“Go on then,” I added. “I’m fine.”
He shook his head and squatted down in front of me. “Liar.”
“I’ll be fine,” I told him, correcting myself, hoping that he would take me at my word.
He didn’t budge an inch. He was definitely trouble, and like most of my trouble these days, he wasn’t going away.
Chapter 3
TIME TICKED BY awkwardly as I stared at the man in front of me. Now that he was crouching, I could see more details. He was tall, built, and no older than twenty-six. His weathered jeans weren’t snug, but they fit well enough to make it very clear that there was no fat hidden on him. It didn’t make sense, but he also looked familiar. I didn’t know where from, but I could swear I’d seen him before.
“I’m . . . Zion,” he said. “You’re Aubrey, I gather.”
“I am.” I squinted at him, trying to decide if he was any less attractive if I didn’t stare at him quite as full-on. He didn’t get any less gorgeous, but he did seem increasingly familiar. I just wasn’t sure why. “How do you know my name?”
“You corrected Quincy,” Zion said.
Great, he fought like violence was beautiful, looked like he’d been modeled on Renaissance paintings, and listened when people spoke. Where was he when I was looking for a distraction earlier?
“Thanks. He was insis . . . insistingt . . . pushy, but not . . .” My skill with words—which was usually pretty good—was apparently still a bit absentee. I cleared my throat nervously and added, “Paint thinner–flavored booze, bad for the vocab’lary.”
“Are you here with someone?” Zion asked. “Someone you could call or we could find?”
“Nope.” I folded my arms over my chest, not thinking about the friends I’d summarily cut out of my life when my father made the news. “Don’t know anyone here. I don’t belong in Tennessee, you know? Was second-year Reedie . . . in Portland. That’s where I belong.”
“That’s a college?”
“Uh-huh. Reed.” I sighed and squinted at him. “This isn’t Portland.”
“Tennessee is a long way from Oregon.”
“Exactly!”
When he stared at me, I tried to figure out what to do next. My brain was too fuzzy to stay focused on much of anything, and truthfully, I wasn’t great at social skills even when I was sober. People always seemed to be doing and saying a lot more than the actual words they used, and sometimes it left me at a complete loss.
After a few quiet moments, Zion scooped up my bright red jacket from where it had fallen when Quincy was pawing me. “Let me take you home.”
“To Portland?”
“No,” he said, dragging the word out a little. “Wherever you’re staying here in Williamsville.”
I pushed away from the tree and lurched into him. He was warmer than the tree, but just as firm. I tilted my head and looked up at him as he pulled me to my feet. My chest was smashed against his, and he wrapped his arms around my waist to steady me. I could feel what I suspected was a gun strapped to his side under his jacket. I’d never been that close to a gun before, and for a moment, it made me nervous. He had rescued me, but the gun had me considering stepping backward.
“You seem like a bad man. Why are you helping me?” I asked.
“A bad man?” His lips quirked in the hint of a smile, making my nerves switch from fear back to intrigue. “How old are you?”
“Legal. Twenty.” I felt more impulsive than I had in years as I suggested, “I bet you could make me feel better.”
He sighed and helped me into my jacket like I was a small child instead of an adult who had just propositioned him. Maybe he didn’t understand. Maybe he wasn’t interested. Maybe I’d been too vague.
“I mean it. Quincy wasn’t very good at kissing. I think you might be better,” I explained carefully.
“Probably, but no.” Zion swept my legs out from under me and lifted me into his arms. “If you weren’t falling-down drunk? Yes. You’re wasted, though. I don’t mess with girls who aren’t able to say yes.”
“I’d say yes.”
“Then say it when you’re sober.” Zion carried me across the edge of the fairgrounds like I weighed nothing. No one had ever carried me like this. I might be what people politely called petite, but I wasn’t exactly starved-waif-looking.
The flashes of light from the hanging bulbs we passed gave me glimpses of his face—which was even prettier in the light. Sharp cheekbones, strong jaw, dark hair, and startling blue eyes; he was unnaturally beautiful. Of course he wasn’t going to accept a proposition from me! I wasn’t exciting enough for someone who probably had his pick of women.
“Where should I take you?”
I rested my head against his shoulder. “Maureen Evans’ house. My grandma.”
He paused for a minute, stopping midstep, and looked down at me. “You’re Mrs. E.’s granddaughter? . . . If I’d have known that, I’d have hit him harder.”
“Why?”
He shook his head and kept walking until he reached a parking lot.
When we stepped into the light, a loud motorcycle came toward us. Zion’s arms tightened around me, but he didn’t say anything. The other man stopped his bike right in front of us. He cut off the engine, but stayed astride the massive machine. He looked like the antithesis of Zion—light blond hair and dark eyes.
“What’s up?”
“Disagreement with Quincy,” Zion said, still not lowering my feet to the ground. “I clarified matters.”
“Did he hurt her?”
“No!” I blinked at him, trying to focus my eyes. I should tell Zion to put me down, that I was able to walk, but there was something wonderful about being carried. If he wasn’t putting me down, I wasn’t arguing.
“I’m Noah.”
“Aubrey,” I offered. I tried to hold out my hand to shake his, but I couldn’t reach him and Zion didn’t move any closer to Noah. Then I looked from one to the other. “You two look like the angels in the paintings in my old art class.”
Noah laughed. “Never been called an angel before. Maybe a—”
“Did you need something?” Zion asked, his voice suddenly terse.
For a moment, I thought he meant me, but then Noah answered. “Just checking in.” He paused, glanced at me, and then added, “Do you want me to take her? You don’t need to get involved in something with the sheriff’s son.”
Zion’s arms tightened again. “I got her.”
For a moment, they were silent, and I knew that there was a lot more in their conversation than the words I’d heard, but even if I’d been sober, I wasn’t sure I’d have understood. Subtext often escaped me, and guy subtext was all sorts of baffling. According to my friends back in Oregon, I’d rejected guys without even realizing that they were interested. Overt statements were a lot more my speed.
“Later, then,” Noah said, and then he started his motorcycle again and sped out of the lot.
I noticed when he turned away that he didn’t have any pictures on the back of his jacket. Vaguely, it occurred to me that there was a reason this mattered, but my brain was filled with enough liquor to make my thoughts foggy. Better to concentrate on the man rescuing me than secrets hidden on leather jackets.
“Sheriff?” I asked as another detail filtered into my liquor-slowed mind.
“Quincy’s father is the sheriff,” Zion clarified as he carried me across the lot.
“Sheriff’s an idiot,” I muttered.
Zion grinned. “He is.”
If I’d known Quincy was the sheriff’s son, I’d never have spoken to him in the first place. My opinion of Sheriff Patterson couldn’t get much lower, and I wasn’t impressed by Quincy either. Zion, however, made me feel safe. Biker. Fighter. Beautiful. He was appealing in a lot of ways. I sighed against his throat, not quite brave enough to pull him closer so I could reach his lips. I wanted to, though. I wanted a lot of things, and he looked like the sort of man who could give them to me.
The Plan
hadn’t worked. What was the point of following rules anyhow? I’d done everything I was supposed to for years. I was still without a home, tuition, or even a car. If not for my grandmother taking me in, I’d be . . . whatever came after fucked.
I wanted to be numb, to forget, to take control.
“I’m not that drunk,” I told Zion in a light tone. Feeling a little braver, I kissed the skin along his collarbone.
He shifted his hold on me. “I’m going to put you down if you keep that up.”
“Don’t you ever just want to forget everything?” I asked. “To do something that would make you stop thinking, stop worrying?”
He stopped walking and peered into my face for a moment. In a very gentle voice, he asked, “Are you okay?”
“Not really,” I admitted—and immediately regretted it. I didn’t fall apart. I fractured a little, but I always pulled it together. I shoved my feelings under and briefly explained, “It’s been a lousy month, but I’m not usually like this.”
I don’t know why I cared, but it suddenly seemed important that he understand that I was stronger than this. “I don’t drink. I don’t go off acting stupid. I’m just—”
“It’s fine, Aubrey. We all have bad days or months.” He lowered my feet to the ground and steadied me. “Can you stay awake and hold on to me? That’s all I need you to do.”
When he stepped back, I realized we were standing at the end of a row of motorcycles. Several of them had wolves painted on the tanks, just like on his jacket. One of the motorcycles was obviously his. I thought back to the bikers who had stood in the street watching the house, watching me, and I realized suddenly that he was one of them. Beau had even mentioned him. Here was an opportunity to ask about Echo, to find out what Grandma Maureen had to do with bikers, but . . . I suddenly didn’t want to know. There was more than enough in my head to sort out.
“You were at the house,” I said. “The other night. You were there talking to my grandmother.”
“I was.”
“Why?”
He reached behind me and grabbed a helmet from a motorcycle. “You need to put this on.”
“So you’re not going to answer?”
“Not my place to answer that,” he said with a shrug.
I took the helmet and put it on my head, but I didn’t know how to hook the strap. I fumbled with it for a few seconds, feeling like a clumsy child. Guys like him were probably used to women who could put on a motorcycle helmet gracefully even if they were a lot drunker than I was.
“Hold still.” He reached out, fastened the strap, and stepped back.
“Where’s your helmet?”
He tapped my head with one finger. “Right here.”
“But—”
“I don’t usually carry passengers, Aubrey. This is the only helmet I have here, and you’re not in any shape to argue about wearing it.” Then he threw his leg over his bike and looked back at me. “Climb on.”
I hesitated. I’d never been on a motorcycle. The simple physics of it made sense, but the lack of a nice solid frame around the passenger and driver seemed dangerous. Car accidents could be horrible. Motorcycle accidents . . . I couldn’t even fathom the risks a person took just getting on a bike. “Maybe there’s a taxi or something.”
Zion motioned me forward. “All you need to do is stay awake and hold on to me.”
“What if I weigh too much?” I asked quietly, my face feeling like it was glowing hot enough to light the darkness.
“You don’t.” He looked me up and down slowly. “Even a little.”
Fear was making me increasingly sober. I simply wasn’t the sort of girl who rode on motorcycles. Ever. I looked at him, frozen. He said the right things. He rescued me. I was still afraid.
“You’re safe, Red,” he said in a softer voice. “I’ll take you to Grandmother’s house.”
He watched me, obviously waiting for something.
The best my drunken brain could offer was “The Big Bad Wolf eats Red.”
He paused, grinned, and patted the tiny seat behind him. “You’re too drunk for that too.”
I blinked at him. Then his words sank in, and I gasped. I hadn’t meant that, but now that he’d planted the idea in my mind, I couldn’t speak.
“You’re safe with me,” he promised, and then he patted the seat again.
I wanted to tell him that I didn’t want to be safe, but I yanked my mind out of the gutter and climbed onto the motorcycle. Pretending I was calm, I wrapped my arms around his waist and tried not to shiver. I shouldn’t like the way he talked, but I did. I liked the whole package: the rescue, the insinuations, the motorcycle.
Maybe alcohol and fumbled petting with Quincy had just skewed my judgment so severely that Zion seemed more tempting than he actually was. I wasn’t sure. I also didn’t think it mattered. By tomorrow, I would be too sober to think about kisses or any of the other things he might be good at doing.
He pulled my arms tighter around him, holding my hands together on his very taut stomach. It was a little embarrassing that being on the back of his Harley was doing far more for my libido than Quincy—and every other man before him—had.
“Hold on, Red.”
THE RIDE HOME was blissful. There was no worry, no stress. Being on the motorcycle, or maybe being wrapped around Zion, gave me the sort of peace I’d tried to find in my ill-conceived attempt at hooking up with a stranger and drinking too much. I hadn’t found that quiet place in my head through either of those things, but being on the back of a Harley-Davidson had delivered it. Nothing I’d ever done—including having sex—had left me feeling so connected to another person. I had to keep my body aware of his, and the road felt like it had so much more definition than I’d ever felt before. Every bump and dip was noticeable. The air felt so much more present, and the vibration of the engine resonated through me. It was like I had extra senses; my entire body was aware of the machine and the man between my legs. It was very easy to understand why bikers never seemed to be at a loss for women. Even if Zion weren’t stunning, a simple ride on his bike would make him seem so. Since he was gorgeous . . . well, I was far too aware that I wasn’t exciting or beautiful enough for a man like him.
When he stopped in front of the house a short while later, I sighed.
“You okay?”
I nodded. “I could stay right here forever.”
He didn’t laugh or make me feel stupid for my awkward admission. “First ride?”
“Yeah.” I realized then that I still had my arms around him. Reluctantly, I let go.
“You tell me if you decide you want more.”
“Rides, or . . .” I couldn’t even finish the sentence, though. As I was sobering up, I was becoming mortified by the whole evening. Grandma Maureen had pretty much explained that the bikers would take care of me because of her, and here I was misunderstanding Zion’s actions. I slid the rest of the way off the Harley and stepped to the side.
He looked up at me. “Whatever you want, Red. I’m here.”
I shook my head. “Thank you for being so nice—and giving me a ride and, um, hitting Quincy.”
Frowning, Zion started to get off the bike.
I put a hand on his shoulder. “I’m good. You don’t need to hang around here. I’ve probably already ruined your night and—”
“Red,” he cut me off. “I could’ve had my cousin bring you home or called a taxi. I chose to do this.”
Mutely, I nodded.
He climbed off the bike with the sort of grace dancers would envy and gestured for me to precede him. He paused and teased, “Unless you want me to carry you?”
Still silent, I shook my head and walked toward the house. It was darkened, which meant my grandmother was either out somewhere or in her room sleeping already. Both were equally likely with her. She didn’t bother with the television.
At the door, I stopped and turned back to Zion.
“I’ll see you around,” he said.
Impulsively,
I stepped forward and wrapped my arms around him in a hug, careful to avoid the gun at his side. At first, he tensed, and I wondered if I’d just been colossally stupid to hug him. Then he relaxed and squeezed me back.
“Thank you,” I said, my voice muffled by his chest.
Then I let go, twisted out of his arms, and fumbled with the door. Zion stayed silent behind me until I had it open and stepped inside. I saw his confused expression when I turned to close the door. I didn’t know what to say or do, though, so I just gave him a tight smile and looked down. Zion was a blink in my life, a few minutes of being treated like a princess in need of a knight to rescue her and a fabulous—and far too short—ride on his Harley. I knew that.
Still, I stood at the door and watched him walk away before I went to bed.
Chapter 4
FOR THE NEXT two weeks, I looked at the street every time I heard a Harley. It was never Zion, but there were more and more motorcycles on my block . . . or maybe I just noticed them more. Every so often I caught my grandmother looking up too, and I started to realize that the reason she had influence over Echo wasn’t that mysterious. There was a look on Grandma Maureen’s face a few times that I’d never seen there before. Echo was someone she used to love—or maybe still did. That was enough to keep me from asking questions about Echo or mentioning Zion.
Embarrassingly, though, I couldn’t get Zion out of my mind. It was foolish. He wasn’t in The Plan. I shouldn’t even be thinking about him, but I was. I was watching for him too, but although I saw jackets and beautiful bikes with wolves on them, I didn’t see him. I told myself that it was for the best. I wasn’t sure what I’d do if I did see him again. This was why I had banned dating: it was distracting. I could give some shrink-talk on the fact that I used kissing to fill a gap for affection, or I could say it was about proving I was more than my brain, but the truth was—despite what my high school therapist had said—I just liked it. I liked boys. I liked kissing. I liked the way it made me feel, powerful and beautiful. What I didn’t like was the way it made me forget everything else after the kisses ended. A few good kisses and I turned into the girl who kept checking to be sure the phone ringer was turned on. With Zion, it hadn’t even taken a kiss. I would not, absolutely should not, let it get to the point of a kiss. He would consume me. I knew it, and I wasn’t ever going to let that happen. Safe, calm, easy; that was the path I’d picked.
Undaunted: Knights in Black Leather Page 3
