Tyler’s gaze drew hers and tore the breath from her lungs. One corner of his mouth kicked up into a knowing smile. She dropped a half-full glass, splattering beer all over her sweater, but paid it no notice. The man could sing. Really sing. In fact, she imagined him crooning a ballad as he slid his cock deep into her or rocked her body hard with a classic rock tune.
“You might want to wipe the drool off your chin.”
“What?” Lavender’s head jerked around as her hand wiped imaginary drool from her face. Xandra sat on the stool across the counter from her.
“You’re mentally ripping off his clothes, girlfriend.”
“Zan, in my mind, his clothes are already in shreds at his feet, and he’s wearing nothing but an arrogant smile.” She’d grown up with Zan. No sense hiding the obvious. They’d had some drunken, wild times together in their younger years. She knew the real Zan behind her mystical smoke screen.
“Your friend has quite the attitude.” She indicated Tyler with a nod of her head. “And quite the voice. That gorgeous body should be bronzed and placed in the Smithsonian. Even better, he’s hot for you. You should be taking advantage of all he has to offer.”
“And here I thought you liked me.” Lavender wiped up the beer on the counter, forcing her gaze away from Tyler.
“I do. That’s why he’s perfect for what you need.”
“He’s a jock. You know how I feel about jocks. Not to mention, he’s a conceited, entitled, obnoxious, womanizing asshole.”
“And that’s a problem?”
“Maybe not. The real problem is his inheritance.”
“You might be able to work out a compromise.”
“Fat chance of that happening. He’s a selfish, greedy bastard.”
“His attitude is all for show. He’s nothing like that on the inside, but then I’m not telling you anything you don’t already know.”
“I know nothing of the sort. He’s as shallow as a kid’s wading pool and as selfish as his pampered tomcat. What you see is what you get.”
“Cuz, you get a lot with him, and there’s lot to like.”
“Yeah, three things: his body, his body, and his body. But it’s look and don’t touch.” Except for one wagered kiss.
Lavender met Tyler’s eyes across the room. A tingle started at her toes and zipped up her body to her lips.
Or maybe it was look and do touch.
* * * * *
A few hours later, the brotherhood headed to their respective homes, DJ Don packed his equipment, and the few remaining stragglers shuffled out the door.
Lavender hadn’t seen Tyler leave. In fact, he hadn’t paid his tab, which wasn’t like him. He might be a jerk, but he wasn’t one to sneak out on his bill, and the man tipped well. His coat was still over the back of his chair. Lavender smiled as she fingered the claw marks on the expensive leather. His beer sat on the table he’d shared with the brothers along with his cell phone.
Lavender walked to the open door leading to the back room, which housed a veterans museum loaded with memorabilia donated to the club over the years by various members. Tyler stood with his back to her, hands clasped behind him, looking at the exhibits. A picture of a pilot standing near a helicopter had drawn his attention.
“Tyler?”
He tensed but didn’t turn around. “Yeah?” His voice sounded strained and tight.
Lavender moved closer, reeled in by the odd tone of his voice. “We’re closed now.”
He didn’t move, just kept staring.
“Are you okay?”
He snorted, as if she’d asked a dumb question. “What do you think?”
“I don’t know what to think. Do you know this man?” She pointed at the picture of a pilot standing next to a helicopter.
Tyler sighed and nodded.
“Who is he?”
He was silent, and she wondered if he’d heard her. She moved closer. “Ty?”
“He’s a relative.” Tyler indicated the small card below the photo. “It would appear Uncle Art donated a lot of stuff to this museum. Hell if I know how he got ahold of this picture. He wasn’t part of my family growing up. I wonder if there’s more of this stuff in the mansion’s attic.”
“Captain Jason Harris,” she read on the card below the picture. “Flew rescue helicopters on Special Ops missions in the Middle East.
Tyler made no comment. He was hiding something, something that troubled him deeply. It’d be to her advantage to keep her distance and maintain indifference.
“If you had no contact with him, why would Art leave Twin Cedars to you?”
Tyler’s blue eyes turned cold and distant. A muscle jerked in his jaw. “I met Uncle Art this past year when he was in the nursing home in Seattle. He contacted me, asked me to visit. I did. We hit it off, and I tried to see him once a week, played cards with the guys. He was ornery, just like me.”
She softened a little toward Tyler, despite her best intentions. He’d spent time with his dying uncle when no one else had. Even her. “So he left the mansion to you?”
“I guess he figured I could afford to restore the dump when no one else could.”
Her momentary good feelings fell away. It didn’t take an idiot to figure out he’d sucked up to Artie in order to inherit Twin Cedars. Now it all made more sense. Lavender bristled, feeling protective of the historic old mansion. His irreverent attitude rubbed her the wrong way. “That dump, as you call it, would cost millions to build today, if you could find artisans able to do the work.”
His laser blue eyes scrutinized her. He made a derisive sound and uttered something under his breath. “What do you know about craftsmanship?”
“More than you, jock boy.”
With a disbelieving snort, he left the museum area and strode into the bar. Lavender followed. “I suppose Xtra told you.”
“Her name is Xandra. And she told me nothing.”
“I lost the bet.” He stopped, looking down at his feet, hands in his pockets, resembling a little boy who’d lost his favorite toy.
“You didn’t need to tell me that.” His honesty impressed her and conflicted with his overall asshole image.
“X would have.”
“Actually, she wouldn’t. She’d make it your decision and leave it up to your spiritual growth.”
“To hell with my spiritual growth.” His head snapped up, and his hand snaked around her back before she had time to draw a breath.
The next thing she knew, he’d bent her over the bar counter and was kissing the hell out of her. She wrapped her arms around his neck, weak-willed woman that she was when it came to a hot man with clever lips. His tongue proved to be just as talented. The man launched an all-out assault that’d put the Marines to shame. He buried his fingers in her hair and pulled her face closer, as if he wasn’t already devouring her.
His tongue danced a two-step with her tongue. His thighs pressed against her thighs while his erection rubbed against her stomach, cocked and loaded. Literally. Lavender moaned when his mouth slid down her throat, nibbling her sensitive skin and nipping at her collarbone.
Her head swam in deep, warm water. The warmth seeped into every cell in her body, drugging her in a haze of sexual need and passion. She wrapped her legs around his back and pulled his upper body against hers. His erection pressed against her crotch. She rubbed against him. A pure moan of male need spiked her own desire. She needed more from him. To hell with just one kiss.
She needed a million kisses on every part of her body. Tonight. Definitely tonight. Maybe an encore tomorrow night. Maybe again the night after that. Oh, hell, how about for the next two months?
She gazed into his eyes. Sure, lust blazed in his depths, but something deeper also lurked there. Something that contradicted Tyler’s cloak of shallowness.
Lavender slid her hands down his jeans and cupped his butt cheeks. “Did you hear that?” Tyler froze and went on alert. She didn’t hear a thing beyond the pounding in her ears.
He straightene
d and backed up a few steps. His gaze swept the room. He switched to alpha-male mode, protecting his territory. Lavender lifted her head, foggy from lust and his drugging kisses. Tyler stood a few feet away from where she lay spread-eagle on the counter. His hands rested on his hips with his legs spread slightly apart. His chest heaved as if he’d just run one hundred yards for a touchdown. His blue gaze thundered with the fury of a wild ocean storm.
Lavender sat up, panting and fighting for her bearings and following his gaze. Homer stood nearby, staring at his feet, his face red from embarrassment.
“Sorry, I forgot my wallet.”
“Next time fucking knock.” Tyler’s growled threat sent Homer shuffling to the door as quickly as his old legs allowed. Getting a grip on her sanity, Lavender slipped off the counter and tugged on her shirt to straighten it. She smoothed out her tangled hair with a hand. “You didn’t have to be mean to him. He didn’t know he’d find us making out on the bar counter.”
“I’m an asshole. What do you expect?”
Lavender resisted the urge to touch her lips. “Of course you are. You’re good at playing the asshole.” She attempted to resurrect their banter and get her footing back to familiar ground.
“I’m not playing. This is who I am.”
She looked him up and down. “Have it your way. It’s no concern of mine. By the way, I need to close out. Pay your tab, and you’d better leave a good tip.”
A predatory grin settled on his lips, and she was the prey. “I’m not done with you. You’ll get your tip, sweetheart. A big one.”
Chapter 11—Holding Penalty
Tyler crossed the room and locked the door. A small detail he should’ve taken care of before he’d laid Lavender out on the bar, fully intending to fu—screw her brains out. Homer’s interruption slapped his horny self out of its lust-ridden stupor.
Earlier in the museum room, Lavender had seen his soft underbelly. He couldn’t fathom why he’d told her what little he had. The man in the picture was his father, but she’d never know that. Because if she were to know about his family, his perfect family, with their very imperfect son, it would reveal too much of his personal pain. He didn’t expose his weaknesses to anyone. Absolutely no one.
She’d caught a glimpse of his vulnerability, and that’d never do. He’d erase that memory from her mind, and Tyler knew just the way to do it. He’d been dying to fuck her smart little mouth and hot little pussy for a couple weeks. Tonight appeared to be the night.
Lavender tossed his bar tab on the counter. Hiding behind his sunglasses, Ty pulled a twenty out of his pocket and gave it to her. She finished her work behind the bar, closed out the till, and walked toward the door.
Tyler followed and blocked the exit with his body. “We have unfinished business. I’ll give you a ride.”
“I can ride my bike.”
“It’s midnight.” Fine, she wanted to play hard to get. He didn’t mind the pursuit; it made the sex that much better.
“This is the San Juans. I’m perfectly safe. I think we’ve had one murder in thirty years. You’re probably the most dangerous thing around here.”
A slow smile spread across his face. “I am dangerous, but you’ll love my brand of danger.”
“You take every insult I dish out as a compliment.”
“Yeah, so?” He moved into her, put his hands on her shoulders, and nibbled her earlobe. He inhaled her scent, that trace of lavender filling his nostrils. She whimpered and pulled away from him.
“Fine. Whatever.” She flipped the Open sign to Closed then walked across the room to turn off some of the lights. Tyler watched her fine ass in those tight jeans. Damn, he loved those jeans almost as much as he loved her ass. But he was a tits man, and she had that going on, too. She knew how to dress to accentuate her body, a talent he appreciated.
She stopped a few feet from him. “What are you staring at?”
He raised his eyes past her tits with reluctance. “Your tits. Are those things real?”
“What do you think?” Lavender narrowed her gaze, and he braced himself for a butt-chewing. Instead, a calculating gleam lit up her eyes. She propped her hands on her hips and drew her shoulders back in a challenge he dared not misinterpret. If he did, she’d most likely serve his balls on a silver platter as tomorrow’s special.
“I don’t know. That’s why I asked.” The rise and fall of her chest mesmerized him. Even in his big hands, she’d be a handful, and he loved big tits, the bigger, the better, as long as they were natural and not silicone, a rarity in his world. Heck, he’d been about to marry a woman with fake ones. While he appreciated their size, he didn’t care for how they squished in his hands. There was something to be said about the real deal.
She took a step closer. He held his breath. His groin ached while his twins down south prepared for action. His damn cock hardened as if he’d overdosed on Viagra. Not that he’d ever needed sexual enhancers. Right now, he just needed Lavender. Like a rainstorm in the middle of a warm, sunny day, the atmosphere in the room turned hot and sticky. He caught a whiff of female arousal, and his groin muscles constricted.
“Why don’t you find out for yourself?” She issued the challenge with a sultry pout of her full lips. He looked up in mid-gawk to catch her expression in case this was her idea of a cruel joke. It wasn’t. He knew that look. He’d seen it on several women. He’d never expected to see it on her face.
He watched as the bad girl in her came out to play. Damn, but he loved bad girls. The badder and more adventurous, the better. He’d bet one of his Super Bowl rings his purple lady had both in spades.
“You still hate me, right?” He tested the waters, making sure she didn’t have any delusions about an emotional commitment.
“Absolutely. Positively. I can’t stand your arrogance, your conceit, your football for a brain. And you’re overrated as a kisser.”
“What the fuck?” He blinked. Twice. Three times. Women never said that to him. Her insult threw him off-balance, and he didn’t like the feeling one bit.
“Yeah, you heard me, jock boy. You’re going to have to do better than that.” A slight tremor in her voice gave her away. He smiled, knowing he had her back where he wanted her.
“I’ll just have to try harder, won’t I?”
She glanced down at the large bulge in his jeans and sucked her lower lip into her mouth. “I don’t like you. Remember?”
He remembered all right. “All the better. I can’t stand you, either, but I crave your hot little body. The physical chemistry is hard to resist with no messy emotions involved. Just you, me, and my cock driving into your pussy.” His penis hardened to the point of pain. If he didn’t give it satisfaction soon, it’d mutiny.
“You are a romantic devil.”
“Screw romance. I’m talking sex here. Fucking, hon. Pure, crazy-assed fucking. Any way you want it, as long as it’s hot and messy.”
“Any way I want it? What if I want to be in charge?” She swayed to the tune of some sultry music playing in her pretty little head, taunting him.
“On occasion, but this is not the occasion.”
Lavender walked toward the pool table in the back of the bar, pausing to pull down the shade on the nearest window. “Follow me.”
Tyler bolted after her, weaving between the tables. He tangled his legs around a chair and went down on his knees. Lavender laughed at him, but he didn’t give a shit. His football-damaged knees protested the abuse. He struggled to his feet, feeling every bit of his twenty-eight years and then some for a brief moment. Then his gaze locked on her body, and he became a teenager again.
He caught her around the waist and deposited her butt on the lip of the pool table. She leaned back, supporting her upper body with her hands, and looked up at him. He stepped between her spread legs. His erection pressed against her crotch. Undeterred by the two layers of jeans fabric separating them, he ground his cock against her crotch.
She moaned and closed her eyes for a moment. Her li
ttle pink tongue darted out of her mouth and moistened her red lips.
“Now, where were we?” Tyler leaned in and licked those lips, tasting her lipstick. She tasted sweet and hot at the same time, like a strawberry margarita with double the tequila. He’d be drunk on her in no time. Her scent soaked into his pores, raced through his bloodstream, and settled right in his dick.
She buried her fingers in his hair and opened her mouth. Her tongue touched his, flicked against his lips. Lavender circled his mouth with her tongue. He heard a ragged groan and realized a second later it was his. Tyler pulled her mouth closer. His lips rubbed across her lips. He slipped his tongue into her mouth and leisurely explored every sweet recess, holding back with every ounce of control he possessed. His body shuddered in protest, begging for gratification.
Lavender’s tongue met his and lit a spark that erupted into a full-blown wildfire. His tenuous control snapped the rubber band of sexual tension between them. Tyler lost it. He couldn’t hold back. He attacked her mouth as she attacked his. Kissing her was like kissing a woman raised in the wild, unfettered by the civilized world. And he loved it.
She locked her legs around his thighs. He marveled at how small and delicate she felt in his arms, compared to his large, hulking body. Panting, he drew back to catch his breath and stared down at her, her mouth slightly open, her lips swollen from his rough kisses, her cheeks abraded by his stubble. Satisfaction surged through him. He loved seeing his mark on her.
Lavender’s chest heaved, and his attention snapped to those gorgeous tits. She wrapped her fingers around his wrists and put his hands on her breasts. He didn’t protest. After all, he wasn’t that stupid.
Filling both hands, he squeezed her through her soft, clingy sweater. Real. They were frigging real. One hundred percent female with no silicone. He’d hit the mega-lotto, broken the bank in Vegas, hit for the cycle. He kneaded her soft breasts, savoring the feel of her.
She stopped breathing. A good sign. Lavender wasn’t immune to him, any more than he was to her. Tyler fingered her hard nipples and discovered another pleasant surprise. She’d pierced them. Pierced nipples really did it for him. His cock strained against his fly. If he didn’t fuck her soon, real soon, he’d cream his jeans. He’d never done that. Never. No woman had ever reduced him to such a state. Not even multiple women catering to him at the same time.
Snap Decision: The Originals (Seattle Steelheads Series Book 2) Page 9
