“Why?” She watched him with a curious look.
“Most women wouldn’t be satisfied with so little information.”
“I learned not to probe years ago. My father is retired Special Forces and he revealed information on an as-needed basis only.”
Several veterans had joined the Sons of Odin over the years—a natural transition after leaving the disciplined world of the military. Some men couldn’t adjust to civilian life and found the camaraderie of the club almost healing. And for the ones with PTSD, knowing someone had your back, day or night, was a comfort.
“Did that bother you? Not knowing where or what your dad was doing?”
“Sometimes,” she admitted. “But not because I’m nosey. It was more about missing him and wanting to know he was safe. Three tours in the Middle East has a tendency to make you paranoid.”
“That’s understandable. But not knowing things may be for the best too.”
“Glad we agree on something.”
Unlike his current piece of ass, this woman had some brains, class, and attitude. He liked women with confidence. Not to mention, she hadn’t run away yet. “I hear a little northern twang in that voice.”
“I’m from Philadelphia, just moved here,” she said, her smile growing by the minute. “And you?”
“Born and raised here—a lifer.”
She nodded in appreciation. “I’ve already heard a lot of stories about Texans and their loyalty to the state.”
“Truth,” he agreed. “We’re different, carry a unique brand of pride about where we’re born.”
“Yeah—I kind of gathered that from the ‘Texas Born’ patch.”
That sassy mouth must be good at more than talking. He ran his thumb along her bottom lip, interested in seeing her reaction to his touch.
She didn’t jerk away, and Lang liked how it felt, maybe a little more than he should. Instead, she closed her eyes, almost leaning into him. How long had it been since a man caressed her face? Made her scream in bed? Would he find out?
Chapter 4
Cowardice wasn’t in Lily’s DNA, but sometimes she experienced levels of fear she couldn’t explain. She couldn’t help feeling a little nervous around Lang. Conversing with the president of an outlaw motorcycle club set off warning bells inside her head.
Their conversation hadn’t been limited to small talk—it included personal information about her life and feelings. And questioning him relentlessly about his lifestyle couldn’t be wise. Oh God, liquid courage might get her in trouble tonight.
She never envisioned her knight in shining armor wearing faded jeans, a ribbed T-shirt, black biker boots, and a wallet with a chain. Nor did she picture him with week-old stubble and a buzz cut. Everything about him screamed dangerous. But she didn’t care, she found him intriguing—possibly the best-looking man she’d ever seen. Somewhere underneath his don’t-fuck-with-me façade hid a bit of compassion and mercy. The moment he’d confronted the asshole who accosted her, she felt safe. The air had cracked with tension as soon as they noticed each other.
Pain lurked behind those dark blue eyes. She knew sadness—the kind that silently ate away at your gut. Her experiences working in the Philly school system had taught her what pain and disappointment could do to a person.
She stole another look at Lang—no angel’s wings, but no devil’s horns either. She smiled, remembering an Eagles song her father listened to all the time, “One of These Nights”: been searching for the daughter of the devil himself, I’ve been searching for an angel in white….It made her sad to think about her father again. She suspected that song had held special meaning about her mother at one time. When they were still young and in love. Another reason to protect herself. Lang undoubtedly inspired physical attraction, but hormones didn’t excuse his lifestyle—he would never be safe boyfriend material.
“What are you thinking?” he asked. “You got quiet.”
She couldn’t tell him her intimate thoughts. “Oh, nothing in particular.”
How tall was he? Six foot three or four? He towered over her and probably outweighed her by a hundred pounds. Another reason she couldn’t deny her growing attraction—she preferred tall and strong, and apparently bad too—it surprised her how tempting she found it.
She looked at Tina, who seemed to be enjoying Vincent’s company. Why not indulge herself too? Since she’d left home a few weeks ago, it’d been nonstop work and worry. Waiting for her shipping container to arrive, getting her new driver’s license, registering her vehicle, turning on her utilities, cable TV, Internet…And keeping her mind occupied so she didn’t drive herself crazy wondering what her mother and father were doing.
One night, she assured herself. A couple drinks and stimulating conversation. By the time the bar closed, she’d be home in bed, dreaming of the first day of school.
Lang rested his hand on the small of her back, bringing her back to the present again. His intense blue stare stole her breath. “So, Philadelphia, the City of Brotherly Love?” he teased, waggling his eyebrows. “Do you miss it?”
“Not the noise and gridlock on the highways,” she said. “I actually like it here—more than I thought I would.”
“What appeals to you most?”
She could think of several things, and he definitely qualified as number one at the moment. She’d never admit that to him, though. “Cowboys.”
“As in football or hats and boots?”
“Men,” she clarified with a smile. “So many hot ones.”
He growled. “If you were my old lady, I’d punish you for talking about other men.”
Was he serious? “ ‘Old lady’?” She disliked the moniker.
“Part of the club culture,” he explained. “Wives and girlfriends.”
“So why not just call them that?” What kind of woman would tolerate that name? In Philly, “old lady” meant your mother.
“Should I grab our club translator?”
“What?” She gazed at him.
“A joke.”
She laughed nervously. It wasn’t just their language choices that separated their worlds. “So you have code words? Teach me some.”
“You’re completely fascinated by me. Admit it.”
She gave him a light punch in the shoulder for teasing her. But she was fascinated by him. In a twisted kind of a way—like observing wild animals in the zoo. “Maybe.”
“All right. I’ll play along. If you agreed to ride on the back of my bike, I’d call you a fender.”
“Fender?”
“A woman invited for a ride. You’re not an old lady.”
She smacked him again. “That’s awful.”
“Why?” he asked innocently.
“I-I don’t know. Why not refer to me as a guest?”
He shook his head. “I didn’t make the rules, baby, I just enforce them. Let’s try another—moonlight mile?”
First thing that came to her mind was the Mile High Club, but she refused to elaborate out loud. “I’m afraid to ask.”
“Time away from camp with a woman.”
She might as well share now. “Like the Mile High Club?”
“Precisely.” His expression was hard to read. “Try FUBAR.”
“Don’t need to wear leather to know that one: ‘fucked up beyond all recognition,’ ” she answered proudly.
“Good—beauty and brains.”
Her mouth went dry at the compliment. She’d didn’t want to be susceptible to his praise, but she was. “Brains, maybe.”
He cupped her face, his touch so gentle. And again she involuntarily sighed and leaned into his palm, transported to another place. Heaven if she closed her eyes and imagined him as a broker or grad student, the kind of man she’d actually date. Safe. Disciplined. Civilized.
But reality told her different. Lang Anderson wore a leather jacket with patches that represented everything she didn’t like. He was the leader of a gang. But the fire in her belly made her want to touch him back. Nothin
g in their lives could possibly intersect. In three weeks, Lily would dress in skirt suits, wear her hair in a tight bun, and expect teenagers to call her Ms. Gallo.
It would only get messier from there if she developed some kind of relationship with him—her contract with the high school included a strict set of rules about how she presented herself in public. And a friendship with an outlaw biker probably would put her in violation of her contract.
“Did I lose you?” He withdrew his hand and her eyes fluttered open.
“Sorry. I get lost in thought sometimes.”
“No reason to apologize,” he said. “Happens to me too. See—we’re already finding common ground.”
Thank God he didn’t say anything about her reaction to his touch. “Tell me about your life,” she suggested, hoping to steer the conversation in a different direction, like away from his warm touch and irresistible smile.
“Not much to tell,” he said. “I live the Life—twenty-four seven. We own a popular night club in Flour Bluff called Valhalla, located next to our clubhouse.”
“Clubhouse?”
“Kind of like our corporate office—with lots of amenities.”
Lily wondered what kind of amenities he meant. “Can you be more specific?”
“Party central,” he explained. “We have a conference room and bedrooms for the officers.”
“Officers?” She eyed him curiously. “Aren’t you a king?” she asked sarcastically.
He chuckled. “We’re an oligarchy, not a dictatorship. We vote on important issues. Sometimes I make the hard decisions.”
Intrigued by more than his chosen lifestyle, she edged away, trying to escape the unnerving magnetism. More like a whirlpool pulling her in little by little. And if she didn’t watch out, she’d drown. “So you live there?”
“Sometimes.”
“Can I see the inside of the clubhouse sometime?”
Curiosity pinched at her insides. Something about the outlaw side of him appealed to her. Didn’t scientists claim that when women ovulated they were attracted to bad boys? If she blamed it on the time of the month, she didn’t need to make up more excuses.
“Let’s grab a drink, and give Vincent and Tina some time alone, then if you’re still feeling brave, maybe we can make a date for the grand tour. Deal?”
“Deal,” she agreed.
“Lily.” Tina hugged her from behind, sounding way too happy. “Vincent suggested a game of darts.”
“Take it easy on him,” Lily said to her friend, turning around. “Lang and I are going to grab another drink.”
Lily watched Tina follow Vincent across the room, then Lang took possession of her left hand, guiding her to the bar. “Beer or something else?”
“Chardonnay.”
A few minutes later he handed her the glass of wine. “Let’s go outside.”
Only one table on the patio was full of people, and Lang chose a spot on the opposite side of the space. “The best feature of the clubs in Corpus, it’s so warm here year round, the outdoor areas stay open.”
“Not in Philly,” she said. “Most places don’t have patios like this.”
“We have a nice one at Valhalla.”
“What kind of club is it?” she asked.
“Similar to Tito’s, more live music, though. A different clientele too.”
“And what do you like the most about it?”
He rubbed his stubbled chin. “My grandfather’s restored 1948 Harley Panhead Springer is featured in a glass showcase at the entrance.”
“Really? What’s a Panhead exactly?”
He chuckled and took a sip of beer. “A type of motorcycle. Fire-engine red with chrome wheels, beautiful really. Not the kind of beast you want to ride long-distance.”
“Do you ride it?”
“Once a year,” he said. “We team up with the Marines during the Christmas holiday and do a Toys for Tots run. I dress as Santa Claus and ride downtown.”
The club supported charities? She wondered what it would feel like sitting in the leather seat with the wind whipping through her hair. Pure power between her legs. A couple of hours in his company and she was already fantasizing about things that were foreign to her. She fanned herself with her hand, taking a long sip of her wine, then considered Lang again. He had that famous Clint/Scott Eastwood trait, the little flat spot on the tip of his nose where God leaned him against a wall and spray-painted him with perfect. And he liked kids, which impressed her.
“You all right?” He hovered over her shoulder.
Oh God, he was too close, inhaling her perfume. She heard his sharp intake of breath. “F-fine.”
“You smell incredible,” he growled, then nipped her shoulder. “Too fucking good.”
She needed to protect herself. The attraction between them was building fast, similar to a pressure cooker. And if she didn’t watch out, she’d explode. Her panties were already damp with arousal. She needed to focus on something safe like the weather or his hobbies, because the chemistry between them was dangerous. “How many charities do you support?”
“Several,” he said. “We ride for cancer, the March of Dimes, and volunteer for the Red Cross if there’s a local disaster. We may live outside the lines, but we’re also community oriented—if it’s a worthy cause.”
“I volunteered with Big Brothers Big Sisters in Philly. Haven’t signed up here yet.”
“Like kids?” he asked.
“Very much.”
“Me too. Greatest resource we have for a better future.”
She couldn’t agree more, and felt herself softening. A total badass who loved kids—motorcycles—charities—and possessed the kind of physique featured in centerfolds. If he told her he wanted world peace, she was out the door.
“You seem pretty impressed.”
She gazed up at him. “Hard not to be, but I also think you’re a walking contradiction.”
“I’ve been told that before.”
“I’d love to see pictures of you dressed as Santa.”
He groaned and licked his lips. “Requires a couple pillows shoved underneath the jacket to make me look convincing.” He patted his flat stomach. “Too scrawny otherwise.”
She laughed. Lang didn’t come close to being scrawny. He was athletic and tall, beautiful in a completely masculine way.
“When can I see those photos?”
He leaned in and kissed her cheek this time. All the stolen touches were meant to tempt her.
“Whenever you want to.”
Tingles were left in the wake of his kiss. She bit her bottom lip, wondering where the cautious side of her personality had disappeared to. Gone with the evening breeze.
“Lost again?” Curiosity ripened his voice.
Lang possessed a rare kind of charisma, the kind that shut her brain down. And with one more smile, if she had enough alcohol inside her, she’d kiss him back. She finished her wine and offered him the glass. “I’m ready for another.”
He placed her empty glass and his beer bottle on the nearest table. “Maybe we should hang out in the parking lot for a while—more privacy. I’ll protect you.”
Curious about his private life, she’d brave the parking lot to learn more. All the stereotypes couldn’t be wrong. And as he led her back inside the club and toward the front doors, she sucked in a breath, prepared for whatever she’d find out about him.
Chapter 5
Braver than he’d given her credit for, Lily let Lang escort her around the back of Tito’s to where the bikes and Vincent’s truck were parked, underneath the only streetlight nearby. And sure enough, the Prospect tasked with keeping watch over the motorcycles was nowhere to be found. “Shit,” he said.
“What?” Lily asked.
“Can you wait here for a second, baby? I’m just going to peek around the corner—one of my crew is missing.”
“Sure.”
Lang nodded, then strutted toward the front of the building. He looked around the corner, hoping Neil
had just wandered off for a minute. A few people were gathered near the front doors, but no sign of the Prospect. He cursed and stalked back to Lily.
“What the fuck?” Gone two seconds and the son of a bitch was hitting on her? And Lily was chatting with him like they were old friends? “Get your hands off her, she’s with me.” He knocked Neil’s hand away from her arm. “Where were you?”
“Taking a piss across the alley.” Neil pointed. “Better patch her before someone else makes the same mistake.”
Lang clutched Lily’s hand, refusing to let go until he got her alone—away from the noise and hard dicks that wouldn’t hesitate to brand her for the club. “Stop trying to wiggle free,” he chastised, leading her down the alley, between some buildings.
“Patch me?”
He stopped. “This isn’t a game, Lily. Men like Neil—hell, like me—usually don’t ask twice. Understand?”
Fathomless eyes met his. “I never thought it was.”
“Then why are you playing me for a fool?”
“I’m not,” she denied. “You invited me outside, remember? I’m just trying to blend in, being friendly. Did I do something wrong?”
Technically? No. But after rescuing her earlier, and now seeing another man with her—it pissed him off for some reason. He backed her against the closest wall, fierce protectiveness swirling inside. “I see through your flimsy disguise and can’t stress this enough: Brothers don’t make extraordinary evolutionary leaps. Most are stuck in the sixties. And that hot pussy between your legs serves one purpose for them.”
She parted her lips as if she wanted to say something, anger shadowing her pretty face.
“Patching you means a tattoo or literal patch that says ‘Property of Lang.’ Unless you’re an old lady or a family member, the rest of the women with us are known as pass-arounds. And yes, the name expresses the meaning perfectly.”
She leaned forward, poking him in the chest with her finger. “That’s disgusting. Do you know how hard I’ve worked to fight sexism?”
Lang stifled his laughter. Women could do whatever the fuck they wanted outside his charter. Looking at him the way Lily was—fuck modern thinking. It all boiled down to one thing: chemistry. And she wanted this as much as he did. His mouth closed over hers. Lily moaned in appreciation as he gripped her sides hard, anchoring her against his body.
Persuasion Page 3
