Biker Babe in Black

by Debra Kayn

  If Margarine could read his mind, she would realize the blueprints of her “things” had already imprinted themselves on his brain. No way would he ever forget those perfect, melon-sized breasts of hers plastered against the glass door.

  “I don’t know what happened in there.” Remy knew her body warmed since she no longer shivered quite so bad.

  “One minute I was enjoying a nice hot shower, and then the water turned ice cold.” She tightened her arms around his neck. “When I tried to get out, the stupid door wouldn’t open.”

  Margarine’s body slipped, and Remy used his hands to hitch her up. He clenched his teeth, afraid if she dropped any further down she’d discover his “thing.”

  “You have to program the shower for how long you expect to take one, and at what temperature.” Remy cleared his throat. “You must have pushed the buttons to take a cold shower after a certain amount of minutes.”

  “Oh.” She nodded. “Are you feeling my ass?”

  Hell yeah, he groped her ass. From the size of it, she carried enough ass for both his hands. “Sorry, I thought you were slipping.” I’m a liar.

  “Walk backwards two feet.” She kept a death grip around his neck.

  Remy stepped back. One of Margarine’s arms loosened its hold on him, and he realized she was reaching for the towel hung on the wall. For a brief moment, he wanted more than anything to step back to the middle of the bathroom away from any towels.

  “Promise me when I tell you to close your eyes, you will keep them closed?”

  He nodded.

  “Close your eyes”

  He closed his eyes. The damn Boy Scout in him made him do it.

  At first, nothing happened. She didn’t move, and the towel still draped over his back where she held it. Then, Margarine’s leg slowly loosened around his waist and slid down his thigh.

  Jesus, if she plans to get off me this way, a surprise awaits her.

  “Are your eyes still closed?”

  He nodded again. The second leg followed the other one. She hung from his neck. His hands still held on to her ass, and it forced the warmest part of her body into the front of his jeans. Oh my god.

  “Is that your thing?” She dangled from his neck.

  He nodded for the third time and groaned. What a mistake. With her suspended from his neck, any movement from him rubbed her against hardness. Damn right, that’s my thing.

  “Uh, Margarine, baby? If you plan on getting off me without me throwing you down on the bathroom floor, you best hop down now.” He held his breath. Margarine didn’t move.

  “Now, damn it,” he ordered.

  The rush of cool air over the front of him where Margarine’s wet body left did nothing to quell the desire to take her right now. His eyes remained closed, and he rubbed his hand across his chest.

  “You can open your eyes.”

  Margarine stood in front of him. Her brilliant blue eyes stared back at him. He sucked in his breath. She resembled a virgin who just experienced her first peek of a male body.

  Remy turned toward the shower. “Let me show you how the shower works, and you can hop back in there and wash the shampoo from your hair.”

  He glanced over his shoulder. She never moved or responded to his instructions on how to control the water. Her gaze was directed at his waist. He grinned and brushed back the curls around her face. Did she have any idea what kind of power she possessed with those eyes?

  Remy bent down to her level and kissed her cheek. “Sweet dreams, Margarine Butter.”

  Chapter Seven

  Margie opened her bedroom door, and quickly looked across the hall into Remy’s room. She blew out the breath she held. She figured with the door open, it meant he’d already left for work.

  She strolled to the kitchen to find herself something to eat. She’d slept late and needed to rush through breakfast and begin her chores, though nothing in the house jumped out at her as being too disorderly or dirty.

  A note taped to the refrigerator read:

  M.

  I’ll bring Chinese food home tonight and we’ll go over the lists.

  If you need anything, my cell number is #1 on speed dial.

  R.

  Margie set the note down before hesitating and picking it up again. Her job required her to keep the house neat and tidy. She crumbled the piece of paper and threw it into the trashcan under the sink. There, one less thing for her to pick up.

  The refrigerator housed a stick of butter, outdated milk, a few bottles of beer, and what appeared to be an old doggy bag of some kind of takeout food. She peeked inside at the fast food, wrinkled her nose, and pitched it into the garbage. Didn’t Remy ever cook?

  She spied a fruit basket on the counter. The tag noted it was given to Remy compliments of Hammack, Inc. She eyed it suspiciously, wondering why Remy wouldn’t eat what was obviously a gift to him.

  Margie threw the overripe bananas in the garbage too, and then chose a semi-soft orange for herself. She’d have to do something about the lack of food in the house.

  Margie’s hands dripped with juice. She washed up at the kitchen sink and stacked the dishes from the sink into the dishwasher. Whatever Remy ate at home must be good. It appeared he licked the plates clean.

  A couple hours later, with the clothes picked up from around the house and the laundry almost done, she looked around the house. Not even a speck of dust lay on the furniture. He must have one of those new-fangled air cleaners, the kind advertised on television said to suck all the dust out of your house.

  Margie needed to do something or she would go crazy. She flipped through the television channels, but nothing caught her attention. Pushing the off button, she decided to call her family and let them know about the new job.

  Her parents’ cell phone transferred right to voice mail. She’d figured that would happen, since they’d mentioned a trip to Mexico to attend an international motorcycle rally. She grinned. Her parents loved rallies. This time she hoped they stayed out of trouble. With her new job, rescuing them would have to fall to someone else in the family.

  Margie carried the phone out to the balcony, sat down on the chaise lounge, and let the sun beat down on her. Dialing Reefer’s phone number, she wondered if he still planned to come to the Pacific Northwest.

  The phone rang at least seven times in her ear, and she almost hung up. Reefer’s voice came over the line. She smiled at his typical “Yeah, you got The Reefer” greeting.

  “Are you busy?” She curled her legs and leaned back on the lounge.

  “Not for you. What’s up, chick?”

  “You’ll never guess what kind of job I got.” She closed her eyes from the glare of the sun, and filled him in on where she lived, giving him the address and phone number in case anyone in the family needed her. “You’ll never believe what I’m getting paid to clean this house.”

  Reefer grunted.

  “It’s not like that, Reef.” She pinched the bridge of her nose. “Anyway…I figure if I can hold this job for a few months, I’ll have enough for a down payment.”

  She rolled her eyes at the silence on the other end of the phone. She knew he didn’t understand her desire to own a home. None of her family did.

  “Isn’t that cool?” She waved away the mosquito in front of her face.

  The pesky bug landed on her thigh. She slapped her hand down on her leg but missed.

  She waited to hear if Reefer wanted to join in the conversation, but apparently, he wasn’t in the mood to talk.

  “Okay, Reef, I’ll let you get back to working on whatever it is you’re doing. Tell everyone hi for me. I love you, Reefer.”

  Margie laid the phone down on her lap. A lump caught in her throat. Despite her decision to live independently and leave behind the gypsy lifestyle, she still missed her family very much.

  The phone rang. She jumped, and the phone almost slipped off her lap.

  “Montgomery residence,” she said.

  Silence answered her.
/>   “Hello?”

  The phone clicked, and a dial tone sounded in Margie’s ear. That’s strange. “Okay. Nice talking to you too. Call back when you can talk sometime.”

  Margie decided to head back inside and check out the other parts of the house. She liked to stay busy, but with the cleaning done for the day, it made for a long afternoon with nothing to occupy her mind. Maybe one of the rooms Remy didn’t show her held some exercise equipment she could use.

  Behind the first door she opened stood a bare room. Not even a bed or a chair inside. Margie stepped farther down the hall to the other shut door to investigate.

  The doorknob wouldn’t budge. Strange. Why lock a door inside your own home? Unless he’s hiding a dark secret…

  Her friend, Crowbar, showed her years ago how to pick locks. She bit the inside of her cheek and glanced at her watch. She didn’t expect Remy home for a couple more hours. Hmm…

  A personal obligation to find out what kind of person she was living with spurred her into action. She stayed under Remy’s roof, didn’t she? What if her new boss was a serial killer, or a cross dresser who sang Barbra Streisand songs on the weekends? She snorted. This plan of hers was for her own safety.

  Margie scoured the kitchen drawers, searching for the right tool. She needed something long and skinny. He must have a drawer full of miscellaneous items.

  “Ah-ha!” She held up a silver paper clip.

  Margie hurried back to the locked door with the pick in her hand. She straightened the clip out and poked it into the lock. With a few twists and turns of her wrist, a click sounded.

  The handle gave way in Margie’s hand. She pocketed the makeshift lock pick and pushed the door open. For a brief moment, she did have second thoughts about her invasion on his privacy—only for a second.

  The dark shape of a desk in the middle of the room suggested Remy used this area as an office. She brushed her hand along the wall and found the light switch. Maybe now she’d learn about the man named Remy.

  With the room bathed in light, her attention wandered to the pictures on the wall. She crossed her arms in front of her and studied each one. Portraits of different men in various ages stared back at her. A sense of guilt hit her. These men knew she’d stepped over the threshold and entered Remy’s territory.

  Six frames lined in a row depicted men in monotonous poses. Margie leaned closer and picked out a family resemblance or two. They all carried strong cheekbones, clear blue eyes, and an aura of power…of wealth. It didn’t take a scientist to realize each of the men descended from Remy’s paternal side of the family.

  At the end of the line of pictures hung Remy’s portrait. Dressed in a navy blue pinstriped suit and red tie, Margie thought he appeared bored in his pose. Maybe, he’d missed a board meeting for an appointment with the photographer and it didn’t sit well with him.

  Margie raised her hand up to touch his face. Slight ridges covered the surface. This wasn’t a photograph at all, but an oil painting. She jerked her hand back. It must have cost a mint!

  She turned her back to the men and checked out the desk. Neat and tidy, not a pen or paper left out of place. She sat in the plush leather chair, and it swallowed her up. With Remy’s tall frame and broad shoulders, he needed a big chair.

  She pulled her toes off the floor and used her hands on the desk to roll herself around in Remy’s chair. Nothing in here gave her a clue about the man she lived with. She leaned her elbows on the desktop and plunked her chin on her hands. He was different from the men she’d grown up beside, or any of the men she’d dated. Remy fascinated her, and the way her body responded to him was a new experience.

  Remembering what he did to her last night, she closed her eyelids, and sighed. Besides Remy’s to-die-for body, something in the way he looked at her made her believe she was beautiful, desirable.

  An employer who ran around with his shirt off and called her Margarine without snickering… She shook her head and willed herself to keep a professional distance.

  “He is my employer. He is my employer. He is my employer.” She twirled in the chair. Her knee bumped into the trashcan and spilled the contents on the floor. She bent over, picked up the crumbled papers, and the word ‘million’ caught her attention. She ironed out the wrinkles with her hands and read the paper.

  A financial statement, announcing The Montgomery Corporation bought Bradford Towers for eight hundred million dollars. Margie gasped and continued to read. The statement was addressed to Remington Montgomery, CEO. Holy-freaking-shit, he’s almost a billionaire!

  She wadded up the papers and replaced them in the trash, relocked his door, and ran out to sit on the couch in the living room. Her heart pounded hard against her chest. The implications of her accidental discovery rocked her whole world. Remy was one of those Montgomery’s. He owned practically the whole West Coast. I’m such an idiot to not have put two and two together.

  Remy owned everything from real estate, hotels, and restaurants, to clothing lines and perfumes. Margie rubbed her temples. The whole “rich” scenario was too much to fathom. He lived a completely different lifestyle than she did. Her worries centered around keeping a roof over her head, staying employed, and doing upkeep on her motorcycle. There wasn’t a problem or worry his life that couldn’t be fixed with his bank account.

  Under no circumstances must he find out whom he’d hired for a housekeeper. If he knew she came from a biker gang, he’d kick her out of the house faster than the preacher threw her dad out of a Baptist church years ago when he tried to take her to Sunday school.

  She understood why other people thought certain things about folks similar to her, but not all of the reputation bikers got was true. Okay, sometimes it was, but she came from a family who protected her against most of the seedier happenings.

  Margie realized Remy rubbed elbows with high society the moment she’d ran into him at the restaurant. A person didn’t look at him and not recognize he was successful. The fine line between luxurious and King Midas was a huge step, though. Hell, he owned the castle and the throne.

  To save both of them a world of trouble, it was up to her to keep the distance. Yet, if she told him who she was and what kind of family she came from, and he still kept her for a housekeeper, it would make him more comfortable to work for.

  Not willing to gamble with her employment, Margie decided to keep the information to herself. Some things must stay private, and she needed this job to get where she wanted to go in life.

  Chapter Eight

  Margie took the take-out bag from Remy, surprised by the way she merged into accepting his social status so easily. She expected to act differently toward him now that she knew he belonged to one of the most powerful families in the area.

  “I didn’t know what you liked, so I ordered a little of everything.” Remy shucked out of his suit coat and undid his tie.

  Margie took the little white boxes out of the sack and placed them on the counter. She found the plates, handed one to Remy, and reminded herself to stay calm and act normal.

  “How was your day?” He undid the first few buttons on his shirt.

  “Fine. I got your laundry done, picked up around the house, and watched a bit of television. It makes me go a little stir crazy sitting around, so I hope you got a list made up of things you want done around here.” She wrinkled her nose. Did I sound snippy?

  “I did make up a list, but it was pretty basic so I threw it away.” He laid his coat over the back of a chair.

  “Then how am I supposed to know what to do?”

  “Just treat the house as if it were your own. Clean, do laundry, buy groceries, cook.” Remy spooned rice onto his plate.

  Her plate clattered against the table. Margie crossed her arms and waited for Remy to look up at her.

  “How exactly am I earning my money?” Her chin lifted.

  “I was thinking about this at work today. There will be days where the house will pretty much take care of itself.” He put his plate
on the table across from her and sat down. “Would you be interested in being my escort when I have to attend business meetings or parties in the evenings?”

  Margie’s eyebrows shot straight up. “You want me to be your whore?”

  Remy choked on the bite of sweet and sour pork he swallowed. He covered his mouth with his napkin and held up his hand. He took a sip of water and cleared his throat. “No. Hell no, Margarine. Couples—married couples—usually attend the dinners and parties I need to make an appearance at, and I’d like it if someone I enjoyed came with me.”

  He raised his glass and took another sip. “I find myself being one of the few in attendance that are unmarried, and I was thinking if I had a woman that I could take…”

  “You’re uncomfortable going by yourself?” She raised her brows.

  Remy smiled. “Well, it would make it more enjoyable if you went with me.”

  She understood not fitting in and standing out in a crowd. It flabbergasted her that a man of his means suffered through the same emotions, especially since he acted over-confident, dressed in the right clothes, and displayed immaculate manners.

  Margie was hypnotized by the look in his eyes. She should tell him no, but the vulnerability he shared with her by admitting he often felt uncomfortable amongst his peers was something she understood and experienced every day. His confession surprised her. She would have thought a man of means would fit in anywhere

  It also made her want to know the man behind the picture she found earlier. He seemed to have two different sides to him, and she wanted to know the business Remy along with the one who made her stomach flutter whenever he looked at her and had her thinking about sex every time he touched her. She glanced away before he could see the truth in her eyes. Dreaming about him in such a way would only end up disappointing her in the end.

  “Don’t you have a girlfriend that you could take?” She pretended to take an interest in the chow mein noodles on her plate.

  “Not at the moment.”

  Horse pucky.

  The man only needed to crook his finger, and any girl he wanted would come to him. She was sure that Candy down at the Seesaw would even jump at a chance for a night out with him.