"Uhm. Yeah," she admitted and even with her face pointed down to her food, he saw the flush that spread across her cheeks. She tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. She'd removed the hat and the ponytail when he'd pulled into the diner's parking lot, bending from the waist as she'd brushed out the long length.
Brand had wanted to take her on the spot, bent over, hair swinging or captured in his hands as he drove into her from behind. The image of it, the very thought, had made him so hard, so fast, he'd almost become dizzy.
He pushed his now empty basket away and stretched his aching arms out along the seat back, his own gaze drifting to the window. He was screwed and needed to figure out a way to salvage this, so no one's life, least of all his own, was in peril.
"We are not on the right road for where I need to be," he began. Since she was so closed mouthed about her issue, he was unwilling to give her any information of what he was facing either. "I need to make calls and I will need to go to North Platte to take care of some other business."
"Okay," she mumbled, dragging another fry through the dwindling mound of ketchup before she raised her eyes.
"Where were you planning to go?" he asked slowly.
Her eyes narrowed, which he'd come to know was the expression she wore when she thought hard.
"North," she replied before her eyes dropped again.
He sighed and resumed his gaze of the lonely road which ran in front of the diner. "I am going northwest and will have to travel the interstate to make up for the time I have lost."
Her entire body stilled at his words.
He allowed time for it to sink in. She got it. He knew she was going to have to make a decision of either staying with him or making her way alone. A decision that only she could make, which he'd determined was the only way to ensure she would stay with him. Last night's tempest had only been the result of frustration with both her situation and loss of control. In order to avoid the rough side of her tongue going forward, he was going to have to either word things differently so she thought she had a choice or actually give her choices to make.
Her attitude and sharp tongue was simply the result of her youth and inexperience. At least, that was what he told himself.
She, too, pointed her chin at the window as she processed what he'd said.
"You are welcome to join me, Reese, if you wish," he offered on a low note.
He saw her eyes turn his direction while her head kept the same position, facing the window.
"Why?" she asked at last.
"Excuse me?"
"Why are you helping me, Bayco?" she repeated, only this time providing a direction for her somewhat general question.
"I do not know," he answered honestly. Maybe it was the good food, or the fact that she was such a beautiful, mostly undemanding road companion, but he decided to add a little bit more truth to the mix. "You need help and I am good at providing it. So, until you figure out where you want to go or are willing to telling me the full story, I can keep you safe."
He dropped his eyes to the tabletop as he continued. "I have had a lot of practice at keeping people safe."
He felt her gaze before he raised his head and got caught back up in it. Her eyes searched his and he watched them soften, causing a deep throb within him before she spoke, quiet and soft, but firm. "I'm running from a dangerous man. A dangerous, bad man who will stop at nothing to get me back. And,you were right, I've escaped and he's always found me before. But I can't go back. I absolutely cannot go back, Bayco. Understand?"
He nodded.
"I'm so afraid, so fucking afraid of getting caught which is why I was on that road. The big roads scare me and I really don't know what I'm doing. But if you can keep me safe until I work out a plan, that'd be great."
He nodded again. "This, Reese, I can do."
"Good," she said and he watched as a smile spread over her face. She was beautiful, true, but when she smiled it was… it was heaven.
"We must make plans," he said, calling a halt to the desire that had sharply built inside him at both her words and that smile. The waitress choose that moment to check on them.
"You folks doing okay, any desserts?" she asked with a bright smile. Brand noticed she'd undone another button on her uniform and recognized the welcome in her eyes as she stared at him.
"Just the check," he said, allowing his eyes to drop from the server's ample, exposed cleavage to Reese's face, which held a scowl. The waitress and her ilk were plentiful and he'd partaken of them in the past, when the need arose, so to speak. But they were nameless, faceless and almost without remembrance since he used them as a just another tool to get himself off. In more than a few instances, he'd called himself all sorts of foolish for taking them up on their offers instead of just using his damn hand to find his release. Sharing physical pleasure only made the holes within his heart ache, the loneliness more acute. He needed no emotional ties since he'd learned that the severing of them could almost kill him at a soul level.
As he followed Reese out of the booth and snagged the check, he found another small piece of paper beneath it with the name of Lisa and a phone number. It even had a heart dotting the 'I' in her name. Brand was hard-pressed not to roll his eyes at the obvious come-on.
He handed the helmet to Reese when they were next to his bike.
"No, you take it. My hat worked fine this morning. At least since I learned to keep my head down," she explained as she pulled on the baseball cap and pulled her hair through before tucking the length of it into her jean jacket. "So, where we goin'?"
"North Platte," he advised, slinging a long leg over before starting the engine. "We, draga, are going to hide in plain sight."
He got another smile with his words and felt his knees soften as another part of him hardened.
"Sounds good," she said and, with a hand on his chest, she too seated herself, being sure to tuck firmly up against him.
He realized he was starting to enjoy the feel of her gripping him tightly with her arms and her beautiful thighs as they rode out and away from the lonely, little diner.
*.*.*.*.*
I was wrapped in a towel, trying to use it like a robe over a clean pair of panties, a stretchy shelf camisole and my exercise shorts while I kneed my way across the bed to Bayco. He was only wearing a pair of boxer briefs underneath his own towel, his amazing chest and muscled arms on display. I had taken another shower after another day on the road But as I'd been slathering myself with a dollop of my lotion, he'd called me into the room.
"We need to plan," he started. Then I saw him close his eyes and regroup. I sensed a tension radiating from him I hadn't felt before. "I have a plan and want to get your ideas about it," he amended.
I glanced at the plastic bag he was gripping.
"You know how I said we would hide in plain sight?" he asked.
"Yeah, Bayco. How could I forget?" I couldn't help feeling the tension seeping off him as I slid onto the bed, sitting tailor fashion before him.
"I need to buy another bike, and I was thinking that you would become a biker's girl," he said slowly, tightly.
I could feel my eyebrows rise at his declaration.
Me. A biker chick.
Uhm, no.
Not that they were bad, in fact a lot of them that I'd seen blow through our East Texan blip on the map were pretty damn awesome with their silver jewelry and elaborate hair that could fit under a helmet with incredible body art and makeup. But I didn't think I could pull off that particular look.
They were bitches in the best sense of the word. Nobody, and I mean nobody, messed with them in talk, deed or look. In my mind, it was the women of the motorcycles who administered the pack justice of the club while the men just brawled whenever and where ever they were given challenge.
Bayco upended the bag and I saw a number of items roll out onto the sheet. He had, once again, stripped the bed of its cheap motel bedspread, piling it into a corner of the room.
"Hair color? In Cherry Red?
" I asked, glancing from the box to him. Actually there were two boxes of the same color.
"The clerk said for your length and thickness of hair, it would take two of them to color it," he said, before adding, "I will help you apply it." And he picked up another package.
"Black eyeliner?" I asked, wondering how the gorgeous, half-naked man before me, the epitome of all things male, was able to cruise the aisles at the local drugstore and choose makeup and hair color for me.
"It is water-proof and will stay on all day," he said, using his finger to underscore the words on the packaging.
"What are these?" I asked, picking up what was probably twenty cellophane packs spread out on the sheets.
"Temporary tattoos," he replied. I blinked when I heard the subtle sound of nervousness in his voice.
"Tattoos," I repeated. He couldn't be serious.
"Yes, and enough so we can reapply them daily if needed," he explained before picking up the packages of some sort of thickening mascara.
"So you want me inked," I asked without making it a question. "Bay, I don't think I'm that kind of…"
"Yes, probably," he replied, speaking over me as he rummaged through the booty of the bag. He'd even purchased me a pink tank top with the words: 'Bodacious Fruit' emblazoned across the chest in black glitter.
My mind was racing as I took in the sheer bounty spread between us. I was going to have to change my looks to escape the clutches of him. And this man, this stunning man before me, was going to help me hide and had made a healthy purchase to help me do just that. I was stunned stupid, only able to blink and gasp at what he'd considered and then done.
"Then tomorrow, we hit up the Harley store…" he began, but was soon without a sound other than the 'whoof' of breath that escaped as I launched myself at him. Grasping his neck tightly in the cradle of my arms, I squeezed.
"You are the best, Bayco," I whispered, holding him firmly in an effort to let him know how appreciative I was of his shopping. My eyes were squished shut, trying to hold all that was within me at bay. Nobody, and I mean nobody, had ever showed me such care and concern; much less had ever bought anything for me. Not like this.
I felt his hands underneath my arms, above the towel, catching me as I'd thrown myself at him.
"It is…it is…" he stuttered, then I felt his body relax against mine. "You are happy with the purchases?"
"Oh, hell, yeah," I breathed against his ear.
"So I did good?" he asked again and I felt one of his hands begin to pat, to rub, against my back.
I pulled myself away so I could look into his face. "Hell, yeah, Bay. You did better than good."
I saw his eyebrows raise at my words and another emotion swept through his greeny-gray eyes at my words. What the fuck? If I didn't know better, I would've called what I saw, desire. But I knew I was wrong when he peeled me away from him, setting me back in my space on the bed.
I know I was beaming up at him as I settled back onto my calves. "This shit is amazing. And you did very well to get it." I was all for giving credit when credit was due.
Bayco deserved all of it and more.
Who'd have thought?
Me. A red-headed biker babe.
Chapter Seven
Holy fuck! What the hell was that?
Brand's mind and body reeled with the smell, the feel of having her pressed against him. True, he couldn't feel much beneath the looped terry of her towel, but the heat of her arms around his neck, the feel of her soft skin beneath his hands? And the fragrance of her, the soap, the lotion and just the overall floral smell of all that was Reese, all that was the purity of her, in his nose?
Goddamn ambrosia.
He could've stayed locked against her forever. And forever was a word he didn't use, ever. Life had taught him that forever was a fleeting illusion, something that couldn't be captured no matter how hard you tried.
Words were spoken between them, but he had no remembrance of them since he was in the earthquake reaction of having her body pressed to his.
Bloody hell.
He watched her move back to her previous spot on the covers, knowing his face was revealing all the emotions he had moving within him.
He dropped his eyes, searching for a distraction as he tried to discreetly cover the evidence of his arousal that was trying to find an open space beneath the tightness of his boxers and the covering of his towel.
"And then tomorrow, we will outfit you in a full biker-girl wardrobe," he said just to cover the silence, to break the connection of their eyes. He slid a foot to the floor and draped himself across the pillows, pulling the sheet to swathe his waist in an effort to cover what needed to be hidden.
"You mean in North Platte?" she asked.
"Yes, at the Harley Store. I will need to trade in my motorcycle and you will need to obtain clothes," he explained, though he could tell his words were at a different rhythm than his breath, his heartbeat.
"You're gonna trade in your bike?" she asked, turning her head to the wall that abutted their room. Much like she was seeing the machine on the other side of the barrier that separated them from the outside.
"Yes. I believe they have seen it, and we could be identified because of it," he replied, taking in her profile in the dim light of the bedside lamp. She was stunning with her hair damp, just now beginning to curl as it dried.
Her head turned back to him, her face serious. "So, you're giving up your motorcycle in order to hide me?"
He felt the slow deep blink of his eyes as he recognized she'd asked the same question twice, knowing she'd only allowed her concern to show on the second question, the fuller inquiry, just as before.
"It is just a vehicle. One that has served me well, but it is only a means of transportation," he answered, knowing it was the truth. "I will buy another."
She slid the bounty of his purchases to the other side of the large bed before scooting slowly towards him. He felt her wrap herself around him again, this time encircling him beneath his arms. Her towel had unfastened, allowing her thinly clad breasts to press into his chest.
"Damn, Bayco," she breathed and he felt the hot air from her mouth on the skin of his pecs as she snuggled against him. "Damn, Bayco."
He had no words, nothing that he could say.
All he knew at that moment, with the feel of the scared, loud, outspoken girl against him, was to move, to get away for her delicious smell and arousing heat.
*.*.*.*.*
I felt him pull away from me and realized I'd overstepped my bounds. Maybe it was because I was from a small town or was because I was the only girl of the town's fuck-up in that tiny burg, but I was very sensitive to the vibes of those who didn't want to be around me. So I did what every normal person with a lick of sense would do. Which was to pull back and create as much space as possible between us.
But the hurt was there.
I thought he might be different, more forgiving somehow of my upbringing, my family's reputation and my ineptitude. But I guess that old saw was right.
Blood tells.
And the blood that moved in my veins was about as common and as tainted as blood could get. It was obvious that Bayco saw it and, like anyone in their right mind would do, he pulled away from being sullied by it. I mean, shit, some of the customers at the Dairy Queen wouldn't let me wait on them, knowing my family's history. No matter how nice, in spite of using my absolute best customer service skills, some people were afraid of 'catching' whatever it was attached to me and my family.
I labeled it 'luck'. But my family's only luck was of the bad variety. Well, actually, 'bad' should have been pronounced as 'the worst'.
My mother, Veronica, had been born with a bum leg. A leg which required several surgeries and culminated in the removal of the leg and foot below her left knee when she was only thirteen years old. 'Bad blood', her own mother had called it. 'Lost her dag-gummed leg 'cause of her daddy's bad blood,' Granny Teague had said. Which was why Mama ended up with Grady, my daddy. M
arried him when she was only fifteen years old and he was thirty-three. Which was a whole 'nother story just in and by itself.
My lazy-assed, excuse-for-everything daddy hadn't ever worked more than six months at a stretch in his life. That was, of course, if you didn't count his daily exertions to pour Wild Turkey either in his glass or down his throat as work.
But together, they'd had eight kids. I was third from the bottom and the only girl. A girl who, if you read romance novels as much as I did, was supposed to be valued, coddled and taught the feminine graces.
I almost snorted out loud at the thought as I moved over the cheap carpet to the only window of our room. Without thinking, my arms reached to wrap around my waist in a move I'd been making since I was really small. It was a gesture I'd always hoped to receive from someone when I'd been growing up. But as I grew older, I'd learned that unless sex was involved, it wasn't one I could ever count on getting. I stood alone, so alone, in that silence with nothing but my own flesh to make me feel better about Bay's rejection.
I'd been taught to cook and to clean. I was taught to move quickly when a demand was barked in order to avoid a well-aimed hand or fist if I wasn't fast enough. I was schooled at what was important in the whole scheme of things: that I was only as good, only as valuable as whatever man I was able to reel in with my virgin status while I was growing up. Females, except for pleasure or procreation, meant diddly-squat.
I got rid of that little bartering chip as soon as I possibly could. Even though the romance novels I'd read advised me not to give it up as easily as I'd done.
What-the-fuck-ever.
But the only person that had cottoned onto it, that little flash of rebellion, had been my mama.
"We've gotta keep this a secret, Reese Ann," she said, her voice almost a whisper in the kitchen throwing together the mix for that morning's biscuits as I turned the thick slabs of sizzling bacon in the cast iron pan. "I know things we can do so your fella will think he's snagged himself a virgin on your wedding night. A little blood collected and smeared inside will make your man think…"
Hiding in Plain Sight Page 5
