He runs his wet hands over his hair, slicking it back from his face. The white-blond strands darken to a deep yellow, the contrast transforming his hazel irises to a bright gold. “I don’t consider myself a hardcore biker,” he says. “I don’t travel the country, or run in a gang. I’m definitely not involved in drugs.” I hike my eyebrows, and he adds, “Anymore. So yeah, the gang thing isn’t for me. I’m more about customizing my rides, building something I can enjoy on my time. Besides, I’d actually have to leave Florida to join a gang. That’s not happening.”
My toes sink into the muddy floor of the lake as I gain my balance, stand and face Boone.
“Most MCs aren’t like that,” I say. “Well, maybe not most. But a lot of them aren’t. The misconceptions about drug couriers and mob activity has reached urban legend status. There’s quite a few gangs that are just about the lifestyle.” Even though Lone Breed does dabble in the outlawed trades…I leave my insider knowledge out of the debate. What I said is true. For the most part.
Boone rubs his shoulder, his head tilted, eyes studying me closely. “Uh…wow. You’re pretty passionate about bikers.” He bites his lip, looking like he wants to probe, but says instead, “MCs?”
“Outlaw motorcycle clubs. It sounds more taboo or illegal than it is.” I swim closer to him. “It’s just any biker club or gang that’s not endorsed by the AMA.”
He parts his mouth, but I beat him to his next question. “American Motorcyclist Association.”
“Ah. And you know all this why?”
We’re veering dangerously close to that invisible line. The one neither of us want to cross. But it’s been a little too long since I’ve had any contact with that part of my life—and it’s a huge part. The hugest. Talking about it now, with him, makes everything feel…safe. Like I’m closer to getting back there.
I give him a rueful smile and say, “Had a school project once. Lots of research.” Which isn’t complete BS. I did have a project on American associations, and I did research by asking my dad a million questions. I was nine at the time. My father never sugarcoated anything; he told me the truth about his lifestyle from the day I was born.
Going into that with Boone, though, won’t happen. He can have the clipped version. “So what’s holding you back from leaving?” I ask, changing the subject. When he looks even more lost, I say, “Before my monologue on all things bikers, you said you’d have to leave Florida. So, why don’t you?”
This question might edge close to breaking our silent agreement, but he’s the one who offered the first shred of information on himself. It was hanging out there, and I can’t help but snag the thread.
He wades closer to me, a foot between us now. I can almost feel his body heat rippling toward me. The water is colder because of it. “Commitments,” he says simply. “The kind I have to see through.”
I nod. I have some of those myself. “Well, commitments aside, if you could jump on your bike and go anywhere, where would that be?”
He gives a short chuckle and shakes his head, like he’s never considered the possibility. A sinking feeling, like homesickness, settles in my stomach. The thought of being bound to one place makes me queasy.
I squint. “Is that an outrageous question?”
“I don’t know. Maybe. I mean, isn’t everywhere pretty much the same?” He lowers himself into the water, submerging his shoulders. His lips rest just above the surface. I have an innate feeling he’s using the water to shield himself from my invasiveness.
It’s so transparent—like something a kid would do.
“Not at all,” I say. “And the awesome thing about going somewhere new, seeing things you’ve never seen before, is it’s impossible to stay the same. Every place changes you a little. Some more than others. You have to be a real stubborn ass to travel the world and keep toting around the same baggage.”
His golden gaze holds mine for an almost unnerving amount of time before he blinks and looks away. I release a clipped breath, chilled by him and the cool water.
I don’t like this. With any guy, anywhere, I’m always in control. I call the shots. Something is off in a major way, and I feel the instinctive need to flee. Get out before the trap springs.
“South Dakota,” he finally says. “Sturgis. I guess I’d go there. They got this—”
“Biker rally,” I say, my lips spreading into a wide smile.
He laughs. “Of course. I forgot you were the expert. You probably researched all about it for your project.”
“Yeah, well, I did a little bit more than research. I’ve gone before.” Numerous times. And it was Lone Breed’s next destination right after Daytona for this year’s rally. Which is now over, and I missed it, since I was in rehab. This is a sore reminder.
“You’ve actually gone before?” He shakes his head, then says, “I don’t know whether to be jealous, impressed, or intimidated.”
“All of the above?” I offer with a grin. Was that flirtatious?
When he smiles, his body inching closer to mine, I decide it was. I need to stop.
“Well, I think it happens in early August,” he says, either not noticing my discomfort or purposely avoiding it. “I missed it this year, regardless. Probation prohibits you from leaving the state.”
“Right. So I’ve heard.” I lift my feet from the slippery bottom and tread water, putting some distance between us.
He nods. Then looks around, maybe seeking a topic change that doesn’t require any more questions.
“How much longer are you trapped here?” I blurt.
His eyes find mine quickly. “I’m not trapped. Why are you so judgmental?”
“Whoa, guy. I just meant to ask when your probation was up. That’s the commitment keeping you here, right? Maybe heading to South Dakota or somewhere else for a while would...” I trail off, stopping myself before I dig too deep. “Look, I don’t know your deal, don’t want to, but traveling has always helped me—I know it’s unwanted advice. Do whatever. But I think the druggies would survive without your motivational speeches. Maybe do something for yourself.”
A slow smile hikes the side of his face. “You don’t get it, do you?” He moves even closer, the water a thin barrier between us. “You’re new to the program, and right now, you don’t plan to stop using. You’re biding your time, doing what you have to, to get out. Then you’re going back to whatever life got you in there to begin with. You don’t know what it takes to stay clean, Mel. You can’t just hop on a bike and go. You can’t just turn your back on…” He clamps his lips closed. Gives his head a hard jerk.
My defenses shoot up. “Who’s the judgmental ass now?” I splash the water out of my way as I start toward the bank, like I’m clearing a path for my dramatic storm off. Hard to do in water. “You don’t know anything about my life. I can’t stand people like you; hardcore straightedgers. Sobriety peddlers. You’re worse than religious freaks.”
He grabs my arm, halting my retreat. “You’re right.”
I stare down at his hand, his skin hot on mine. Then look up into his face. “Ya know, you can be sober. I’m all for whatever works for you. I don’t care either way. But don’t push your beliefs on others as a way to keep yourself clean. Do it for your damn self.” I jerk my arm and slip out of his hold. “Because it’s more than rude. It’s creepy. Do you know that?”
His tightly pressed lips tip up into a slight smile. “I have been selling it a bit hard, and you nailed it, it keeps me in line. Reminds me every day not to slip. But if you ever try to quit, just walk away from the whole scene, you might find out why some join the sober loser occult. At least for a while.”
Licking my lips, I taste the lake water. I give his admission all of two seconds’ thought, because it’s all I need. I understand where he’s coming from…I just don’t want to be there. Which means I need to put some real distance between us now.
“Let’s get back to Stoney,” I say, nodding toward the shore. “I don’t want an infraction, or whatever the
y give you when you fuck up.”
I start wading through the water when he says, “Wait.”
Dammit. I can feel whatever shit this guy has buried weighting me down. Pulling me into the figurative undertow. I should have listened to that nagging voice and stayed to myself.
Still, I give him another second.
He moves in front of me, his towering height blocking my escape. “What does your tat mean?” His gaze lowers to my chest. To the words scrawled below my collarbone in my handwritten script.
From Pain Comes Strength.
I raise my eyebrows. “I think it’s pretty straight forward there, Boone. Kind of simple to figure out. What do you think?”
He lifts his hand from the water, as if he’s going to touch me…but hesitates. Hand suspended, his gaze trained on my chest, my breathing ratchets. Then he makes contact, slowly tracing his finger along the first word. Beads of water drip down my skin, roll between my breasts. A breath lodges in my throat at the feel of his finger—rough yet tender at the same time, his light touch. He works his way across, to the last word, and slips his finger beneath the strap of my bra. Moves it aside. So he can see the tat fully.
See me fully.
“I think,” he says, “you’re the farthest thing from simple to figure out.” His fingers skim down lower, over the swell of my breast, before he pulls away. Then he looks into my eyes. “I just don’t know where to begin, or if it’s too much of a challenge.”
Boone
Of brimstone and kiss
NO WORDS COULD BE truer. But I’m shocked as hell they came from my mouth.
Melody is caught somewhere between fascination and appall. I didn’t give her a compliment, and she’s smart enough to understand that. Most chicks would’ve blushed, smiled, accepted the words surface deep.
Not her. She’s clinging to the underlying meaning. Trying to unravel the mystery. That’s why I should leave her the hell alone. My first conquest to get back in the game shouldn’t be her; I should hook up with someone easy…not that kind of easy. Well okay, yeah, maybe. Someone who isn’t going to look too close. Who won’t painfully peel back the layers, dissect everything I let fly out of my mouth. It’s exhausting just being around her, trying to filter my thoughts.
I need uncomplicated.
That’s what I decide. I give her one last, longing glance, let my gaze sweep over her pale pink bra, her hard nipples peaked against the wet material, and subtly sink under the water to adjust my hard, aching cock.
The look she’s giving me nearly does me in, though. Almost makes me say fuck it and grab her, just to end the torment. I’m a livewire, strung taut and snapping, dying to press her body against mine. Just to get some relief.
Then, “You’ll never face a harder challenge.” Her words sink into me, to the marrow. She releases me from her penetrating gaze, and says over her shoulder as she begins to swim away, “Let’s leave it at that.”
And she’s right. Again. I don’t need this shit. I was wrong that first night when I approached her, when I let her gravity pull me in. I’m sure there’s a plethora of guys in orbit out there now, who she keeps all at bay. Waiting for the second she crooks her finger at them.
I have to admit, when I first saw her, I was tempted by that pouty mouth. The big dark eyes, gorgeous against her creamy skin. Layers of burgundy and black hair swept up into a messy pony tail, brushing her soft shoulders. Petite, tight body with curves in all the right places…begging to be explored. She looked so mouthwateringly untouchable. Tough as nails yet soft and tender.
But it was more than that. She sung, over the crowd, over the chaos, her pain. She wears it like a shield of impenetrable armor. Literally has it tattooed on her body. It called out, whether it wanted to be heard or not, recognized or not, and my pain answered in reply. Physical attraction; anyone can feel it. Anyone can act on it. But that soul deep cry—that raw harmony that plays on a frequency too low to hear—that’s what caught my attention. Ensnared me.
Only I was too oblivious at first to acknowledge it for what it was.
There wouldn’t be any escape with this girl. Not the kind I’m craving.
“Get your ass out, guy,” she shouts from the bank. “Hustle up. I have to get back before I’m assumed AWOL.”
Then there’s that: messing around with a user. It’d be safer for me to stick my hand right into a fire. Because this proverbial one is going to hurt a lot more.
That thought helps the rock hard boner tenting my boxers to wilt, and I can move out of the water. But dammit, as soon as I’m solid in my choice, mentally berating myself for almost getting mixed up with another user…she bends over to grab her pants.
She’s wearing these cream and pink, half ass cheek covering things. Not thongs—I know what to call those. But they’re sexy as hell. Lace trims enough of her round ass to hide most of it, but reveals all the sexiness. And I can’t help myself; I stare. Stare hard.
I can just glimpse the shape of her lips through the material. Imagine her clit…wet from the water…slippery and warm.
My cock starts to throb painfully. Fuck. I’m headed right back to the water when she outs me. “Damn, baby. Is that for me?” She winks, a playful smile pulling at her mouth, and my face heats.
I am a fucking glutton for punishment. Any other girl would have been a safer choice.
I run a hand through my hair, purposely avoiding looking down at my dick. “I’m a man, not a saint.”
A sly half-smile sneaks onto her face. “Well, it’s about time.” She slinks over, carrying her tee in one hand, her other adjusting her bra strap. She stops inches from me, her bare feet planted near mine. I’m staring down at them instead of her face. “You can look. Look all you want. I have to admit, the shy guy act is kind of turning me on.”
What little blood that’s left in my brain drains right to my cock. A buzz fills my head, making me lightheaded as I slowly move my gaze over her body. Taking in the beads of water on her thighs, her low-riding underwear resting along her hips, the smooth skin of her stomach, the sexy arc of her waist. When I reach her eyes, they’re staring back into mine, tempting me. Daring me.
“I think we’re allowed some fun,” she says, low and sultry.
I’m so dazed by this girl, I can’t grasp the irritating thought knocking in the back of my head. What the hell? She shifted so quickly—from cold to hot. Wanting nothing to do with me to about to jump my bones.
Red warning lights are flashing right in front of me, but that’s not enough to keep me from needing to touch her. To taste her. Only she does it first.
She presses her damp body up against mine, her curves molding to all the right places. Her breasts push against my abs. Her warm stomach grazes my cock. She’s so petite she should fit wrong, but she’s damn perfect. I can feel her shivering, the slight breeze causing chill bumps to form on her arms as she raises them to link around my shoulders.
Sucking her bottom lip into her mouth, she bites down, sending a thrill through my nervous system. She slides one of her legs between mine, the top of her thigh glides along the shaft of my dick, and without conscious thought, I wrap my arms around her and cup her ass. Bringing her flush against me.
I lean down and whisper, “You know what you’re doing?”
Her quick laugh spikes my blood. “And then some.”
My eyes squeeze closed, and my hands ball into fists, gripping the thin material barely covering her ass. I can feel her smile as she inches onto her toes and runs her soft lips over my neck. Her tongue lightly caresses below my ear, and I’m about to come out of my skin.
It’s been too damn long since I was this close to someone. Physically. Sexually. And I’m pushing every excuse not to throw her down right now and fuck her out of my head. She wants it, doesn’t matter what it is. Casual or what. And I want to give it to her…
She reaches down and grabs me. Wraps her fingers around my cock. Grips tightly, slides her palm up and down. I release a shaky breath as she pr
esses herself against the head. Fuck. It feels so fucking good…but when she slips her fingers between the slit of my boxers and strokes me with no barrier, skin to skin, the sensation almost makes me release right here.
“Come on,” she says. “Give me a buzz I can get away with.”
My eyes fly open. I can feel my facial muscles go from slack to tense. She sees the change in my features, and pulls away a fraction. I grasp her wrists and bring her hands between us.
“We should get back,” I say, hating myself as I hear the words leave my mouth.
“Right.” She nods once, hard. “Because…?”
A huff of air whooshes from between my lips in a rush. “I’m not going to be your escape, Mel. Your quick buzz to take the edge off.” She moves farther out of my reach and wraps her arms around herself. “I don’t think it’s what you need, and I’d be a fucking asshole to take advantage of you that way.”
Her brows shoot up. “Take advantage? Hey, guy, I’m sober. Last I checked, I was of consenting age, too. Clear and free to choose who and when I fucked.” She laughs. “I’m not asking for commitment, dude. And I sure as hell don’t want anything serious from you, so don’t worry yourself over that. Taking advantage,” she mutters, shakes her head. Turns toward the bike, stops. Swings around back toward me. “You know what, who the hell died and made you fucking Gandhi?”
My head jerks back. “What?”
She talks fast, furiously, as she pulls her Ramone’s tee over her head. “You’re always spouting off about shit you think you know. Oh, you’re recovered, so you have to share your junkie wisdom with the rest of the world. That does not make you an expert.” She gets her head through the collar and glares at me. “I see the way the staff at Stoney treats you. They think you’re the second coming of Buddha. But I also see all that bullshit you got going on underneath. You’re full of it. And you’re going to try to make me feel cheap? Or like I’m some kind of crack whore because I want to get laid?” She flips me off. “I’ll walk back. Thanks.”
Losing Track: A Living Heartwood Novel Page 8
