“No. Like a glass of tequila. Or shots. Not for you.”
She hated beer. Tasted like soggy old bread. Blech. “Why not?”
“If you can’t pick your poison, I’m gonna go out on a limb and call you a lightweight. Plus, you’re pocketsize. You don’t want to be tossing back tequila straight up tonight. I’m saying no.”
Who the hell was he to tell her no? Jerk. Even strangers thought they could run her damn life. That crooked grin was suddenly infuriating. “Fuck you. I want a shot of tequila.”
She expected him to get worried, but he didn’t. His eyes narrowed, and then he nodded his head, looking cocky. “Fine. I’m sticking close, though.” He turned to the guy behind the bar. “Dom—Patrón and a couple of shot glasses. And I’ll take a Bud.”
The kid—skinny, kind of goofy looking—did as he was told, and Bart poured the clear liquid into the glasses. “There you go, princess. Bottoms up.”
“Don’t call me that.” She picked up the glass and gave it sniff. Whew! Strong. Okay. Bottoms up indeed. She lifted it to Bart in what she hoped was a saucy little toast, and then she tossed it back, the same way she took Nyquil for a cold. It burned. Wow. It burned. She couldn’t help making a face, her tongue out, which was just great. Bart laughed and tossed his shot back, with nary a twitch. Fine, macho biker. Luckily she didn’t think anyone else was paying attention. It was really nice not to be paid attention to.
But how did she get to be twenty-six years old and not know what tequila really tasted like? Because people had been monitoring her food and drink her whole life, that’s how, and she’d gone along with it. Thinking about that pissed her off more, and she slammed the glass down and said, “Again!”
“You sure?”
She glared at Bart and let that be her answer. He shrugged and poured two more shots. “Okay. You’re gonna get me in trouble, princess.”
“I told you not to call me that.” Her knees felt funny, warm and tingly, the way they felt after a few glasses of wine. It meant she was buzzed. Could she be buzzed thirty seconds after doing one shot of tequila? No way. She tossed the second shot down the hatch. That went down a little easier, though there was still a half-second when she wondered if it would stay down. Yep. Smooth like glass.
“Hi, guys.” The manager from the hotel—what was her name? Sharon? No, Shannon—had stepped up, and she put two bottles of wine, one red and one white, on the bar. “Will you put this one in the fridge, Dom?” She pushed the white toward the kid behind the bar, then turned to Riley. “It occurred to me that there might not be anything you’d want to drink here.” She took in the Patrón and the empty glasses, then looked at Bart. Riley didn’t look at him, but she could feel him shrugging broadly, his hands up, in the international sign for What could I do? “I see you found something after all.”
“Yep. But thanks. Nice of you.”
She smiled. She was really pretty, with gorgeous red hair and a face like Veronica Lake or Rita Hayworth. Same kind of body, too. Hollywood would want her to lose twenty or thirty pounds probably, but Hollywood liked its women skinny, as Riley well knew. Shannon was built like Jessica Rabbit. As Riley was admiring her figure, clad in a sleek, dark blue skirt and a cream silk blouse (which did not at all fit the scene; she must have come straight from work), the other giant biker—Showdown, who was, as Riley recalled, Shannon’s husband—stepped up behind her and put his humungous hands on the bar at either side of her. Shannon was tall, a whole lot taller than Riley, who was beginning to feel even more miniature than she normally did, and she was wearing three-inch heels, but Show was still considerably taller. He was wearing a black knit beanie. Devon had worn a beanie most of the time, too, but he’d worn it baggy. Showdown wore it snug over his head, his long, light brown hair loose under it.
Shannon leaned back into her biker’s embrace, and Riley found it seriously sexy. Like, it made her clench it was so sexy. And then Showdown tucked his head into the curve where Shannon’s shoulder met her neck, and Shannon closed her eyes. Riley gasped, feeling her panties dampen. Jeez, it was like she was peeping through their bedroom window or something. The room was suddenly really hot. She turned away from them—and came face to face with Bart, who’d been watching her, not them.
“Y’okay? Your face is flushed.”
“It’s hot in here.”
“Or maybe you’re drunk already. Lightweight.”
“I am not drunk. I’m hot.”
He smirked. “Well, that’s true, too.”
There was a commotion behind them and Riley swiveled on her barstool to see what was up. The swiveling made the room swim a little. Okay, maybe she was tipsy. But not drunk.
The food was coming out; that was the commotion. They were bringing it to the bar. Like a buffet, she guessed. Food was a good idea. Get something on her stomach. Not that she was drunk.
And oh, look! Ribs. Burgers. Wings! She could smell the spicy! Potato salad. Short chunks of corn on the cob. She wasn’t sure she’d ever eaten corn on the cob, which her mother, Trevor, and pretty much everybody else in L.A. said was worthless as a food—which meant it was probably delicious. There were squares of rich, yellow bread.
They were going to have to knock her into a coma to get her back on a plane to L.A. Because this? This was heaven. She actually clapped and bounced up and down on the stool. Then grabbed the bar when the room tilted slightly. When it was steady again, she climbed down and stood, hoping to be first in line for the food.
“Hungry?” Bart was grinning at her, and she didn’t find it annoying now. It was back to cute.
“Starved! For years!” She threw her arms around his waist and hugged him—oh! Very solid. With hip muscles. He wore his jeans low, and she could feel the bulge of muscle under his shirt. She loved hip muscles. What girl didn’t? Those muscles said right this way to the good stuff. Sliding her hand under his shirt, she traced the line of that muscle from his side to the waistband of his boxers. She couldn’t resist, and when she realized that she couldn’t resist, she simultaneously, and possibly consequently, realized that she was rather more than tipsy. She looked up and met his eyes, which were a kaleidoscope of reaction. Surprise. Amusement. And arousal. She saw that clearly—felt it, like heat. If she let her hand fall another few inches, she’d be able to really feel it.
Everything felt hot and swimmy and strange all of a sudden. She’d only been in the clubhouse for an hour, and she was about to jump Bart’s bones right in the middle of everything. He was right—she was a lightweight. Pulling Sober Riley out of the corner and placing her front and center, she stepped back and cleared her throat. “Yeah. Um. I guess it’s been a while since I ate. Can I get a glass of water, maybe?”
He blinked, then nodded. “Sure. We’re in the way again, anyway, so come back here with me.” He pulled her behind the bar and filled a glass from a tap. Tap water. To drink. Huh. She took an experimental sip. It was cold and almost sweet. Not anything like Southern California tap water. While she drank, he filled two heavy paper plates. Carrying them on his arm, as if he’d been a server at some point in his life, he grabbed his beer and then gestured with a nod for her to follow him. She refilled her glass with the water and did.
He took them outside, and they sat at a picnic table, side by side. Nobody was out here now but them and the guys at the grill. The fall evening was a little chilly, but not bad. She was wearing the same outfit she’d traveled in, and the suede jacket and scarf made her sufficiently warm. Come to think of it, maybe that was part of why she’d gotten so hot inside.
Bart had filled her plate with almost everything—a couple of wings, a couple of ribs, potato salad, some of the bread, and a little slice of corn. It all smelled unbelievable. She wondered if Pru would snitch on her. No. Pru was cool.
Actually, it seemed like it had been a while since she’d last thought of Pru. Or Tanner and Mark, for that matter. She should probably know if they were okay.
“I should check on Pru.”
�
��Sure. We can go in again. She’s still with Omen, though. They were coming to the food when we came out here.”
Then Pru was fine. “What about Tanner?” She picked up a wing and took a bite. Sweet happy Jesus. She closed her eyes and focused all of her senses into her taste buds as she ate.
Bart shrugged. “Didn’t notice. Sure he’s fine, though.”
Riley nodded and sucked on the empty wing bones. Then she dropped that carcass and picked up the corn. She knew she was eating like a pig, but she didn’t give even the tiniest fuck. It was so good! Her hands were greasy and sticky, and she didn’t care. She sucked the sauce off.
“Don’t they feed you in Hollywood?” Bart tipped his beer bottle back and took a swallow.
“Actually, I’m on a strict diet, so they really don’t. Not anything you’d think of as food. Not like this.”
“Thin as you are? You could spare a chicken wing or two, I’d say.”
“I really can’t. I’ll pay for this for weeks. But I don’t care. It’s so good!”
He popped some of the bread into his mouth. Around it, he asked, “What’s it like? Doing what you do?”
It wasn’t the first time she’d been asked something like that, but it wasn’t a question she knew how to answer. “I don’t know. It’s the only thing I’ve ever done. It’s got good points and bad points. Like any job, I guess.”
“Nah. Your job makes you famous. Mine doesn’t.”
“It did, though. That’s why we’re here.”
“My job is a mechanic. Being Horde isn’t my job. It’s my life.”
“What’s the difference?”
“I’m never not Horde.”
“That’s like me, then. A little. I’m never not RILEY CHASE. All caps. Gets exhausting.” She stopped, looking down at the scattered remnants of the delicious food she’d devoured. She wished she’d taken more time, committed everything to memory. “Except here. It’s been pretty cool today, having people not care who I am.”
He got quiet and held her eyes. He pointed at her face, near her mouth. “You have a little…” He waved his finger but didn’t finish the sentence. He didn’t need to; obviously, she had food on her face. Charming. She poked her tongue out and tried to lick it up. She must have succeeded, because she tasted a tiny hint of spice on the tip of her tongue.
Bart’s eyes sharpened, and then he came in, his hand going to the back of her head, his mouth coming to hers. She knew she should be angry. He hadn’t asked. He wasn’t really giving her a choice. But she wasn’t angry. She was glad. Whether it was the tequila, or the relaxed way she felt here, or the lingering effects of the little love tableau that was Showdown and Shannon, or her righteously full tummy, or just him, she felt comfortable and open, and she welcomed his kiss.
It was a good kiss, too. His lips were warm and firm, and his tongue was light against her lips, as if he were coaxing her to open her mouth for him. She did, and met his tongue with hers. He groaned at that and changed position, wrapping his other arm around her and pulling her closer to him. He tasted like hot wings and cold beer. And tequila. She supposed she must taste pretty similar.
He took the kiss deeper, held her head harder, and Riley knew that she was going to sleep with him. Tonight. Thoughts of Devon floated up in her head, and she shoved them back. He’d broken his promise, started using again mere days after rehab. He’d OD’d in her house, brought all that down on her—waiting with his body, dealing with cops, dealing with press, the paparazzi doubled outside for weeks. He’d died almost nine months ago. She’d gestated her grief and her anger. Time to move on. This biker with the wonderful mouth seemed like a good place to start. She wrapped her arms around him, pushing her hands under his shirt.
He pulled away a little, breathing heavily. “We should stop. Right?”
“I don’t want to stop.”
As he stared—she could see him working something out in his head—the door to the clubhouse crashed open, and Riley spun on her perch to see Mark coming out, holding Tanner, who was holding his mouth. His hand was bloody. Pru and Omen were right behind. Looked like Tanner had pissed somebody off enough the get his face mashed in. She couldn’t say she was surprised.
“Time to go, Riley,” Mark called, dragging Tanner to the van.
Dammit. She turned back to Bart. “I should go, I guess.”
His hand had dropped from her head to her shoulder, but he didn’t let her go, his other arm still a band around her waist. He leaned in, his face only an inch or two from hers.
“I could give you a ride back later, if you want to stay.” His words lofted on a soft breath, caressing her cheek.
She nodded. She’d never done anything like this, and she knew she was putting herself at his mercy, at least a little. Yet it wasn’t like he was some nameless dude she was picking up in a bar. It was probably a one-night thing, but it wasn’t exactly a one-night stand. She’d see him a lot while she was in town.
Wait. Did that make it worse? Would that be awkward? She should think more about this.
“Riley, come on!” That was Pru. She turned and looked behind her. Mark and Omen had Tanner in the van. Pru was standing at the front passenger door, her arms crossed, looking impatient.
Riley didn’t want to go. She didn’t want to worry about whether things would be awkward tomorrow. She didn’t want to think more about this. She wanted Bart to kiss her again.
“You guys go on—I’ll catch up later.”
Pru dropped her arms and took a couple of steps toward her, then stopped. “Ri. Are you sure?”
Bart’s hand moved from her shoulder to stroke her arm, and Riley needed to close her eyes and take a beat before she could answer. “Totally. Go on, really. Looks like Tanner needs some TLC.”
Pru had taken a few more steps in her direction. She laughed. “He’ll have to get it from Mark, then. I’m not volunteering. The beefy bald guy—the hot one? Laid him out.”
Riley didn’t know which guy she was talking about, but she was sure Tanner had said something stupid. That seemed to be his natural habitat today. Way to make an impression, Tanner. She’d want the dirt later; now, though, she just smiled. “Hope he’s okay. I’ll see you later.”
After a considering pause, Pru nodded. “Be careful.” She looked past Riley at Bart. “Be nice.” Then she turned and went back to the van, climbing in to sit up front with Omen.
Riley didn’t turn back to Bart until the van was out of the lot, but she felt the stroke of his fingers on her arm. Even through her jacket. When the van was gone, she turned back to him to see his eyes intent on her.
“Are you nice?”
“Very.” That crooked smile. That, at least, was very nice.
CHAPTER SIX
I’m taking Riley Chase back to my room. Bart let that thought float around in his head as he stood and held his hand out to her. He waited for the internal fist pump, but it didn’t happen. She’d stopped being RILEY CHASE, all caps, and had become simply Riley, a pretty girl he thought he might like. It seemed like maybe she might like him, too.
He opened the door and ushered her into the Hall, grabbing up her hand again as soon as he was over the threshold. Smoke from weed and tobacco had created a nearly solid haze along the ceiling, curling in wafts down over the party. It looked like Lilli and Isaac were getting ready to go. Shannon and Show were off in a corner, Shannon on Show’s lap. From what Bart could see, the rest of the guys had mostly paired—or grouped—off. The music had gotten down and dirty—Lilli was right about the HWJr—and a couple of girls were dancing on the pool table, stripping drunkenly. They had to replace the felt on that table about once a month, seemed like. Somebody was always dancing on it or fucking on it or something.
Bart pulled Riley close, hooking an arm around her as he led her through the room. Nobody paid them much mind, and Bart relaxed as they made it to the dorm hallway. But then he felt a hard, massive hand land heavily on his shoulder.
“Bartholomew.” Isaac’s voice
was dark, low, and clear.
Bart stopped and turned, taking Riley’s hand. With one step to the side, he move between Isaac and her. Not because he thought Isaac was a threat to her, but because he wanted to block her from whatever embarrassment he was going to experience at his President’s hands. “Hey, boss.”
“What did I say?”
Hands off the California pussy is what he’d said. But this was different. This wasn’t what he’d been worried about. This wasn’t about tasting famous pussy. He didn’t know exactly what it was about, but it wasn’t that.
“Not what you think, Isaac.”
“No?” Isaac pulled himself up to his full height—like he hadn’t been towering over Bart already. He did that when he was stirring up toward pissed, made himself as big and imposing as possible. “I’d say one bullshit incident with these people is enough for one night. Turn around. I’ll have Lilli take her back to the B&B.”
“Excuse me? Who the fuck are you to tell me where I’ll go?” Tiny Riley had stepped alongside Bart, and she was glaring up at Isaac, her head tipped so far back she looked like she was stargazing. “I am sick to fuck of people telling me where to go. Where I am going is back there, where I assume there is a bed. Then I’m going to bang Bart’s brains out. And you can just step off. You don’t scare me.”
Isaac had this outrageously sardonic eyebrow. It was easy to tell when he was truly pissed, because he glowered, his brows drawing together. When that one brow went up, though, he was more amused than anything else. That eyebrow had climbed all the way through Riley’s little speech. And it was pretty funny. She was so little, nose-to-navel with Isaac. But she was all attitude right now, like an angry Chihuahua.
Isaac smirked and raised his hands, palms out, taking one step back. “Okay, sweetheart. Sorry to offend. You go on with your night.” He looked at Bart. “Vaya con Dios, brother.” Then he turned and walked away.
“That guy’s a jerk.” Riley huffed and crossed her arms.
“No, he’s not. He’s our President. He’s used to people doing what he says. Most people. Not Lilli so much.” Bart reached out and took her hand again, unwinding it from the clench across her chest. “You still want to go back and bang my brains out? ‘Cause I’m pretty good with that.”
Alone on Earth Page 6
