Two Princes: The Biker and The Billionaire

by Victoria Danann

  He relocked her door and started toward her, biting off the condom wrapper as he walked back to the bed, dick swinging in a manner that could have been hypnotizing to Brigid over a protracted period of time. Stopping next to where she was waiting, he put the condom on standing up while Brigid looked on, thinking she had to be the luckiest girl alive.

  Brash practically jumped her, but when he positioned himself at the entrance, she said, “Wait. Wait. Go slow.”

  “Why?” he growled in her ear.

  “Because it’s been a… while. For me.”

  He raised up on his elbows and looked at her. “How long?” She hesitated. “Answer.”

  “I’m thinking!”

  “Jesus.”

  “It’s been, maybe four years.”

  “Four years.” He said it like it was an impossibility.

  “I don’t have time to do much but study and school-related stuff. And before you I wasn’t all that interested in…” She seemed to get lost in looking at his mouth.

  “Baby,” he said softly, smoothing one copper-colored curl away from her face. He wasn’t sure what it was about him that caused the tousled beauty to decide he was going to be the one to end her abstinence, but he figured he must have done something really good in his life. “Slow it is.“

  He handled her like glass, entering her just a little at a time until her breathing picked up and she signaled her readiness, verbally with sexy sounds of pleasure, and physically with squirming and grinding against him.

  He could have gone off as soon as his tip was inside her, but he used every trick he knew to restrain himself so that she would be glad she’d given him the end of celibacy. He waited until she was at the brink of orgasm, then lightly stroked her into insanity while he let himself go. All it took for him was one last thrust being fully present in the moment, appreciating that the woman occupying his old bed was a treasure worth waiting for.

  By the time their breathing regulated, the sun had set completely.

  “It’s dark,” she said.

  “Yeah.”

  “That was…”

  “What? It was what?”

  “Wonderful.”

  “What were you goin’ to say?”

  “That’s what I was going to say.”

  “You were goin’ to say somethin’ else. I can tell.”

  She laughed. “I wasn’t going to say anything else. I was just thinking about what you said about sleeping in the wrong room, that you thought I was a former lover hoping for seconds. I thought you were a buffoon for saying so. I mean, who says, ‘I’m so good in bed that women beg me for more’? But I guess you have a right to your vanity.”

  “Jesus.”

  “You say that a lot, don’t you?”

  “I never did before.”

  “Before what?”

  He smiled. “Before Brigid.”

  The next three weeks passed by quickly. Brash made good on his promise to cover his duties while he’d be away. He also bought a second phone for the express purpose of giving his business owners a way to reach him and made sure they all had the number.

  He spent as much time in Brigid’s bed as was possible. If Brigid had been any other woman, he would have just brought her around, introduced her, and that would have been that. But Brigid wasn’t a woman to the club. She was one of their more lucrative businesses, and that made their involvement an indiscretion.

  As the end of the month drew near, he was torn between looking forward to spending time with Brandon and, ultimately, with his mother, but he was definitely not looking forward to so much time away from Brigid. It hadn’t taken long for him to get used to the smell of her shampoo on his pillow or the feel of waking up with her spooned against his back. For the first time in his life he didn’t dread mornings, because morning meant breakfast with Brigid.

  Sometimes his pop looked at him funny, like he knew something was up. But if he’d guessed, or even seen the two of them together when they thought no one was looking, Brant never said anything about it.

  In moments of clarity and self-awareness, as Brash rode on the curving two lane road to town, he knew he had it bad. And didn’t even mind admitting it. He wished he could tell Brigid where he was going and why it was so important, but he and his brother had pledged secrecy and Brash knew that was for the best.

  When the day came, he had to tell Brigid that he was going to be gone for a month, maybe longer. He knew she might not stay for the full time her contract allowed, and that once she left, she might not have the time of day to give him, but it was a chance he had to take.

  “Pop’s decided you don’t really need a babysitter while I’m gone.”

  She blinked twice. “Babysitter?”

  “Uh, well, when you first came, he thought one of us should keep an eye on you. He thought the old ladies would pitch a fit if it was one of the married guys. And he thought you were too much of a temptation for the single guys.” He grinned and tucked a curl behind her ear. “Turns out he was right about that. But he thought I was the best candidate.”

  Her brow furrowed. “So you’re telling me that all the time you spent with me…”

  He shook his head. “Don’t go there. What’s passed between you and me’s got nothin’ to do with business. You’re a woman. I’m a man who wants you. A lot. That’s all there is to it.” She nodded, but didn’t look convinced. “Anyway, it relieves my mind to know that nobody else will be payin’ you so much attention. At least I hope they won’t be. Maybe I should leave a pistol…”

  She laughed. “No. That’s okay.”

  “You do have a mean right hand. I can almost still feel where you split my lip.” He pointed to the spot. “Kiss it better.”

  She kissed all around the spot tenderly, before engaging his mouth in an all-consuming kiss that she hoped he wouldn’t forget. The last thing in the world she wanted was to do drama about him leaving, but a single tear escaped.

  He ran his thumb over it to stop its path down her cheek. “Jesus, baby. You kill me when you do that.” She smiled. “I’m goin’ to be out of touch.”

  “Okay.”

  “But it don’t mean I won’t be thinkin’ about you.” Her lips parted and he realized she looked surprised. Of course she was. He’d never said one single sentimental thing to her. They’d never named what they had going or talked about anything further into the future than lunch. “I will be thinkin’ about you, Brigid.”

  “Okay,” she repeated, with more enthusiasm. He kissed her again and pressed his forehead to hers. He didn’t know what he wanted to say about his feelings, but he wanted to let her know… something.

  As he pulled out, she waved goodbye bravely, thinking the very last thing she’d ever expected was to fall for a member of the Sons of Sanctuary Motorcycle Club.

  Chapter 5

  Brash left in a black pickup truck, pulling his bike in a covered trailer behind him. He deliberately brought the truck with manual transmission because of mountain and off-road driving. He and Brandon had agreed on a place thirteen miles from Telluride, Colorado called the Buffalo Lakes Observatory. At five miles off the nearest paved road, it was the very definition of remote, but beautiful and unique. Brash looked online to see how much it rented for and was glad the billionaire brother was footing the bill.

  They’d kicked around a lot of ideas, but had settled on that place for several reasons. Since it was after ski season and spring break, and before schools were out for summer, nobody would be around but locals. The chances of seeing somebody either of them knew were slim to none.

  Last, but not least, a legendary artist owned and worked at Telluride Tattoo and Piercing.

  It was a little less than twelve hundred miles. If all went well he could jump on I40 and get as far as Albuquerque, which was seven hundred miles or thereabouts. That would divide the trip nicely, because driving through the mountains always slowed things down, especially pulling a trailer. At least he’d only be doing it one way. He’d be leaving
Telluride in a private jet, while his brother would be driving back to Austin alone.

  It occurred to him for the first time to wonder whether or not his brother knew how to drive a stick shift. Thinking the answer was probably no, gave Brash a chuckle. He might be teaching his brother how to ride a motorcycle and how to drive a stick shift.

  The weather was good and the traffic wasn’t bad. He stopped in Lubbock for gas, a piss break, and food. Soft tacos, which made him think about Brigid. Not that he’d thought about much else on the drive. He’d turned on the radio, but all the songs were about loving or fucking or both. And every one of them had brought her to mind.

  On the north side of Albuquerque he found a motel that looked safe enough. He asked for the room at the end of the building so that he could pull the rig up to the window and know if anybody tried to tamper with it. God help ‘em if they did. He had a hot shower and walked across the parking lot to a diner.

  Since it was seat yourself, he took a booth that had a nice view of his truck and trailer. He ordered a BLT with French fries and took an apple pie to go. Back in the room, he turned on the TV and checked the new “business” phone for messages from owners. All clear. He wished he could call Brigid, but he knew the best way to handle that was to simply leave it alone until the family thing was resolved.

  He ran through the basic cable offerings on TV and settled on the second half of a western that wasn’t as bad as he expected. Sometime before the end, he drifted off. He woke up to an audience full of people looking way too excited about a vacuum cleaner. Infomercial. Holding the remote up just high enough, he switched it off and went back to sleep.

  The next day’s drive was uneventful. There was a little rain around Farmington and, as expected, his mph slowed down considerably once he got to Durango. Even interstate drives are a slowdown when a trailer needs to be pulled uphill.

  Brash stopped at Telluride to fill up with gas and stock up on his favorite things. Peanuts were top of the list, of course. He bought twice his normal anticipated supply. He also got beer and enough groceries for a couple of meals while he was at it.

  It was almost dark when Brash stopped the truck next to a new white Range Rover. He got out and shook the stiffness out, then grabbed bags of groceries on the way in.

  A familiar face came out to greet him. He’d forgotten just how eerie it was to see a face that familiar on somebody else.

  “Need help?” Brandon asked.

  “You take these.” He handed the grocery bags off to Brandon and went back to the truck for the beer and his stuff.

  “I hope you got peanuts.”

  Brash didn’t turn around, but Brandon heard him laugh.

  Brash’s pop had taught him that not much beats Hamburger Helper in a pinch. He made the chili tomato concoction for Brandon, who had never had Hamburger Helper. Ever. That had made Brash shake his head.

  Brandon built a fire while Brash cooked. When the sun went down, it got chilly fast.

  “Where’d you learn to build a fire?”

  “Boy Scouts.”

  “No. Really.”

  Brandon laughed. “Seriously. I made it all the way to Eagle before my interest in girls overrode the acquisition of badges.”

  Brash shook his head, as they sat down at the table to eat. He popped two longneck Colorado beers and put one in front of Brandon.

  “This beer is good,” he said.

  “You a beer buff?”

  Brandon shook his head. “Not really. I know a lot about wine though.”

  “Shit. Really?” Brash was trying to picture himself being prissy about swirling and tasting wine, then using adjectives like woodsy, rosey, happy, dopey, and the like.

  “Yeah. That’s something that could give us away. I guess you’ll need a crash course in how to be a connoisseur.”

  “Can’t wait.”

  “Try to control your enthusiasm. Just look at it this way. I’m the one who’s looking at torture by tattoo gun, possible traction at the mercy of a motorcycle, and learning badass biker vernacular.”

  “Okay. First lesson. No badass biker would ever use the word ‘vernacular’.”

  “No? Okay. Noted. This stuff is okay,” Brandon said as he took another forkful of skillet casserole.

  “Food of the gods. This is a nice place you found us. I’ll bet there’s good fishin’ in that lake.”

  “Um, fishing?”

  “You’ve never been fishin’?”

  “Well, I’ve been deep sea fishing. Many times. I guess it’s the same.”

  Brash just looked at him. “No. It’s not. So tomorrow, we’ll go into town and look up this tat artist?”

  “I guess. Unless there’s a way around it. Maybe temporary tats?”

  Brash laughed. “I don’t think so. But we’ll let him know you’re a pussy and maybe he can give you a doobie or somethin’.”

  Brandon reached over and shoved Brash out of his chair and onto the floor, then laughed. In two seconds the two of them were rolling on the floor wrestling like they were eight and not twenty-eight. After a few minutes they both lay on their backs next to the fire, laughing like boys.

  Neither of them was going to try to put the moment into words, but both of them felt like a chasm in their hearts, that had never been recognized or named, was being filled up. They were being made whole.

  “It’s weird to see what I would look like with hair band hair.”

  “This is not hair band hair, numbskull. It’s weirder for me to see what I’m goin’ to look like in a Wall Street cut.”

  Brandon laughed. “Fat chance of getting a haircut like this one in Three Sticks, Colorado.”

  “Well, then. We’d better both get haircuts from the same guy.” Brash smiled an evil smile when that caused Brandon to look worried. “Right after the tat consultation.”

  “Look. If you go to New York looking like you’ve been in a cat fight people are going to suspect you’re not me. You don’t get on the cover of magazines by being careless with your grooming.”

  “Okay. I get it. What do you suggest?”

  “You found the tat guy. I’ll find a stylist that can fake a decent haircut.”

  “I’ll give you a hand with that.”

  “Whatever.”

  The next morning, Brash and Brandon stumbled into the kitchen looking for coffee within five minutes of each other. Since Brandon was first, he had dibs on the Keurig single pod coffee maker.

  Brash had to listen to the gurgling while waiting his turn. “Bastard,” he mumbled.

  “What was that?” Brandon managed a smile as he took his time retrieving his coffee.

  “Just for that, it’s your turn to cook. I like my eggs over easy and my bacon on the crispy side.” Brandon just stared at him. “Don’t tell me you don’t know how to cook.”

  “It, ah, never came up.”

  “Well, it has now. Come on over here and watch carefully. And you’re on KP.”

  “I don’t know what that means.”

  “Christ. It’s like talkin’ to an alien. Stands for Kitchen Patrol. Means you have to clean up.” Brandon looked blank. “No. Don’t tell me. You don’t know how to do that either.”

  “I, ah…”

  “Let me guess. It never came up.”

  Brandon was a fairly quick study. After three attempts he mastered cracking eggs without breaking the yoke and caught on to cooking bacon to perfection.

  When they dug in, he said, “This food is good.”

  “What do you usually eat?” Brash asked.

  “Sometimes there are scrambled eggs and bacon. We have fresh muffins, bagels, fruit, that kind of thing. Cook makes really good quiche. She does this ham and cheese croissant covered with mushroom sauce that’s heaven. Sometimes I have a couple of three minute eggs.”

  “Three minute eggs,” Brash said drily. “Okay. I’ll bite. So if I’m you and I ask for a three minute egg, what am I goin’ to get?”

  “The white is like hard boiled, but the yol
k is still liquid.”

  “Good to know. What would you have with that? Usually?”

  “Cranberry scone with marmalade. Coffee. Of course. Sometimes juice. I don’t like grapefruit.”

  “Neither do I. What ‘s a scone?”

  Brandon sat back. “It’s a triangular pastry that’s folded over. It’s not light like a popover. It’s heavy like, I don’t know, sourdough bread.”

  “It tastes like sourdough bread?”

  “No. It’s just heavier than other kinds of pastries. They have them in Starbucks. When we go to town, we’ll find the Starbucks and I’ll get one for you to try. They’re not as good as cook’s though. She’s English. I know people make fun of English cooking, but my favorite food in the world is pub food.” He looked at Brash. “I’ll bet you like pub food, too.

  “What’s your favorite? Food, that is.”

  “Mexican.”

  “My… our mom loves Mexican. We go out for it once a week. And she always says that…” He trailed off.

  “She always says what?”

  “That it’s not nearly as good as the Mexican food they have in Texas.”

  The drive to Telluride took forty-five minutes. When Brash had asked Brandon if he knew how to drive a stick, Brandon had smirked at him.

  “I’m a master of off-road.”

  “Great,” Brash had said, tossing him the keys to the truck. “Show me.”

  Truthfully, Brash was tired of driving. So he hoped his brother wasn’t blowing smoke. He unhooked the trailer and climbed into the passenger side.

  True to his word, Brandon knew his way around a manual transmission. On the way to town they talked about various aspects and details of their lives, things they’d thought about that might make the other stumble. Oddly enough, both had a list and coded it so that only they could decipher its meaning.

  “Why’d you grow your hair long like that?”

  Brash grinned. “Seriously? You don’t know?”

  Brandon shook his head, looking genuinely mystified. “Because women love it.”