Hell for Leather

by Julie Ann Walker

“She’s pretty,” she said, trying to stymie the wild race of her heart. Because he loves you. Zoelner couldn’t know just how much she wished that were true. “Who is she?”

  “She’s the reason Mac refuses to take a chance with you,” Zoelner said. Delilah picked up the photo, examining it closer. This was the woman who’d ruined Mac? The woman he said reminded him of her? She was pretty. And there was something—

  “She’s his mother,” Zoelner said, and Delilah felt her jaw fall open. It was a wonder the thing didn’t land at her feet.

  “H-his mother?”

  “Yep. And I want to tell you a story. But before I do that, I have to know if you love him.”

  His mother was the mystery woman? Delilah stared at the photograph. She could see it. Mac had those same eyes. That same smile… His mother? But why did he—

  “Hey.” Zoelner snapped his fingers in front of her face. “Earth to Delilah. Come in, Delilah.”

  “Sorry,” she said, blinking, her brain spinning in circles the way Fido did when he got bored and caught sight of his tail.

  “I have to know,” he repeated. “Do. You. Love him?”

  She swallowed, a little afraid to admit it aloud for the first time. But then she took her own advice and toughened up, buttercup. Harley-riding, beer-slinging, yada, yada, yada, right? Dragging in a deep breath, she looked Zoelner square in the eye. “Yes. I love him.” God, it feels good to say it.

  “Good.” He nodded. “Because, like I said, he loves you, too. And the fact that he does scares him to death.”

  Could it be true? Did she dare hope? “Scares him? But why?”

  “Because of Jolene.” He tapped his finger on the photo. Jolene? Mac’s mother’s name was Jolene? “Because she was a faithless cow who ran out on Mac and his father when Mac was only twelve, leaving behind nothing but a selfish, insipid farewell note that didn’t contain a single regret or apology.”

  She winced. Twelve? Such an impressionable age. An age when a boy needed his mother for guidance on how to start behaving like a man. “That’s awful.” She frowned her confusion. “It really is. But I don’t understand what the hell it has to do with me.”

  “Hang on a second,” Zoelner said exasperatedly. “I’m getting there.”

  She made a face. “Then, by all means,” rolling her hand, “carry on.”

  Zoelner lifted his mug of coffee, taking a hasty sip. “Apparently Mac’s father was devastated by Jolene’s desertion. See, the man was deeply, tragically, and, if you ask me, a little madly in love with her. Like, seriously, I think Mac’s father went a little coo-coo.” Zoelner whirled his finger in a circle next to his temple. “He spent the next seven years of his life and his very last dime—money that should have gone to running the ranch that’d been in Mac’s family for generations—trying to locate her. No luck. And, according to Mac, even on his deathbed, having finally succumbed to a broken heart and pancreatic cancer, his father was still obsessed, crying out her name.”

  “Jesus,” Delilah breathed, shaking her head, chills rippling up her arms.

  “Yeah.” Zoelner nodded. “But it gets worse. See, Mac adored and idolized his father. And after the banks foreclosed on the ranch, he busted his ass to get into the FBI Academy so he could finish what his father started, using every resource The Bureau afforded him in order to continue the search for Jolene.”

  She lifted a hand to her throat, her thumb resting atop her thundering pulse point. “Did he…” She had to lick her suddenly dry lips. “Did he ever find her?”

  “It took a couple of years, but he finally located her out in California. She was happy as a pig in slop to be living all the glitz and glamour and excitement of the LA scene. And when Mac confronted her about abandoning him, it was only to discover she was completely unrepentant. She even had the gall to tell him it was for the best. Because she’d been so unhappy living on the ranch.”

  Delilah shook her head, her eyes wide. It was like something off daytime television. All the treachery and drama but with none of the happy endings.

  “Of course,” Zoelner took another hasty sip, “when the FBI found out Mac was using Bureau resources for personal pursuits, they fired his ass.”

  “Holy shit,” she breathed. “It just keeps getting worse and worse.”

  “Eh.” Zoelner shrugged. “It all worked out in the end. After all, Boss took him under his wing and made him a Black Knight. And it’s a pretty sweet gig, if you want to know the truth of it.”

  Delilah’s brain was spinning. She had to shake her head like Fido shaking off water after a bath in order to organize her thoughts. “O-okay, but I still don’t understand what any of that has to do with me.”

  “Mac’s going to buy back the ranch. It’s his second goal in life.”

  Huh? “Uh…pull out the non sequiturs much, Zoelner?” she asked. Then what he’d said sank in. “Wait. His second goal in life? So, what’s his first?”

  Zoelner smiled sadly. “His first goal is to make sure he doesn’t follow in his father’s footsteps. To make sure he doesn’t fall in love with a gorgeous, thrilling woman who’s so used to being the center of attention that she could never be happy living way out in BFE Texas. Hell, he even named his motorcycle Siren to remind himself of the kind of woman he should avoid at all costs.”

  It was all making sense now. That stuff he was rambling on about in the motel. She shook her head, her heart a pounding fist inside her chest.

  “And then you walked into his life,” Zoelner said, lifting a brow along with his coffee mug. “Delilah Fairchild… The epitome of beauty and vitality and,” he motioned toward her position behind the bar with his mug, “the literal center of attention of everyone who comes in this bar.”

  ***

  Black Knights Inc. Headquarters

  Twenty minutes later…

  “President Thompson trusts the Secret Service.” Mac watched as Boss glanced curiously at the files in his hand before continuing. “But these are his daughters we’re talking about. And since the NSA thinks the online chatter concerning the supposed abduction of one or both of his children is credible, he’d feel much better if a Black Knight was stationed near each of the girls…uh…women. Not to interfere with the SS Agents, but simply to…augment security…to watch. From the shadows were the words he used. And that means—”

  “Wha! Wha! Wha!”

  Mac glanced across the conference table. Not in a million years would he ever get used to the sight of Ghost, Mr. Spooky himself, with a baby in his arms.

  “Sorry,” Ghost muttered, pushing up from the table while his big hand patted his daughter’s back, shushing her. “Diaper change. Carry on without me.”

  Inexplicably, in the last three weeks, Black Knights Inc. had gone from a full-time custom motorcycle shop/covert government defense firm to a part-time nursery. And who would’ve ever thought that one cooing, pooping, slobbering bundle of joy could turn each of Mac’s teammates into baby-talking, Sesame Street-watching, fighting-over-whose-turn-it-is-to-give-the-kid-a-bottle idiots?

  Okay, yeah, if Mac was being completely honest, he’d fallen into the idiot category, too. In fact, just last evening, he and Ozzie had nearly come to blows over who would give little Jenna Beth her five p.m. feeding.

  “Hey, Steady,” Boss said, dragging Mac back to the present. “You know Abigail Thompson, right? POTUS’s youngest? Didn’t you two go to school together?”

  With Ghost’s defection, Ozzie, Steady, and Mac were the only Knights left at the conference table with Boss. Ozzie, as usual, was nose-deep in a laptop. And Steady looked…Mac tilted his chin…weird.

  What was that expression exactly?

  And then recognition struck. Recognition because that look of panicked discomfort was exactly how he felt every time Delilah walked into the room.

  Delilah…

  Ten times a day he had to stop himself from mounting up on Siren and roaring over to her bar. Ten times a day he had to toss his phone aside lest he dial her n
umber. And ten times a day he had to remind himself of the danger she posed to his future plans, his future sanity, his…heart.

  “Sí, we went to school together,” Steady acknowledged, trying, and failing, not to fidget in his seat. “But I wouldn’t say I know—”

  The sound of boot heels racing up the metal stairs from the floor below caught everyone’s attention, cutting Steady off mid-sentence. The sound of boot heels and…what the hell is that?

  And then Mac knew. Dog claws. It was dog claws clacking against the treads. His heart lurched, then stopped altogether when Fido burst onto the scene, tongue lolling, goofy grin splitting his furry face, doggy goggles sitting atop his head and…Mac tilted his chin again…a freakin’ red bandana tied around his throat like he was the canine version of the Red Baron or something. He’d heard Delilah had attached a sidecar to Big Red for Fido. Now, he could imagine them tooling around the city together. And the picture in his head was…well…adorable.

  Then his eyes lifted…

  Did the floor drop out from under him? Was he falling through space? Or was that simply the feel of his stomach sinking into the soles of his boots?

  Because, there she was. Delilah. The woman he loved. The woman he refused to let himself have. She looked…good. Better than good, great. As always. Temptation on two legs.

  It took everything he had not to race to her. Not to take her in his arms and damn any future consequences. It took everything he had to simply clear his throat and say, “Hey, Delilah.”

  “Don’t you hey, Delilah me, you idiot-minded jerk!” she yelled.

  “Uh.” Ozzie glanced up from his laptop, allowing his gaze to flit from Delilah to Mac. “Should the…um…should the rest of us leave?”

  “Sounds like it,” Mac said, never taking is eyes off her, his heart thundering so hard he wondered that his T-shirt wasn’t fluttering against his chest.

  There was some scuffling as the three Knights pushed away from the table. Some whispered exchanges as they shuffled into Boss’s office and quietly shut the door. Mac waited a beat, then two before asking, “Something on your mind, darlin’?”

  She stalked forward, the swing of her hips enough to have his hands curling into fists. Fido trailed her like the good dog he was, glancing up at her adoringly—Mac totally understood the sentiment. Reaching into her hip pocket, she came out with what appeared to be a photo and slammed it down on the table in front of him.

  “Mommy issues!” she hissed, planting her hands on her hips. “I’m forced to give up the man I love because he has mommy issues?”

  Mac’s hair threatened to leap off his head. His tongue swelled until it was nearly impossible to breath. Two things struck him about that last sentence. The first was that she knew about Jolene. The second was that…she loved him.

  Chapter Twenty-four

  “Zoelner needs a lesson in keepin’ his mouth shut,” Mac grumbled, his jaw sawing back and forth and making his adorable dimple twitch.

  Delilah gaped at him. “Seriously? I just dropped the L-bomb, and you’re talking about Zoelner?”

  “I—” He opened his mouth, but she waved him off with an impatient hand. Zoelner said she needed to be tough, to not take no for an answer if she had any hope of breaking through all Mac’s barriers. Well, Zoelner’s definition of tough and her definition of tough might be two different things. Because she had a whole lot more than talking and not taking no for an answer in mind…

  Skirting the conference table, she grabbed Mac’s wrist—oh, how she’d missed the heat of him, the crinkly prickle of his hairs against her skin. Hauling him to his feet, she dragged him toward the stairs leading to the third floor. When he saw their destination, he began backpedaling like a kid on his way to the dentist. “Whoa, wha—”

  She turned and placed his hand on her boob, trying not to smile when all the blood drained from his face a second before he adjusted his stance like his pants were suddenly too tight. Seemingly of its own accord, his thumb trailed over her nipple, bringing the peak to instantaneous life. She felt a tug in her womb but ignored it. She had to play this smart if she wanted to reach her goal.

  “Delilah,” he gulped, shaking his head. She went up on her tiptoes, threading her arms around his neck and sealing their lips.

  At first, he kept his mouth closed. But one swipe of her tongue and he growled, his arms coming around her waist, his lips parting. She moaned. She couldn’t help herself. He was so big, so warm, so…Mac.

  It took everything she had to pull back, to break the wet, hot suction of their lips, but she managed it. Then she whispered in his ear, “Come upstairs with me. I want to make love to you.”

  She heard him swallow. Heard his throat click dryly. “Delilah, I—”

  “I’m not asking you for promises or pledges or vows right now,” she assured him. “I’m not asking you for anything more than what you’re willing to give me.” She pulled back so she could see his face, his electric blue eyes. “Are you willing to give me this?”

  Her lungs waited to draw breath, her heart waited to pump blood, every cell inside her body waited for his answer. And when he shook his head, she nearly lost faith. “I can’t—”

  “Forget I asked for permission,” she cut him off. Don’t take no for an answer, Zoelner said. Well, by God, she wasn’t. “Let me put it to you this way…you’re taking me upstairs and you’re going to make love to me.”

  “But—”

  “No buts,” she growled, stepping from his embrace, once again yanking him toward the stairs. He trailed her slowly, grudgingly. She could almost hear the thoughts and arguments spinning through his head over the clink-clink of Fido’s nails on the metal staircase. He followed them happily, panting and smiling and thinking it was all a great adventure. When they reached the landing, Delilah saw a long row of gray doors. “Which is yours?” she demanded.

  “The second one, but—”

  “What did I just say about no buts?”

  “Delilah—”

  She ignored whatever he was about to say, instead marching over to the second door and pushing it open. The room inside screamed Mac. A queen-sized bed in a big mahogany frame sat center-stage, the fall-colored linens atop it in disarray. Two comfy armchairs in burgundy leather were pushed against the far brick wall, flanking a small occasional table where a stack of files sat. An old-fashioned Tiffany floor lamp sat next to a massive armoire. It cast warm, dappled light around the small space. And above the bed was a framed black and white panoramic picture of a long, lonely fence line and a big, arching iron gate. At the top of the gate, a faded wooden sign read Lazy M.

  So, that’s Mac’s home… And, yeah, she could see the allure. The beauty in the vastness of the land. The windswept wonder of it all.

  Fido walked around the room, sniffing furniture and shoving his snout into a wastepaper basket. Then he climbed atop one of the leather chairs, curling himself into what she’d come to term the doggy-doughnut—where his nose met his furry butt—and immediately closed his eyes. She turned to Mac. He was hovering on the threshold, looking ready to bolt. “You coming?”

  He shook his head. “No, I—”

  Rolling her eyes, she grabbed his arm and hauled him inside the room. When she kicked the door closed, the look on Mac’s face went from merely startled to flat-out terrified. Her heart clenched for him. But she couldn’t give in to the desire to comfort him or confront him. He wasn’t ready for either. That would come later, when he was softened up, during the warm afterglow of hot, sweaty sex. For now, she needed to focus entirely on seduction.

  Lucky for her—and all women, really—seducing a man didn’t take much.

  Bending to yank off her biker boots and socks, she instructed Mac to do the same. Her shirt and bra went next, followed by her jeans and panties. When she was standing buck naked in front of him, the cool air in the room raising goose bumps over her skin, she looked up to find him still completely clothed. Not that she was surprised. He was going to fight this. S
he’d known on the ride over that he was going to fight this every step of the way.

  Fortunately, she was a stubborn woman. And once she set her mind on task, woe to any man, woman, child, fruit, vegetable, mineral, or other that stood in her way…

  She strolled over to him, making sure to give her hips an extra little swing, delighted that his eyes were superglued to the bounce of her boobs. When she reached for the hem of his T-shirt, he grabbed her wrist, his Adam’s apple bobbing in the tan column of his throat. “W-we had a deal. A one-night stand only. No strings. No hurt—”

  “I’m reneging on that deal,” she said, feeling not one ounce of regret even when his wonderfully dimpled chin jerked back. “We’re going to make a new deal,” she said, reveling in the feel of his hot skin along the backs of her fingers where she was still gripping his shirt. “A new deal where we take this thing one day at a time. Every day, I’ll wake up and remind you that I’m not your mother and that you are not your father.”

  The muscle in his jaw ticked frantically as his nostrils flared wide. She saw she’d distracted him enough to whip his T-shirt over his head. The sight of him, of all that tanned, toned flesh made her throat constrict and her nipples furl.

  “Every day I’m going to wake up and tell you I love you.”

  His eyes became overly bright. His big chest began to quake. It caused tears to prick behind her nose—seeing big, bad Mac McMillan so scared and vulnerable—but she swallowed them. She had to remain strong, resolute. It was the only way she was going to win this game. Win against years of hurt and confusion. Win against plain ol’ wrong-headedness.

  “And every day I’m going to wake up and tell you that I’m not leaving you.”

  She could see him struggling. Struggling against his past. Against the desire to believe her words. Against the tears that filled his eyes. She knew he was hovering on the precipice, and she knew this could go one of two ways. Either he’d admit his love for her and agree to her terms, or he’d fall back on his old patterns and kick her out of his bedroom…