It was all I could do to keep myself from pressing Lesher on what he had hinted at knowing about Ana. The question was on the tip of my tongue the entire time I watched him pore over the papers I had snatched from Richards' home in Omaha. The information was never pertinent to me, not before…
… but what I failed to reveal to Ana is that Lesher Vance, most contested member of the Robber Barons, is currently one of the most wanted men in America. He's been on and off the list for as long as I've known him, operating under different names and through different miscreant mugshots of the men acting as vehicles for his crimes, but he knows the underworld as much as every other billionaire I've worked closely with knows the world of legitimate business.
And I don't doubt in which world he found information relating to Ana Ryan.
Could she be a prostitute? A criminal? If she's as infamous as his snide comments seemed to imply, why have I never heard about her before? Is it just that I've been so wrapped up in my own selfish pursuits that I've failed to keep up with the important players in the outside world? Is that it?
Well…failed to keep up with them until I find myself in bed with them. Even now, the constriction of Ana's delicate arms around my torso sends a primal heat shooting straight into my belly. It hasn't even been twenty-four hours since sex with her, and already I find myself craving more, almost to the neglect of everything else. I yearn to bury myself in her, to relish the look of pure helpless bliss on her face at the pleasure I alone can bring her. You don't have to be a sex scientist to know that our chemistry is off the charts. There was nothing quite so rewarding as seeing that look of surprise mingled with complete carnal relief on her face the moment we first became one.
That sort of sex is dangerous, and addictive. I feel so tangled up in not knowing who Ana really is that the only way I can see myself achieving any sort of clarity is by seeing her physically laid bare before me. I've always been a driven man, but this level of primitive desire for something I'm not sure I can claim ownership of completely is driving me mad.
How can I accept Ana in her every beautiful, challenging nuance, if she won't let me in? I still don't know the first thing about her—or the forces that for twenty-some odd years pressed on her continuously to create her.
This line of thinking, of force and being pressed against her, really is not helping the tightening in my jeans.
I feel a slight squeeze, and tense my jaw to keep from groaning. Even the lightest touch under this much stress threatens to send me over the edge with thoughts of her. I read the signal easily enough, and in a half mile I turn off toward the rest stop.
Good. We need to talk.
"Don't go anywhere, handsome," Ana says as soon as she dismounts, but the usual teasing tone of her voice rings a bit lackluster. I can tell that she has been as occupied with her own thoughts as I have been…and I can't help but wonder how much they might have been in alignment. I remain astride the bike and watch as she sashays and disappears around the side of the building. Once I'm certain she's out of sight, I park the bike and dismount to follow.
The rest stop is mostly abandoned. In the distance, I can see a plump older woman walking her small dog on the lawn, with her husband sitting behind the steering wheel in the idling car. The feeling of isolation makes me secure in what I do next.
As Ana comes back around the side of the building carrying snacks she's purchased in the vending machine, I make my move. She only has time to drop the bag of pretzels she is holding before she finds herself on the lean, mean, pent-up end of my six-foot-two frame.
I carry her back and pin her against the brick wall beneath me, enjoying the feel of her in front as opposed to behind. She gasps lightly, and then glares at me, as if what I have done is absolutely outrageous, but I can tell her mood picks up immediately at my physical show of dominance. Maybe she thought that in her secrecy she had something to be forgiven for; now, I let her know loud and clear that isn't the case.
"If I was just some stranger who pinned you at a rest stop…" I murmur darkly into the shell of her ear, "What would you do?"
"Knee you in the nuts," she answers at once. I can tell that in her time on the road she has thought of this scenario before. "And then run screaming for help to that little old lady and her Pomeranian."
"What the hell is a Pomeranian?" I ask, with very little real interest in an answer, as I bend to kiss her neck.
"Something the human race will have to answer for one day," Ana murmurs. I can tell from the catch in her voice that the press of my lips is having the desired effect, but she still hasn't lost any of her usual sharpness. I can't help but chuckle at her response. Who but Ana could come up with something like that? Even if I don't always show my mirth, there is no denying that she has a fairly firm hold already on what constitutes my sense of humor.
Speaking of holds, I draw away from my worship of her neck to cup her chin in my hand. Against the material of my riding glove, her skin looks even paler in the shadows of the building wall, like that of a porcelain doll. It's hard convincing myself that it isn't just as fragile.
"I get the self-preservation thing, Ana," I say severely. "But I can't protect you if you don't tell me what's going on. You want to tell me who you are?" Or who Lesher thinks you are? I amend privately. Ana turns her head away, but I still hold her chin fast. Finally, her lips move in a firm answer:
"No."
"How did I know that would be your answer?"
"Because you know me," she whispers. "You may not think you do. At least, not in the ways that matter…but you do, Flint. You know me, the real me. In the last few days I've been more open with you than I…" Here she pauses, and I'm certain she would fully turn from me if she could.
But I'm not letting her go willingly. Not any time soon.
"…we slept together," she finishes lamely. "Of course we've been open with each other."
"That's not what you mean," I reply. Maybe it's cruel to put her on the spot like this, but I crave hearing her true feelings on 'us' as much as I physically crave to be closer to her. "Somehow, I knew it would never be just sex with you."
"You knew, huh?" Her mouth twists in amusement. "Were you counting on sex with me all along, Flynn Carter? Is that it?"
"You are very good at dodging questions with more questions," I growl as I thrust the evidence of my need against her. Her head falls back, and she gazes up at me with hungry, half-lidded eyes at the display. "Not so good at dodging getting pinned against a wall by an unpredictable man who may or may not have his way with you right here in a public space, in full view of anyone who might pass by."
"Oh, I don't think you're that unpredictable," Ana mocks me. "Not in this regard, at least. Although I admit finding you waving a gun in the face of a former coworker was…surprising. I'm curious what you have in store next, Flint Carter."
The statement rings surprisingly sincere, and I take in every detail of her face, my gaze flickering from her pensively smiling mouth to her eyes, which appear to be studying me in turn. I don't want to say we've lost the moment, but it's evolved into something different.
In her own way, Ana is asking me if we will continue together. I don't know how I know it, but I do. It's like reading her signals when we ride together, and time on the road—and lying with her locked inside my arms—have taught me to interpret the smallest details of her speech and facial expressions.
More than asking, I think she's just put in a request. She wants to see firsthand what comes next. And I'd be lying if I said I didn't feel the same.
"I suppose that depends," I reply as my hands slide to the curve of her waist and grip it possessively, "on how you feel about getting out of these clothes and putting on a revealing dress. Any color preference?"
Her confusion translates in her face, and how she holds every delicious inch of herself beneath me. I grin crookedly. It's a small victory in the sensuous war our personalities continue to wage, but I'll take it…just as I will take her again, later, far
from road rest stops and prying eyes.
My revenge mission against those who wronged me has evolved into something greater than myself. I'm not going to burn Green Star to the ground—and the lives of all the thieving bastards who stole her from me—I'm going to retake what is mine.
I'm about to enact the next part of my plan, and this time, Ana is going to help me.
#
Phillip Tannenbaum is overweight. He appears to exist in the world to take up the space that the shrinking, mousy Richards always seemed to forfeit in the boardroom. Profiting off my stolen company and living in the lap of unearned luxury for three years has only seen him amass more bulk…and an aura of entitlement as enormous as a planet's gravitational pull to go with it.
The club I find him in is luxurious—the exact sort of place he doubtless believes is perfectly suited to a man of his station. The clientele, too, appears equal to his extravagant tastes. When I find him, he is seated in a shadowed VIP corner of the main room, one that I can clearly see is just shy of being roped-off. I assume he grants relatively easy access to outsiders on account of the sort of outsiders he is receiving; a steadily revolving door of women wander in and out of his orbit, taking sips off his martinis and turns sitting on his expansive thighs.
I sit at the end of the bar proper, a calculated distance away. Even in my glory days as celebrated CEO, I always preferred occupying a quiet place at the bar rather than a spot in the club limelight—it enabled me to think, to plan, to innovate…and to, yes, occasionally be approached by beautiful women.
My outfit now makes any outside interest from the opposite sex a stark improbability, or so I think. I wear a baseball cap with the bill trained down over my eyes, and a pair of dime store sunglasses that don't appear out of place in the club despite the lack of light. There are plenty of young hot shots who keep their shades on here. I left my jacket, too, back with my bike, which is parked in a back alley a few blocks away. I'm already incognito and inconspicuous, but I exude an aura of unapproachability just to be sure; I lean heavily over my drink and square my bowed shoulders, creating a self-imposed barrier between myself and the rest of the patrons of the club. Even the bartender seems to get the message loud and clear, and doesn't make a move to approach me as I slowly nurse a whiskey on the rocks. I intend to make it my only drink of the evening. I'm not here for pleasure, after all.
I'm here on business.
The crowded room doesn't fall silent when Ana enters, but it might as well have to my mind. It's as if a shaft of light has broken across this murky tomb of the lascivious and condemned, and despite my efforts to avoid notice I feel powerless to look away.
She breezes through the front door and, after a moment's quiet consideration of the room, descends the staircase into the basement of the club—exactly as we planned it. Her fiery red tresses hang in their soft, natural waves, plump and voluminous and glossy from the quick shower back at the motel room I rented for us. I purchased her makeup at her request, along with the expensive red dress that now sheathes her body, and she has fashioned herself after every man's boyhood fantasy of Jessica Rabbit: a swelling bust and tiny waist, a sweep of hair that falls luxuriantly over one eye, and full red lips that look naked without your own pressed against them.
She's a real vixen, absolutely irresistible in her presentation, and my cock lurches at the sight. No sooner have I seen her in the dress then I ache to have her out of it and pressed into a sweat-soaked tangle of bedsheets, reduced to something base and wanton, something that stands as a stark contrast to the poised woman she is now.
God, I need to fuck Ana. It's more than an ache that afflicts me—desire has set my every sense on fire and I positively burn for her. Why didn't I take advantage of our time back at the motel room to make her my own once more? My confidence in our arrangement is hardly shaken at the sight of her now, but there's no denying I'm not the only one sizing her up privately and laying filthy claim to her in my fantasies. Every working set of male eyes has turned to the seductive Cinderella—even most of the women have turned to look.
She strides slowly to the bar, crossing her arms and leaning against the cool marble surface as she allows herself to casually occupy the space beside me. The bartender hastens to throw down a cocktail napkin and a drink on the house for the woman who is sure to start attracting the barflies. She is like human honey.
We need to get our plan into motion sooner.
"In the corner," I murmur as I raise my own drink to my lips. "Underneath the painting."
"I see him."
Whatever Ana feels about finally setting her sights on our target, she keeps it to herself. I'm afraid I haven't properly primed her for how revolting Tannenbaum can be as a person, but she assured me repeatedly when I was having second thoughts that she could handle herself. It doesn't sit well with me to use her as bait, even though it had been my idea to begin with; when I tried to take it back on the way over, she ignored me. There was a fire in her eyes, and an excitement about her energy that I hadn't seen since the strained meeting with Lesher. I am the one she allowed to put her into this situation, and she'll be damned if she's letting me take her back out.
"You don't have to do this." I've said it before.
"So you've asserted. But you also said you don't have a plan for gaining access to Tannenbaum without me," Ana points out. "All I have to do is get him to invite me up to his room at the hotel, right? And then you'll come in, guns blazing, to save my virtue?"
"No guns this time," I promise. "And what virtue?"
"Ha." Ana scoffs a laugh and raises her drink to take a long sip. I wonder if she's chasing the taste of something nicer in advance of her forcing herself into close quarters with Tannenbaum. "Watch it, pal. I'm doing this for you."
"If that was true, I doubt you'd be doing it at all."
"Fine. If you can't accept what I'm saying, then I'm doing it for us." Ana drains her drink and slams it down, running a finger along her tart cherry red lips to allow the booze to soak in, to stain them. I saw the bartender pour her top shelf whiskey, and I can imagine exactly what she tastes like. Every inch of me burns for her, to take her back to the room we share and set the situation straight, but I know that is short-term satisfaction versus the long-term benefit of seeing Tannenbaum pay. The only problem is, I'm not sure I care any longer. I need Ana, and I need this fantasy of us to be a reality.
I realize, maybe for the first time, that I'm getting really tired of vengeance. It's as much a drain on my own life force as the life forces I was hoping to permanently negate. For three long years, I've thought of nothing else. I never conceived of an obstacle like her; certainly, I never thought that a woman like Ana would wind up improving, or even helping, my cause.
"Be sure to get his keycard," I growl, my sudden antagonism exposing my surrender to the original plan. "And make sure he only gives away one. We can't afford to have him divvying them out like business cards. I want his attention on you and you alone."
"No you don't." Ana leans back against the bar, pretending to survey the club scene before allowing her gaze to zero in organically on our target. "You want me all to yourself."
"Why don't you save the teasing for the man you're actually trying to seduce?" I mutter.
"As opposed to the one I have already?" she fires back.
I grit my teeth. "Keycard. Then you split. Meet me back by the bike and we'll make the exchange."
"Fine. But you're going down on me later," she says in parting as she detaches from the bar. Her bold comment regarding her plans for a future session makes all the blood rush to my bulge instantly, and I can feel my cock lurch in cooperation with her terms. I gnash my teeth harder and let my hand constrict around my nearly-drained glass.
My mouth waters at the thought she has so artfully planted in my head. There is no pair of lips on Ana's body that doesn't taste slick and sweet; more importantly, I know from experience that every kiss I endow, no matter the location, will have her moaning and writhing
. I extract the cherry from her empty drink, recalling how she had flooded my bloodstream with Shirley Temples only the night before. I feel the woman herself burning through my bloodstream more than ever.
I pop the cherry into my mouth, rolling it along my tongue, teasing and working it with my teeth. And because I need a distraction from what is about to take place, I imagine that it's Ana, and the precious pearl of her womanhood, that I taste in my mouth. I practice rubbing slow, methodic circles around and around the tiny sphere, thrusting with the tip of my tongue, applying just enough pressure to make my ministrations ruthlessly hard but keep the fruit from bursting. Once we get out of this, she is going to be in a whole hell of a lot of trouble later, and I know she is going to love every minute of it—I can ensure that much.
I watch as a very different tart from the one I currently mouth moves effortlessly into the crowd of women surrounding Tannenbaum. They part for her immediately, as if sensing a far superior specimen themselves—pack dynamics at their basest. These women are seeking security in Tannenbaum’s wealth and status because they feel something in them requires it, and it is this same self-insecurity I can see them falling prey to now. They back from their mark, and we all watch as the mesmerizing woman in the red dress invites herself to sit alone in his lap—no introductions required.
I wish I was close enough to hear what they were saying. I can see Tannenbaum’s surprised expression folding into one of immense satisfaction, and see him lean into whisper something coaxingly into Ana's ear. She laughs delightedly, absurdly, and I watch as the man stirs to draw her in closer.
My throat feels tight watching this display, and there's a bitter taste in my mouth that isn't exactly jealousy. It's watching Tannenbaum so easily and effortlessly seize everything that once would have been mine: my company, my wealth, and now my girl. Even if it's all a ruse, and I can't imagine a woman like Ana ever choosing a cretin like him of her own volition, he can imagine it all too well, and he's projecting his fantasies with every overfamiliar movement and crudely whispered word.
BILLIONAIRE BIKERS: 3 MC Romance Books Page 12
