to know what I’m working with here.”
“What you’re working with?”
“Yeah. When I charm your pants off, I need to know how gentle to be.”
I wanted to feel outraged or scandalized, but everything about this conversation was turning me on. Spade was so unapologetic in his intentions, that I couldn’t help but want to get on board. The sexiest man I’d ever laid eyes on seemed like a good guy and he was interested in me. I wasn’t a nun for Christ’s sake.
“No.” I wheeled the suitcase over to the dresser and started filling it. “I’m not a virgin. I’ve had sex before.” My cheeks warmed at the admission. I’d never talked to anyone about this stuff, especially not a smoking hot guy.
“And you sound so impressed,” he replied with a chuckle. “Must have been vanilla as shit. Did you even come?”
He had no right to ask that sort of question, yet his brazen tone and foul mouth set my body on fire. Struggling to take some sort of control over the conversation, I snapped, “I don’t need a man to make me come.”
My admission sent both of his eyebrows up toward his hairline. “You’ve never been properly fucked before.”
It was a statement, not a question. I was so damn transparent he already knew the answer. I wanted to argue but couldn’t. He was right. I’d read enough romance novels to know there should be shattering or quaking or something happening when I hit the big “O.” Granted, I only read fiction, but vibrators got me closer to the kind of orgasms I read about than penises or fingers ever did. And tongues? I had yet to date a man who could even find my clitoris, not to mention lick it. It must be tiny or hidden or something. Maybe mine was recessed like an innie belly button.
Watching me, Spade chuckled.
Hoping he couldn’t read the thoughts that were probably written all over my face, I glared at him. “What?”
“I was just thinkin’ that if you ever want to remedy that situation, I’d be willing to make the sacrifice.”
To… fuck me? Properly? I stared at him, half appalled, half intrigued. “How very noble of you.”
“Make no mistake about it, nothing I want to do to you would be considered noble.”
The
heat in his eyes sped up my heart rate and made my core pulse with need. It was too much, too intense. I turned my attention to my dresser and started shoving clothes into my suitcase, trying to hide my flaming cheeks and diamond-tipped nipples. “Are you always this forward with women? Your approach feels more like getting hit over the head with a shovel than a spade.”
He laughed. “My road name didn’t come from a garden tool, babe. It came from me running a Boston on some racist motherfucker while I was in the Army.”
“A Boston?”
“Yeah. You’ve never played Spades before?”
“The card game?” I wasn’t expecting that. “No.”
“You’re downplaying the relativity of it. Spades is more than a card game. It’s a lifelong pursuit. A metaphor for life. It’s not a game, it’s the game. There are levels to this shit. It’s like coming of age. The house makes the rules, and you have to be intuitive and flexible enough to roll with the cards and change up your style.”
He sounded like the Yoda of Spades. Relieved he was laying off the innuendo long enough to talk about a different type of passion, I nodded. “And you’re good at this game, I take it?” I needed to keep him distracted from the bras and panties I was stealthily loading into my suitcase, because my body was only one more sexually charged comment away from bursting into flames. Cards were safe. We needed to continue discussing them.
“Good?” He snorted. “Babe, I’m the best.” It didn’t even sound like he was bragging, just confident.
Finished with my underwear drawer, I moved on to the closet. I had no idea how long I was going to be staying with the Dead Presidents, but I packed enough clothes for a week and grabbed my jewelry and family photos so they wouldn’t disappear while I was gone.
