by Blue Remy
“I don’t think so. Get your ass in that house now and let me look at your wrist, or I will pick you up and carry you in. Either way, it will be taken care of now.” Mace faked a smile, pulling out his phone and wiggling it in front of her line of sight. “Or do I need to call Stone?”
He didn’t want to threaten her, but by the look of the swelling wrist, there was a good chance it was fractured. He wasn’t taking any chances.
If looks could kill, he was murdered and buried the instant she turned and glared at him. He couldn’t care less that she was furious, except her eyes lit up like smoldering coals and that was a complete turn-on.
Her jaw flexed, she was obviously weighing her options. “You’re not going to leave until I do, are you?”
“Nope.” Folding his arms over his chest, he met her glare with a flat pan stare, letting her know just how much her so-called threatening glare scared him.
“Gah!” Amy threw her hands in the air and spun on booted heels. “Fine.”
Mace chuckled at the fact that she was flustered. At least he wasn’t the only one. He closed the door to the stallion’s stall and followed her into the house. Now he understood the old saying, hate to see you go, but damn I love watching you leave.
Once inside, he looked around the entryway, then to Amy. “Have a first-aid kit with an elastic wrap?”
“Yup.” Amy nodded and pointed him through the living room. “I’ll be right there. The kitchen is through the living room.”
Mace watched her head down the hall for the bathroom, then made his way toward the kitchen. He moved slowly, wanting to know a little bit more about Amy and her family. He knew it wasn’t any of his business, but he wasn’t going to give up on getting Amy to give him a chance.
He paused at the hearth of the stone fireplace; one picture stood out more than the others. Brows furrowed when he picked it up. Amy and a woman that looked like she could be her older sister were smiling bright at the camera, holding each other with their heads tilted toward one another.
Feeling her beside him, he glanced at her, then back to the picture. “Where is she?” Mace knew it was her mother, but had never seen her around, and Stone sure as hell never talked about her.
She lifted her hand, tips of fingers caressed the side of the photo, a flicker of pain crossed her features. Sniffling, she gently took the frame and set it back on the hearth, avoiding his eyes at all costs. “She died a little over a year ago.”
Mace heard the hurt lacing her voice when she spoke, which tugged at his non-existent heartstrings. He wasn’t sure what to say, so he followed her into the kitchen. He pointed to a chair, opening up the kit. Finding the wrap, he sat opposite her. His legs were too long to face her, so he straddled her form, placing her legs between his.
“I left California and went to Nevada to go to school because I couldn’t handle how my dad and brother were acting. All crazy possessive and crap.”
He never said a word while he doctored her hand and wrist. Careful not to wrap it too tight, he glanced at her to make sure she was all right. She gave a slight nod before he turned his attention back to wrapping it.
“She died of breast cancer,” Amy said. Drawing in a deep breath, she spoke on the exhale, almost as if she was trying to get rid of the negative energy clouding her. “She owned a little holistic-style tea shop. She sold knickknacks, herbs, teas, coffees, and books on natural healing. I couldn’t let the store go to hell, or leave Maggie alone running it, so I came back.”
“I’m glad you did.” Mace lifted his eyes to meet hers. He saw the unshed tears; every fiber of his being wanted to wrap her up in his arms and rock her. He wanted to tell her everything was going to be okay, but he knew it wouldn’t be. This wasn’t something someone got over overnight. He pinned the end of the wrap down, turning her wrist and hand over, making sure it wouldn’t cut off her circulation. “Well, there you go.”
Amy sniffled, good hand wiping under her eyes, lashes fluttering while she tried to gain control of her emotions. “So, yeah. Now you can go to the guys and brag about how the prez’s daughter got all emotional on you. The guys will get a kick out of that.”
Mace felt like he was gut checked. She didn’t trust him. Then again, she didn’t know him enough to trust him, and since she was the president’s daughter, she probably caught a lot of flak for saying something wrong or someone taking something she did wrong. “How would they know? I’m not the kiss-and-tell type.” One shoulder lifted and fell, an arm draped over the back of his chair as he leaned back. “Are you going to tell me how you really hurt your wrist?”
“I fell.” Amy scooted her chair back and jumped up to move to the stove.
Uh huh. How many times had he heard that one? Mace watched her fill a teapot with water, slamming it on the burner while she lit it. “That would explain the sprain, but not the bruises that look identical to a hand print.”
Amy visibly stiffened at the stove, not turning to look at him. He knew she was fishing for a lie by how long she was taking to formulate her answer. “Maggie and I were playing at the shop. She grabbed my wrist. I bruise easily.”
He hated games. He had to play one with the club, but he wasn’t going to with her. He damn sure didn’t want her playing games with him. Rising out of the chair, he moved over to her. “If you say so.”
She turned, but he was already in her space. Her eyes widened as she backed up, her butt slamming into the corner of the counter. “I say so. Um, what are you doing?”
“This,” he murmured and rested a hand on either side of her hips on the countertop, leaning slightly toward her. Her hands were warm against his chest. He felt them through the cotton T-shirt he wore. They were so tiny resting against him, a sign of how fragile she really was, even though she liked to put up a tough front.
Amy’s head tilted back when his finger hooked under her chin, forcing her to look into his eyes. He saw curiosity behind the veil of doubt and that spurred him onward. Knuckles were a gentle caress down her jawline as his eyes dropped to her cupid-bow lips, plump and inviting. She was a temptress and she had no clue. He dragged his thumb over her succulent lower lip, feeling her sharply intake a breath of excitement.
Mace’s hand dropped, fingers curling into her belt loop, tugging her closer to him. He nearly growled in pleasure when her nails raked his chest through his shirt, crumpling the material in her hands. Her heat melted against his own as he lowered his head, not quite allowing his lips to touch hers. They hovered there, tempting her to take what she wanted.
When she lifted up to capture his lips, he jerked back a hair, a teasing grin offered when she whimpered in protest. Body pressed against hers, his hand came up to gently take her wounded one in his, lowering his mouth inch by agonizing inch until—
“What is going on in here?”
CHAPTER 4
Mood killer much?
Stone’s voice was hard and threatening. Mace silently prayed Stone wasn’t about to stomp a mudhole in his ass and walk it out. Luckily, he was still holding Amy’s injured wrist in his hand.
Mace glanced at the wide-eyed Amy, who looked like a deer caught in headlights. He cleared his throat and stepped away from her, patting the top of the wrapped wrist. “Amy here hurt her wrist when she was wrestling with Maggie. It was swollen, so I figured I would wrap it up for her before it got worse and she’d have to go to the doctor to have it looked at.”
He moved away from Amy as she turned toward the stove and the now whistling pot. While she poured them a cup, he moved to the table, glancing at Stone. He had what might have been an amused look on his face, or well, at least that was what he hoped it was. He quietly thanked Amy for the cup of tea when she handed it to him.
“I need a word with the prospect, Ames.” Stone pulled out a chair for him at the kitchen table, lowering his bulky form into it. “Alone.”
Ah shit, here we go.
Amy looked at Mace, then back to her dad. “Sure, okay.” Grabbing her cup, she nodded to
the men and headed out of the kitchen.
Stone watched his daughter leave, then turned his attention back to Mace.
Mace wanted to squirm. He felt like he got caught with his damn pants around his ankles, jacking off to a porn magazine. The deadpan gaze Stone gave him was something Mace had perfected years ago, but he had a feeling it came natural to fathers. He understood if Stone was going to tear into him for being so close to Amy, but one thing Mace was not, was a pussy. He would not back down from the man. He was a firm believer in fighting fire with fire, but he would never disrespect him.
“We’re organizing a run right now. I know you’ve gone with Romeo on a stint and proved you know your stuff. This isn’t a territorial dispute, this is bigger.”
As Stone paused to light a cigarette, Mace laughed internally. He was glad there wasn’t going to be an ass chewing, but was taken aback by the idea of going on a run only patch holders went on.
“You’ll be led by Demon, and followed by a truck carrying the merchandise. Axe and Saber will catch rear. Romeo and I will scout ahead for any interference.”
Mace grimaced at hearing he had to ride with Demon. There was something about that douchebag that didn’t sit well with him. He was shady and it seemed like no one else saw it, or they overlooked it.
“Problem?” Stone asked, brow raised.
Alan James was not a small man by any means. He was one of those big dudes you didn’t want to meet in a dark alley because he was going to own your ass. Six foot two, two hundred some odd pounds and scars to prove the battles the man had fought in. Black hair salted with gray, steel-blue eyes, square jaw with a goatee. Mace knew he had been a Marine and wasn’t scared of anything, and he doted on his daughter.
“No, I just don’t trust Demon.” Why lie? He knew Stone hated liars, plus, Mace was a blunt guy.
“You shouldn’t. He’s crazy and you never know what he’s thinking.”
Brows furrowed, looking at Stone from over the cup when he took a sip. Setting the cup down, head cocked slightly, one eye narrowing in thought. “This may be out of line, but if you can’t trust him, why is he your sergeant at arms?”
Stone chuckled, taking a drag of the cigarette, leaning back to blow smoke away from him. “You’re right, that question is out of line, but a good one. Demon is crazy as they come, but he’s also loyal as a pit bull, with just as nasty of a bite. One I wouldn’t be afraid to put down if I had to.”
Veiled threat? Maybe. “Heard. Where will we be going?”
“Lompoc. And we’ll be getting enough out of this to retire on.” Stone grinned large and in charge.
“I can handle that. I appreciate you allowing me to ride.” Mace had to thank him. All decisions like that were solely made by the president and some feathers were going to be ruffled. He didn’t give a rat’s ass either. This was a prime opportunity to show his worth. A huge sigh came from the other room, drawing his attention to the living room area. Her little antics were adorable; she was going to drive him crazy.
Seemed Stone was not immune to the subtle hint either. He leaned forward, dropping his voice to a dangerous level. “You fuck this up and you’re a dead man.”
And that was his cue to leave.
Curt nod was given. Pushing away from the table, Mace grabbed his cup and took it to the sink to rinse it out. Once it was clean, he set it aside and made his way to the door. Before his hand hit the knob, Stone spoke up, warning clear as day in his voice. “One hundred and thirty acres is a lot of land to hide a body on if you lay a finger on my daughter.”
Mace never looked back. There was no need to. Smiling to himself, he opened the door and stepped out, allowing the door to shut quietly behind him.
* * * *
It was hotter than a June bride sitting bareback on a depot stove. Amy was burning up and so was her champion overo, Little Joe. She had slipped on a bikini top and her thinnest tank, ripped and frayed jean shorts, and an old pair of boots to head into the barn. Her baby needed a good scrubbing and a cool off.
Grabbing her scrub brush, she dunked it in the bucket, slinging water and soap everywhere when she lifted back up. Scrubbing along his neck, Amy grumbled to her horse. “He’s a total ass. The prospect seriously needs to learn his place. Trying to kiss me.” She enjoyed it a little too much. He wasn’t the type to take no for an answer, and in that moment, there was no telling him no. Was she going to tell him that? Hell no.
The black-and-white paint shifted his weight, pawing at the grass. Realizing she was scrubbing too hard, Amy patted his shoulder. “Sorry, boy. He’s just so damn frustrating. Be thankful you’re a horse.” Tossing the brush in the bucket, she scooped up the hose to rinse out his mane.
“Mace really thinks he’s all that and a bag of chips. I mean, yeah, he’s good looking. But that doesn’t mean he’s got to flaunt it.” She saw the way women all but threw themselves at him at the party. Granted, they were your typical pass-arounds, but he ate it up. One thing she could say about him, he never touched any of them. Even Maggie told her that he was untouchable, that the ol’ladies had a pool going on who he would nail first.
Amy glanced around the barn toward the back of the house. Not seeing anyone, she peeled off her tank top. May as well get some sun while bathing Little Joe. She laid the top over the tie post before scooping up the hose once more to wet his hind quarters. “All right. Maybe he’s not that bad.” But he was still a prospect.
“Who’s not that bad?”
Amy jumped clean out of her skin at the voice that sent chills down her spine. Whirling around, she saw Mace leaning against the barn door, arms folded over his bare chest, with a smug look on his face.
She couldn’t help but stare. He was a force to be reckoned with. Mace was a feral beast wrapped in a tight bundle of raw sexuality. His body glistened with sweat under the rays of sun, beads of sweat trickling down his torso with agonizing slowness, only to disappear under the waistband of his jeans. Amy’s eyes roamed over him, taking note of the tattoos gracing his chest and flat abdomen, and just how much her mouth ached when her eyes finally reached the V juncture from stomach to hip.
“Amy?”
The low tenure of his voice brought her out of her reverie, a single shoulder shrugged. “Does it matter?”
“That I think I’m all that?” Brow rose up under the mussed bangs that hung low over silver eyes. “Actually, darlin’…”He pushed off the door jam and stalked toward her. “I’ve heard not only am I all that and a bag of chips, but a sandwich and a thirty-two ounce coke.”
Oh dear Lord, how much had he heard? Her cheeks burned, though it was minimalized by the ache her body felt from the way he looked at her. His look told her he was starving and she was going to be his last meal.
“You are incorrigible,” she squealed at him. Reaching down, she scooped up a sponge and threw it at him.
Her aim sucked.
The soap-filled sponge splatted Mace right upside his head.
The look written on his face spoke of severe retaliation. All Amy could do was run. Bolting around the horse, she let out a cry of surprise when water poured over her head. Left sputtering, she darted around Little Joe to see Mace in a fit of laughter up against the post the paint was tied to.
Payback was a bitch and her name was Amethyst James.
Amy fled for the hose. Mace stopped laughing when he got doused by the spray of water coming from the hose she held. He was an Adonis. There was no question of that as he stood there water dripping off his hard body. Her breath ceased to exist when he tossed his head back, leaving a single strand lying across his chiseled features.
“I know you didn’t just…”
Amy wiggled her brows, rocking side to side with a slow nod. “Oh yeah. I did. And I’ll do it again.”
The yelp of shock, followed by him charging for her, was enough to get her feet moving. Amy dropped the hose, and with a peal of laughter, darted for the barn a minute too late.
“Umph!” The air rushed out o
f her when she was tackled to a pile of hay in the next to last stall. It prickled her skin, but went unnoticed when Mace’s weight lowered onto her. He had her wrists pinned above her head with his left hand, his right cupping her hip. She gulped for air as his hand tenderly moved up her rib cage, the calloused palm sending goose bumps along her body. Her shiver seemed to urge him further, burying his nose against her neck, rubbing it along her jawline with a painfully slow movement.
Amy gasped, arms straining against his hold, her back arching, pushing her chest against the solid planes of his chest. A whimper escaped her when he bit her lower lip in tender abandon, his hand pausing to give a gentle caress under her bikini line.
She ignored the whinny of the horse in the next stall, not allowing it to interrupt the exquisite torture Mace provided. Her breaths became heated pants, the horse’s neigh becoming shrill as Mace’s lips traveled down her breastbone, her body writhing under his weight.
The shrill grew louder, hurting her ears.
Bolting upright, her body drenched with sweat and throbbed with a need only a certain man could provide. Shaking off the dream that gave her the worst set of pink balls a woman could get, it dawned on her that the shrill was her phone ringing. Amy frowned and picked it up, not recognizing the number. It was three o’clock in the damn morning. Accepting the call, she huffed into the phone. “It’s three a.m. This had better be good.”
CHAPTER 5
The red and blue strobe lights were going to give her a migraine.
Red. Blue. Red. Blue.
The wail of the siren wasn’t helping either.
Burrowing deeper into Maggie’s arms, Amy wondered why she had no tears. She knew she should, but it was as if she didn’t have any tears left to shed. She glanced to the side when another set of arms wrapped around her. Antonia, her cross-dressing employee and friend, gave her the warmest smile Amy knew he could muster at a time like this. She tried to smile back at him, but couldn’t.
