“Long as I can remember,” she finally answers. “Music’s easier than talking sometimes.”
“Your voice is beautiful. You were stunning on stage.”
She blushes and ducks her head. “You don’t even like country music.”
“I like your music.”
This time I get a smile. She turns and shifts in my lap. “Thank you for saying that.”
“Sugar, one thing you should know about me, I don’t say shit I don’t mean.”
“I see that about you, Logan.” She moves again, straddling my lap, knees hugging my hips.
“Like it when you say my name.”
She leans in and kisses my cheek and then moves over to my ear and sinks her teeth into my earlobe, sending zaps of electricity down my spine. “Thank you for coming to see me tonight. I was shocked you remembered.”
“Couldn’t figure out why you didn’t want me to know where you worked. For a minute, I thought you might be a stripper.”
“Trust me, more than one person’s suggested that would be a more appropriate career for me.”
Who the fuck said that to her? I’ll rip their arms off. “Fuck that. You owned that stage. You transformed that shitty little bar into something else with your voice.”
“You’re exaggerating but thank you.”
I press my palms against her cheeks, so she’ll meet my eyes and understand every word is the truth. “I mean every single word, Sugar. Never thought anyone would get me to willingly listen to country music.”
She tosses her head back and laughs, exposing the sexy column of her throat.
I run my hands up and down her legs and lean in to kiss her neck. “Really wish I hadn’t let you change out of that dress.”
Her hot breath skims over my cheek. “What would you do right now?”
Keeping my hands on her ass, I sit forward, pressing her against my erection. “I’d stroke that pretty little clit of yours until you were wet and begging for my cock again. Told you I didn’t get enough before.”
“You’re insatiable.”
Her eyes sparkle with desire, but I’m not done talking to her yet. I groan and can’t believe I’m going to steer this conversation away from getting my dick inside her. “Tell me about this show you were on.” I gesture toward the house. “Unlike the girls, I’ve never heard of it. What happened? How’d you end up on it?”
She tilts her head as if she’s surprised I care more about information than fucking. Can’t blame her, I’m surprised myself.
“Well, I didn’t win, but I made it far enough for a jump start.”
“Like?”
“I have a few singles up for digital download now.”
“So, I can go buy a Shelby Morgan song anywhere I want?”
“Yes,” she answers, with a proud chin lift. “But don’t do that. I can send you whatever you want.”
“Hell, no. I want to support my favorite artist. Gonna buy multiple copies everywhere I can.”
“Now I’m your favorite, huh?”
“Damn right. What else?”
“About the show?” She scrunches up her nose and shifts her gaze over my shoulder. “Well, besides being betrayed by someone I thought was a friend, almost developing an eating disorder, and living under a microscope for eight weeks, it wasn’t so bad.”
That was a lot to take in, so I set aside my urge to go on a murder spree and wait to see if she wants to share more.
“Sorry.” She glances down. “I don’t mean to sound ungrateful.”
“You can be honest with me, Shelby.” Club life is all about staying under the radar, so I can’t imagine the level of scrutiny she described. Sounds like absolute hell.
“It was a shock but also good for me to see the other side of the industry.” Her face brightens. “And I landed an opening spot on a tour with Dawson Roads. It’s a huge opportunity I never would’ve had otherwise.”
“Now, that name I recognize.”
She laughs and loops her arms around my neck. “Why doesn’t that surprise me?”
“When’s that happening?”
“In a couple weeks. That’s why I’m doing rehearsals every morning. Playing when I can. Working extra shifts so I don’t leave my mom high and dry.” She bites her bottom lip. “There are a few dates of the tour in New York.”
Damn, why does my heart pound even faster when she says that? I pull her closer and brush my lips against hers. “That so?”
She nods slowly.
“Think I can still get tickets?”
Her eyes widen. “You’d want to?”
“Fuck yeah. Why are you so surprised?”
She shrugs and looks away. “I’m not dumb, Rooster. A couple months from now, you probably won’t remember my name.”
I move my hand to the back of her head and pull her close. “You have no idea how wrong you are. I’ll never forget you, Shelby.”
“I won’t forget you either. You’ve come to my rescue twice now.”
“Happy to do it.” I rub my thumb over her cheek. “I’m gonna need front row tickets and a backstage pass.”
She nods slowly and stares into my eyes. “You’ll always have an all-access pass, Logan.”
I groan against her throat. “I’ll hold you to that.” I kiss her cheek and press my forehead against hers. “Are you up for boot shopping tomorrow?”
“Sure. I don’t mind showing Heidi around.” She hesitates. “If that’s what you want to do.”
“I want to see if we can find you a pair of electric teal boots.”
She jiggles with laughter for a second then stops. “You don’t have to buy me anything.”
“I want to.” I thrust my hips up, grinding what’s rapidly becoming a painful erection against her. “Getting hard just thinking about you wearing them and nothing else.”
“Never would’ve figured you for a boot fetish kinda guy.”
“I’m surprised as anyone.” Our teasing dies down, and somehow, I can’t stop myself from opening my mouth and letting some truly sappy words pour out. “I want to get you something nice. So when you’re out on the road, you’ll wear them and remember how much of an awesome singer you are to make me love country music.”
She doesn’t laugh like I expected.
“Please don’t.” She covers my mouth with her fingers. “Don’t make me like you any more than I already do.”
Like. She has a point. Every time I’m with her, some other L-word keeps creeping into my mind. Something I’ve always told myself I’m not interested in. At all.
“Yeah,” I whisper. “I like you a hell of a lot more than I ever expected, Shelby.”
“Please.” Her bottom lip quivers. “Don’t do that. I can’t afford a broken heart right now.”
Hell no, I want to murder anyone who hurts her. I swallow hard. “The last thing I want to do is break your heart.”
She grasps my cut, digging her fingers into the leather to pull me closer. Our lips crash together. Fire surges in my veins. My arms go around her, lifting her up. She hugs her knees to my hips and keeps on kissing me.
Never had anything in my life as perfect as her kisses.
Emotions I’m not familiar with roar inside me. What I said was true. I don’t want to break her heart. But she might just be the first woman in a long time who’s had the power to break mine.
Rooster and Shelby’s adventures continue in
Rhythm of the Road.
Click here to download
* * *
The open road has owned my heart for as long as I can remember.
Until a certain sassy little singer stole it.
Hookups don't lead to happily ever afters.
A couple nights together. Nothing more.
We made no promises.
Our worlds couldn't be more opposite.
She's sweet lyrics and sunshine.
I'm danger and destruction.
She's miles away, but all I see when I close my eyes.
The rhythm
of the road is what I need to settle my mind.
Problem is, it's taking me straight to her and away from everything else.
Purchase Rhythm of the Road here.
If you’d like to know more about the Lost Kings MC,
The first book in the series,
Slow Burn, is free at all retailers!
Click here to download.
* * *
To be notified when I have new books available for pre-order and other fun stuff:
Sign up for my newsletter.
* * *
Continue reading for a taste of Slow Burn, my author notes, and a complete list of other books I’ve written.
Thank you!
I hope you loved spending time with Rooster and Shelby!
EXCERPT FROM SLOW BURN
* * *
CHAPTER ONE
* * *
ROCK
It wasn’t love at first sight when I met her. Lust? Definitely. I don’t think I believed in love at the time, but one look at her beautiful face, and all the bad stuff around me melted away. Not an easy feat for a guy in handcuffs.
Someone as innocent as her should never have gotten involved with a man like me. By innocent, I don't mean she was some breathy, eighteen-year-old virgin ingénue. No—when we met, she was a thirty-one-year-old married lady. When I use the word innocent, it is in terms of never having killed someone. Never seeing someone die in front of her. Never breaking the law.
True violence had never touched her life.
Violence and I had been close personal friends for a large part of my life. Along with crime. And death. I used violence as a tool to keep order in my often chaotic world, just as she used the law to keep things orderly in her black-and-white one.
She was a lawyer. I was a criminal. She was married to a decent, hard-working, honest guy. I fucked any willing girl who hung out in my club, and made my living in less than honest ways.
She was kind. I didn't know any nice women. Hadn’t known one since my mother died shortly after my eighth birthday. I don’t have many memories of her, but the ones I do have are warm and pleasant.
None of the tramps my father brought home after her death had an ounce of compassion for a motherless brat. The strippers that danced in my club seemed younger every day. A lot of them were bitchy drama queens, and the older I got, the less patience I had for emotional scenes. The girls who attended to the members of my motorcycle club were down to fuck, but not much else. That’s how I liked them.
We met in a courtroom. I sat in the area designated for prisoners. Shackles laced my hands and feet together. I shuffled into the room wearing a spiffy orange jumpsuit, the county correctional logo stenciled across my back in big white letters—just in case anyone thought I suffered from bad fashion sense.
She sat in the front row. I didn't hang my head when I entered. I stood proud and tall looking over the entire room. Some of my brothers stood along the back wall, waiting to see if I'd get bail.
I couldn’t find my attorney in the sea of people. His big, shiny, bald dome should have been easy to spot. My gaze wandered back to the girl in the front row. Long, straight, reddish-brown hair flowed down past her shoulders. Straight bangs across her forehead framed brilliant green eyes. Even from where I sat, I spotted freckles splattered across her nose. The deep green suit she wore emphasized the creaminess of her skin. The banister separating the criminals from the common folk blocked my view of anything below her shoulders, but that angelic face hooked me right away.
The sheriff leaned over and whispered to me, "Your attorney called to say he's running late." I nodded and mumbled a "thanks" without taking my eyes off the girl. Was her old man locked up? Was she a witness to a crime? Would my asshole lawyer get here so I could get free and talk to the girl?
"Any other message?" I asked Deputy Brown. He was a decent guy as far as pigs went. He'd treated me with respect, hadn't tried to bash my head into anything, and even brought me a donut before leading me upstairs to court. He didn’t get a chance to answer, because the bailiff made a big show of telling me to shut up. Arrogant prick wasn’t good enough to even be a cop, but he sure acted like one. I'd dealt with him before.
My eyes returned to the girl. She sat patient and attentive, waiting her turn. Once or twice, she looked at the clock. Only a slight twitch of her lips indicated her annoyance.
After what seemed like an eternity, the bailiff called the next case, and the girl stood up. She hauled a battered briefcase over her shoulder and stepped through the swinging gate up to the table across from where I sat.
Holy shit.
If I'd been anywhere else in the world, I would have whistled long and low to express my appreciation for the soft curves of her body. The skirt she wore fell to her knees, but it clung to all the right spots and showcased a fantastic set of calves. Her modest heels clicked over the wooden floor, calling my attention to her slender ankles. I was so busy drooling over her I missed it when she stated her name.
The dickhead bailiff brought over a chair and actually smiled at her. She thanked him politely. The judge made some chit-chat with her, and she let out a girlish giggle. People seemed to know her. Like her.
"Attorney Kendall?"
"Yes, your honor." She stood up. Ah, she was a lawyer. That explained the chit-chat. She argued some civil matter I didn't understand or care about. I listened to her make her case, then watched her sit down. Her opponent didn’t have a lawyer. He bumbled around and generally made a fool of himself. She listened with a passive expression, then argued her position again. The judge ruled in her favor.
I wanted her. In more ways than one after her performance. The courtroom was almost empty. My guys still occupied the back row, but that was it. If my lawyer didn't show up soon, I'd be screwed.
I nudged Deputy Brown with my elbow. "Can she represent me?"
"I don't think she's a criminal attorney."
"Just for the arraignment. To get me out."
"I'll ask."
The deputy motioned to the bailiff to watch me and went to talk to the clerk. She nodded, and when the judge had a moment, she whispered in his ear.
Fuck. The girl was putting her stuff away and getting ready to leave. I really wanted her. I mean, I wanted to fuck her, of course. But I also wanted her to represent me. People seemed to like and respect her. I'd been in and out of the criminal justice system long enough to know getting out of trouble was sometimes less about what you knew and more about who you knew. If I'd gotten picked up in a different county, I could have used my connections to make this go away. Here, I was kind of stuck. I needed her.
"Attorney Kendall, could you stay and do an arraignment, please?" the judge asked off the record.
Her jaw dropped, and the color drained from her face. "Uh, I'm not a criminal attorney, your honor," she stammered.
"It's pretty simple. Mr. North's attorney got delayed. Don't make me appoint you," he teased.
"Well, um, just for the limited purpose of this arraignment?" she asked with a hopeful lilt to her voice.
"That's fine."
The judge waved me over next to her. Her big eyes widened in shock as I lumbered over. I was mildly insulted. Had she really not noticed me the entire time I'd been sitting there?
"I can pay you," I whispered down to her.
She looked startled. "It's okay. What are we dealing with?"
I liked the way she said "we."
"Weed."
She gave me a blank stare.
"Marijuana. Got caught with a couple blunts." Acting on a bad tip from one of the club’s many enemies, the cops had been hoping to pin a whole hell of a lot more on me. This was why, instead of ignoring the weed like most cops did these days, I was standing here in shackles and the orange jumpsuit.
"Oh geez." She rolled her eyes. At me or the charge, I wasn't sure.
"Do you have a record?"
"About a mile long."
That stopped her. She stared up at me, searching
my face for the truth. Apparently deciding no one would joke about that, she nodded her head.
"Can you post bail? Do you work? Have a family?"
"Yes, yes, and yes."
She didn't ask what kind of work. Or what kind of family for that matter.
"Your honor, I've had a chance to confer with my client."
"Very well. Let’s call it."
His clerk stood and read out, "The People of the State of New York versus Rochlan North." Look at that—the old gal even pronounced my first name right.
My girl looked up at me again. My manners were shit. I’d never bothered to introduce myself, I guess.
The judge slammed his gavel down. First time I’d heard him do it all morning. The sharp thwack broke the staring contest my pretty lawyer and I were engaged in.
"Do you wish to hear the reading of the charges, counselor?"
She hesitated for a minute, and the judge covered the microphone with his hand. "Usually the attorney waives the reading, Miss Kendall."
"I know, your honor. Thank you. Yes, I'll waive the reading. May I have a copy of the charges for my file, though?"
"Yes, of course. Do you wish to be heard on bail?"
"Yes, your honor. My client assures me he can pay a reasonable sum. He's a hard-working family man, so it would be in society's best interest to allow him to continue to work and provide for his family while he waits to address these false charges."
I'm proud to say I kept a straight face during all of that. She impressed me with her quick thinking, though. Criminal attorney or not, she was clever. I had a fondness for clever. Clever kept you alive.
Cute and smart. I should get arrested more often.
"Very well. Bail is set in the amount of five hundred dollars cash. If your client is able to post it now, he can be processed downstairs instead of going back to county."
She looked up at me and arched an eyebrow. I nodded and motioned my crew forward.
Swagger and Sass Page 9
