by Marie James
Keeping my eyes open, even under the warm spray of the water, ensures that the flashes from the past aren’t able to take hold. I’ve spent years avoiding Grinder and the attention he sometimes insists on showing me, but I know the next time I see the man will be the last, ending unfavorably for me.
All-in-one body wash and shampoo is the only thing available in the shower, and I use it twice to wash my hair and every inch of my skin until red splotches are visible. No amount of scrubbing will make the feel of his hands on me go away, but I don’t have the luxury to dwell on the past when my future is so unsure.
I towel off quickly, only to realize I have no clean clothes. I’ll stay in this bedroom naked before I put the filthy jeans and shirt back on. Wrapping the oversized towel around my body, I open the bedroom door, sticking my head out into the hall trying to figure out where in the house Dom may be. The unintelligible hum of the TV floats down the hall, so I quietly make my way in the direction of the den.
The top of his head is visible over the back of the couch, but rather than making myself known, I stand silent and watch him. No one knows much about the enigma that is Kincaid’s older brother. He’s military, that much is clear by the way he talks, stands, and commands the attention and obedience from everyone around him, even if his hair is slightly longer than I’ve ever seen it before.
I’ve only seen the man in passing at a few parties. He’s always had an air of solitude to him, one that is so strong you walk out the front door and around to the back if you encounter him obstructing your path through a room. Only the bravest, or stupidest, girls from the Renegades even attempted to speak with him. I never found the courage, until today. The first words I’d ever spoken to Dominic were the ones on his front porch when I asked a man I don’t even know the favor of paying for a very expensive cab ride, which he did without hesitation or explanation. There isn’t a man in the Renegade MC that would ever do that, including my older brother.
I’ve heard the Cerberus members were good men. I’d even encountered their gentlemanly ways at a fundraiser Scorpion let me attend in the park last year, but it wasn’t until he helped me earlier that I’d ever been on the receiving end of it. It was that rumor, the one the girls whisper about how those men treat women with respect. They stop when you say no; they listen when you have concerns. That’s brought me here today. Seems it’s paid off.
“Lurking around my house isn’t the best way to instill the trust I’ll need to let you stay here.”
Even as quiet as I’ve tried to be, Dominic knew I was in the room the second my foot hit the threshold. I don’t respond to him, because at this point what can I say? I don’t have an excuse or a lie that comes fast enough to seem reasonable, and the truth that I was wondering what it would be like to have a gorgeous man like him in my corner isn’t something my lips would ever confess.
He turns his head until he side eyes me. The lick of his lips as he takes in my towel laden body doesn’t go unnoticed. I would use his attraction to my advantage. While watching the girls at the clubhouse, I know so many things can be solved with me on my back or on my knees. Realizations Grinder was certain to make sure I understood at a very early age.
Dominic’s scrutiny, however lustful, doesn’t seem to fit a situation where a blow job would get me what I want, a fact I’m grateful for due to lack of experience. At this point, I don’t even know what I’d ask of him other than to keep me safe. Him showing me to a guest bedroom has already established his willingness to help, if only temporarily.
“I don’t have any clothes,” I whisper, suddenly embarrassed to be standing here in a towel even though it’s covering more of my cleavage than my tank top was earlier. I hold the knot of the towel higher on my body, my strangling grip assuring it doesn’t fall to the floor.
Steel gray eyes follow the line of my body from the black polish on my toes to the mess of pink hair piled high on my head. A shiver of arousal hits hard before I can shut it down.
He glides graceful and silent from his position on the couch and stalks toward me. Chills run up my arms leaving goose bumps in its wake. I hold my breath as his hand reaches out, unsure of what his expectation of me staying here would be. I learned long ago that nothing in this life is free, payment always has to be made, and if fucking Dominic to stay safe in his house even for the briefest of time is the requirement, it’s one I’d not feel completely ashamed for doing.
Rather than reach for the towel as expected, his long calloused finger traces one of the numerous bruises on my upper arm. The tip of his finger travels along the easily recognizable outline of another man’s handprint on my skin.
“Did Scorpion do this to you?” His voice is menacing as he waits for the confirmation I’m sure he wants to justify killing my brother.
I shake my head.
“He’d never lay a hand on me.” I try to swallow the truth unsuccessfully. “Hating someone enough to hurt them is an emotion he couldn’t even spare me.”
“Who then?” he asks not responding to my admission. His lack of concern is what I’m used to, a familiar response when an unspoken cry for help is made, one I’m used to being met with.
When I refuse to answer, he continues, “one of his men?”
“I just need something to wear,” I mutter.
His finger pulls away, and a confusing mixture of relief and regret hits me. His eyes search mine as if the answer to every one of his questions is hidden in their depths. Not finding what he’s looking for he turns from me and heads down the hallway.
“I have some sweats and a t-shirt you can wear. They’ll be baggy as fuck, but at least your ass won’t be hanging out.”
I follow him down the hall, passed by the open door to the guest room he deposited me in. The thumbprint security access required to get into his room isn’t surprising. Most guys at the clubhouse have some sort of security in place to keep people out of their personal space. What’s odd about the lock on that door is this is a home, not a clubhouse frequented by various people with low levels of trust.
Or maybe it is. Maybe Dom has parties at his house. I wouldn’t have a clue, but the lock on his door speaks of his distrust in people.
I stand in the doorway, knowing I won’t be welcome in his private sanctuary. He’s walked out of view, but I can hear him in the closet wrestling around. I let my eyes wander over the dark linens on his massive bed, the softness of his duvet a contrast to the level of masculinity that seeps from his pores. If I had to guess just by the way the man carries himself, I’d thought he’d be on a twin sized bed with scratchy sheets, not the luxury I’m looking at right now.
“This is the best I can do,” he says coming back into view with a small pile of clothes in his big hand.
I take the proffered clothing from his hand as he looks past me down the hallway.
“Thank you.” I turn and walk back to the open door of the guest bedroom. I feel the air from his body moving past me. “When will your old lady be home?”
He stops in his tracks but doesn’t turn to face me. “I don’t have an old lady.”
“Oh,” I say with more surprise than I feel. “This room is just decorated with a light touch.”
Why am I still talking? It’s clear he doesn’t want to interact. Hell, he could’ve had a woman before that’s now gone. His personal life isn’t my business, and if I’m honest, I don’t need his shit in my head as well.
“Rose decorated the guest bedrooms. If it were up to me, they’d all be empty.” He begins walking back toward the living room, but I hear him mumble, “If they were empty I wouldn’t have people showing up expecting to stay.”
I close the door quietly. If he thinks saying shitty things and letting his opinion about me being here known is going to run me off, he has another thing coming. Being unwanted isn’t new to me, but an everyday way of life. Unless he just insists that I leave, I’m not going to let his discontent with me being here faze me. Not much at least.
Chapter 4
“What the hell are you doing?” Most men would be ecstatic at finding a gorgeous woman wearing nothing but a long t-shirt cooking breakfast in their house. I’m not most men.
“Making you breakfast,” she says over her shoulder as she pulls the skillet from the fire and plates a pair of amazing looking eggs beside a pile of hash browns and thick cut bacon.
“I don’t expect to be catered to while you’re here,” I grunt but reach for the plate when she offers it, my mouth already watering. The only time I wake up to breakfast like this is when I get too drunk to drive home at the clubhouse. The girls there always make a huge spread, and even though I don’t stay very often, the home cooked food always soothes the hangovers that seem to get worse the older I get.
“It’s the least I can do,” she offers as she turns back to the stove and breaks another egg into the frying pan.
She hums softly as if in a world of her own and not the kitchen of a man she doesn’t even know. She may be more comfortable this morning, but I heard the lock click on her door after I gave her clothes yesterday evening, so she’s not as relaxed around me as it appears on the outside.
My eyes glance from the food in front of me to the tan expanse of her toned legs. The borrowed t-shirt hits about mid-thigh and for the first time in my life I wish I were a foot shorter. Her hair, now clean, hangs in long waves down her back, the pink hues contrasting with the dark navy of my shirt. I turn my eyes from her as the thought of wrapping it around my hand and using it to guide her mouth down my cock hits me hard. I grumble to myself. She’s come here for help and refuge, and all I can think about is getting her on her knees. The thought of my mother rolling over in her grave at my desire is a sobering thought.
The last thing I need is this woman in my home, stirring my cock, when I have no idea why she’s here in the first place. Seductive without even trying, she slides the egg onto another plate and turns the stove off.
“Thank you,” I mutter as she hands me a cup of steaming coffee and sets her plate, with only half the amount she’s served me, down next to mine at the table.
Her proximity makes me realize just how small she is. I’m sitting now, but I know if I stand, the top of her head wouldn’t even reach the bottom of my chin. Petite, sexy, and full of fire, a trifecta of appeal that I know is going to somehow turn my world upside down.
“Eat,” she insists, sitting in the neighboring chair. I nearly groan when the fabric of the shirt raises a few desperate inches further up her legs. “It’s going to get cold.”
I begin to dig into my food if only to distract myself, once she’s lifted the first bite of hash browns to her mouth. She quirks an eyebrow at my manners, and I give a shrug.
“You ready to tell me what the fuck is going on with your club?” The yellowing of her black eye lights my blood on fire even more than it did yesterday. I’d lain awake last night imagining what I wanted to do to the fucker who hurt her.
“It’s Scorpion’s club, not mine.” She says with an exasperated huff. “Just because I live there doesn’t give me ownership or any say. That dumb DEA agent couldn’t seem to understand that shit yesterday either.”
I stop mid-chew and tilt my head to her. “DEA agent?”
She frowns, fork paused halfway to her mouth. I can tell by the dart of her eyes she’s said something she didn’t want to disclose, and she’s trying to think of a quick lie to cover her tracks.
I assess her injuries again. Federal agents usually have more restraint, especially when dealing with women, but it’s not unheard of for an asshole agent to rough up someone in a bid to get information from them.
“Did the DEA hurt you?” I ground out letting my fork click on the plate as I release it from my hand a second too soon.
Her head shoots up, but the indisputable look on her face tells me I’m way off mark. “Ryland? I could snap his neck in a split second.”
My eyes run over her tiny frame. Either Ryland is a minuscule little shit, or her overconfidence is in full force this morning. Her breath hitches when my eyes linger on the prominent tips of her breasts, hardening under my stare. I look up in time to see her licking her lips then dragging the lower one between her teeth. My cock, on full alert, begins to strain against my sweats.
I clear my throat, failing at an attempt to redirect the conversation. “If the DEA didn’t hurt you, who did?”
She shakes her head and grins. “We don’t have to talk about that.”
Her fingers, the softest of touches, graze my thigh causing the muscles to jump and beg for more attention. Thankfully, I’ve never been a man who could be lead around by my dick.
I clutch her wrist hard enough to know I mean business but not too tight, cognizant of the injuries she has there.
“Answer the question, Mak.” Her eyes search mine as if she’s trying to figure out a way to avoid the questions once again. I let her yesterday because it was clear she’d had a fucked up day, but her staying here without knowing what I’m facing isn’t going to happen.
“The DEA agent didn’t hurt me,” she confirms, a fact I’ve already worked out for myself.
“Who did?” I growl, growing increasingly frustrated at her continued avoidance.
She shifts in her seat, turning her body in my direction. My eyes land at the naked flesh revealed when the shirt shifts at her movement, glorious bare flesh. Catching the direction of my gaze her thighs part another inch.
“I’m very grateful you’re letting me stay here Dom. I’d love to thank you properly.” The fingers of her free hand trace up her leg, and my eyes follow as if it’s the most enthralling thing I’ve ever seen. “But I’m not sure I should tell you what’s going on. I don’t want you to get involved.”
Trance broken.
My eyes snap to hers, finding a seductive lilt of her head and a knowing smirk, as if she’s pegged me for one of the idiots in her brother’s club.
“You involved me the second you showed up on my damn doorstep.” I release her hand and push myself up to standing, needing distance before I become the man who thinks with his dick.
“Come back here,” she pants with a provocative hint in her voice.
“Close your fucking legs,” I sneer. “And if you’re going to be outside of your room, you need to wear more fucking clothes.”
I grab my plate of half-eaten food off the table and damn near break it when I slam it into the sink. Frustrated, I grip the edge and hang my head. Deep, drawing breaths fill my lungs but do nothing to calm my annoyance or flag the stiffness in my cock which makes my normally easy temper flare.
“I’d appreciate it if you didn’t flash your pussy around my house when you’re here,” I say driving the point home as I turn back to face her.
“I’m not a whore,” she mutters, turning her face away from me and back down to her plate. Seconds tick by as she picks up her fork and pushes the cooling food around on her plate.
“Yet, you’re the one offering it up in payment for room and board.” I wince as the harsh words leave my lips, regretting them instantly at the jolt of her shoulders.
I’m an asshole, a fact concreted when she turns her head back to mine, and I find her eyes shining with tears.
“Fuck,” I grumble. “Listen—”
She stops me with an upturned hand.
“I shouldn’t have said—”
Her hand goes up again. “You’re right. I shouldn’t have propositioned you, but I do feel like I owe you something for letting me stay here.”
“All I want is an explanation.”
False, my dick says. You want to fuck her too.
I watch her, waiting for her to explain, but she doesn’t.
“I’ll get you some more clothes,” I offer as I turn to walk out of the room.
“Thank you,” she says.
“I’m heading to the clubhouse. If you’re running from something, you’d probably do best staying inside.” I meet her eyes once more. “Or don’t. Your choi
ce really.”
“Dom?” I stop in my tracks but don’t turn around to face her. “Please don’t tell anyone I’m here.”
I want to use her need to remain undisclosed as a means to pry information from her, but I’m not that big of a manipulative bastard. The thought of keeping her hidden even from my brother and his guys makes me uneasy, makes my mind imagine all sorts of scenarios that have no business in my head.
I nod in agreement and head into my room.
A change of clothes and a quick call to the department store we use when we have to get clothes for battered women later, and I’m on my bike and driving through my small community, grateful she wasn’t still in the kitchen when I had to grab my cell phone off of the counter.
Chapter 5
Makayla
The second his bedroom door clicks closed, I’m out of the chair and down the hallway to mine. I don’t even bother putting my plate in the sink. I’ll worry about it after he’s gone, hoping he takes the embarrassment I feel at how I acted with him.
He’s being a dick, which I understand. Most bikers are assholes, especially when faced with women. We’re almost like a sub-species, only around to serve and pick up after them. I didn’t figure cooking breakfast this morning would put me more in his favor because I was expected to be in the kitchen with his hot meal on the table when he sat down.
The difference today, which would never be found at the Renegade Clubhouse, was the thank you and assurance that my kitchen skills weren’t a requirement. I’ll be there again tomorrow if he doesn’t kick me out by this evening.
I listen, with my ear to the door, when he leaves his room and walks down the long hallway. He pauses just outside of my door. Taking a few quiet steps back, I wait for him to enter only to hear his boots begin to move further away. I can’t determine if I’m relieved he didn’t open the door or disappointed.
