by Isabel Wroth
“Seriously, fucker? She’s mine.”
“I know that, brother. Doesn’t mean I can’t appreciate the view. Top is Prez now, him and a few of the boys are coming to see you, and don’t fuckin open your mouth to argue, mother fucker. They’re already on a plane. I would be there, but my woman is about to pop out a kid and she’s goin nowhere. I’m keepin an eye on your woman, and mine, so I’ll be here when you get back.”
“Wait, Roar, fuck-my-way-through-the-entire-population-of-women-in-Texas, has a woman and is about to be a father? Who the fuck are you, man?” He laughed, and got grunted at.
He spent the next six hours on the phone with Roar, catching up on everything he’d missed out on, listening to the fuckin hilarious drama he had with his baby mama, who was refusing to marry him because she wasn’t convinced he was husband material. Roar was after that like a starving dog after a bone. And after they hung up, pictures started to flood in through his text messages.
Pictures of his brothers.
Pictures of their women.
Pictures of his Harley that Saint had kept in perfect condition.
Pictures of Athena. And Roar was right, most beautiful bitch he’d ever seen.
Pictures that he stared at while the doctors put him under.
SEVEN
It was a shit slow day, which meant she was getting creative with her essential oil blends, coming up with scents her pen pal might like. And as she made them, she wondered morosely why she kept sending Raid letters and candles, when he hadn’t responded to any of them over the last few months. Six, to be exact, it was almost February again. Raid wasn’t answering her, so why she kept sending them, making candles if he wasn’t replying to her letters, she didn’t know.
Maybe it was just a way for her to pretend the connection was still there.
She’d been tempted several times to fly to Virginia to bust Raid’s balls about why he wasn’t talking to her, but the vehemence in his last letter, not wanting her to see him in a hospital bed, she did her best to honor that. They hadn’t spoken on the phone, hadn’t emailed, hadn’t exchanged pictures or anything. They were just pen pals, but she felt like she’d lost a friend, a good friend. That, and when she’d called the hospital to check on his status, she’d been told by a rather snippy nurse that she wasn’t family, and had no business asking for medical information on a patient. The little twat had hung up before Athena could rupture her ear drum in response.
So she poured herself into work, into being a good doggie mom, into living life. And she’d never been so successful, sales were out the roof, people were eating up her candles, life was good. Except that Raid wasn’t talking to her anymore. So she’d sucked it up, and was in the process of making the last batch of candles she would send him. A batch of geranium rosewood, as a good bye. She was going to put them in the mail, no letter, and move past this.
Cruncher perked up from his spot on the floor beside her, right before the bell over the door tinkled. “Browse around, I’ll be with you in a second!” She called, taking the pot of melted candle wax off the heat and carefully poured them into the twelve waiting cups, quickly in practiced moves planting the wicks into the hot mixture and sprinkled the tops with crushed geranium petals. Cruncher had already gotten up to go greet their customer, in his bumble bee outfit that made him seem less threatening, and she came out to see the hottest man she’d ever seen in her life, crouched down rubbing Cruncher’s belly while the little slut moaned in bliss, all four paws in the air.
She took a moment to appreciate the dark brown of the man’s long, windblown hair, and his gorgeous face, his tanned skin sprinkled with scruff, crinkles around his eyes while he smiled. And it was a killer smile, panty melting, even. He had on a leather vest with some patches on the front, a grey thermal shirt and some faded jeans, all those items hugging his impressively well muscled body. Damn. “Hi, can I help you?” He looked up at her when she’d managed to find her voice, and the breath froze in her lungs. His eyes were…amazing. Grade A, a-fucking-mazing. Golden brown, like expensive whiskey on a cold day, warming you straight to the bones. “I knew you’d have a voice like that. Cruncher is a total slut, why’d you dress him like a bee?”
The blood surged so hard through her body that she felt a little dizzy. She had to put her hand out to steady herself on the counter, staring at the man who straightened up, and up, and up, that smile still making his eyes shine. And his voice…holy shit. Sam Elliot had nothing on this guy, and she loved her some Sam Elliot. In shock, her subconscious mind took over and out she blurted, “Because, it makes him look less threatening to the moms who come in here with their kids. He loves kids, but the moms are scared he’ll eat their babies. Raid?” His smile turned into a grin. “Hey babe.” He looked around like he was looking for someone else for a second, his eyes sweeping over her and taking in every single grubby inch of her. Devouring her with his eyes, and doing it with a hunger that made her nipples hard. She’d been standing over the stove for hours now, her hair a mess, what little make up she’d put on this morning likely melted away from the steam.
Which just meant there was nothing to conceal the way her face got blotchy when she was pissed off.
Check that, en-fucking-raged.
“Hey babe? I write you letters and send you candles every week for six months, which you didn’t respond to, at all, and you get your ass out of that hospital, come here to my store, and hey babe, me? Are you fucking KIDDING me?”
His golden eyes turned positively molten, and had she not been so pissed off herself, the total shut down of his expression would have intimidated her. “Athena, come here.” He commanded softly, his voice resonating with such a commanding presence that her traitorous vagina pulsed in reaction. “Fuck that! If my dog wasn’t such a pussy I’d be demanding he retrieve those brass balls of yours!” His expression turned hungry. Like he’d been starving and suddenly someone shoved a piece of chocolate cake at him and told him he couldn’t have it.
Then, and in that same, deep resonating tone that affected her like someone had struck a gong inside her body, he gave her the same order, but she was on a roll and there was no stopping her now. “You seriously think six months of silence, after telling me you were going in for a surgery that I later researched and learned was so risky, you could have possibly DIED, that you could just waltz in here, and hey babe, me? I thought you were dead, you asshole!”
“Woman, so help me god, if you don’t come here, your ass is gonna be so red you won’t sit right for a month.”
“You unbelievable, son of a-“
“Athena? I been waiting thirteen god damn months for this. Get the fuck over here. Now.”
Oh she was going to get over there, she was going to get over there and drive her knee right up into those brass balls of his. Did not matter one fucking iota that his voice had dropped to such a deadly growl that now her nipples were hard, her pussy was on fire, and her entire body was racing with lust. But the second she got within range, his arms whipped out and she slammed into his solid body, breathed deep of the scent of leather and of his skin, felt his heat blast through her body, but before she could process the feeling of him holding her, he whipped her around so her back was plastered to his front and walked her forwards towards her counter, and while her body electrified with the promise of what he might do to her, he shifted and reached for something in his pocket. He kept one arm tight around her belly, carefully setting a black bandana down in front of her. “Open it.” He growled in her ear, and with shaky hands she obeyed. Tears blurred her eyes when she saw what was carefully folded up inside.
Her silver wax owl seals.
“Pick one.” He ordered, in that deep, commanding, angry tone, and her belly lurched hard.
Her fingers closed around one, and unable to help herself she rubbed her thumb over the top of the seal, which still had some purple paper attached, because he hadn’t broken it. He’d carefully, meticulously, peeled the wax off the paper she’d made herse
“How do you-“ He cut her off before she could even finish.
“Pick. Another one.” She shuddered in answer, and picked another. And another, and with each one she picked, he told her which letter it had come attached to. Her fingers picked up another, and he leaned forward enough to turn his cheek to hers, his body tight and vibrating with tension behind her. “That one,” He murmured softly, gently now. “Was the first letter you sent me. I was staring at the pain drip in my IV bag, planning out how I was going to con the nurses into putting me back on morphine, so I could flood my system with enough of it to kill me.”
Now tears were actively sliding down her face, while she stood there staring at the pile of silver wax on her countertop, feeling those words hit her harder than a Mack Truck. Right in the gut. He put both arms around her now, one still around her belly, and the other curling over her chest, his big hand cupping her shoulder while he pulled her back so tight, it was like he was trying to force her body to melt into his. “I studied every single one of those damn seals, night after night, memorizing them, identifying their flaws, the differences between them, how some of them were thicker than the others. When I hurt so bad that even my own hair on my head fucking throbbed, I studied the god damn things until those owls became the only things I saw, and the pain got bearable. I opened that first envelope, ready to throw in the towel, and the smell of your god damn aromatherapy, the same god damn smell in here right now, hit me like a ton of bricks. For the rest of my life, I’ll smell geraniums and rosewood, and I’ll think of that day you saved me. So fuck yeah, I walked in here and hey babe’d, you. It was either that, or spank your god damn gorgeous ass for not sending me any more letters.”
“But I did,” She whispered hoarsely, emotion choking her, and he turned her around to look at her.
He kept his elbows tucked in tight around her sides, his big, rough, seriously gentle hands cradling her hot cheeks while he used his thumbs to brush her tears away. His look so intense she could barely draw a full breath, “Heard that, when you were shouting at me. How many?”
“One every week for the first month, you didn’t answer me, so went straight up Shawshank and I sent two a week. And eight boxes of candles because you said you liked them so much. I even had them FedEx’d, and you had to sign for them, so I knew you’d gotten them. I got famous because of those damn things, people couldn’t get enough of the Tahoe ones, and then I got pissed that everyone was buying things I made for you, that I quit making such big batches and kept what I didn’t send you at home for myself, which pissed off my customers, but whiny bitches kept coming back for more, and then-“
So busy trying to be mad instead of crying, to explain herself, that she missed the way his eyes softened. If she’d seen that look, any lingering doubt in her mind that he’d been ignoring her, would have melted away into nothing. But she didn’t see that look, because he was kissing her like she was the air he needed to breathe.
Never in her life had anyone kissed her like that.
It shocked her for a whole two seconds, and then she really did melt.
Her eyes closed, for the first time in her life during a kiss, her eyes slid closed and she let him take her weight so she could touch him.
He shifted, bent his knees a little so he could palm her ass and pull her up on her toes, plastering them together from lips to knees, giving her no room to mistake the rigid proof that he was seriously into what was happening. She rubbed her lips against his, against that perfect mouth, licked at his lower lip and he made a sexy, bestial sound of approval and sliced his tongue between her lips to utterly ruin any chance she had at salvaging her panties. He cradled her, kissing the ever living shit out of her, letting her run her hands over his strong, muscle strapped shoulders. Into the unruly length of his hair to cling tight so she didn’t wind up in a heap of quivering goo on the floor near his shit kickers. “Dreamed about what you’d taste like.” He groaned, following those deeply growled words with short, hard kisses, “So much better. You’re closing early, baby. We got shit to talk about.”
“Kay,” She sounded every bit as breathless and dizzy as she felt.
“Damn,” He muttered, and she dragged her lashes up with what felt like a drunken, “Huh?”
“Your eyes are fuckin beautiful. Purple, like the sky an hour before the sun comes up.”
EIGHT
He watched her moving around her totally hippie shop, cheeks on fire, fumbling things in the most adorable way after he’d kissed the shit out of her. Tucking her hair back behind her ear with her shaky hands, adorably embarrassed and looking sexier than any woman had a right to look. He’d probably have been half in love with the little shit, even if she was a mousy thing with huge glasses and buck teeth. Lucky him that she was a fuckin goddess, and Saint had not done her curves justice.
The few pictures he’d seen of her were mostly of her face, and the one or two full body shots weren’t great, but he’d thought she was the shit even then. Now, having had all those sweet curves pressed tight against him, her ass in his hand, he felt like a god damn slavering dog. Cock so hard he felt the throb in his molars, and no amount of grinding them was easing the pressure. “I’m um, done. Just need to l-lock up.” She told him breathlessly, all flustered when he grinned at her. “Good.”
“Where’s your car?”
“Took a cab here from the airport.”
“Oh.”
He got her in her bright purple Jeep and held the door open for her pussy dog to jump into the back seat, scrunching up his face when Cruncher decided he wanted a kiss too. “Pussy,” He ground out from between tight lips, and Athena laughed while he shut the door and hopped into the passenger seat. Her laugh was fucking beautiful, sultry and sweet. He could not wait to make her laugh again.
Her house was nice. A two story Victorian painted a soft yellow with white trim. It managed to look cute, feminine and homey all at once. She parked in the barn like garage, also painted yellow, and it was the funniest damn thing he’d ever seen when her dog bounded out of her Jeep and barked, rolling and jumping like a freak around the lawn in his bumble bee outfit. He got out and rounded the hood, holding his hand out to her when she got close, wanting to smirk when she blushed and slipped her soft palm into his.
She led him up the porch stairs and he was both glad, and pissed to see three deadbolts on her door, and the state of the art alarm system she disarmed and then re-armed once they got inside. “What the fuck is that about?” He demanded, minorly distracted by the scent of more geranium and rosewood in her house. The warmth of it permeating his blood, the smell permanently seated in his memory banks as a scent he would forever associate with Athena. “What is what about?” He pointed a stiff finger at the alarm, and her cheeks turned a different shade of pink, “You on any pain meds that say you can’t drink?” She asked, and he shook his head, following her into the kitchen, the sparkling clean, black and white kitchen with flowers on nearly every flat surface except the stove and the main countertops.
He could see boxes in her living room, a lot of them actually, and spots on the wall where pictures used to hang. What the fuck was that about? “You movin or something?” He asked, hoping she was about to say yes, because if so, he knew just where she was moving to. “Yes. There’s still some beer in the fridge that I haven’t been able to get rid of.”
There was a different tone to her voice now, and he couldn’t properly identify it. He grabbed a beer, watching her pull down a wineglass for herself and pour some white wine, a tall glass of it too, and he just leaned his hips back against the counter and rubbed on the dog that had come to lean adoringly against his legs. “Where’s Rosie? I heard these two were inseparable.” At that her bottom lip gave a tremble before she could hide it, and he was across the room, beer forgotten on the counter. He took her wine away and set it down, his heart thudding painfully in his chest while he slipped his arms around her, “Babe,” She sniffled and rolled her eyes back as she shook her hair out of her face, trying valiantly to roll back the tears he saw glittering in her eyes. “She and my uncle got in a pretty bad wreck about five months ago. She liked riding in his truck, he um, made a spot for her on the dash? The sunshine must have felt good on her tiny dog body or whatever, because if she wasn’t in his lap, she was on the dash. She made it through the crash but was in pretty bad shape. Suffering. I um, I had to put her down.”
“And your uncle?”
She shook her head and his gut clenched, bile rose up in his throat. She hadn’t been able to get rid of the beer in the fridge, because it had been her uncle’s beer. Beer that she kept here for him. She’d written to him, he knew she would have, she’d needed him, and while he’d been lying in his hospital bed dreaming about spanking her ass, she’d been thinking he’d died too. “I’m gonna find out what happened to my letters, baby. I wrote to you too, almost every fuckin day. If I’d known, I’d have found a way to be here for you.” She nodded with her cheek pressed against his chest, her hands curled over his shoulders, clinging tight.
She made them dinner, and he just stood there and watched, drinking the sight of her in slowly and thoroughly while he nursed the beer she’d offered to him. She did indeed have a riot of curls down to her ass, which she’d pulled up into a messy knot on top of her head when she got to cooking, but after a while he walked up behind her, touched a kiss to her cheek and tugged on her hair until it spilled down between them in a crimson curtain. “One of my brothers snapped a picture of you and sent it to me. The doctors taped it in my line of sight, so I could see it as they put me under. Last thing I saw before the lights went out. First thing I saw when I woke up. All this hair, your face. It’s softer than I thought it would be, and you smell like flowers.”
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