Love: In the Fast Lane

by Rie Warren

  “You got it, L.” I spat in my palm. She did likewise and we shook on it.

  “Y’all about done hauling out your dicks yet? ’Cause I’ve got something else to say,” Josh grumbled.

  Leelee slid her hand across his chest. “First of all, I don’t have a dick, sug, which you well know by now. I have brass balls. And second,” she whispered something in his ear and his hand around a bottle of beer tightened until white knuckles appeared.

  His voice came out low and gruff, “Yeah. I want that later, babe.”

  Leelee’s sat back, a pleased smile on her face. Her haze of pale red hair brushed Josh’s shoulder as he stood up.

  With his hands on the table, he shook his head and smiled. “I asked Leelee to marry me, and she said yes. Would you believe it?”

  The table erupted with victory shouts. I kept my eyes on Josh and Leelee. She curled her fingers around his, silently mouthing, “I love you so much.”

  Tears shined in her eyes, in his—fuck—in mine too. I couldn’t even bear to look at Gigi, but I knew she’d hauled out the hankie again.

  Josh lifted Leelee’s fingertips to his lips. “She’s wearing my ring and that makes me the proudest man in the whole damn world. I don’t deserve a woman like her, but I’m gonna do my best to make her happy. And I’ll kick any motherfucker’s ass who hurts her again.”

  Leave it to him to go barbarian/romantic. The table shook when everyone rapped on it.

  “Date, date, date,” we chanted.

  He brought Leelee to her feet and into his arms, to a kiss that would’ve simmered off the pages. “We decided to get married on Thanksgiving. It seemed—shit.” He backhanded his eyes. “It seemed a good time to get hitched ’cause I’m so fucking thankful for her.”

  I stood up and clasped his shoulder. “Cheers, man.”

  “With beer!” Some wiseass cracked.

  But those bastards couldn’t fool me. Their wide grins and claps showed how awesome they thought this was. The boss finding his woman, falling in love, making her his wife.

  JJ piped up, “Weewee’s gonna be a pwincess!”

  He was passed down the table for squeals and hugs and gentler than usual high-fives.

  We raised our bottles and everyone shouted, “To love!”

  I gave Josh a hug, and one to Leelee after. “Tamed by love.”

  “I wouldn’t say tamed,” Josh groused. “Watch it, bro, you’re next.”

  Later in the afternoon, Gigi cornered me. “Now we’ve got Joshy settled down, what’re you waitin’ for?”

  My gaze skidded to Wildcat. Hell no to that. Fuck, my cheek still stung from her smack last month. I did not need a ballbuster for my woman.

  JJ interrupted the ill-fated matchmaking, breathless and doped up on sugar. “Uncle Wicky! Uncle Wicky!”

  He grabbed me by both grubby hands until I hunched down. His sweet breath spilled across my face, and he grinned at me. “Wuv you, Uncle Wicky. And Weewee’s gonna be my momma!”

  Jesus. I knew what JJ did to Josh’s heart . . . he just about flipped mine upside down, too. I’d been part of his life from newborn to now, helping my buddy out when Claire, his ex, left them high and dry.

  “Come see, we built us a fort!” he shrieked in my ear.

  Tugged along after him, I flagged down Leelee. “Just how much sugar has the kid had, L?”

  “Ice pops on tap, Coke on repeat.” She tallied off his cocktail of high octane sweets while the dude-man vibrated beside me.

  “Josh is gonna have a field day with that.”

  “You know as well as I do all it takes is a Disney song and a reminder we aren’t leavin’ him to settle him down, Nicky.” She smoothed JJ’s rumpled hair.

  “Weewee sings the bestest!”

  His fingers slipped from mine, and I turned to Leelee. “Nights in the rocking chair?”

  She watched Josh’s son, soon to be hers, as he joined the ragtag bunch headed into the forest. “A few, but he’s getting better. I’m never going to be Claire to him even if he barely remembers her. I don’t want to be. I just want him to know I love him, and I’ll never let him go like she did.”

  “I’m really happy for you and Josh, you know that, right?”

  “It shows, Nicky.” She reached up to pat my face.

  I shoved my hands into my pockets and looked at the ground. “Does it?”

  “You are Josh’s brother in every way but blood.” She squeezed me close for a hug before letting me go.

  Josh had got it right with her. He was one lucky sumbitch.

  It sounded like the kids were playing a cross between Marco Polo and Zombie Attack in the surrounding woods, but I couldn’t find JJ. Confident the older kids would keep their eyes out for the youngsters, warning them away from the creek and the pluff mud, I ended up at the plankboard bar where the coolers of beer, water, and juice boxes were stored along with an arrangement of booze. Making myself useful beneath the canopy of crepe myrtle, I played bartender to all and sundry.

  I stood up from restocking the beer cooler and came face-to-face with Cat. I slotted my aviators into the neck of my shirt and wiped my hands down the front of my faded-to-fuck jeans. I’d shaved in the morning, but the evening stubble tickled beneath my fingertips when I scratched lightly on my jaw. Cat’s mouth parted, her tongue wetting the pouty bottom lip. I could take care of that for her.

  Bracing my palms on the rough wooden bar top, my biceps bulged and my forearms flexed with muscles. “Pick your poison, Wildcat.” Hell, pick me, darlin’.

  Suddenly, I didn’t give a shit about Ray’s warnings or her hot temper . . . in fact I was more intrigued than ever.

  Especially when her voice rolled over me like raw silk, delivering another stinging barb. “If I had any poison, I’d have slipped it into your drink already.”

  Yeah, that definitely got a rise out of me. My cock took the wake-up challenge and thumped inside my jeans. Hot damn, I was going to have this woman sweet-talking in my ear and eating out of my lap by the time I was through with her. If she was determined, I was goddamn stubborn.

  “Hey, you don’t need to prove you’re tough as nails, I got it.”

  I slid in front of Cat. Close enough to feel the heat of her body, not near enough to touch although at this point I wouldn’t say no to another slap across the face. Wildcat riled me up and made me feel alive like no other woman had.

  She pursed her lips and the only hint I affected her at all was the fluttering pulse in the dip of her collarbone.

  “So, what’ll it be, Cat?” My voice a low, rough rumble, I made sure she knew I was offering more than a refreshment.

  “Sweet tea with lemon please.” Then her smile opened up, planting a perfect dimple beneath the apple of her right cheek. “Guess I could do with something to sweeten me up.”

  I laughed, strolling back to get her a cup of cold tea from the large silver tank of sun-sweetened brew. After serving her a red Solo cup filled with ice, lemon wedges and Gigi’s own recipe, I crossed my arms over my chest. “So, are you telling me your bark is worse than your bite?”

  She took a sip, swallowed, and slowly grinned. “Oh, hon, my bite is so much worse than my bark. You don’t even want to know.”

  Cat walked away on long legs in a white dress, leaving me desperate to know, needing to know. I wanted to feel her bite, all over my body. Her words sent me straight into fuck fantasies I needed to expel onto paper, into my story, if I wasn’t going to get my hands on her.

  The getting-my-hands-on-her possibility looked even less likely when I saw Cat later. She was speaking heatedly to a new dude. Her hands waved around, her black hair came loose, and hot color painted her cheeks. The guy talked over her, getting down in her face. The guy had wavy blond hair to his shoulders, golden scruff on his face, and full tattooed sleeves down his arms and onto the backs of his hands where several heavy silver rings weighed on his fingers.

  It looked like Wildcat had her very own MC wildman.

  A bolt of
jealousy jolted right through me.

  Oh no, I am not goin’ there either.

  Not with her, not just because she was a challenge. A very sexy, tight-lipped, straitlaced challenge who made my bygone days of bedding broads look like a walk in the park.

  I knocked back the last warm dregs of my final beer of the day, prodding Josh with my elbow. “Think that fucker has enough tats? Wonder what he’s trying to prove.”

  “Who? That guy with Cat?”

  “Yeah. That guy with Wildcat,” I gritted the words through clenched teeth.

  Josh took both our empties and sailed them into the recycling bin. “Yo, that’s one of her brothers, Brodie.”

  My pissed-off mood immediately lightened. Which was stupid as hell. “Well, they don’t look like they’re related.”

  She was dark and gorgeous, he was light and . . . whatever. I was not paying attention to the relief spinning inside of me. Not.

  “Word is Catarina has full sleeves on her arms, too. Must be a family thing,” Josh added.

  I hardly heard what he said. I was too busy picturing tats, all up and down Cat’s arms, colorful sleeves over soft skin. I was turned right the hell on, wondering what story her ink would tell. Dammit.

  After rubbernecking Cat and her brother’s showdown, I started to hunt down Viper—who I hoped hadn’t been made into mincemeat by Josh yet—and Mimi, who was probably up in the house trading her latest ebooks with Gigi, splashed out on bourbon.

  I didn’t get far before the blond biker stood directly in my path.

  And here we go.

  “I saw you staring at my kid sister.”

  Who the fuck was this dude kidding? There was no way Wildcat was a kid anything what-so-fucking-ever. “One might even say I was ogling her,” I smart-assed.

  This Brodie Steele was as ripped as me. And maybe he had an extra couple inches over me, but that just meant I could move faster. Josh didn’t call me scrappy for nothing.

  “She ain’t interested,” he growled, popping his knuckles where three fat silver rings sat.

  “Huh. You see, that’s funny.” I scratched the side of my jaw and then loosened my neck. “I got the feelin’ Cat was capable of taking care of herself when she slapped me across the face.”

  His fists uncurled and he smirked. “She did that?”

  “Yeah, the first time I dared to say hello.” A mistake I was willing to make again, but big brother didn’t need to know that.

  “Sounds like her.”

  No shit.

  “Hey, you’re Nicky Love, right?” Brodie extended his hand, pumping mine.

  “Nick Loveland, yeah.”

  “I probably shouldn’t tell you this—Cat would kick my ass to Timbuktu and back—but she’s got all your books.” He chuckled.

  Storing that little secret away for future flirtation.

  “Lay off, Brodie.”

  That throaty voice, the one right there, made the hair on the back of my neck stand up and electricity course to my cock.

  Brodie put up both hands in front of him to ward off Cat. “Just exchanging pleasantries, sis.”

  She came up beside me, her hands on her hips, long sleeves covering her arms and the alleged tattoos I wanted to see. “I know all about you and your pleasantries and you can fuck off, brother.”

  Backing away, Brodie grinned at us. That grin made him look like a devilish little boy, except for the fact he’d been ready to pummel my face in a few minutes ago.

  “Walk me to my car?” Cat asked.

  Invitation, question, command . . . I didn’t care. I took Cat’s hand in mine, lacing my fingers through hers, smiling when she audibly inhaled at the touch of skin against skin.

  Yeah, spark.

  And Christ, as if I needed another reason to ignite that spark. Cat’s car? It was nothing but a top of the line, special edition, drag-racing demon with a thick black widow, blood-red stripe down the center . . . A Dodge Challenger Rallye Redline. The kind of road-beast women took their panties off for. Or, in my case, the kind of muscle car I tried not to drool over as I held her door open.

  Waiting until she was seated, her long legs pulled inside, I lingered.

  “That’s far enough. You’ve done your job.” Wildcat closed the door.

  Most chicks invited me inside so they could take a ride on my cock. Forget about eight pistons pumping under that badass hood. I had one piston in mind for her.

  The black-tinted window rolled partway down.

  “My job?” I was not used to getting the brush-off.

  Cat gripped the steering wheel with both hands. “Proving a point to Brodie.” Her mirrored shades reflected up at me. “And now we’re done.”

  We weren’t done, not by a long shot. But I let her roll up the window. I watched her peel out in a cloud of dust and gravel, mashing the pedal to the floor to fishtail it away from me.

  For whatever reason, I got under cool Cat’s skin.

  I was so very fucking far from done with her.

  Chapter Two

  Shop Talk and Cock of the Walk

  SWEAT STREAKED FROM MY temples to my neck to the ribbed tank on my chest. New oil stains joined the old ones on the same pair of dark blue coveralls I’d been wearing since my high school days working for James Stone.

  I placed the socket wrench on the concrete after getting nowhere at freaking all with the rusted-in-place nut on my ’46 Indian Chief.

  This wasn’t glamorous at all, but it felt goddamn fantastic. In the thick of things at Stone’s garage, I took up one corner of bay three, right next to the windowed outlook from reception.

  Vehicles vroomed into the lot, cars were lifted on risers, tires rolled out the back to the grassy space beyond. The pounding sound of tools, the smell of oil mixed with perspiration, the usual cracks from Josh’s knuckle-bust crew made the morning triple-time even if I hadn’t gotten far on the The Beast. Or the DOA wildebeest as Josh called my restoration project. I didn’t give a good goddamn what he said, my 1946 Chief was coming back to life if I had to Frankenstein that shit.

  Then I was going to take a long-overdue vacation, a road trip. Just me, the bike, a few supplies, and no more bad memories keeping me awake at night. The southwest would be awesome next spring.

  I rolled my neck, glancing at the look-see windows affording a front-row view of the interior of the garage. A bevy of broads all but salivated on the glass. They watched the hard-at-work guys flex, stretch, and strut. From grease pit to pussy pit in the blink of an eye.

  Sitting back on my ass, I rubbed a rag over my stained knuckles. Oil seeped into the cracks of my skin like drops of water on parched desert terrain. I hadn’t used my hands like this in so long I’d nearly forgotten the contact high from creating something that didn’t involve words on page.

  I’d spent Monday and Tuesday writing. On a self-enforced lockdown from the U-verse, I’d figured if I could do it on Sunday at Gigi’s I could do it at home. I’d made major inroads into my editing because the tight deadline loomed. With my eyes going pinwheely and my fingertips nearly numb, I’d banged through the first round of revisions and gotten approval for the series title: Witches, Bitches, and Beasts.

  Now Wednesday found me wrestling with the other beast. Dripping buckets of sweat. Cursing the lug nut that wouldn’t budge. And smiling all the while. Of course there was always the possibility I’d have another run-in with Wildcat if I hung around Stone’s long enough. That didn’t hurt matters any either.

  I trailed my hands down my face as I stood. Women banged on the windows when I reached back to haul off my tank. Gerald whistled through the glowing white teeth in his sculpted black face, and Javier winked with a toothpick tucked between his incisors. Cocksuckers. I whipped off the filthy top and used it to wipe down the wet skin of my bare chest.

  “Yo, any one of you fuckers got a pneumatic drill I can use to bust this nut loose?” I called over the din and dirty-talk of the garage.

  “Bust your nut on your own time, jefe.�
� If Javier’s grin grew any wider, he’d be able to gobble down one of those vacuum-sealed double dildos Josh had hidden away in his filing cabinet.

  “F and You, too.” I cursed Gerald out while I was at it, turning toward him. “Don’t you even think of starting on me, bro. I’m just looking for a tool.”

  “Probably got one in your pants, or did you forget how to use your dick?” Mick hefted his meat and wriggled his eyebrows beneath the well-creased bill of his b-ball cap.

  I flagged both middle fingers in the air as I shouldered through the door separating the man-cave of the mechanics from the more civilized population. Or maybe not. Braving the estrogen-fueled tank of the reception area, I was reminded of Shark Week. Predators on the scent of fresh blood. Those hunters had nothing on this. I swam upstream through salacious murmurs, hands skating across my ass, comments about my tat, and invitations to meet later. The ladies at large were pretty, perfect, done-up from heels to hair, and not a single one of them did a damn thing for me.

  Not like Cat . . .

  Goddamn it.

  After navigating the flesh pool that was Stone’s reception, I banged into the office. “Hey, Josh, where’d you say the—”

  Confronted with Wildcat’s unmistakable rear-end as she bent over Josh’s desk, my voice died in my throat. Well, this was a hardship. Too bad the only hard thing on me was the sudden iron rod in my low-hanging pants.

  Catarina Steele had an ass that wouldn’t quit. She was dressed in another spotless get-up: tan slacks that cupped her full bottom, a white dress shirt buttoned down to her wrists and probably done up all the way to her throat. She swiveled her head around and caught me checking her out.

  Not much I could say about that. She was bent over a desk with her ass in the air. Was there any better fantasy out there?

  She straightened up and swung around. Her gaze took a slow walk all over my body and—surprise, surprise—I didn’t mind her interest one little bit. With my hair at my shoulders, my chest and six-pack bare and teeming with muscles, I was scruff, buff, and hers for the taking.

  Tendons I didn’t even know I possessed drew tight as bowstrings the longer her gaze wandered over me. And, finally unhidden from her shades, I saw her eyes. Hell, I practically swam in them. Siberian blue, ice-blue—of course they were, cold like the rest of her. Too bad I’d seen the glimmer of emotion she didn’t shut down fast enough as she scanned my body.