by Dez Burke
“You said you needed to get home for Sadie. I tried to call your dog sitter for you. She didn’t pick up the phone. I guess she was out for Valentine’s Day dinner.”
Ahh…Sadie.
That explains it.
I try to recall the previous night’s events. There’s nothing but a blank space in my brain. “Did you sleep here?” I ask, dreading the answer. I live in fear the one time I let a girl spend the night that I’ll wake up to a bathroom full of feminine products, makeup, and straightening irons.
“No. I just followed you home and waited until you got inside. Your house is on my way to work at the diner so I just dropped by to check on you. To make sure you’re still alive and breathing.”
“Barely,” I say. “Thanks. I’m good now. Maybe I’ll see you later tonight at the clubhouse.”
Hint, hint.
“Okay,” she says after a moment. “Sadie is in the backyard running around. I fed her already. She kept hovering around the bag of dog food in the kitchen and gazing up at me with those big brown eyes.”
“Can you let her back in before you go?” I ask. “She’s been digging under the fence lately and running off to play with the neighbor’s dogs.”
“Sure, I’ll do that.”
I hear the front door slam and thirty seconds later, a wriggly ball of yellow fur jumps on my bed. I know what’s coming next, so I pull the pillow tighter over my head. When a moist nose pokes its way under the pillow and into my cheek, I can’t help but laugh.
“Stop it!” I say, trying to push Sadie off me. “Go away, you mangy mutt.”
We both know I don’t mean it. She keeps digging under the covers until both of our faces are completely under the pillow.
Her hot breath stinks.
So does mine.
At this point it would be a toss-up on which one is worse.
I open one eye to see her staring at me intently, willing me with everything she’s got to get up and play.
Damn! I love this dog.
I found her shivering on the side of the road in an ice storm back in December. Brought her home, fattened her up, and tried to find her owner. When nobody claimed her, I called her mine. Reaching up, I curl my arm around her neck and pull her down on top of me.
“Hey baby,” I say to the only love of my life. “Do you love your Daddy?”
A slurpy wet kiss is my answer. She wallows around on the bed covers until she finds a good spot then snuggles under my arm. In seconds, we’re both sound asleep.
Thirty minutes later, she’s had enough resting and is licking my face again. There’s no sleeping late when there’s a dog in the house. I know it’s pointless trying to ignore her any longer.
As much as I hate to, it’s time to haul my lazy ass out of bed. As soon as I sit up, she jumps off and lands on the wood floor with a thud. Running to the door, she turns around and play bows toward me. When I don’t move fast enough, she starts barking.
I wince at the loud sound and rub my temples.
“Sadie! Not so loud. You’re killing your Daddy. C’mon girl. Out you go.”
She runs down the hallway in front of me. I open the back door and toss a tennis ball as far as I can throw it then wince in pain. Ouch! My shoulder hurts like a motherfucker from hitting the tile floor yesterday.
After the fifth time of me tossing the ball as far as I can throw it and her retrieving it, I quit to go inside and take a shower. If I waited on her to end the game, I would be waiting forever.
They don’t call them Golden Retrievers for nothing. Sadie would willingly chase tennis balls as long as I was willing to throw.
In the bathroom, I step out of my jeans and into the shower stall. Closing my eyes, I turn on the hot water full force and let it pound onto my back. The old football injury aches painfully in my shoulder. I think about how lucky I am to walk away with nothing more than aches and bruises.
Other people fared far worse.
I vaguely remember watching a news update on my cell phone after my fifth or sixth drink last night. The news report listed several names of people who had been shot. Everyone was still alive at midnight, which is a miracle all by itself. A couple of the victims were still in intensive care. The cameraman Bill was one of them. I hope he makes it. He was a decent enough fellow. Maggie was certainly concerned about him.
I’m dreading checking my phone to get an update. I don’t want to see any bad news. I already feel guilty enough as it is. If anyone dies, it will be my fault.
I should have done more yesterday.
Moved faster.
Thought smarter.
Every second I stayed down and did nothing gave the shooters more opportunities to injure an innocent bystander.
I hated hearing everyone at the clubhouse talk about what I did when all I can think about is what I didn’t do.
As always.
Same old story. Time after time I’ve walked away when others didn’t. There’s a fancy name for it. Survivor’s guilt, they call it. The constant gnawing, guilty feeling that threatens to rot me from the inside out.
I’ve done my time with counseling and talking it out with the so-called experts. The Marines forced me to go. The counselors said all the right things and tried to reassure me that I’m not alone with my issues.
But I am alone.
The demons are mine to fight all by myself. The crazy thing is sometimes I think maybe I don’t deserve to beat them. I never told any of the counselors that. They wouldn’t understand. How could they?
They weren’t there.
They’ve probably never even been to the Middle East. Or maybe even held a gun. It wouldn’t surprise me. How could they understand what it’s like to have to make split-second decisions that sometimes have irreversible and horrible results?
I’m good at hiding what I’m going through, and that’s the way I want it to stay. I’ve become an expert at putting a big smile on my face and pretending as if everything is fine. Talking it out sucks. It only brings the pain to the surface. As long as I keep the emotions all packed down tight inside, I can make it through another day.
Keep moving. One foot in front of the other.
After all, today I’m a fucking hero, and I need to start acting like one.
I stay in the shower until the hot water finally runs out. When I turn off the shower, I hear someone knocking loudly on the front door. Sadie hears them too and is barking frantically in the backyard.
“Fuck!” I mutter. “Can’t a man get any peace around here?”
Who would be knocking at my door? I live out in the middle of nowhere. Any of the Steel Infidels would just come right on in and make themselves at home. The Sweet Butts too. Which is the same thing I would do at their house. We have an open-door policy among the club members. What’s mine is theirs and vice-versa. When the knocking continues, I sigh and step out of the shower.
Maybe it’s something important. After what happened yesterday, it might even be the police. I hope not because I’m not in the mood to be talking to the police, and Flint isn’t here with his lawyer skills to keep me out of trouble.
“Hang on!” I yell toward the door. “I’m coming.”
Grabbing a towel, I wrap it around my waist and tuck in the ends. If it’s the police and they’re offended by my lack of clothing, I can use it as an excuse to come back inside and call Flint. I hurry to the front door and throw it open.
The person standing on my doorstep is definitely not the police and not someone I ever expected to see again, much less this morning.
“What the hell are you doing here?” I say in surprise.
8
Maggie
The biker is not happy to see me. Not that I expected him to be. From the irritated expression on his handsome face, I’ve arrived too early in the morning and interrupted his shower.
His jet-black hair is a damp, tousled mess and his blue eyes are sleepy and a little bloodshot. He’s bare-chested, wearing nothing but a thin white towel that do
esn’t leave much to the imagination. The towel is tied around his waist on one side and hangs barely below his balls.
Could it be any shorter? Or the fabric more transparent now that it’s wet?
His legs stretching below the towel are strong and muscular. The palms of my hands itch to reach down and caress his thigh. To feel the steel muscle underneath the pads of my fingers. Or trail my fingernails up his inner leg.
For a long moment, I’m at a loss for words. Not a typical scenario for me.
“What are you doing here?” he asks again.
“I’m sorry,” I finally stammer. “Did I wake you up? I mean interrupt your shower?” I’m tongue-tied and screwing up my words.
“What the fuck does it look like, lady?” he growls. “And how did you find me so fast? I haven’t even had a cup of coffee and here you are banging on my damn door first thing in the morning. Don’t you sleep?”
“It’s eleven o’clock,” I say. “Not that early. Almost noon.”
Why am I explaining myself to him?
He rubs his eyes with his fingers and leans against the door. The towel inches lower on his waist. He knows it and does nothing. Any second and the tiny piece of cloth is going to drop right down on the doormat. I’m halfway hoping it does.
It’s taking everything I have in me not to stare at the v-line of muscles from his abs going down under the towel. I’ve heard my girlfriends talk about those particular set of muscles. I’ve never understood the fascination before.
I certainly do now.
I can’t help wondering about the heat of his still damp skin and how those muscles would feel underneath my tongue. I would start at his ribs and run my tongue down the length of one side and then up the other. I would work slowly and wait until he begged me before I slid my tongue underneath the towel.
“Maybe for you,” he says.
I’ve lost my train of thought and glance back up at his face. “Maybe for me what?” I ask, distracted by the magnificent maleness standing in front of me.
He frowns and crosses his muscular, tattooed arms. Now that he’s shirtless, I can see the rest of the lion tattoo that I caught a glimpse of yesterday. The eyes of the lion are cool and blue. They remind me of his. I wonder if that was the intention. The lion tattoo will be forever branded into my brain.
“Maybe not early for you,” he says. “What did you do, lady? Stay up all night researching me on the Internet? How the fuck did you find my house? It couldn’t have been easy since I’m way off the main road.”
I wonder what I should tell him. The truth is I don’t know much. Not nearly enough. Only that his name is Toby and that he rides with a motorcycle club called the Steel Infidels. Other than that, I don’t know one thing about him or the other guys. It took me all night to find out that tiny piece of information, and only because I had the station’s video tape of the live broadcast.
Unfortunately, now the Associated Press has the tape too and television stations have been showing it all across the world. The other reporters are nipping at my heels on the story, and I’m only minutes ahead of them. Probably not even that now.
Back at the television station, my unpaid college intern is working as hard as she can to find out more. I’m not hopeful she’ll dig up anything. She only works mornings and considering she’s unpaid, it’s not as if I can crack a whip and force her to work overtime.
If I’m lucky enough to get the jump on this story, it will be because of what I can dig up in person, not from searching through the same information on the Internet as everyone else.
“I didn’t stay up the entire night,” I explain. “I slept three hours and I had help from others at the TV station. You weren’t too difficult to find. The Steel Infidel patches on your buddy’s leather jacket gave you away.”
He raises his eyebrows and gives me a dubious look. “And why would you want to find me?”
To find out why he ran instead of taking the credit for being a hero.
To finally have a chance to crack a big story of my own.
I don’t say any of that.
Instead, I give him my most sincere smile. As a reporter, I have various practiced expressions for all occasions. This one is to reassure him that I’m genuine. To make him feel comfortable and at ease with me. It usually works well, especially with men.
“What you did yesterday was amazing,” I say. “And heroic. Not only did you save other people’s lives by your actions, you also saved mine. I drove up here this morning because I wanted to personally thank you. That’s all.”
I’m expecting him to duck his head, break eye contact, be bashful and say something along the lines of “golly geez, it was nothing. I’m just a good old country boy who loves America.”
Or some other line of crap.
Instead he grabs the back of my neck and slams me against him in one quick, sudden movement. I yelp in surprise while my hands splay across his bare chest muscles for support. The heat from his skin still warm from the shower quickly seeps through my thin blouse. My nipples harden at the close contact.
He smells delicious and intoxicating.
Clean like soap instead of heavy cologne that masks a man’s own masculine smell.
My head swims.
“Okay, so thank me,” he says. His perfect lips twist into a smile. “Now that you’re here.”
His head looms lower, and he covers my lips in a kiss with such force and passion that I don’t have a chance to protest.
Even if I wanted to.
Nothing prepares me for the blast of electricity ripping through me the moment our lips met. I’m too stunned to react. Instead I part my lips and he presses me impossibly tighter against him, robbing me of breath.
Gathering me closer still, he wraps a thick strand of my long hair around his hand like a cage fighter to hold me captive. My breasts strain and tingle against him. With a growl, he deepens the kiss and practically lifts me off my feet as his other hand closes around my hip. Backing me up against the side of the door, he begins to kiss me roughly, hungrily, with one hand moving up to cup my aching breast.
I couldn’t fight him if I tried.
He’s a tightly coiled lion whose wild energy has been unleashed.
The power of Toby is not something to tangle with lightly.
I should remember this and take caution.
For a brief moment, I close my eyes and allow myself to lean into him.
Just for a second.
A big mistake.
He feels me giving in and he grips me tighter.
“Wait!” I say breathlessly, reluctantly forcing myself to break the kiss. “Stop it! Let me go!”
I push against his upper arms. His hands tighten to cup my ass, holding me tight against his masculine hardness.
“Maybe if you sound like you really mean it,” he says thickly. “But you don’t. In fact, I think you’re enjoying this as much as I am.”
He leans down to kiss me again and I turn my face away. He chuckles and presses his lips to my neck instead, kissing and nibbling the soft skin wickedly. I shiver and he laughs knowingly.
Damn! The man knows exactly what he’s doing to me.
This is going to spiral out of control quickly if I can’t stop it. I place my palms against his chest to shove him away again and discover his heart is hammering as erratically as mine. I’m not the only one deeply affected by our kiss.
“What do you think you’re doing?” I ask, my voice quivering.
He lifts his head and stares straight into my eyes. “A better question is what the hell do you think you’re doing coming to my house uninvited and knocking on my door?” he replies. “For your information, I’m getting my thank you. You could have just sent a card, you know. Saved yourself a long car trip.”
“A card?” I echo. “Who sends cards these days? Considering you saved my life, a drugstore card would have seemed inadequate.”
“My thoughts exactly,” he says with a devilish smile. “Since you mentioned i
t first, maybe I want more than a kiss for my thank you. Maybe I deserve more than a kiss. I believe I do. What is your life worth to you? It must be worth something good. Did you know we’re miles from the nearest neighbors?”
“No, I didn’t notice on my drive here. Why?”
“Just thought you should know there’s absolutely nothing, or no one, to stop me from dragging you inside the house right now and throwing you across my bed.” His blue eyes glitter dangerously. “Hell, we might not even make it to the bed. It’s all the way down at the end of the long hallway. The sofa is closer. So is the kitchen table. I kind of like the idea of bending you over and sliding your tight little black skirt up around your waist.”
He tugs my head back by the hair he has wrapped around his hand. Leaning closer, he whispers in my ear. “I could even make you scream my name. Do you know my name, Maggie?”
Is he joking? Would he really drag me inside against my will? I search for any sign on his face that says he’s teasing me. His eyes are guarded, giving nothing away. The long, solid cock pressed against me through the towel tells me there’s a chance he might be serious.
Now I’m worried.
What do I know about this man?
Not one thing.
He’s right. I had no business showing up at his house. Not a single person knows where I am. He could be a murderer or even a serial killer. He could drag me inside his house and do all kinds of unspeakable things to me, and no one would hear me yell.
Or scream his name.
I refuse to let myself think about that.
He loosens his grip with one arm and reaches down behind me to slide his hand under my skirt. His large palm cups my ass cheek and squeezes the flesh. One finger slides closer to my crotch. Unconsciously, I shift slightly to give him better access.
Oh yeah, he’s dead serious.
I’m soaking my panties and detest myself for it. What am I doing? This is completely unprofessional and totally out of character for me.
I push against his chest again, harder this time, and it’s like moving against a concrete wall. I bet he played a linebacker in football. He doesn’t budge.
