Did she need to? He could see right through her.
“I’ve never done that before,” she said, her gaze drifting across the horizon. “So rest assured I’m a worthy addition to your long list of conquests.”
Blame the pessimism on her history. The intimate conversation over dinner had been enjoyable and he’d listened so intently, made her laugh, and gotten her buzzed with expensive wine. When she all but confessed to being an emotional coward, he told her not to blame herself. For God’s sake, she’d only met him three times. True, they’d spent quality hours together—hell, she’d spent weeks with men she’d learned less about in comparison to her time with Lang.
But in his mind—his world—women were clearly meant for one thing. She’d heard him say it, even witnessed it firsthand. And for all her strict upbringing and education, she’d dropped her panties as quickly as a pass-around.
“I’d like to go home,” she finally said, turning around.
Something glinted in his eyes. Amusement? She couldn’t tell.
“What kind of man would I be if I let you kiss and run?”
“I can’t finish what we started, Lang.” Her gaze dropped to his crotch. Proof of his continued arousal made her cringe. Now he’d consider her a tease.
“Didn’t ask you to, Counselor.” He walked to the water’s edge, pulled a bandana from his pocket, and dipped it in the water. “I have my reasons for doing what I did.” He wiped his face clean, then folded the fabric and shoved it back in his pants.
“Oh?” His words surprised her. What could possibly drive the bad boy to give her two orgasms for nothing in return? “No strings attached?”
“I didn’t say that.” He returned to her side. “Guess you’ll have to brave my company a little longer to find out.”
“How long?” Weeks? Months? That promise she had made herself before she relocated kept popping up—she thought short-term now. Men couldn’t be trusted. Not dates, boyfriends, husbands, and certainly not fathers.
“I know strippers with more self-esteem.”
Her head snapped up and her eyes narrowed. Where did that come from? Regardless, his harsh observation sliced through her. “If that’s your way of encouraging me to stick around, I think you may need lessons in how to treat a lady.”
“Then stop acting like a child,” he said, caressing her face. He leaned in, whispering in her ear. “I can smell your fear.”
All she could smell was her excitement, even after he’d washed his face with salt water. “Why are you treating me this way?” Her first instinct was to slap his face and walk away. She didn’t like the smug look or the tone he’d taken. “And that’s not fear,” she assured him, finding a shred of confidence. “It’s regret.”
He gripped her by the shoulders. “There’s the fire I like. Stop doubting yourself, Lily. I prefer the woman I met at Tito’s, not the girl who second-guesses everything she does.”
She swallowed, amazed by his perceptiveness. Yes, two Lilys dwelled inside her. The one that loved life for all it had to offer, and the meeker version—the shattered little girl who’d lost her father because he couldn’t keep his pants zipped.
“Sex isn’t something to be ashamed of,” he added, running his fingers through her hair. “Not when you have a body made for it. Not when you taste like fucking paradise.”
They’d crossed a line they shouldn’t have. Lily tore her gaze away from him. He flung compliments at her as easily as he did insults. “I don’t like you very much right now, Lang.”
He chuckled and let it go. “You’re not the first woman to tell me that, and won’t be the last. Live in the moment and do what I do when I get pissed off.”
Her brows arched in question. “What’s that? Get table dances at a strip club or get drunk?”
“Don’t get uppity on me, Counselor.”
She couldn’t hold in her laughter. “Jesus Christ,” she said, shaking her head. “Like a roller coaster.”
“What is?” he asked, grinning.
“You. Me. This night.”
He offered his hand. “Let me introduce you to something better than Six Flags Over Texas, baby.”
Once again she found herself breaking all her own rules. They stopped by the storage room for her shoes, then he walked her to his bike. When he handed her the funny-shaped helmet he unlocked from his motorcycle, she just stood there staring at it.
“Brain bucket,” he commented, snatching it out of her hand and fitting it on her head. Then he buckled the strap under her chin, his breath warm on her face. “Don’t want anything to happen to that pretty head of yours.”
“What about you?” Safety first, that’s what she always taught her kids at school.
“You think I’m pretty?” He rubbed his chin. “Glad to hear it.”
Oh, what a difference a few words could make. Deep inside she knew why he’d challenged her, to keep her from withdrawing. Although his delivery angered her, his intentions seemed pure. “I’ll neither confirm nor deny it. But if your ego gets bigger, I don’t think one of these will fit on your head.” She knocked on the helmet.
He chuckled. “I never wear one,” he informed her, much to her dislike. “You stand here while I back out, then I want you to swing your sweet leg over the back. Once you’re comfortable…” He reached down and unfolded the foot pegs. “Rest your feet on these.”
“In high heels?”
“Why not? I’ve given rides to girls in bikinis and bare feet.”
That mental image made something foreign stir inside her belly. Pangs of jealousy? She shook it off, considering it ridiculous. He lived a very different life than she did. Isn’t that what attracted her in the first place? And she also needed to stop being so self-deprecating. Lang didn’t like it. She could do anything she wanted, including slapping on a bikini and riding bitch on the back of his Harley.
“Why do they call it ‘riding bitch’?”
“I’m impressed with your crude vocabulary, Counselor. What else would we call it? If you’re not riding up front, you’re the bitch.”
“Guess I missed that explanation on the Internet.”
“Did you Google ‘MCs’?”
She nodded, guilty as charged.
He snorted. “Ready?” he asked.
She waited while he climbed on and started the engine. It rumbled to life and he gave it gas before he backed up. Excitement shot through her from the noise and vibration. So much power at his fingertips, like a chambered bullet. When he pulled next to her, his antagonistic smile dared her onto his bike. Combating the desire to break free seemed futile. And as soon as she got comfortable on the narrow seat behind him, she confirmed the rumors she’d heard about sitting astride a Harley. The pleasurable resonance challenged the vibrator she kept hidden in her dresser drawer.
Chapter 13
Lang’s confidence and ego often left destruction in its wake. The need to fuck whatever woman attracted his attention at the moment always ended in his bedroom. No next-day phone calls or second dates, just a smile and smack on the ass as she left. Lily didn’t inspire those kinds of selfish feelings. In fact, pleasuring her gave him a new sense of satisfaction. He wanted to be the reason she smiled again, the way she had while they joked with each other over dinner.
He closed his eyes for a split second; the combination of the wind on his face, her arms wrapped tight around his waist, and her perfect tits pressed against his back kept him steel hard. The impulse to dominate her simmered just below the surface, and that instinct would never change. But the need to connect with her on a more personal level before he took her to bed felt better. Time would tell. He considered tonight a success—oysters, lobster, wine, orgasms, and a long ride with Lily on his bike.
How long had it been since he’d taken a woman to dinner? Two years? A hamburger at Valhalla didn’t count. He’d escorted Sandy on many occasions to the club, shared a pitcher of beer with her, played pool, danced, even made small talk—but never outside the comfort of his
charter territory. Just like Lily had with him, he’d experienced many firsts with her. From Tito’s to now, she stirred things to life inside him. Sparked his interest in ways that surprised him.
The taste of her sweet pussy still haunted him. He’d never forget the look on her face when she came or the sexy noises she made, the way she grinded against his face. He covered her hand with his, massaging her fingers. She squeezed him with her thighs, a natural-born rider. She even leaned properly when he made a sharp turn, relying on her legs to hold on, not fisting his leather or digging her fingernails into his arms because she was afraid.
She claimed fear drove her to do many things she regretted. But from what he’d seen, Lily didn’t have a cowardly bone in her body. She was cautious, yes, maybe even unsure. But not afraid.
They’d ridden a good thirty miles before his phone vibrated in his vest pocket. He ignored it, taking in his surroundings. Although it was dark, the occasional streetlamp and the moonlight revealed the rural environment they were in. Palm trees and open fields, sand dunes and the occasional house. Pockets of cold air hit them, and he hoped Lily wasn’t chilly without a leather jacket.
His cell vibrated again, and on cue, respecting the rules of the MC, if someone called back-to-back, he had to answer. He signaled to pull off the road and came to a slow stop on the gravel shoulder.
Lily shifted behind him. “Everything okay?” she asked.
“I need to take this call.” He climbed off his bike and walked a few yards away for privacy. “Vincent?”
“Moco’s on a drunken rampage again, refuses to go home unless he gets a sit-down with you.”
“What the fuck?” Lang ran his fingers over his head, frustrated. “Any damage?”
“Yeah,” his Brother said. “Smashed the big screen with a barstool.”
“In the bar or clubhouse?”
“Clubhouse.”
Lang sighed with relief. Valhalla was off-limits if the Brothers needed to vent. “I’m a good distance away—give me a half hour.” He disconnected. Like it or not, he didn’t have time to take Lily to her car before dealing with Moco. She’d have to ride with him.
He walked back to his Harley, admiring how good she looked perched on it.
“There’s a situation at the clubhouse and I can’t take you back to the restaurant until it’s handled.”
“Business?” she asked.
“Yeah,” he said, climbing on. More like a fucking beatdown for an errant Brother, a long-overdue one at that.
Twenty-five minutes later, he rolled through the gates of the clubhouse. Music pounded through the walls. Beer bottles were strewn across the grass. He helped Lily off the bike and she removed her helmet.
“Want me to wait here?” she asked.
“I’d prefer it. You’re safe, Lily.” He lifted her chin. “If you need anything, don’t hesitate to come inside, okay?”
She nodded.
Giving her a last reassuring smile, he went inside. Bloody assholes. Eleven o’clock and three members were already passed out on the floor, Norma Jean, a pass-around, was dry-humping Dog Tag in the corner by the kitchen, and Moco and Vincent were arguing in the living area, where the shattered TV screen caught Lang’s attention.
“Prez in the house,” one of the Brothers called, and the volume of the music was immediately lowered.
Lang cracked his knuckles and strutted across the room, his gaze fixed on Moco. “What the fuck, dude? I leave for a few hours and you can’t handle yourself?”
“Blame it on him.” Moco smacked Vincent’s chest. “Cheating piece of shit.”
Lang gritted his teeth. The clubhouse could be like a middle school playground, and he understood why Jessie had turned a blind eye sometimes. “If you have a problem, take it outside. Settle it with fists, not barstools.” Lang picked the overturned stool off the floor, setting it upright. “As for the flat screen—I’ll replace it with funds from your cut of the monthly profits.”
Moco scowled. “Not happening.”
“Excuse me?” Lang stepped closer to Moco. “Are you challenging me?”
“I’ll do more than that.” Moco lunged, but Lang stepped aside and his drunken Brother stumbled forward.
Lang chuckled, unconcerned with Moco. “Where’s Sampson?” he asked Vincent.
“In the bar.”
“Tell him to give Moco a ride home.”
Vincent nodded and headed for the side door. Just as Lang turned, something smashed against the side of his head. It hurt and glass shattered on the floor. Lang swung around and found Moco standing there panting, sweat beaded on his forehead. He still held the neck of a beer bottle in his hand.
Rage took over. Lang growled and came full force at Moco, his fist connecting with his nose, his other hand buried in his leather. Blood sprayed all over him as he herded Moco across the room with the brutal force of a bulldozer. Shoving him through the back door, he hit him again, then swept his right foot across Moco’s feet, knocking him down.
Lang straddled his chest, his thighs locking Moco’s head in place. “Hit me, motherfucker? With a goddamned bottle while I wasn’t looking?” His heart thundered. He could feel warm blood trickling down the side of his face. Pain had been replaced by blinding anger.
“I didn’t mean to do it…”
Lang landed a pair of pulverizing punches—the sound of cartilage snapping did nothing to dissuade him. Moco would wear his black eyes like badges for the other Brothers to learn from. Challenge Lang and you’d pay. And when the asshole’s bruises healed, he’d strip him of his patches. “Did you hear me, motherfucker?” Lang grabbed two fistfuls of his vest. “Say something.”
Moco’s pupils were dilated, blood seeping from his crushed nose. “I didn’t…”
“Lang?” Lily’s worried voice stabbed him in the heart. He didn’t want her to see him this way.
Unable to face her, he simply said, “Go to Valhalla, Lily.”
“N-no,” she stammered.
He inhaled violently. Disobedience seemed to be the theme of the night. Just then the back door of the clubhouse opened, and half a dozen Brothers filed outside.
Lang staggered to his feet, then mopped the side of his head with the back of his hand and wiped the blood on the front of his pants.
“Get him out of my sight before I kill him.” Lang glared at the members, all control nearly gone.
Two jumped into action, hoisted Moco to his feet, and dragged him away.
“Where’s Doc?” Lang asked.
“In the back room getting a blow job,” Johnny answered.
“His dick can wait,” Lang said tersely. “I need stitches.”
As soon as Moco disappeared around the corner of the clubhouse, Lang faced Lily. “I need you to listen when I tell you to do something.”
She opened her mouth to say something, but didn’t. Instead, she came to him, eyes filled with worry. “What did he do?”
“Blindsided me with a Budweiser bottle.”
She wrapped her arm around his waist and started for the door, like he needed help walking.
“I’ll arrange for Vincent to drive you home,” he said. “We can get your car tomorrow.”
“No,” she said, opening the door for him. “I’d like to stay here for a while, make sure you’re all right.”
Moco’s attack was tame compared to what he’d lived through before. If Lily knew he carried bullet fragments in his gut and had survived a stabbing last year, she’d disappear. “You sure?” he asked, stepping inside, a migraine coming on.
“Perfectly.”
Doc was waiting for him.
“Little fucker came swinging from behind,” Lang complained as he sat on the barstool Doc had set up under the bright fluorescent lights in the kitchen.
“We’ll take care of him after we get you stitched up.” Doc tilted Lang’s head sideways, running his fingers over the wound. “Have to shave your melon,” he said. “Not that there’s much there anyway.”
D
oc left to get medical supplies and Lily gave Lang a hug from behind, her body shaking. “Don’t you want to go to the hospital? I don’t think this place is very sanitary, and is Doc really a medical professional?”
As for the sanitary part, there was a reason Lang had all the black lights removed. “Fifteen years as an EMT, and now a physician’s assistant.”
“No wonder you’re in one piece still,” she commented, edging around him so she could see his face. “Please don’t worry about me, Lang, I’ve seen much worse.”
“I know.” He squeezed her hand in appreciation. She talked tough, but her flushed face told a different story. And after spending the evening with her, he wasn’t sure he liked the idea of the counselor witnessing so much violence. She didn’t deserve it. If he could help it, it wouldn’t happen again.
Chapter 14
Tina must have been watching from her front windows, because at the exact moment Lily opened her front door, her best friend appeared. “Where’s your car?” she asked, following Lily inside.
Lily dropped her purse on the dining room table, kicked off her heels, then tumbled onto the couch. “Try saying hello first.” She grinned.
“Hi, Lily. Where’s your car?”
“Fine,” Lily surrendered. “Still at the restaurant.”
“Why? And that looked like Vincent driving the pickup.”
“Well, Lang ended up with eight stitches on the side of his head tonight—not really in any shape to drive.”
“Are you serious?” Tina sat in the armchair across from the couch. “Are you okay? You’re too quiet.”
“I’m in shock. Or maybe just overwhelmed. I broke all the rules.”
“Good or bad ones?”
“Both.” She rubbed her eyes, fighting exhaustion. “What started as a strictly professional dinner ended up being our first date, I think.” Lily grabbed one of the throw pillows off the end of the sofa and tucked it against her stomach. “Lang Anderson is an amazing man.”
“Oh yeah?” Tina cracked a smile. “I think someone likes the idea of getting involved with a Texas bad boy after all.”
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