Rhonda nodded, and gasped. Chloe let go.
"Okay. Now, sit down and shut the hell up. I gotta get that eight ball in."
Chuckles sounded from the men, and someone hooted. But, Chloe just ignored it, and went back to her game.
Holding her arm and wincing, Rhonda walked over to Nick. "Did you see that?"
"Yeah," he breathed, "isn't she something?"
Rhonda narrowed her eyes. "Who is she?"
He looked up at her blandly. "My old lady."
Chapter Four
They arrived back at their tiny house about an hour later. The place looked good to Chloe for some reason now, and she sighed as she plunked herself on the couch. This was familiar already. The drip of the faucet in the kitchen, the lingering smell of pot, the old couch sagging even with her light body weight.
Nick stood, looking down at her. "You did good, Chloe. Never thought you had it in you." His expression was thoughtful, as he appraised her.
"Right. I'm tired though. Are the hooligans coming over?"
Smiling, he sat next to her. "Nah. I told them I needed some time with my old lady." He sat back, and his hand stroked her arm gently.
"Yeah? Well, I got an appointment with the sandman. You been replaced, Action." She was exhausted, and she needed to sleep. Memories of the past few days flitted in her mind randomly, pictures of bikers, of Nick, of mansions and drugs.
"You do look tired," he said, as she stood up and stretched, "sleep tight, baby."
Chloe took off her make-up, which was no easy task, showered, then heaved herself into bed. Adjusting the t-shirt, she fell asleep.
A while later, she heard the shower. Still pretending to be asleep, she heard Nick come to the doorway. He stood, as if deciding what to do. Then, she felt him quietly get into bed, on the opposite side, and the bed squeaked slightly as he turned towards her. His hand stroked her hair, and the touch was light, gentle. Then, she heard him groan, and he whispered, "God damn." And, he flipped over again, with his back to her, and they both fell asleep.
But, Chloe had one of her dreams, and she couldn't pull herself out of it. She was wandering in a fog-drenched field, looking for Pete. She knew he was there...Somewhere. Tears streamed down her face, and she heard their plop, plop sound as they fell on the ground. And it was cold, so very cold. She shivered violently, before she stumbled. It was a mound, and she read the headstone...Pete...Pete...
Then suddenly, a hand came up from the mound, and grabbed her ankle. She screamed, but then she heard Nick's gentle voice.
"Baby. Wake up, Chloe." He was shaking her arm, and she woke with a start.
"Oh, God," she gasped, "Oh, my God."
His arms came around her, and she turned, lay next to him, and pressed tightly up against his body as she trembled.
As he stroked her hair, he began murmuring comforting sounds. Her head rested on his chest, and her hands moved in the downy hairs there, as her shaking finally ceased.
Feeling herself sliding into sleep again, she whispered, "I'm sorry Nick."
Kissing her forehead, he said, "It's okay, baby. Go back to sleep. Sweet dreams."
When she woke the next morning, Chloe realized Nick's arms were wrapped around her, and her backside was pushed up against him. How did she get like this? For a minute, she enjoyed his warmth. Then, wiggling slightly, trying to extricate herself, she heard him say, "Don't move. Stay there. It feels good."
She didn't remember the dream, or the night before. Slowly, she said, "I thought you were going to be good."
"I'm trying to be," he drawled, "but if you keep moving like that, I'm going to be bad."
She lay still, and all she could hear was his heartbeat, along with her own. His body was hot against hers, as his arms stayed firmly around her. And, she felt his hardness pulsing.
"Do you remember last night?" he said softly.
Last night? She thought. What the hell happened last night? Wracking her brain, she remembered nothing. Actually, she'd been so tired, she didn't even remember going to bed. Or, was she drunk? She'd had a few drinks.
"What happened?" she said cautiously, wondering if she really wanted to hear his answer.
Realizing she thought they'd had sex, Nick decided to have some fun. Tightening his grip on her, he said, "You were great, baby. The best ever."
A tinge of disappointment hit her. How could she not remember this? Frowning deeply, she searched her mind, but came up with no recollection of doing anything with Nick.
"Mmmm," he murmured, kissing her hair, "Yeah. Now this is the way I like to wake up." His hand slid to her breast, which was still covered by the t-shirt, and he rubbed the nipple with his palm. "And that's the way I like to end the day, too."
She sucked in her breath, and closed her eyes. God, he made her feel so wanted. And a warm sensation moved down her body and settled between her thighs. It intensified, as his stroking continued, and grew even worse as he whispered, "You're the best, Chloe. The best I've ever had."
"Did...did you use protection?" She hoped the answer would be yes. She didn't know Nick's sexual history. Plus, she didn't use birth control. Not yet, at any rate.
It was such a sensible question; Nick just couldn't continue the charade. He burst out laughing, and rolled on his back.
She sat up, furious, clutching the sheet around her waist. "What's so funny?"
"You just had a bad dream," he gasped, "we didn't do anything."
She hit him with both fists then grimaced. It hurt. "Ouch. Damn you! You're an asshole, Action!" she spat.
As she raised her arms to hit him again, his hands quickly caught each of her wrists in a vice-like grip. "Gotcha now," he said softly.
"Let me go!" she yelled, realizing she was turned the wrong way to free her legs.
"Why? So you can hit me again? No, I don't think so."
His eyes grew sensual as he studied her. But she became uncomfortable at his close scrutiny, and averted her eyes.
"Look at me," he commanded softly. Her gaze met his again, and while he still held her wrists, he said, "If we ever do make love, Chloe, you'll remember it. I've been told I 'm unforgettable."
"God," she gasped, struggling again, "of all the conceited, egotistical-"
"You'd better stop, or I'll never let go. We could stay like this all day." he drawled lazily.
Believing he would really keep her there all day, and since she did have to use the bathroom in a bad way, she stopped struggling.
"That's better," he said, as he let her go, and rose slowly from the bed. She averted her eyes, realizing he was naked, and she walked into the bathroom quickly.
"And get ready," he yelled at her, "we're taking a ride this morning. I want to talk to you about some things."
It was a typical, Southern California summer morning, as they rode along, with the sun bouncing off the ocean, and children squealing as they frolicked by the shoreline.
Stopping just past Santa Monica, he parked the bike on the ocean side. "Let's just sit on the dunes, here," he said, taking off his black helmet, "I don't want to go far from the bike."
She took hers off too, as they walked, and sat on the top of a sandy mound. Chloe smoothed her braid. It was hot this day, and she took off her jeans jacket. Gulls soared overhead, their haunting cries mingling with cries of children on the shore, who seemed to be building a sand castle.
"So," he began, as he looked out over the ocean, "tell me your impressions."
She thought for a minute, then picked up a piece of scrub brush, and studied it. "They're not what I expected. Not like the movies. Different."
"Yeah. What about Max?"
A breeze blew, bringing with it the faint odor of exhaust, and she heard cars whizzing by on the highway behind them. "Well, his house seems too much, somehow. Too much for a simple biker who sells drugs. I think he's into something else...maybe something bigger."
"Like what?"
"I don't know."
He nodded. "We'll find out. He told
me last night he's going to Mexico in a week. We're invited."
"Good. It worked then, having me here?"
"Yeah. Are you sorry you took the assignment? It's not a real exciting one. Even in Mexico, you probably won't get to go with us to the plant, or wherever he makes the drugs. You'll be stuck with Tessie, most likely."
She groaned. "She's such a ditz, Nick. All she talks about is sex. In detail." Then she paused. "Nick, what will happen to Tessie and the baby when--"
"Good question," he said harshly, "I don't know. But that's not our concern. Our job is to bring them down, and that's what we'll do." He looked over at her, and his tone was gentler now. "The guys liked you. They bought the act."
The sun warmed Chloe, and she closed her eyes, holding her face towards it, while waves crashed against the shoreline, rhythmically, one after the other.
Nick watched the breeze blowing soft tendrils of hair around her face, and before he could stop himself, his hand came up and smoothed them down. She opened her eyes, jumped nervously, then jerked her head away.
"You've got to get used to me touching you, Chloe. Don't flinch like that."
"I'll flinch if I want to. They aren't around now, anyway. I can do what I want."
"My, my, you do have a temper, don't you? Is my touch that awful?"
"Yes," she lied. She liked his touch, but she wouldn't give him the satisfaction of telling him. Let him guess.
"I've never had any complaints before."
Her eyes were curious, as she looked up at him. God, she's beautiful, he thought. Those big brown eyes, the slightly pink cheeks, the flawless skin.
"Nick," she began, "have you ever been married?"
He shook his head, lay back on the sand, and leaned on one arm. "Why?"
"Just curious." She spread her jeans jacket in back of her, and lay with her face towards him, expectantly.
He smiled. "I had one serious relationship about ten years ago."
"What was her name?"
He saw a few tiny grains of sand on her face, and he smoothed them away with his thumb. But, his hand stayed by her face, then moved to the nape of her neck.
Softly stroking the skin there, almost expecting another rebuff from her, he said, "Her name was Anne."
"Did you love her?" Chloe's eyes were growing languid, and he realized her neck must be one of her sensitive spots. And he wondered where the others were.
"Yeah," he replied softly. Her eyes had little golden flecks, and he watched them flicker, as her eyes moved over his face.
"What happened?"
"I don't want to talk about it," he said huskily. He just couldn't resist her. Softly, his lips met hers, and he felt her tense, slightly. Then she seemed to relax, and her arm came around his waist.
His tongue moved in her mouth, exploring, tasting, as he felt her tremble. Breaking the kiss slightly, as his mouth hovered above hers, he whispered, "Are you cold?"
As his tongue rolled on her lower lip, she said faintly, "No...not cold."
Her breath was warm against his mouth, as his tongue moved to her upper lip. "What's wrong then?" he whispered. He ached for her right now, as he felt his pants straining with the weight of his desire. And the feeling was not a new one. Since he'd met her, he'd had this often; this aching desire, this need for her.
Moving one leg over both of hers, he breathed, "God, I want you." his mouth crushed hers, and he felt her breasts pushing against him. She was responsive, this woman. Too responsive. She began sucking his tongue, and he groaned.
Pressing his hips down on hers, he felt her start to move rhythmically against him. His hand came down and felt the warmth, the softness of her breast. Moving his palm over the nipple gently, he heard her sharp intake of breath. Then, as he moved the bud between his fingers, he heard it again.
Pulling his lips from hers, he looked down at her. "Open your eyes," he whispered. She opened them slightly, languidly and, still stroking her, he said in a voice husky with desire, "You have beautiful breasts, and large nipples." she made a small sound, and he continued, "I like that."
She moaned, closed her eyes again, and his mouth moved across her face, down her neck, and found the taut nipple. His tongue played with it, pulling the fabric of her tank top, and he heard her soft cry. Sucking on it now, wetting the fabric, he realized he had to stop. He was growing uncomfortable with his need, and the thought of making love to her was driving him crazy.
Pulling away from the breast, his lips moved to hers again. "Chloe," he said gently, as he kissed her with little kisses, soft kisses on her swollen lips, "we'd better go, sweetheart."
She made the soft, inviting sound again, but he resisted, and slowly moved away from her.
Sitting up, running a hand through his long hair, he sighed. God, what this woman did to him! He tried to will his hardness away, but it was still tight against his jeans.
He felt movement, and heard her brushing herself off. Grains of sand flew around him, but he was still partially in a hazy world she'd created for him. She had a sensual feel, an aura about her that he hadn't experienced before. In any woman.
"You ready?" she said.
"Yeah." He was ready. Ready to taste her, caress her, slide himself inside her, feel her muscles contract around him...yes, he was certainly ready for that.
Chapter Five
Later that afternoon, Chloe grew bored and she wandered out to Nick's shop.
It was an old, square, tin building, badly in need of repair. The roof sagged in several places, and the back windows were cracked. She entered through the side door, heard rock music blasting from his boom-box. The place smelled strongly of gasoline, and was, not surprisingly, a mess.
Nick sat on the ground, surrounded by tools, trying to fit something back on the engine of a Harley very similar to his own. He'd taken his shirt off, and sweat beaded on his back, making his heavy muscles shine.
She watched his tattoos move as he worked. One was an eagle, with its wings spread out. His other arm sported a snake coiled to strike, with the words, "Born to Kill" underneath it.
"Hey, baby," he said, without looking up.
She strolled over to a car that was covered. "What's under here?"
"Take a peek," he said, again, without looking at her.
She unfastened the car cover, and lifted it off. "Oh, geez," she breathed, "it's beautiful, Nick."
The car was a black, shiny, beautifully restored Mustang fastback. The interior was black leather, and the thing was immaculate, inside and out. "What year is it?" she asked, as she peered in the windows.
"It's a sixty-nine Shelby, G-T 500 Cobra," he said, rising from the floor. "Do you like it?"
"It's fantastic," she said, "will you take me for a ride sometime?"
"Sure. No problem." He replaced the car cover, and turned to her.
Her eyes flitted across his chest muscles, which held grease stains, then back to his face, before she caught a whiff of sweat, mixed with the undeniable, intriguing scent of Nick.
He said, "We're going to a bar down the coast tonight. It might get rough, so watch yourself."
His eyes were having their usual effect on her, and she tried to concentrate on what he was saying.
"I also want you to be careful of Rhonda."
"The dark-haired woman?"
He grinned. "Yeah, the one with the sore arm. She packs a piece sometimes, so be careful. I don't want you shot just yet. I'm getting used to you around here." His eyes lazily observed her, and she grew uncomfortable at the obvious invitation in their blue-gray depths.
"Yeah," she said sarcastically, "I make a good maid, don't I?"
"You'll do," he said, as he walked back to the bike, "after all, isn't that what old ladies are supposed to be?"
She sniffed and didn't answer. The she wondered if he really believed that crap. His lips were twitching now, but she couldn't tell.
They met the other bikers at the clubhouse that evening, and proceeded down Pacific Coast Highway. The sound o
f the bikes was deafening, like rolling thunder, Chloe thought. Most of the men wore Nazi helmets, and all wore their colors.
She felt an immense surge of power, as they rode down the highway, two by two, with one occasionally passing the others. Cars avoided them, sometimes even pulling to the side of the road, as their group rolled by. Ominous, frightening, they continued, en mass, to their destination.
This night, Chloe wore a mini-skirt, boots and a skin-tight tank top, along with her jeans jacket. Nick had promised to buy her a leather coat when they got to Mexico. And, in some strange way, she really wanted it. She wanted the power, the leather, the boots, the grim, sick power that belonged to these men. Just for a while. Just to see what it felt like.
As they stopped at the run-down shack of a bar, she took off the black helmet Nick made her wear, and unbraided her hair. Running a brush through it, she watched Max and Tessie pull up.
"Hey, Chloe!" Tessie squealed, as she got off the motorcycle.
Max stayed on the bike, and looked Chloe up and down. His gaze was intense, and his smile chilling. "I can see why you call her Legs, Nick," he said loudly.
His stare made Chloe nervous, and she wondered what would happen in Mexico. She didn't trust this man.
Moving over to Nick, who was talking with Limpy, she wiggled her hand up under his jacket, then around his waist. She needed his protection now. She felt like she needed to be near him. His arm rested lazily on her shoulder, and as he talked, his hand moved just above her breast.
Idly, he stroked one finger back and forth, certainly not aware of the sensation Chloe felt at his touch. Every time this man came near her, she just seemed to melt. He was so incredibly sensual. Even with his simple touch now, she felt a growing warmth spreading through her.
Reaching up, she kissed his neck, and ran her other hand across his hard chest. Play the part. Be the woman. But, was she playacting? Or was it real?
He rumbled, "Don't be startin' that shit, babe." And, he continued talking to Limpy.
Nicky's Fire Page 4
