Strictly Off Limits

by Nikki Bella

  This book was given to Lee Aitchison on Instafreebie.

  www.instafreebie.com

  Off Limits

  Bad Boy Stepbrother Romance

  By: Nikki Bella

   Copyright 2017 by (Nikki Bella) - All rights reserved.

  In no way is it legal to reproduce, duplicate, or transmit any part of this document in either electronic means or in printed format. Recording of this publication is strictly prohibited and any storage of this document is not allowed unless with written permission from the publisher. All rights reserved.

  Respective authors own all copyrights not held by the publisher.

  Callie brushed a piece of hair out of her face, reaching for the tie on her wrist to pull it back into a ponytail. It was only her third day working at the bar, a summer job until she went back to college, and already she was wishing she were back in Washington. She was pretty certain that everyone who said that the “dry” heat of the California desert was better than “humid” heat had never actually lived in the desert.

  Truth be told, she was wishing she were back there for more reasons than one. She’d originally planned only to come back for the weekend, to be there for her mother’s wedding to the tall, rough-looking biker that she’d fallen in love with and married in the space of six months. While she’d been making the plans to attend, however, her mother had been calling her every other day, begging her to stay for the whole summer. It had been Callie’s third year, and she’d managed to avoid going home every summer thus far, claiming jobs or school internships, saying that she couldn’t afford the plane fare. But since she was coming back anyway…it had been hard to come up with an excuse. Her mother’s begging had finally worn her down, and here she was, working in a small dusty biker bar to save up some extra cash.

  She shook her head, reaching for the broom to sweep up some fries under a booth, left by the latest patrons to make their way through. Growing up, she’d been familiar with the motorcycle club in town, but she’d never expected that she’d have anything to do with them beyond sighing over the president’s son with her girlfriends. Now the president was her stepfather, and his son was sleeping in the bedroom next to her old one. The happy couple was living in her mother’s house, the one she’d bought with Callie’s father. The one Callie had grown up in, happily, until her father was killed in a car crash.

  She checked her watch. Her shift was over in ten minutes, and her mother had promised to pick her up. Likely she’d be running late, the reasons for which Callie didn’t even want to begin to ponder. She stowed the broom in the closet and began counting her till, grimacing as she thought about the night ahead.

  The club was throwing a party that night, a kind of reception for the newly wedded couple. There would be barbecue and copious amounts of beer, and likely more than one half-naked woman throwing herself at the men. There would be a few kids there Callie’s age, but she couldn’t imagine what she would possibly have to talk about with them. None of them would be interested in her finance degree or the internship she’d done last summer. The boys were all either prospects in the club already, or hanging around attempting to become one. The girls were waitressing at the diner, the one restaurant, bartending at one of the two bars in town, or stripping at the small gentlemen’s club at the edge. None of them would ever go to college. Callie was entirely an outcast here, in the place she’d grown up. And she didn’t like it one bit.

  The sudden roar of a motorcycle engine could be heard outside, and Callie looked up briefly from wiping up the bar one last time before she clocked out. One of the members, she was sure, here to grab a midday beer.

  Then the door opened, and in walked Wyatt, her newly minted stepbrother.

  Callie couldn’t help it. Her heart still skipped a little when she saw him, just like it had in high school. Every one of the girls had lusted over him then, with his rough denim vest over white t-shirts, and his brown hair that he’d kept long and pulled back into a ponytail. She’d been no different.

  He was different now, though. He wasn’t a boy any longer. He’d traded the denim jacket for a leather vest with the patch of the club on the back, and he’d cut his hair so that it clung closely to his scalp, thick and shiny. She couldn’t help but think how she’d love to run her fingers through it. The loose t-shirts he’d worn had grown tighter, clinging to a defined chest and thick, muscular arms. Tattoos snaked their way over their arms now, the knuckles of one hand tattooed as well. His green eyes were still mischievous, but there was something else there now, too. They were the eyes of someone who’d grown up since the last time Callie had been here.

  He’s your brother now, she had to remind herself. Not that she thought he’d be interested, anyway. She’d been shy and quiet in high school, too nervous to ever approach him, and now he was entirely off limits. She couldn’t imagine what her mother would say, and she was sure Wyatt would be in a world of trouble if he ever touched her.

  He cleared his throat, and she realized she’d been staring. “Hi,” she stammered quickly. “What are you doing here?” Wyatt had just turned twenty-one a few weeks before, his birthday about a month after hers. Not that it mattered—things like drinking laws weren’t really enforced in the town. But Wyatt rarely drank, anyway.

  He shrugged. “Your mom sent me to pick you up. Said she got stuck running errands.”

  Callie grimaced. She could only imagine what sort of “errands” had held up her mother, and she didn’t want to. “Please tell me you drove the truck.” She’d never been on a motorcycle in her entire life, and she didn’t want to start now. While the concept was vaguely sexy and exciting, in reality she was flat out terrified.

  Wyatt grinned. “No ma’am. No cages for me.”

  Callie rolled her eyes, and then bit her lip as she looked out of the window. Sure enough, Wyatt’s gleaming black Harley was sitting at the curb. She felt her stomach drop with terror, and she looked at Wyatt, trying to think of something to say.

  Still smiling, he walked in front of her to the door, swinging it wide and holding it open. “Come on. You’re not scared, are you?”

  Callie gritted her teeth. She was absolutely terrified, but there was no way that she was going to let Wyatt know that. She had no choice but to get on the back of the bike.

  He’s not going to let anything happen to you, she told herself firmly. It’s not even ten miles to the house. Everyone here knows to look out for motorcycles. Nothing is going to happen. She swallowed and forced a smile. “Well, first time for everything, right?”

  Wyatt nodded, and she could tell from his smirk that he knew she was scared. “Well, let’s go, then. The party will be starting soon, I’m sure you’ll want to get freshened up.”

  Callie glanced at him quickly, but his face was blank, with no sign of anything but sincerity. She followed him out to the bike, and he reached for a helmet attached to the back seat, handing it to her with a stern expression. “Put this on, and make sure the strap is adjusted.”

  Callie felt the twist of fear in her stomach again. Fingers trembling more than a little, she buckled the helmet on and tugged at the strap until she could feel the nylon just pressing beneath her chin. Wyatt climbed onto the bike and revved it up, and Callie, swallowing down her fear, swung her leg over the back.

  For just a moment, when she wrapped her arms around Wyatt’s waist, she felt the knot in her stomach unfurl. His leather vest was warm and supple from the sunlight, and she could smell the tang of sweat and the faint musk of cologne wafting from the back of his neck. A sudden, rare breeze kicked up, and her hair fluttered in front of her face, drifting over his shoulders, and she felt him shiver a little.

  The growl of the motorcycle drowned out any furt
her thoughts, and she involuntarily squeezed Wyatt tighter as she felt the bike begin to move forward. “If I lean, lean with me!” he yelled over the roar of the engine. “Not a lot…just go with me, okay?”

  “Okay!” Callie shouted back. She was beginning to wish she’d forgotten all about saving face and just walked home.

  The bike sped up, and Callie bit her lip, then let go for fear they’d go over a bump and she’d bite straight through it. She closed her eyes tightly, knowing they couldn’t possibly be going really that fast, but it felt like everything was speeding by.

  And then something changed. The wind whipped her hair back, blowing it behind her, and she felt the sharp bite of it on her face, smelled the sun on the leather and the scent of engine grease and motor oil. The vibrations rolled through her body, and she suddenly felt melded to them—the machine and Wyatt both, and she felt herself relax against him, the shapes of the bike between her legs and his body against hers suddenly feeling entirely natural.

  She felt free, as if they could go anywhere or do anything, and she suddenly understood why these men loved their motorcycles so much. She’d never felt this kind of euphoria driving a car.

  She leaned with Wyatt as they turned the corner into the driveway of her mother’s small house, and she took a deep breath as she swung off of the bike when he came to a stop, her legs feeling a little shaky and weak. She unclipped the helmet and reattached it to the back, and when she looked up she saw Wyatt looking down at her.

  “You did a good job,” he said, and his voice was a little rough. There was something odd in the way he was looking at her, an expression in his eyes that she didn’t understand. He was very close to her, and she felt her heartbeat speed up, and her skin prickled.

  There was no reason for her to think of him like that. But his proximity made her feel breathless and shaky, the same way she’d felt a second ago, getting off of the bike. She wanted him closer to her, wanted to grab him and pull him against her body—and she couldn’t ever remember feeling like that about anyone. There’d been a few boys in college, but they’d all been friends, fun-loving guys who made her laugh and were easy to fall into bed with—and back out.

  She knew instinctively that if she fell into anything with Wyatt, it wouldn’t be easy to get back out. He was nothing like the funny, sarcastic nerds that she tended to hang out with at college.

  He stepped away from her, and the bubble was burst. She was abruptly reminded that he was her stepbrother now, no matter how dark and handsome and generally attractive he was to her. That sharp burst of chemistry between them that she’d just felt didn’t matter. He was, legally, her family, and that made him entirely off-limits.

  Which, of course, only made him that much more desirable.

  ***

  After a much-needed nap, Callie started getting ready for the “reception”, doing her best to look the part. It wasn’t easy. Her college wardrobe, while financially limited, was pretty straightforward. A lot of jeans and t-shirts, and a ton of cardigans for the wet and chilly weather. She had a few pairs of shorts she’d picked up for the summer at home. Even in the summer, though, California nights could be chilly. Sighing, she grabbed a pair of dark skinny jeans and a tight black tank top. Usually she layered it under another shirt or sweater, but for tonight, she supposed she could do something a little different. Peering into the mirror, she did her makeup quickly, adding some black eyeliner and a rose-hued lipstick into the mix. She fluffed her long blonde hair out, and sighed. Really, she didn’t know why she was even trying this hard.

  Wyatt. You’re making all this effort because Wyatt will be there.

  She sighed and grabbed her black Converse from beside the bed where she’d tossed them. She could hear her mother yelling for her from downstairs, and shouted a perfunctory: “I’m coming!”

  She couldn’t wait to get out of here, and back to Washington.

  Her mother was waiting impatiently downstairs, keys jingling in hand. She was wearing a tight white sundress that, admittedly, looked fantastic against her tanned skin. A dark denim jacket was thrown over it, and Callie couldn’t help but think how pretty her mother looked. She definitely could pass for younger than forty-five. “Come on, Callie. I don’t want to be late.”

  Callie finished tying her shoes, and forced a smile. “Alright. Let’s go.”

  The trip to the clubhouse was a little tense, just as the whole summer so far had been. Callie genuinely wanted her mother to be happy. She just wasn’t sure that the president of the town’s motorcycle club was the guy to do that. It seemed like such a rough lifestyle, something that her mother wasn’t at all accustomed to. Maybe that’s why she was attracted to it. It was something different…something she’d never been a part of. Something forbidden.

  Just like Wyatt.

  Callie forced the thought of him out of her head. The last thing she needed to do was reflect on the way his strong body had felt against hers, the flexing of his muscles as she wrapped her arms around him. She wondered if she’d think about that ride every time she smelled leather. She stared out of the car window, watching the dry landscape roll by. As much as she would have never thought it, she missed the rain in Washington.

  Dusk was gathering and the party was in full swing by the time she and her mother arrived. Someone had built a huge bonfire in the middle of the courtyard, and some of the “old ladies” had set out a picnic table with plates and plasticware and all the fixings for the barbecue. There were multiple coolers presumably filled with beer, and already the younger girls in their early twenties were beginning to mill around, fetching beers for the guys their age—and a few that were much older.

  Callie wrinkled her nose slightly and grabbed a can out of one of the coolers. She normally only liked craft beers, but she supposed in this instance she didn’t have to be picky. Her stomach growled slightly, and she glanced at the table, wondering when the rest of the food would come out.

  She didn’t have much else to do. Her mother and her new stepfather were the center of attention, congratulations and jokes being handed out one after the other, and Callie hung off to the side, wondering privately how long she had to stay before she could sneak back to the house and read…or maybe sleep.

  She was barely paying attention anymore when she was startled by a deep voice speaking right next to her: “You look entirely too bored to be at a party.”

  Callie looked up sharply to see Wyatt standing there, casually holding his own beer. She collected herself quickly and shrugged. “Not really my type of party.”

  “Oh? What is your type?”

  “Wine. Other college kids.” She realized she sounded more than a little snobby, and wished she had thought of a different way to say it. She could see from Wyatt’s raised eyebrows that he wasn’t impressed by her answer.

  “So, not good enough for you?”

  Callie shook her head. “That’s not what I meant. I just…I don’t really feel like I belong.”

  He shrugged. “You don’t. That doesn’t mean you can’t have a good time, right?”

  “I guess you have a point.”

  “Isn’t being in college all about trying new things, learning about different types of people?”

  Callie blinked up at him. “I guess you have a point.”

  He swung his arm out, gesturing at the large gathering. “So…here’s a different type of people. Something new you haven’t tried before.” He looked down at her, and Callie’s stomach knotted. His voice had changed slightly when he said the last sentence, and his eyes were roving over her face intently. She felt nervous suddenly, as if she were on the verge of something she wasn’t sure about.

  “How about I go grab us both a sandwich and another beer, and you tell me about college and Washington?”

  “You really want to hear about that?”

  “We’re family now, right?” He winked at her, and Callie’s heart sank. Of course. He was just placating her, like a sister. Sh
e felt stupid. Of course he wasn’t flirting with her. She took another sip of her beer, watching him walk away as he went to grab their food.

  A couple of the other girls approached him, and he started talking and laughing with them as he fixed the plates. Callie felt a flash of jealousy. They were both younger than she was, dressed in tiny denim shorts and ripped black tanks, with legs for days. Callie felt almost frumpy in comparison. One of the girls laughed loudly, almost theatrically, at something Wyatt said, clinging to his arm as she recovered. Callie bit her lip. It was beyond annoying. All of the girls seemed so desperate, as if their whole lives revolved around being an “old lady” to one of the club members. Callie remembered asking her mother if the term didn’t bother her, and she’d laughed it off. It was just a nickname, she’d said, just a silly pet name, like “baby”.

  For someone like her mother, who’d always gone to great lengths to avoid looking her age, it was odd that she was so comfortable with it, Callie thought.

  Wyatt had disentangled himself from the two girls, murmuring something to them, and he returned to Callie with two plates loaded with barbecue sandwiches, baked beans, and a salad. Callie reached hungrily for the food and took a huge bite. “Wow, this is amazing.”

  “Isn’t it? My best friend’s old lady made it. She’s a great cook. Some of the others made the sides.”

  Callie nodded, unable to speak between bites.

  “Christ, girl. Don’t they feed you at the bar?”

  Callie shrugged. “Not really. We don’t get much of a break, unless it’s slow. Even then, I’m not really a fan of the food.”

  “Yeah, Tucker’s cook isn’t much to talk about.”

  There was silence for several moments. “So, do you like Washington?” Wyatt asked finally, breaking the silence.

  Callie nodded. “It’s different. Much different from here.”