Expose

by C. D. Breadner

  “I know.”

  “You keep kissing me, I’m going to forget what we need to discuss.”

  “No we won’t. Let’s just … we need this first.”

  Tank’s head came forward, his forehead on hers. “I missed you.”

  That simple statement, as corny as it seemed, made her heart soar. “I missed you so much.”

  His hands traced over her skin, dipping up under her top. At the contact with her skin she moaned, moving her head to rest on his shoulder and pressing her lips to the side of his neck. Without a heads-up, his hands plunged into the back of her leggings, cupping her ass roughly, kneading it.

  “Fuck, English,” he groaned, burying his face against the side of her neck and nipping at her skin while she was gentle with him. The tingle between her legs grew, making her writhe against him. Realizing he had an erection made it worse.

  “Let’s go inside,” she begged. “Please, Tank.”

  With a squeal she was suddenly upside down over his shoulder, staring at his back and wondering what the hell had happened. He stooped to pick up the bags he’d dropped and she shrieked again, clutching his shirt like she somehow expected him to drop her.

  Neither said a word as the cabin door swung shut behind them. He set her down and started tearing at his clothes, and she did the same. They fell onto the bed naked, stroking and touching and tasting and reacquainting themselves. It was divine torture up until the moment he slid inside, filling her in the most invasive and incredible way.

  They made love slowly, and despite how frantic they had been up until then it was perfect. The kiss never ended; he held her in place the entire time with his weight and mouth and when she came it was with whimpers he then swallowed.

  When he did part their lips, he really stunned her. “I could love you, Rose. Jesus, I could fall in love with you.”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Tank knew Rose would have come with a history. Shit, who didn’t? He never equated taking your clothes off for a living as having a Mayberry upbringing. That might be bullshit, but that was the impression he got. And with her obvious trust issues he would have been more surprised if she hadn’t been screwed over by some prick in the past.

  However, his reaction to her sad tale surprised him. He wanted to kill the guy, and not just because he was someone from her past. Tank wanted him dead for hurting her like that and being such an asshole, creating this mistrust in her.

  None of it he faulted Rose for. He was a bit disturbed by the fact that her mother didn’t know what she actually did for a living here in the US, but that was her issue to deal with. He’d like to meet her mom one day, and that thought was a bit strange to him. He’d never known anyone where he’d thought “I’d like to know where they came from.” But there it was anyway.

  When he woke the next morning, stomach growling from the lack of supper the night before, Rose was wrapped around him tight, legs and arms ensnaring him in a warm and sultry way. He didn’t bother opening his eyes; he was far too relaxed and comfortable for the effort. But dammit, he was hungry.

  And he remembered what he had said. Of course he did. At the time he’d thought nothing of it, but holding her while she dozed, it came to him again and started to worry at his gut.

  Tank knew where the urge had come from. He’d just watched Buck go completely manic on the Gypsy that had been handed over without much of a struggle. That particular bastard had taken a little too much delight in what had happened to Gertie. They had him on tape biting her, hard, and the marks had still been on her skin when she got free of them. Buck knew it was that guy the second he’d seen him.

  That wasn’t the devotion that had inspired Tank to spill his guts, though. It was after, when they’d all left Knuckles and a prospect to clean up the mess of it. Out in the clubhouse, Jolene and Gertie had been enjoying a friendly game of pool. Buck had walked right up to his woman, wrapped his arms around her from behind, and buried his face in her cropped-off hair. He was saying something to her, but Tank was watching Gertie’s face. He didn’t think Buck was spilling that he’d just killed someone in the other room, but it was obviously something she wanted to hear. Needed to hear. She turned in his embrace and simply wrapped her arms around his neck, hands in his hair while he nearly collapsed onto her. She held him up. He might have been crying, but it was silent. He had at least a foot and fifty pounds on her, and still she’d held him up.

  Tank had walked out and headed right to Rose with barely a word to anyone. He’d just muttered at Fritter that he was “Going to the cabin.”

  The most troubling part of him running off at the mouth like that was that it was the truth. He was going to fall in love with her, if he wasn’t already dead on target.

  One warm hand rested in the center of his chest. He covered it with one of his own, cracking an eye. Her scar was visible on her forearm. He really didn’t think it was that big a deal, but she saw it quite plainly. If anything it looked like a birthmark. And the spot on her cheek was just a touch larger than a dime. That would always be noticeable, no way to cover it with clothing. Surely women could do that magic with makeup, right? Jesus, she honestly couldn’t think she was ugly. Could she? He ached just looking at her. That’s how lovely she was. It would take so much more than a few scars to knock her down to his level.

  Her brow puckered, and she looked annoyed, nuzzling her face into him before opening her eyes. Even waking up she was beautiful. Her eyes focused on him and she smiled, the dazzling brightness of it forcing him to return the gesture.

  “Hey, Cowboy,” she mumbled, her voice coarse.

  “Good morning, gorgeous.”

  “Can I make you breakfast?”

  She snuggled closer and closer, and his cock was hardening, stomach entirely forgotten. “In a minute.”

  Rose sighed as his hand ran down her shoulder, to her hip, then dipped to her lower back. Her skin rose in goose flesh and she gave another soft sigh, raising her head to him so he could kiss her. No fuss, no tease.

  Her hand rode over his stomach and lower, and she broke the kiss to smile at him as she took him in hand. He groaned low in his throat, eyes rolling back in his head. Her grip was soft while still remaining firm, and she kept it frustratingly slow until he was moving his hips to try to increase her rhythm. It made her chuckle, which was also a deep, throaty sound.

  “I thought you’d be tired,” she whispered, lowering her head and pulling at one of his nipples with her lips.

  “Fuck, Rose,” he panted out.

  That chuckle came again, and before he could track her movements she was astride him, breasts brushing against him in a painfully tantalizing way. She covered his mouth with hers, very forcefully suddenly, and his cock kicked in her hold.

  “English, you’re gonna finish me if you keep this up.”

  “That’s the idea. I like watching you.”

  That nearly did it right there, but he growled to hold it off, one hand going overhead to grip a slat of the headboard. The other clamped around her back, pulling her chest down to him. She chuckled again, but managed to keep up her genius stroking technique. His tip was brushing her taut stomach. Fuck. He had the restraint of a fucking teenager with her.

  “Tank, don’t be a hero.”

  “Don’t tell me what to do.” He tried to make it sound like a joke but it was mostly grunting, then he was close and his head cranked back with a groan.

  “I like that,” she whispered, her lips teasing along his collarbone. “I love how you sound.”

  He forced his hips to stay put, and with a dozen more pulls he was coming, hollering as usual, his hand cranking down on the headboard until wood splintered and his hand came away holding the busted spindle.

  When he stopped seeing stars and was nearly breathing normally, he opened his eyes again to see Rose grinning down at him, and he had to laugh. It was brief but it was definitely a laugh. “Sorry,” he mumbled, bringing her down for a sweet kiss.

  “Don’t be sorry.
That’s your bed you just busted.”

  -oOo-

  It would have been just fine with Tank to spend the next two days at the cabin with Rose, but he got a text on his phone from Jayce, calling for a meeting the next morning. Rather than get up early, he decided to turn around and come right back home with the groceries he’d intended to share with Rose over the weekend.

  Tank knew what was up with this meeting. They had to think over Bark’s request and put it to a vote. He could only imagine how little Jayce liked the idea, but at the same time the guy had helped them find a few Gypsys he clearly knew they were after. And not only that; Bark had helped Gertie escape the Gypsy clubhouse to save Trinny. Tank knew no one would be more frustrated by this than Jayce and Buck. Personally, Tank felt like they owed the guy this one favor, and they had no reason to not trust him.

  Still, Buck and Jayce would need convincing. And calming down.

  Rose didn’t mind heading back home. He suspected she was dying for running water, but she denied it and insisted the outhouse hadn’t been that bad. Tank didn’t believe that for a second. Even Fritter complained about having to use an outhouse out at the cabin. Still, Tank was impressed with Rose’s tough stance on how she’d gotten along with roughing it. He believed her. She was getting better at telling him what was going on with her when it really mattered; he could tell right away.

  On the ride back to Markham, she sat right next to him on the truck’s bench seat, her head resting on his shoulder, his arm on the seat behind her. They listened to an AM country music station, and she didn’t say a word. She’d actually started humming along with an old Hank Williams tune. “I’ll countrify you yet, English,” he teased, giving her shoulder a squeeze.

  “I liked the cabin,” she replied. “You’re right. It was relaxing. You need better reading material, though.”

  “What are you talking about? Those are my prize possessions. I’ve searched long and hard for those, they’re classics.”

  “I’ve never even heard of Louie L’Amour.”

  He chuckled. “He’s a national treasure. You button your lip.”

  She giggled, lunging across to kiss his cheek, then resting her head on his shoulder again. “You’re ridiculous.”

  “I’m glad you’re more like yourself now,” he said carefully. “I missed you like this.”

  She didn’t take it poorly. “Me, too. But I feel better now.”

  “Good. Can I show you something when we get back to Markham?”

  “It depends on what it is.”

  He had to laugh at her suspicion. “It’s a good surprise, I promise.”

  And it was. The prospects had just finished cleaning up the studio the day before, and it looked great. At least, to him it did. What the fuck did he know about dance studios? But he couldn’t wait for her to see it.

  The rest of the drive was quiet, his woman at his side, the windows rolled down so the wind could blow into the cab of the pickup. When an old Johnny Cash song came on the radio, she even reached out and turned up the volume.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  When the pickup truck stopped along a dying street in Markham, Rose had to cast a wary gaze at her driver. Yes, she trusted Tank. But this part of town was dicey, and she wasn’t sure what he could possibly have to “show” her here.

  He circled the truck in the meantime and pulled her door open, a rusty squeal bringing her around. She smiled as he held his hand out to her.

  “Come on, English. I promise I’m not selling you for magic beans.”

  With a giggle she got out of the truck, stepping clear so he could slam the door shut. Then she took his warm, dry hand in hers and let him pull her to a ratty-looking wood door. “Now, it looks like shit out here but the inside has been spruced up a bit.”

  She shook her head as he held the door open and ushered her inside. The first thing she noticed was the smell of fresh paint and turpentine. The hallway was painted a deep burgundy: floors, walls and ceiling. To the left a few yards in a door was open, bright, natural light flooding into the dark passage. As they approached the opening, Tank’s hand on her back steered her to the doorway.

  She stepped up onto a raised hardwood floor, her mouth dropping open as she took in the brilliant surroundings. Three of the walls were mirrored, one with a ballet barre running the length of it. The walls above the mirrors were brilliant, bright white. Close to the ceiling there were small windows letting in natural daylight. The ceilings were fourteen feet high, the room echoey and massive.

  It was beautiful.

  “What is this place?” she asked, moving to the center of the space and turning in a circle.

  Tank leaned on the wall just inside the door, hooking his thumbs on his belt loops. His grin was crooked and adorable. “It’s your dance studio, English.”

  She inhaled and snapped her head around to him. “What?”

  “It was sitting here empty. All I had to do was fix it up, keep it clean and run the water every now and then, and we’re free and clear on rent.”

  Her blood was pounding in her ears, her head was swimming, too. “What am I going to do with a dance studio?”

  Nothing ever fazed this man. “Whatever you want, English. It’s your space. Come here to dance, do whatever you want. Just be alone. But … I thought you’d like it.”

  Rose bit her lip, turning around one last time and taking in every corner of the space. In each corner was a table fitted out with a lamp, so at night she wouldn’t need to turn on the harsh fluorescents. It was amazing.

  “Tank … I don’t know what to say.”

  “If you don’t like it, you never have to come here. I just thought you’d like something familiar, something that’s all yours.”

  She was walking as he spoke, stepping right into his space, reaching up and pulling him down by the neck to kiss him.

  Without pausing he wrapped her up in both arms, bending her into him and sweeping his tongue against hers. She moaned, pressing her chest into his and losing both hands in his hair. She was growing to love all this hair. It was something to hold onto, grab, wrap around her wrist and bury her face in. No matter what, it smelled amazing, like his own scent came from it.

  He was chuckling as he parted their mouths. “So you like it, then?”

  “I love it.”

  “Good.” The twinkle in his eye told her he’d never doubted that she’d be thrilled by this. Cocky bastard.

  “You going to be my first dance partner, Cowboy?” she teased.

  “Thought I told you, English. I like dancing.”

  “You do?” That honestly surprised her. He was so manly. The thought of him liking dancing other than the watching variety was almost absurd. Like they’d revoke his Man Card or something.

  “Always have. And it was always a great way to meet women.”

  She did not need to be reminded about how charming he could be. “You smooth devil.”

  He chuckled again, rumbling deep inside. “Didn’t even have to use that on you, though.”

  “No, you didn’t.” She tilted her head, closing her eyes while he gave her a quick peck. “You are … such an amazing man, Tank.”

  His smile faltered just a bit. Then it came back full force. “I’m trying to be, baby.”

  Rose went up on her toes to kiss him again, and this time it was slow and sweet. Just his lips dragging along hers once, twice. Three times. “I could love you, too, Cowboy,” she whispered.

  His hand tightened on her hips. “Say that again.”

  “I could love you, too.”

  “Damn, I like that.”

  She was laughing as he scooped her up by wrapping his huge arms around her back and straightening up. With her feet dangling, he kissed her again, and this time she opened her mouth for his tongue, which he seemed to appreciate, going by his low growl.

  That set off a tremor in her, and as he moved away from the wall to kick the door closed, her pulse quickened.

  “What are you doing?” sh
e whispered as he set her back on her feet.

  “I think we need to christen the room,” he said before reaching for her shirt and pulling it off over her head easily.

  She gasped and covered her chest. This would be a problem wearing the slouchy, comfortable clothes she liked so much. Too easy for him to get them off of her.

  “Tank!” she squealed, trying to get her shirt back. He tossed it into the room, but before she could go after it he shrugged out of the flannel shirt he’d been wearing over a plain white beater. She felt her arguments die, the muscles in his chest and arms bunching and moving while he threw his own shirt in the same direction as hers. The tank followed, and she was staring at that wonderful expanse of chest with its dark-blonde hair, the muscles still sliding around as he reached for his belt buckle.

  She was wet instantly, breathing through parted lips as he grinned knowingly. “What?” he challenged, smirk brightening. “You not going to argue with me?”

  Rose shook her head, stepping close to him again and pressing her hands to his stomach, sliding them up. Her hands were colder, and his nipples hardened. She watched how his body responded, loving that this big, strong beast of a man reacted like a puppy to her touch.

  “Fuck, English. How do you do that?”

  “What?”

  “Knock me on my ass like this.”

  She grinned. “You’re still on your boots there, Cowboy.”

  He used one thumb to tilt her head upwards. Rose loved the heat in his stare, the way the smirk had melted into an expression of hunger. Then suddenly his mouth was crashing down to hers and he spun with her, pressing her back into the wall. Out of habit—her body knowing what it wanted when he kissed her like this—her leg hooked up around his hip. He caught it by the back of the knee, pressing his erection against her core with a grunt.

  Yep, just like a puppy.

  She reached down with one hand, undoing his belt and reaching into his pants. His other hand was going for his pocket, and she was praying he had a condom on him.