by Roni Loren
But he couldn’t bring himself to do the cool, detached thing with her even though he could tell that was what she wanted—no dates, no emotions, just sex. Usually, he was fine with those boundaries. Sex was sex. As long as everyone had a good time and was safe about it—game on. But for some reason, he didn’t want to be that guy with Oakley. She deserved better than that from him and from herself. Hell, she’d gone five years without sleeping with someone. If all she wanted was sex, she could’ve gotten that long ago without much effort. The woman would have no problem finding an interested guy at any bar or club in town.
Instead she’d picked him to break her dry spell. Why? He wasn’t sure, but he guessed that on some level she trusted him, liked him. Not Pike the drummer, Pike the man. And that was kindling something inside him, something he’d heard his friends talk about but had never experienced himself. Oakley had high walls that fortressed her in her protected world. Even in the throes of passion, she’d kept him outside those gates. He understood why, but the fact that he didn’t have a key to get in was poking at him, rousing an unfamiliar need.
He didn’t want to only be inside her body; he wanted to be in her mind as well. He wanted to climb over those walls and see what she was like when she let go of it all. He wanted to take her to The Ranch and strip her in every sense of the word, to earn her trust completely.
Fucking hell. He wanted to dominate her.
The urge was so goddamned foreign that he had to stop himself from texting Foster to ask what the hell he was supposed to do with that. Sure, he’d watched his best friend dominate women. And Pike had been a member of The Ranch for a while, so he’d seen everything and had taken the training classes. He’d even used much of the equipment and topped a few women, but never with real intent. Always playfully. A game.
But that wasn’t what he craved with Oakley. He wanted to evoke real emotion from her, for her to give him control, to be vulnerable with him. To show him what hid behind that all-is-well facade. To look to him to keep her safe while her walls were down.
He wanted to be more than a random hookup. He needed her to feel something. Shit, he wanted to feel something.
And he had no idea what the fuck to do about that. She’d agreed to one night. She was here for the sex. If he brought her to The Ranch and asked her to play submissive, she probably would. And he could pull off the role of cool, unfazed dominant. That was the fantasy newbie women often came to The Ranch with. Mr. Mystery Man who would use them and bring them pleasure, all the while never revealing anything to them beyond his stoic facade. Pike could do it. But it’d be the game, a fun night, not anything real. It’d allow Oakley to cast him in a role. Her fortress would stay firmly in place.
That held no appeal. Plus, it wasn’t who he was. This wasn’t about flogging and restraints. Though that could be fun, that’s not what was making his blood pump harder. He wanted that barrier-bashing shit that he’d seen between Foster and Cela. That rawness. The stuff that required real trust.
But he had no idea how to get that from Oakley. Or if he even deserved to have it.
He climbed into the driver’s seat and glanced over at his date, taking in the flush of her cheeks and the way her hair had curled around her temples from the exertion of their interlude. The only signs that he’d at least gotten to her a little. But the staid smile she sent him said her armor was firmly in place.
That wouldn’t do. Not at all. No polite stranger smiles for him. He pushed the ignition button, an idea popping into his head. “Ready for the best dinner of your life?”
Her smile faltered. “I told you I didn’t need the fancy night on the town.”
He smirked. “We both need to eat. And I promise this will be the opposite of fancy. Ashamed to be seen with me in public?”
She scoffed. “Shut up. You know that’s not it.”
“Good. Because I’m not putting out again until I’m fed. I have standards, woman. Don’t make me feel cheap.”
She snorted like it was no big thing, but she shifted in her seat, clearly uncomfortable that he was doing anything date-like. Well, she’d just have to deal with it. Because he figured the only way to get rid of her stranger smile was to stop being a stranger to her.
If he wanted her to give him a peek past her gates, to trust him, maybe he needed to give her a look past his.
Oakley peered out the window as they drove toward the outskirts of Dallas. Rain had fallen earlier, and the streetlights reflected off the pavement, throwing orange light in random patterns. Her thoughts were as scattered as the reflections. She smoothed her skirt and then tucked her hands beneath her thighs so she wouldn’t fidget.
After their tryst in the studio, every part of her felt sensitive and electric. The sex had been amazing—everything she could want from an adventurous night out with a smoking-hot guy. She’d loved that Pike hadn’t held back with her or treated her like she was someone’s mom. He’d been down and dirty and unapologetic about it. He’d made her feel like a woman. Basking in that had been downright heady.
But now that she’d drifted down from the high and Pike had insisted on taking her out to eat, her worries had reappeared, nipping at her like an annoying school of fish.
She’d sang for him. At first, it had been stilted and awkward but then she’d fallen into it. Her voice had soared and along with it, her spirit. Singing hadn’t felt like that in so long. Sure, she played for Reagan and the rest of the kids sometimes, but she never let herself get swept away by songs anymore, that transcendent feeling of becoming part of the music. Tonight she had. Because Pike had been listening. And it had felt like the song mattered to someone besides her. He’d wanted to hear it.
She blew out a breath. “Thank you for earlier.”
He glanced over at her with a hint of a smile. “For which part? Orgasm number one or number two? No, that’s a stupid question. Number one was strong, but I thought I really nailed it on that second one.”
She laughed, some of the tension she’d been holding in her posture releasing. “Oh, you definitely nailed it. But I meant for pushing me to sing the song. It felt good to be behind a microphone again and really punch the gas.”
His expression warmed, and he switched his focus back to the road. “I’m the one who should thank you. You’re a fantastic musician. Plus, I totally recorded your song and will soon be selling it for millions of dollars.”
She sniffed. “Yeah, right.”
“No, really. It recorded.”
She turned her body toward him. “Hold up. What?”
He chuckled. “Don’t freak out. The mics were still live when we started playing, but I won’t be sharing the recording with anyone.”
She blinked. “The mics were—oh my God. So …”
“Yeah. There will be quite the X-rated soundtrack recorded afterward.” He sent her a don’t-kill-me look. “But don’t worry. The file is in my private account and protected. I only wanted to record your song for you. I thought you might like to have it or maybe share it with Reagan. I didn’t plan for everything else that happened afterward. I’ll edit the other stuff out when I get back to town.”
“And delete the rest.”
He shrugged. “Or save it for my own listening pleasure. Or sell it to TMZ for a Where Are They Now.”
Her mouth fell open, and she shoved his shoulder, trying not to laugh. “Extortionist.”
He grinned as he turned off onto a side road. “Totally. I’m holding the tape hostage tonight until you have lots and lots of hot, kinky sex with me.”
“Lucky for both of us, I accept these terms.”
“Excellent. But that will have to wait because right now, we must eat tamales.”
Oakley looked up as gravel crunched beneath the tires of the truck. Over the last few minutes, they’d driven to a part of Dallas that she wasn’t familiar with. But as promised, it was definitely the opposite of fancy. All the storefronts appeared in need of a nip and tuck, the roofs sagging and the pastel paint peeling. But
the restaurant they’d just pulled in front of seemed to stand proud among the rest of the block. The building was a bold robin’s-egg blue and Flora’s was painted in bright yellow on the side.
Pike cut the ignition and climbed out of the truck. When he came around and opened her door, he gave a sweep of his arm Vanna White style. “Welcome to my ’hood.”
She lifted an eyebrow as he helped her out. “Pike, I’ve seen your neighborhood, Mr. Uptown.”
“You saw where I live now. This is where I’m from. Well, this is the nice part. This was uptown for me when I was a kid.” He cocked his thumb to the left. “The rental house I grew up in is about five blocks that way.”
She peered in the direction he was pointing, then back to him. “Do you still have family out here?”
He tucked his hands in his pockets, his smile sagging and his posture stiffening. “I don’t think so.”
“You don’t know?”
“It’s complicated.”
“Sorry. I wasn’t trying to pry.” He’d already told her he had a shitty childhood. It’d been a stupid, automatic small-talk question. “You don’t have to say any more.”
“No, it’s fine. It’s just an ugly answer.” He rolled his shoulders, seeming to shake himself free of something. “The night Red, my mom’s boyfriend, broke my hand, they kicked me out.”
“Wait. They kicked you out? You were the one who got hurt.”
He wet his lips and looked into the distance. “I pulled a gun on the guy when he hurt me that night. Kind of lost it. My mom walked in on that part. She wasn’t going to risk anything that messed up her situation with Red since he was paying the bills. I was a risk. So I left and haven’t seen either of them since. But they were living in a nice part of Lewisville by that time. They may still be out there.”
“God, Pike. How old were you?”
“Seventeen.”
She frowned. “I’m so sorry.”
“It’s okay. My life got much better after I was out of that hellhole. Once upon a time, my mother had her good points. I got my love of music from her. But she had damaging tastes in men and a codependent personality. Bad combination. I just wish I could’ve taken my younger brother and sisters with me when I left.”
“Do you have relationships with them now?”
His expression darkened. “No. My brother died in a car accident a few years ago. And the girls were too young when I left for them to really have memories of me, so all they know is what my mom and Red have told them. I’ve tried to reach out, but they’re not interested in knowing me.”
Simple words, but she could see how deeply they affected him. Happy-go-lucky Pike had retreated for a moment, exposing a stark sadness in those green-gold eyes. She reached out and pulled his hand from his pocket, then she laced her fingers with his. “I’m sorry.”
The smiled returned, though a little strained. “Hey, how’d we get into this heavy conversation? I brought you here for killer tamales, not to unload my Jerry Springer family drama on you. Come on. Let’s eat.”
She gave his hand a squeeze and let him lead her inside.
Mariachi music and the smell of roasted chiles filled the air as Pike held the door open for her. She inhaled the decadent scent. “Okay, now I’m officially starving.”
“Right? It’s like they lace the air with crack,” he said, his tone much lighter now that they were inside, the somber conversation abandoned in the wet streets outside.
She grabbed a paper menu from the slot by the door. “So what’s good here?”
Pike’s lips parted, but before he could answer, another voice sounded from her right. “Paco!”
Pike turned, a grin breaking over his face, and guided Oakley toward the main counter where a young guy with dark eyes and a devil-may-care smile was waving them over. Pike let go of her hand briefly to step around the counter and give the guy a one-armed, thump-the-back man hug. “Emilio, qué onda?”
“Qué onda?” Emilio repeated. “You ask me what’s up? I live. I work. The news report isn’t all that exciting. But what about you? We haven’t seen you in months. Mamá was worried.”
Pike slipped back to the other side of the counter and took Oakley’s hand again. “I know. Things have been crazy. But I couldn’t go another day without Mama Flo’s food in my belly.”
“She’ll be happy to hear it.” Emilio stuck his head through the doorway to the kitchen and yelled something in Spanish.
Oakley leaned over to Pike. “Do you know what he’s saying?”
Pike smirked. “He’s telling his mother that her ungrateful boy, Paco, is here and that he’s looking too skinny and needs her help. And that’s he brought a pretty girl with him.”
“Paco? Her boy?”
He chuckled. “The Rivera family lived on my block when I was a kid. I was friends with Emilio’s older brother and every time I went over to his place, his mom would tell me I was too thin and would feed me. She didn’t speak English and my Spanish was spotty at the time, but I got the gist, especially with her pinching my arms and then heaping beans and rice on my plate.” His face took on a pensive look. “She figured out my home situation was screwed up and took me in like a stray even though they barely had anything themselves. A neglected, underfed kid was a cardinal sin in her book. I knew a good thing when I saw it, so I hung around as much as I could until my mom hooked up with Red and moved us to the suburbs. But I was around enough that Emilio started calling me Paco. He said if I was going to be part of the family, I couldn’t have a ridiculous gringo name like Pike.”
Oakley smiled, the affection in Pike’s tone making her love this woman and her family already. “She sounds kind of amazing.”
“She’s a force to be reckoned with for sure. And now that she knows I’ve brought a girl, I’ll give her three, two …”
As if on cue, a petite older lady with silver-threaded black hair burst through the doorway from the kitchen. She wiped her hands on her apron and made a beeline for Pike, wagging her finger. Her words were in rapid-fire Spanish, but Oakley got the sense they were firm ones. The smile didn’t leave Pike’s face, though. He let her have her say. Then she smacked his arm with her dish towel and hugged him.
He hugged her back, speaking fluent Spanish back to her—tone apologetic and soothing, but amused at the same time. He sent Oakley a wink over the woman’s head.
“Mama Flo,” Pike said, extracting from the hug. “This is my friend Oakley.”
When Flora turned around, her perturbed expression had been replaced by a beatific one. She flipped her dish towel over her shoulder and took Oakley’s hands in her callused, warm ones. “Flora Rivera. Nice to meet you. I’m so happy my Paco finally thinks my food is good enough to bring a woman here.”
Oakley lifted her eyebrow at Pike.
Pike put his hands on Flora’s shoulders. “Flo, I haven’t brought a girl by yet because none have been worthy of your food. You’re my best-kept secret in Dallas. I can’t just share you with anyone.”
Though Pike’s tone was light, the fact that he’d never brought another girl here to meet people who were clearly important to him registered with Oakley. She didn’t know whether to be pleased or worried.
She squeezed the woman’s hands. “I’m glad I get to be the lucky one to eat your cooking.”
She nodded. “I’ll make you both a plate.”
“Can we have the number three?” Pike asked. “You know it’s my favorite.”
She let go of Oakley’s hands and waved Pike off. “You get what I serve you. No plain tamale plate for a date. I made my best mole for today’s special.” She poked his side. “And you getting too skinny again.”
Emilio shook his head. “He’s busy being important, Mamá.”
“Importante. Bah.” She sniffed, letting them all know that this was no excuse.
Pike lifted his palms to her. “We’re in your capable hands. Fatten me up.”
She left them with the look of a woman on a mission, and Emilio told t
hem to grab whatever table they wanted and he’d bring over a couple of beers. Oakley and Pike settled at a table by the front window that gave them a view of the rain-slicked streets, and Emilio dropped off two Negra Modelos, a basket of fresh tortilla chips, and two kinds of salsa—one red, one green, which he identified as “kinda hot” and “the one that made Paco cry.”
Pike flipped Emilio the bird and then went straight for the dangerous green one. “This stuff is amazing. But they served it to me when I was a kid, and I scooped it on a chip like it was Pace Picante. I thought I was going to die in the middle of their kitchen. I ended up eating ice cream out of the container by the handful to cool my tongue. It’s taken years to build up a tolerance to the heat.”
Oakley laughed. “I like spicy, but now you’ve scared me.”
“My advice is dip, don’t scoop.” He grabbed a chip and dunked the edge into the green salsa then handed it to her. “And be brave. That’s our theme for the night anyway, right?”
“Is it?” She took the chip and eyed it warily.
“Of course.” He held up one finger, counting off. “One, you sang in front of me. Two, you agreed to spend the night with me.” He leaned forward, wicked smirk touching his lips. “And three, I fucked you against the wall of my studio. I’d say you’ve been pretty brave.”
She glanced toward the counter to make sure no one was close enough to hear that last part. The few patrons in the place were seated on the other side of the restaurant, and Emilio had his back to them. She turned back to Pike. “Maybe. But how is it our theme? I’m guessing your night hasn’t been all that out of the ordinary.”
She popped the chip in her mouth and her tongue lit afire. She coughed but managed not to spit out the chip. Pike’s lips curled upward, and he pushed her beer closer to her. “Just chew, it gets better.”
Her eyes were trying to water, but she continued chewing, and the heat gave way to the flavors of lime, cilantro, and tomatillos. She swallowed the bite and took a swig of beer, then another, waiting for the flames to cool. “Wow. That is impressively hot. But tasty.”
