He stiffened. Fucking hell, the nerve of her to blame him.
“I don’t owe you fuck-all. You didn’t show me the same courtesy the day you left. If you had told me you needed space, I would’ve given it to you. As for coming here alone, don’t throw that in my face. None of the brothers would’ve hassled you.”
“This isn’t my club.” She lifted her chin. “I came here alone, looking for you.”
It was true that in the club she came from, an unaccompanied female was open hunting season. Although brothers wouldn’t hound her, in their eyes, she was just another woman he’d thrown to the curb and they wouldn’t think twice about steppin’ to her. Crinkled paper dug into his palm. He opened his hand to find his cigarette crushed with tobacco strands clinging to the sweat of his skin. As much as they may be hatin’ on each other, nothing came between him and her security.
Wiping his hands clean, he said, “Why are you here, Greta? You made your position clear. No criminal bikers.”
She remained silent, staring over his shoulder.
“No answer? Alright, then. You came. You saw. Since you didn’t get my message, here it is. I’m alive, I’ve moved the fuck on, and I’m not your booty call.”
“Excuse me?” she sputtered.
“I’m done serving my balls on a platter to you. You’re the woman I wanted. I owned you. I could have pressured you to submit, but I left the decision in your hands. You made your choice, and that choice wasn’t me.”
“I’m not your chattel.”
“And that there’s your problem. When I say I owned you, you damn well know what I mean. I would’ve taken care of you in every way. Protected you, cared for you, slapped you the way you liked, fucked you the way you craved. But you, sweetheart,” he tapped a finger to her cheek, “don’t get to fuck with me.”
Her expression crumbled. Caving into herself, she stooped over and clutched her belly. He yearned to reach for her, but he held himself back with clenched fists. He refused to be made a fool of again.
“I wanted to be out of your world. To be strong and independent. To be equal to my man. But, I fell in love with you and did everything in my power to make it work. I thought I was as important to you as the club, but you proved me wrong.”
“Bullshit. I made one mistake, and I promised it would never happen again.”
“You’ve certainly gotten back on your feet,” she scoffed, eyes fixated on something beyond him.
Cutter slanted his head over his shoulder and caught sight of what she was looking at. Or rather who. “Jealous?”
Her gaze lashed his, fury snapping like hissing cobras in her eyes. Her jealousy ignited his own spark of anger. This whole fucking mess was on her.
“Tell me, Cutter, how long did it take you to sub me out?”
“Not long,” he countered, briskly. “You got somethin’ to say? I’m all ears, but careful how you speak, ’cause you’re the one who took off.”
“I see, you’re putting this all on me, then. Nothing on your part.”
His blood boiled over into a torrid whirlpool. Wrenching her arm, he dragged her until they were inches apart, and growled, “I didn’t fucking abandon us. That’s on you alone.”
A hysterical laugh slipped out, and she shoved at his chest. “I explained that I needed time. Yes, maybe I should have told you first.” Cutter grunted, and her eyes slitted in response. She went on. “I came back, ready to deal with it, only to find you with this.” Her arm thrust out in Angie’s direction.
She felt betrayed. Perfect. ’Cause that’s exactly what she’d done to him. Betrayed and abandoned him, like his moms. He’d survived it back then, and it turned him onto Prez and the Squad. He had no idea a woman could make him feel that shit again. It’d hit him in a place he hadn’t known existed, much less one that would injure him.
“God, you’re such an idiot. I ran away foolishly, but the real foolishness was thinking you’d be here a week later and we could work it out. Instead, you’re with another woman. Typical fucking biker love.” Tears sprang from her eyes and she swiped at them furiously. “I should have known better,” she murmured to herself, bitterly.
Her tone of voice cracked the ball of resentment lodged in his chest, and his heart gushed with self-recriminations. Instead of trusting her to come back to him, he’d lashed out and struck where it would hurt her the most. In her possessive little heart.
Cutter lunged for her, but she tore out of his grip and fled. The door slammed against the exterior wall and a gust of rain whipped in, soaking him to the bone.
Chapter Thirty-Four
There was a tingling at the base of Greta’s skull as she drove to her date with James. Her first outing since her breakup with Cutter. James was a brilliant criminal attorney, ambitious, but dedicated to social justice, like Sage. She swerved sharply to the right and ducked into a narrow alley. Squinting through the deep shadows, she zigzagged through the streets of downtown Utica until she lost the car following her.
It might be Cutter, because, even if they hooked up with other women, bikers were notoriously chauvinistic. Her lip curled. Angie. Little submissive bitch. She hated her on principle alone. Gah. Or it was a Dark Horseman, but she didn’t have the energy to wrap her mind around that possibility. At any rate, she knew how to lose a tail, and the idiots were either drunk, high, or both.
An irritated breath blew wisps of hair off her forehead. It was time to stop wallowing and get back out there. Hook up, rebound, or better yet, meet a man. A man who was nothing like Cutter. She’d messed up by running, but she never imagined he’d toss their relationship away in a matter of days. Her fingernail worried the raw patch of skin on her wrist. She itched from how badly she missed him. Meanwhile, Angie’s ass was probably getting slapped at this very moment. Slamming her palms against the steering wheel, she expelled a low screech. Stop it, stop it, stop it. Stop thinking before you go insane. Focus on moving forward. God knows he has.
Last week, James had taken time out of his busy schedule and stopped by the office to ask her out. Speechless, she searched for an excuse to decline when his expression grew stern. The longer she made him wait, the sterner he got, until she was squirming in her seat, under his hawkish stare. Although, she’d vowed to stay far away from dominant men, it was that touch of Cutter in him that finally made her agree.
After parking, she entered the upscale restaurant and approached the hostess, who gave her a long once-over after she mentioned James’s name. So what? She’d worn a corset. Sheesh, so judgmental. At the bar, she shimmied onto a high stool and ordered a whiskey neat. The lamp suspended from the ceiling above her was an upside-down wooden barrel.
Swirling the whiskey in the glass snifter, she kept her eye on the entrance. James entered and instantly scanned the dining room. The hostess touched his sleeve and leaned into him to whisper in his ear, but James brushed her off and crossed the busy floor. More than one pair of eyes followed his elegant, trim figure as he confidently strolled over to her. He was a golden boy with warm hazel eyes, unlike Cutter’s mutable blues. Slim and fit, unlike a certain broad-chested, large-framed biker. She crossed her legs, and her slinky dress slipped off her knee and bared half her thigh.
Kissing her lightly on the cheek, he took in the burgundy wraparound dress that showcased her black lace corset. Classy, but with an edge of raw sex.
“Good evening, Greta. Love the dress,” he said, as he thumbed the material. James peered down at her drink and gave her a luxurious smile. “You’re a woman who knows what she wants.”
A laugh bubbled up from her throat. Yep, that about summed her up. With a light touch to his sleeve, she said, “I’d applaud your astuteness, but women aren’t quite that simple.”
“True. Some women are far more intriguing than others.”
“You should steer clear of such women.”
His gaze slowly caressed her again. “I’d rather not.”
The hostess approached them and hovered by James’s shoulder. Gaze t
o the floor, she murmured, “Your table is ready.” Then she cleared her throat and finished with a sultry “Sir.”
What in the hell was that?
Ignoring the hostess, he took her elbow and assisted her off the stool. Plucking Greta’s whiskey glass from the bar, he placed a guiding hand on the small of her back until they reached the table. With a flourish of his hand, he pulled out a chair for her, and dismissed the hostess with a nod.
She settled in, slipped the pristine cloth napkin on her lap and said, “Why James, are you wooing me?”
She liked saying his name. It was so timeless, so proper, so unlike road names.
“Finally, you notice.”
The waiter came over and James ordered a Campari. Eyes on the menu, he commented, “I’ve been solicitous for quite some time. In fact, I asked Sage about you a while ago, but she suggested that you were unavailable. Recently, she mentioned that your schedule opened up.”
“I didn’t realize Sage was acting as my pimp.”
Holding the embossed menu at an angle, he tilted his head to the side and gave her a penetrating gaze. “Aren’t you a defiant one.”
The steel in his voice gave her pause. Oh, crap. As if hearing her thought, James spoke quietly, “Oh yes, you’ve guessed correctly. I’m a Dom. I was curious how long it would take you to figure it out, but you’re as intelligent as you are beautiful. Although, your radar needs a bit of polishing.”
Greta closed her menu and slid her trembling hands beneath the tablecloth. Twisting her napkin, she focused on the votive candle in the center of the table. “You’ve known since the beginning?”
“I’ve been in the lifestyle for quite a long time. It’s second nature to me. There was one specific moment that told me for certain.”
“Is that right?”
James leaned forward and opened his palms. “Give me your hand.”
After a moment of hesitation, she placed her hand between his. His thumbs drew circles on her skin. “There is no need to be afraid. I have no intention of hurting you.”
She exhaled the air wedged in her throat.
“There’s little that shows you’re a sub, so don’t concern yourself.” He squeezed her hand. “But I couldn’t kick my fascination with you.”
“Oh, please, you were after Sage in the beginning.”
He chuckled darkly, “Just because I may be attracted to a woman doesn’t mean that she’s able to meet my specific requirements.”
He drew her closer and murmured against her temple, “I saw you on the street with a biker. He was gesturing to you with domineering mannerisms, and you, my dear, responded with remarkable alacrity.” Greta’s heart spiked at the word “biker.” He released her hand and leaned back. “That told me everything.”
If she could, she’d curl up into a tight ball and roll right out of the restaurant, regardless of whether it was four-star or not. “Was I that obvious?”
“To me? Yes. As to others, I wouldn’t know. I tend to be quite discreet, whereas your friend seemed to be visibly demonstrative.” With a light shrug, he concluded, “There isn’t a right or wrong. To each his own.”
Swallowing, her spine hit the back of the tufted dining chair. She shuddered to think of how many people had witnessed her playing lapdog to Cutter.
“Don’t look so devastated. You have greater things to worry about.”
“What could that possibly be?”
James gave her a long look until she dropped her eyes. God, she was so pathetic. He gripped her chin, lifting it firmly until their eyes held. “Why, your satisfaction, of course. A beautiful, intelligent submissive like you is priceless. If you were auctioned, you’d have billionaires vying for the highest bid.”
Greta escaped his hold; her elbows dispersed the silverware as she rushed to cover her face. Grasping her wrists, he pried her hands away and enfolded them in his own.
“Take your menu,” he instructed. “You will dine on the sole with capers,”
He gave a short nod and a waiter appeared immediately. She bowed her head while James ordered. Thankfully, he’d chosen a bottle of wine. After the waiter left, she scraped the utensils over the tablecloth back to their proper places, gnashing her teeth. Grrr. If she kept this up, she’d soon need a mouth guard.
The waiter returned with the bottle of wine, gracefully twisted the cork off, and gave James a taste before pouring a sizable amount in each wineglass. After a large gulp, Greta turned the bottle around and read the Argentinean label. “Interesting choice.”
“My knowledge of wine comes from my mother, who, despite growing up on the wrong side of the tracks, developed a passion for this particular fermented beverage. She became a consummate connoisseur of French wine. Only French wine. For hours, she drilled my brother and me about various strains of grapes and the regions where they originated. The fermentation process, the bottling, the storing. Etcetera.”
Her own memories included stories as well, of spirits that flittered about her like butterflies, as if they were living beings. Told to her by Scorpion, on breaks during long bike rides they took when he was teaching her to ride.
“My brother followed in her footsteps. He’s even delved into our family genealogy and found that one side of our family came from the Languedoc region, in France.”
Their conversation paused as the waiter brought the main course. The sole was delicious, it’s flavor mild and delicate, but after a few bites, her throat closed. She fiddled with her fork and knife, the silverware feeling heavy in her fingers.
“I spent my summers in Buenos Aires, with my maternal grandparents, and drank a prodigious amount of table wine, at dance halls. My judgment most definitely comes from drinking the cheapest wine I could get my hands on at the age of sixteen.”
Greta laughed despite herself. It was so effortless with James.
“Unlike my brother, I’ve explored South American wines. Delicacies can be found in the more underappreciated places.” His gaze lingered on her. “As long as one is curious enough to search.”
The waiter gathered their dishes and placed a cheese board before them. James petted her hand while they exchanged stories over dessert and a final digestif. By the time she rose from the table, she was swaying on her heels. His hand instantly returned to her lower back, guiding her between tables that glided by in a bit of a blur. He held her coat for her and closed it for her, even tying the belt around her waist. Good grief, but the man was the epitome of sensual.
The hostess glared at her with brittle eyes, but no amount of cattiness could burst her bubble. Not while she walked on a cloud nine of good food, superb alcohol, and a sexy Dom tending to her. James cajoled her into letting him drive her home. He promised to have her car parked in her driveway before morning if she gave him her keys. While waiting for the valet, he fingered a tendril of her hair, twining it around and around in looping curlicues.
“You seem in a better mood,” he noted.
She broke into a soft smile. “Yes, I am. Thanks to you.” She really was. A shape darted across the parking lot, and her heart faltered, but she canvased the entire area and saw no one. “I am better. At least right now. I sort of…kind of…ended a relationship.”
“Sort of, kind of. He was a fool if he permitted you to slip away.”
“He didn’t permit anything. I walked away.”
He brushed the back of his knuckles against her cheek and tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “You have a lot to learn about men. It’s not finished.”
“Oh, but it is finished,” she assured him.
“It’s the biker, isn’t it?” Peering up at the night sky, he intoned, “It’s rare to have what you have. I had it once. Being young and stupid, I allowed it to fall away and haven’t found it since. Love, that is.”
“Love,” she snorted, derisively.
“I saw you together, and take my word for it, Greta, he loves you. To find someone who reciprocates what you feel for them, with the additional Dom-sub layer intact, i
s extraordinary. Believe me, that’s not something you want to relinquish easily.”
“It doesn’t matter. We’re over,” she said, between gritted teeth. Hadn’t Cutter made his position crystal clear at the clubhouse? For fuck’s sake, he’s probably banging Angie as we spoke. She couldn’t seriously think there was anything salvageable between them.
James searched her face for a long moment. “Well, if you’re convinced that that’s the case, then you might want to continue your education. I can assure you, I’m very good at what I do.”
She smiled vaguely. Damn him, they’d been getting along so well up until now. If only he hadn’t brought up the subject of Cutter and love.
“Hmmm, I don’t like the look on your face.” He took a step away from her as the car slid to the curb beside him. “Don’t respond tonight. Think about my offer.”
He opened the door for her, and she slipped in. Ohhh…leather seats. Definitely a sign in his favor. She wiggled her butt in pleasure. Holding the top of the door, he bent over and brushed his lips against hers, tasting her with a featherlight flick of a touch. Moments later, they were gliding away in his Porsche. Side-eyeing him, she observed the angular cheekbone and firm chin of his profile. His tongue had left a sweet, spicy taste, and his cologne coiled in the air delicately.
Leaving the car idling in front of her house, he eased her out of her seat and accompanied her up the stairs. At her front door, he took hold of her keys and opened it, sweeping his hand for her to enter. “Goodnight, sweet Greta.”
She pressed her lips against his briefly and said, “Goodnight, and thank you.” After she locked the door, he lingered for a moment longer before tripping down the stairs with light footsteps.
In her bedroom, Greta undressed and paused in front of the unframed mirror leaning against a wall. Tilting her chin from side to side, she dissected the features men frequently commented on. Bright green, upward-slanting eyes. Warm skin. Sleek, dark hair. Pink tips.
“I’m cursed.”
Cutter's Claim: A Bad Boy Biker Romance (The Demon Squad MC Book 2) Page 18
