by Naomi West
He slid his hand across the small space between them until it met the warmth of her thigh. If he had to stand up anytime soon, he would be in trouble. Lola’s skin was as smooth as her voice, and the muscle underneath it well-toned. Bishop felt his breath coming on faster as he tuned out the sound of the fans. Sure, everyone was watching. But he didn’t care. He had to have her. He was going to have her.
Chapter Four
Lola
If any other stranger had just come up to her and touched her—especially if he had touched her like that—Lola would have slapped him. Nobody had any right to put their hand on her thigh. This man’s touch was delicate, probing, curious, but not hostile. He wanted to touch her, find out more about her, but he wasn’t rough with her. Lola had once been grabbed on the arm by a fan. Butch had taken care of him quickly, but she had worn the finger-shaped bruises on her arm for a week after that.
“And just where do you think you’re going to get without your manners?” she asked, feeling confident and flirty. She knew better. Someone was likely filming the whole thing, and every entertainment blog on the web would be buzzing, wondering who the sexy hunk she had been talking to was. But she had a right to talk to a stranger if she wanted to, damn it. “After all, you haven’t even offered to refill my drink.” Lola didn’t need another margarita to feel high. This man was sending bolts of adrenaline through her system, which were effective enough.
“The bartender seems to be a little busy, but maybe I can get you something else. Something a little more my taste. A shot of whiskey? A beer?”
She smiled. This guy acted like he owned the place. As she took in his dark hair, she noticed the streaks of auburn that ran through it. There had never been any guys this hot back when she had lived in Rolling Hills, so where had he come from? For that matter, since when were there bikers here? Maybe her link to the local rumor mill wasn’t as good as she had thought. “Why not? I’ll have a—”
Lola didn’t get a chance to finish her sentence. A crack like thunder sounded throughout the bar, and sand rained down on her. It was only as she saw the red dust falling onto the table that she realized it was from the brick wall behind them.
“Get down!” Her drinking companion hadn’t been dazed by the noise and instead jumped into action. His thick hand went to the back of her neck, forcing her underneath the table.
Surprised and terrified, Lola obeyed him. “What the hell is going on?” Crack! Crack! Crack! The fans screamed, and the sound of their stampeding feet was almost as loud.
“Someone is shooting at us. We’ve got to get out of here.” Despite the chaos, the biker seemed calm. He put his body over hers to protect her from the shrapnel as it fell. The muscles of his arms were strong and heavy as they wrapped around her, his wide chest a shield against whatever was happening. This guy was a complete stranger, but she was relying on him to keep her safe. She had no choice.
There was a pause in the fire, and the burly biker looked out from around the table. “I think he’s reloading. My men will take care of him. Let’s get you out of here.”
Without giving her a chance to argue or state her opinion on the issue, he bundled her under his thick arm and across the bar. They ducked through the swinging door that led into the back room. With a concrete floor and numerous shelves weighted down with boxes and bottles, it was an odd change of scenery from the front area of The Dive. The thick door dulled the commotion, and Lola didn’t even protest as the big man shoved her into a corner. He drew a pistol from his belt and checked the magazine.
“What are you doing with that?” she asked in a shaky voice.
He glanced at her and then back at the gun, but she hadn’t missed the glimmer of something in his eyes, something animalistic. “I’m going out there to see what’s going on. You stay right here, and don’t make a sound. Not a single noise. I’ll be right back.” Grabbing a canvas sheet from a nearby pallet of beer, he tossed it over her and left.
The thick material smelled of old alcohol and cigarettes, but Lola knew she couldn’t complain. She could only hope that the man who seemed to be helping her truly was. After all, how was she to know that this whole thing wasn’t arranged? Her bodyguards were gone, and it was damn lucky that the shooter had missed both of them while they sat at the table. And why would he just happen to have a gun on him?
Biting her lip and trying to slow her heartbeat from the romping thud that pounded in her ears, Lola reminded herself that this was a small town. Big scary things just didn’t happen here. If someone got a little crazy, the sheriff left his breakfast of eggs and toast down at Cindy’s Diner and came down the street within a few minutes. It would be okay. It had to be.
The sound of the swinging door thumping shut brought her back to the current moment. She held her breath, unable to see and not knowing who had come into the stockroom. It could be her friendly neighborhood biker, or it could be the nut job with the gun. It could be both, in which case she was completely screwed.
But the smooth voice she had come to know so well in just the last few minutes spoke to her. “It’s okay. You can come out.” He lifted the canvas sheet, allowing fresh air back into her lungs.
“What the hell is going on?” she asked again. Lola had to admit she was happy to see the guy, even though she hadn’t quite decided if she should trust him or not. She let him help her to her feet, his hand rough and warm on hers.
He had tucked his weapon back in its holster. “Some guy is after you. I don’t know a whole lot more than that. My men chased him off, but they couldn’t catch him.”
“And you? You never told me why you have a gun on you. Is that something you just walk around with all the time?” Lola had been living in California for a long time, and the only people who carried pistols on their hips were the cops.
The man grinned. It was a condescending, sarcastic, annoying look, and it was hotter than hell. “Well, yeah. I did say I was the president of the Cobra Kings. You’ve got to watch your back when you’re in a motorcycle club, and apparently when you’re a popstar, too. Now, can you explain to me why we just dodged a rain of bullets out there?”
“Do I seem like I know what’s going on?” Lola had been absolutely petrified when the fire started. In fact, if it hadn’t been for this guy, she probably would have just sat there, frozen, until a bullet went into her skull. “I don’t have a fucking clue who would want to shoot me or why. I don’t even know your name!” It was a sudden and irritating realization. Obviously, he knew who she was, but he hadn’t bothered to introduce himself other than to brag about his position in some biker gang. Lola never planned to see him again, but she was still determined to know his name.
“Bishop. Bishop Blaine.” He stuck out his hand and smiled, a little more genuinely this time. “Sorry for being so rude.”
“What is that, some sort of stage name? Do you get to pick some ridiculous moniker when you get elected or something?” She should have been grateful, but she was only pissed. Her body had yet to calm down, her blood vibrating within her veins at the thought of coming so close to death.
He pursed his lips and raised his eyebrows. Despite the leather and tattoos, it made him look surprisingly intelligent. She had the distinct sense that he might open a dictionary and lecture her from it, which took her completely off guard. Men in general, but especially bikers like him, were supposed to be nothing more than hulking brutes.
“For your information,” he said quietly, taking a step closer to her so that their bodies were only inches apart, “it’s the name I was given when I was born. And I could ask you the same question, Lola Lennox. I don’t know anything about you, and I don’t listen to your music, but that’s a stage name if I ever heard one. Tell me, what kind of stage did you earn it on? The one where you sing, or the one where you dance naked around a pole?”
Lola could feel the flush of anger under her skin, bursting with heat. She wasn’t sure if she was angrier that he didn’t know her music or that he was trying to im
ply she had started her career as a stripper, but either one was unacceptable. “How dare you? You can’t talk to me that way!”
Bishop shrugged. “The way I look at it, I just saved your life. Doesn’t that mean it belongs to me?”
She reached up to smack him across his smug face, but he blocked her efforts easily. “I don’t belong to anybody,” she snarled, “and especially not to some filthy backwoods biker like you.”
“This filthy backwoods biker just saved your pretty little ass.” He grabbed her by the wrist and pulled her toward the back of the building. “And it wasn’t just me, but my men as well.”
“I never asked you to!”
He whipped around just as he laid his free hand on the back door, anger in his eyes. “We didn’t need to be asked. You might think we’re nothing but petty criminals, but we do a lot more for this town than most people do. We’re respected around here, at least by people who still have their heads on their shoulders and not up in the stars like you. What makes you think you’re so special anyway, that you don’t have to be nice to anybody?” Bishop opened the backdoor with a punch, allowing the bright sunshine of the late afternoon to come streaming in.
It was a stark contrast to the dark, smoky interior of the bar, but a welcome one. Lola felt as though she was waking up from a bad dream. Now she just had to shake off the last part of the nightmare and move on with her life. “For your information, I am nice to people when I have reason to be. Maybe not so much when they shove me around and insist that I owe them for doing me a favor I didn’t ask for.”
Bishop still held her wrist, but it wasn’t a tight grip. He held her with his eyes instead. The auburn elements of his hair showed up even more in the sunshine, and she tried not to make it obvious that she was studying them.
“Fine. Next time, I’ll just let you die. See if I care.”
“Wait a second.” Lola snapped her wrist out of his hand. She whacked her arm on the side of the building but pretended not to feel the pain. “You were certainly in the perfect place at the perfect time. I was a little suspicious of you, and I felt bad about that, but now I’m really starting to wonder. Just where the hell are my bodyguards? Why were you the one to save me and not them?” Not that she wouldn’t have caught plenty of flak from Chris if he had jumped in and done something heroic, and God forbid he accidentally get shot. She would never hear the end of it from him.
Bishop looked as though he was about to argue with her again and insist that he was in the right, but he gave up and shook his head. “Well, we can’t all be perfectly innocent, can we? My men distracted them and took them out so I could get to you.”
Her hand shot forward to slap him, and this time he let her. The blow seemed to affect him about as much as a cool breeze. “What is wrong with you? You want to act like you’re the hero of the day, but you’re the one who put me in danger in the first place! If Butch and Chris had been next to me, where they belonged, then none of this ever would have happened.” This man was just plain infuriating. She’d met plenty of people in her career, and a decent percentage of them had significant flaws, but none of them were quite the cocky bastard that Bishop was.
“You forget that Rolling Hills and everything in it is my turf. If someone wants to go crazy and open fire, then it’s my problem. You’re still alive, so you’ve got nothing to bitch about. Come on.” He grabbed her wrist once again and pulled her down the alleyway behind the bar.
Lola dug her feet into the loose gravel. She would ruin her designer shoes, but she could always buy new ones. “And just where do you think you’re taking me?”
Bishop growled this time when he turned around, clearly tired of all the discussion. “Away from here. The Kings might have taken down that shooter, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t have friends somewhere nearby. I’m taking you to my clubhouse, where you’ll be safe.”
“I still don’t understand why you give two shits what happens to me. You said yourself that you don’t listen to my music. Just let me go and I’ll find my own way back to the hotel.”
“Look, I’m not just your typical obsessed fan. I’m trying to help you, and you’re being very difficult about it. So what if I don’t like your music? I like your body, and that was enough for me. Too bad I didn’t have a way of knowing what a mouth it came with. Now let’s go!” He tugged on her once again.
She didn’t budge, and she knew by now that no matter how big he talked, he wasn’t going to hurt her. Bishop was strong enough that he could have smuggled her out the back door and away without any effort, but he hadn’t done it yet. “I’m not going anywhere with you.”
“Listen, Lola—” But his words were cut off by familiar shouts.
Lola grinned. Butch’s voice was unmistakable. He had been with her since the very beginning, and she had always relied on him. He was coming through for her once again, and he was looking for her. “Sounds like my muscle is functional once again. I’ll just be going now.” She turned away.
But Bishop didn’t let her. He spun her around and pinned her against the wall, pressing his lips against hers. Lola struggled, unwilling to spend one more second with this brute, but she couldn’t deny the intense heat that he had ignited in her. His hands moved down her body, no longer holding her still but taking her in. She held her breath as his fingers worked their way down her ribs to wrap around her hips, and she found herself kissing him back. Lola had done her best to hate him, and she still did, but her body certainly didn’t.
Footsteps sounded from around the corner of the building. Lola barely heard them, so involved in this impromptu kiss, but Bishop broke it off. He gave her that obnoxious grin again before disappearing back into the bar.
“Lola!” Butch was at her side in a moment. “Are you all right?”
Her head was spinning, and she thought her knees might give way and leave her lying on the ground at any moment. Lola leaned heavily against the building, blinking her eyes and trying to sort out what happened and how she felt about it. “I’m fine. At least, I will be. What about you?”
Both Butch and Chris showed signs of having taken a good beating. The bruises and blood were enough to let her know that Bishop’s men had done their job well, even though neither she nor the bodyguards appreciated it.
“Don’t worry about us,” Butch assured her. “Do we need to get you to a hospital? Were you hit?”
“Get me to a hospital,” Chris groaned, rubbing his upper arm. “I’m pretty sure those bastards broke some bones.”
“Quit your bitching and bring the car around,” Butch ordered. “I’m not going to make her walk from here, and I’d rather not be out in the open in case that looney toon or any possible cohorts happen to come around. We’ve got to get our asses out of here.”
Lola barely registered what was happening as Butch loaded her into the backseat of the sedan. She was too focused on what had already transpired to focus on the current moment. Flashes of the scene in the bar, with Bishop next to her in the booth or with the bullets flying, crashed through her memory and blended with those of him kissing her. He had been a real prick, but there was one thing she knew: she wanted more. Lola smiled and turned to look out the window.
Chapter Five
Lola
Her body felt completely drained by the time they made it back to the hotel. It was all she could do to drag herself to the elevator with Butch and Chris on either side of her. Butch barked an order at the clerk behind the desk to make sure nobody got anywhere near her room.
The skinny clerk nodded, beads of sweat instantly popping out on his forehead. “Yes, sir. Of course, sir.” He scrambled off, probably to find the security guard.
The ding of the elevator was far too loud. It had been too much to have plenty of alcohol in her system followed by an overdose of adrenaline and hormones. She wanted nothing more than to fall into the oversized bed, maybe not even bothering with getting undressed or pulling the covers back, and go straight to sleep.
But her cell
phone buzzed as soon as they entered the room. Lola pulled it out of her pocket and glanced at the screen. “Shit. It’s Victor.”
“Better answer that,” Butch advised. “We’ll be right outside if you need us.” He and Chris left her alone while she answered.
“Hey.”
“Hey? Don’t you hey me! You’re my biggest client, and I’ve done everything to get you on the fast train to stardom, and I have to hear about an attack on you through Butch? Why the hell didn’t you call me, Lola?”
She frowned, wondering when the bodyguard had had a chance to do such a thing. He’d probably sent Victor a text at some point, and it wasn’t as though Lola had been paying any attention. She resented Butch for it, but then again, her manager had the right to know. “I haven’t exactly had the chance, Vic. Things get a little crazy when you’ve been shot at.”
“All right, all right. I get it.” He was calming down, but that only meant he had a scheme in the works. “You’re okay, right?”
