The ass-hugging denim cut-offs and clingy gray silk vest top were hardly making a huge effort and the sky-high gray ankle boots were her only option because they matched her outfit. It was nothing to do with them making her legs look longer ...
Wanting to look good before entering a den of hyper-critical women was one thing and it didn’t mean she was out to impress anyone. Least of all some dangerously attractive biker she just happened to have accidentally locked lips with.
She’d dropped her head on her steering wheel with a little sigh, wondering – not for the first time - what the hell she was playing at. Her hand even reached for the keys in the ignition, on the verge of starting the car again and just taking off. Then, frowning at her apparent descent into hitherto unchartered drama queen territory, she got out of the car with her head held high and a determined look on her face.
No. Big. Deal.
***
CHAPTER 11
He could practically feel that soft smooth skin under his fingertips as his dark gaze raked over those long, lightly tan legs. Watching the subtle sway of her hips as she crossed the clubhouse, he didn’t think he’d ever seen her in heels before and that was probably a good thing, on reflection – or he’d never have been able to keep his hands off her all this time.
Colton had looked round at Sam’s appreciative whistle, turning to lean coolly against the bar and wait for her to spot them. And he certainly made the most of the opportunity to just take in the sight of her.
Faced with the roomful of desperate women – most of them wearing more make-up than clothes, many already drinking heavily or taking to the stripper poles in a bid to attract attention - she casually made her way through them, without that fish-out-of-water look most infrequent visitors to the clubhouse seemed to wear.
The reactions to the relative newcomer weren’t exactly unfavourable per say, but the less than discreet nudges and melodramatic whispers kicked up a gear when her eyes met those of none other than the club’s notorious killer. A rare smile was drawn from him by the slight upwards quirk of the corner of her mouth.
But it was their sergeant who got in first with his greeting. “Damn, girl, those legs just don’t quit,” Sam drawled, as Callie approached. “Anyone ever tell ya that?”
“You – last time I wore a dress to work, if I remember rightly,” she shot back, with a good-natured roll of her eyes. “Hi, Sam. Colton. Sorry I’m running kinda late.”
“Totally worth the wait, babe,” the irrepressible blond biker grinned, making a show of his top-to-toe appraisal before slinging an arm around her shoulders to guide her closer to the bar between him and Colton. “Anyway, you don’t gotta worry – Sketch brought your stuff and you’re all set up. So ... what ya drinkin’?”
“Oh, just an OJ – I’ve got the car and I hear I got me a first-timer, thanks to a certain someone,” she said, bumping her hip lightly against Colton’s and getting a little what-ya-gonna-do shrug in response.
“Callie, Callie, Callie,” Sam protested, already signalling to the prospect behind the bar and holding up three fingers with a wink. “OJ’s for breakfast! It’s Friday night and you’re on our turf now. Don’t worry, we’ll get ya home safe. Or you could just stay here? I’ll even donate my bed – it’s used to having a sexy blonde tucked up in it ...”
It was Colton’s turn to roll his eyes at that, but Callie was still laughing when a shot glass was pushed into her hand and Sam clinked his own off the side in a toast of sorts. “Cheers, darlin’,” he grinned, nodding in approval when she simply downed the contents after a moment’s consideration. “Atta girl. Right, I’m gonna go mingle - leave you kids to it. Colt, man, don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”
“And that rules out what exactly?” Callie grinned, watching with a bemused shake of her head as the spiky-haired sergeant took off across the room, only to get waylaid by one of the many women with her eye on him.
“Not much,” Colton said wryly, signalling for more drinks. “Not much at all.”
***
Nervously eying the girl checking out the tattoo equipment set up in what passed for a quiet corner of the bar - who didn’t look much older than she was herself – Lorena started as warm arms wrapped around her waist and her somewhat worse-for-wear boyfriend leaned over her shoulder.
“Hey, baby,” Paulie slurred, the celebrations already taking their toll as he planted a sloppy kiss on her cheek. “You ready to be my old lady? I can’t wait to see my ink on you ...”
“Always,” she smiled softly, leaning back for a quick little peck and letting her hands slide over his arms as he held her. “You know I’m just nervous about the tattoo, right? Not about us.”
“I know,” he frowned. “But you ain’t gotta worry ‘bout nothin’, Lori – tattoo chick says she’ll take it real slow.”
Nodding in acceptance, Lorena glanced back at the girl and watched curiously as she shared a joke with the usually stern-faced Colton. She’d seen the imposing biker kick back with his brothers, enjoy the company of the many women who flocked around the club ... But this was definitely new.
The little blonde certainly wasn’t what she’d been expecting when Paulie, knowing no more than she did, had simply told her a friend of Colt’s would be inking her - being a whole lot more female and lot less intimidating that she’d imagined.
He didn’t seem the sort to be big on being just friends with a woman, but she was definitely no cheap hangaround. Lorena had been around long enough to know they got fucked and chucked. They were kidding themselves if they thought they were anything more than simply an interchangeable supply of pussy, there to fetch drinks and look good before fulfilling their primary function of keeping the Fallen satisfied.
Not this girl. Sure, she looked good – in an unusual-for-the-clubhouse fresh-faced kind of way – and it was obvious Colton thought so too, but he’d barely laid a finger on her. Not to mention, he’d been the one fetching her drinks.
“She’s very pretty,” Lorena said softly, with a discreet nod in their direction. “Do you think they’re ... you know?”
“Banging?” Paulie supplied, less than tactfully. “Hell yeah, this is Colt we’re talking ‘bout!” His boyish hero-worship was almost as strong when it came to Colton as it was for Sam. “C’mon, let’s go get you inked, baby ...”
***
Turning to her latest client, a slight wry smile crossed Callie’s face to see the tense young woman already squeezing her eyes shut. The knuckles of one hand were turning white as she gripped the arm of the recliner hauled from the club president’s office, the other hand caught tightly in her boyfriend’s – making him wince a little at her vise-like grip.
“Nervous?” she asked, unnecessarily but not unkindly. “Listen, you really gotta relax a little for me. The more you tense up the more chance there is of you flinching and I really don’t think this is something you’re gonna want screwed up.”
“I’m so sorry,” Lorena apologised, forcing herself to look up at the girl, her cheeks flushed with embarrassment. “I just don’t know what to expect or anything. I’ve never even seen anyone get a tattoo before.”
“Really?” Callie’s eyebrows shot up, given the amount of artwork on display between the club members and their extended families and followers. “Well, damn ... Okay, let’s fix that for a start. Hey, Colt, you got a sec?”
Getting up from his seat nearby, where he’d been shooting the shit with Sam and Will – and casting the odd subtle glance in the tattoo artist’s direction – Colton strolled over, a glass of whiskey in one hand. He was seemingly oblivious to the slight shiver that coursed down the blonde’s spine at the sight of him.
It was something she tried to dismiss as nothing, even as her gaze roved over him - taking in the way his jeans hung low on his hips and the contrast of the white t-shirt, stretched taut across his chest under his cut, against the dark ink gracing his arms.
“Problem?” he asked, those deep dark eyes shooting an accusing lo
ok first at the former prospect and then at his girl.
“Nah, nothing like that,” Callie assured him hastily. “Just need you to do a tat.”
“Huh? Thought that was your job? I don’t do first-timers.”
“I know – that’s why you’re gonna do me.”
***
Showing Lorena there was nothing to it had been a spur-of-the-moment thing, but it worked a treat. It put the girl at ease when she saw the lack of fuss Callie made as the biker worked on her without so much as a sketch.
She had taken it slow though, once they got started. The outline of the large graceful dove - complete with Paulie’s initials carved into the twig it carried - gradually emerged on Lorena’s left side, low on her abdomen. And she’d decided to keep it simple, agreeing with the newest old lady that she’d drop into Sketch another time to have the details added in, before heading outside for some fresh air.
“How’s the wrist?”
Looking round at the familiar gravelly voice, Callie wasn’t surprised to see Colton leaning against the wall with a lit cigarette dangling between his fingertips. “It’s good. You did a great job.”
“You didn’t exactly make it easy, doll. Most people at least give me some clue what they want when they ask for ink.”
“What can I say?” she shrugged, a twinkle in her eyes. “I wanted to see what you’d come up with.”
Advancing on her, a slight smirk tugging at his own lips, Colton raised an eyebrow. “You testing me, little girl?”
“Maybe ...” She looked up at him with a soft smile. “You passed.”
***
Presiding over the clubhouse festivities, Will reluctantly turned his attention from the enthusiastic little redhead - who couldn’t quite believe her luck at ending up in the lap of the club’s top dog – as the prospect dashed to his side, gesturing wildly and tripping over his words.
“Jesus, kid, take a breath,” the president sighed, scooting the girl off his knee. “Beat it, sweetheart.”
“Will, Sam sent me to get you – I mean, I saw them arrive and I was gonna get you anyway ‘cos I thought maybe ... well, you know. And then they said I wasn’t to move, but Sam told the guy to take his head out of his fucking ass and--”
“Dozer!” Will barked in exasperation at the youngster’s ramble, which he hadn’t managed to make head or tail of so far. “What the fuck are you tellin’ me?”
“Cops are here!” the wide-eyed prospect all but squeaked. “About a murder – they’re tryin’ to arrest Sam and they said they want Colton too!”
“Christ on a fucking bicycle ...” Will muttered, knocking back what remained of his whiskey with a grimace. “There goes my Friday night. Sinclair here?”
“Yeah, that Jones guy too plus back-up.”
“Right, guess we better go straighten this shit out. And where the hell’s Colt?”
***
Pushed against the wall of the clubhouse, the back of her head cradled in Colton’s hand to protect it from the brickwork, Callie’s world seemed to shrink in on itself until nothing remained but the feel of his lips on hers.
At least until his free hand slid to the back of her knee, the exact effect she was having on him clear as he hooked her leg around his hip. He was making her acutely aware of his body pressed hard against hers, drawing a groan from her before his mouth claimed hers again.
If their first kiss by the roadside had been all about taking a first tentative step to seeing if the sparks between them were real, this was about ... everything else.
Their tongues tangling urgently, the pair were almost desperate in their need to be closer to each other. Bodies aching to be skin-on-skin, Colton’s strong fingers caressed the smoothness of the bare leg wrapped around him, even as Callie’s hands slid up the back of his t-shirt.
With the latent power in those lean muscles plain to feel, the little blonde gave up coherent thought and gave herself over completely to her dark-eyed companion. She was breathless from the depth of his kisses when he finally tore his lips from hers, only to let his mouth burn a trail down her throat to her cleavage.
“Colton ...” she managed to gasp, as his hips ground against hers. One of his hands fisted in her hair at the sound of his name and her body arched instinctively towards his. He kissed her again until her legs went weak and then shifted to lift her up, those possessive hands on her ass and her legs wrapping around his waist.
Her heart had started racing the moment he first leaned in to kiss her and now her thoughts were just playing catch-up, filling her mind with images of them together – only with double the passion, if that was possible, and half the clothes.
“Colton ...”
But this time, the voice wasn’t hers. Will’s deep baritone cut through the night, carrying over the noise spilling out of the clubhouse. Or at least it would have, had that noise not faded away while they were otherwise engaged.
Both the realisation that someone had cut the music and the authority of Will’s tone sank into Colton’s thoughts just a little slower than they might usually have and he set Callie on shaky feet, pulling back reluctantly to let his forehead rest against hers. Both of them were breathing heavily as he looked into those hazy gray eyes and tried to recover.
“Colt!” the president roared from inside.
“Fuckin’ hell,” Colton growled, by way of apology. “I gotta see what’s happened ...”
Callie didn’t trust herself to speak, nodding instead in mute acceptance as she wondered when it had gotten quite so warm. She accepted one last brief - though admittedly thorough - kiss before he pushed away from the wall and away from her. He was still adjusting his, thankfully, baggy jeans as he strode towards the door.
***
After Colton disappeared back inside, Callie tilted her head back against the wall and took a deep ragged breath. She slowly raised a trembling hand to her lips, bruised as they were from his kisses. Every inch of her body somehow felt more alive, yet more drained, than ever.
Running her hands through her long hair, she sank to the ground and let her knees draw up to her chest as the enormity of the night’s developments bore down on her.
Bad enough that she had kissed him during their bike ride - this was a whole new level of betrayal to the man she was supposed to be with. Because she knew with absolute certainty that, no matter what that little inner voice of her conscience had to say, Colton was going to come back and try to take her to bed. And she was going to let him.
But as long minutes ticked by, her racing pulse slowed and she started to wonder what the hold-up was. Forcing herself to her feet, Callie straightened her top and made for the door. Fixing a casual look on her face, she threw it open and headed back inside – the look soon freezing at the sight that greeted her.
A furious Colton was being held against the bar, so a uniformed cop could handcuff his hands behind his back as he read him his rights. An equally unimpressed Sam had evidently already received the same treatment.
“You’re under arrest for murder, Colt – you know the drill,” Chief Sinclair was telling him, his tone matter-of-fact but apparent resignation to an unfortunate set of circumstances still evident. The cop seemed oblivious to how his prisoner’s black gaze failed to meet his, instead drifting over his shoulder to lock eyes with the stricken blonde behind him.
“Just get them out of here and let’s fucking get this done.”
***
CHAPTER 12
It wasn’t like she was completely clueless about what he was capable of, but there was something about seeing the guy who’d just kissed you to within an inch of your life get hauled off for murder that really had the power to throw you for a loop.
As if someone somewhere had spun the volume dial, the hushed clubhouse roared back to life around Callie. Furious bikers were making their feelings known in loud conversations full of angry gesticulations. Disappointed women, knowing when to call it quits, were slipping off into the shadows.
Either
jostled aside or largely ignored, the little blonde looked around unsurely. Still dazed by yet another unexpected turn of events, she wondered what she was supposed to do next. Her car was outside, but she’d been drinking way too much to even think about getting behind the wheel – as had Sketch. Not that she even knew where he was.
“Table, two minutes!” came the yell over the dull roar of voices, Will striding back inside after having accompanied his best men as they were taken outside and loaded into a police van. The hard look in his eyes could have rivalled that of any of the club’s killers at that moment. “You ...”
Actually glancing to the side to check he really meant her, Callie swallowed and somehow managed to put one foot in front of the other, obeying the jerk of his head that was just as effective as an order.
“I don’t bite, darlin’ – ya just ain’t catchin’ me on a good day,” the president sighed, relenting a little when he seemed to realise how his scowl must look to the visitor. “Here, Colt’s orders ...”
Looking down as he pressed something into her hand, she realised it was the key to a dorm room and was about to shake her head when it dawned on her she had little other option. It wasn’t like she could call Michael to come and pick her up – she’d turned into enough of a bitch already without playing him like that.
Hey honey, can you come pick me up ‘cause the guy I was gonna cheat on you with got lifted for murder? Thanks ...
Guilt seeming to wrap around her stomach and squeeze, she simply nodded her understanding and took the key. Everyone had enough on their plates without her getting in the way. It was typical of Colton to have covered all his bases though.
With Will’s attention already transferred to herding his brothers towards the club’s inner sanctum, Callie headed in the opposite direction, making her way down the dimly lit corridor that led to the dorms. End of the hall, last on the right.
She let herself in, flicking the light switch on and carefully locking the door behind her before taking in her surroundings. They hadn’t changed since the last time she’d been here – if you didn’t count the fact that Colton wasn’t lying on his bed with a bullet wound in his side, looking up at her with those unreadable dark eyes.
Ink (The Haven Series) Page 7
