Red Hot Bikers, Rock Stars and Bad Boys

by Cassia Leo

  He hadn’t expected that what he’d done with Isabella would make him feel so horrible.

  It wasn’t a feeling he was used to feeling. He was used to acting with righteous certainty. Maybe he hurt people, but they deserved it.

  And certainly, Eli deserved pain.

  But Isabella really hadn’t.

  She was annoying. She was insipid and shallow.

  And what he’d taken from her she’d never get back.

  He lay face down on Cathy’s bed. When he’d made love to her here, years ago, it had been beautiful and raw and real. He’d been in love with her. But now, he felt like he’d betrayed everything that they’d meant to each other.

  Of course, it was ludicrous, considering Cathy had never considered their union sacred. She’d given her body to Eli Linton, and she’d never even thought what it might mean to him.

  Now he’d lost her. To Eli. To the child that was growing inside her.

  When he’d seen her today, he could see the way her body was changing. The roundness of her belly. The heaviness of her breasts. The way her face was fuller.

  She was gone.

  And the odd thing was that he’d been so certain that seeing evidence of her pregnancy would be revolting, but she was actually more beautiful than ever.

  And he’d left her to bend Isabella over a picnic table and shred her virginity like he was an animal.

  He shut his eyes against the quilt.

  “You.”

  It was Matt. Heath sat up. “I’m not leaving.”

  Matt shook his head. He was holding a glass of whiskey. “Not trying to fight you again, Heath.”

  Fight probably wasn’t the right word. Ambush was more like it.

  Funny. He’d hated Matt for not fighting fair, but he wasn’t much better, beating on a man after he was already unconscious.

  “You’re in her room,” said Matt.

  “What’s it to you?”

  “Come downstairs and have a drink with me,” said Matt.

  Heath cocked his head. Was this a trap?

  But in the kitchen, Matt simply poured him a glass and handed it to him. He sat down at the kitchen table. Gestured for Heath to sit down as well.

  Warily, Heath picked up his glass and sat.

  Matt took a sip of the drink. “My mother died when Cathy was born. I was six years old, so I remember her pretty clearly.”

  “Is this going to be another sob story about why everything’s my fault?”

  Matt shook his head. “No, this is something I held back from you for a long time, because I didn’t want it to be true. But right now, I want to hurt you. All the things you’ve done to me. I hate you more than ever. And this will hurt you. This might destroy you.”

  Heath gulped his whiskey. “Sounds ominous.”

  “I also remember when my father moved Wanda Galloway into that tenant house. Your mother.”

  “I thought this wasn’t about how things are my fault.”

  “Shut up and listen.” Matt poured him more whiskey. “I was five years old at the time when she moved in. Now, I’m not an expert on this sort of thing, because I didn’t understand it all back then. But I think we can both agree that couple things are facts. One, your mother and my father were shacking up. You deny that?”

  “Why would I?” said Heath, glaring at Matt. It had gotten her killed, after all.

  “Two, Wanda Galloway got here before my mother died.”

  “Did she?” said Heath. What did it matter?

  “Maybe my father wasn’t a complete jackass—” Matt shook his head. “No, we know that’s not true, don’t we? He was scum.”

  “There we agree,” said Heath.

  Matt raised his eyebrows. “Agree? But you were his favorite.”

  “I wasn’t his favorite. He was afraid of me,” said Heath. He inwardly scolded himself. He’d resolved not to spill his guts about this before. There was no reason to bring it all back up now. Technically, he’d murdered Floyd Earnshaw, and there was no statute of limitations on murder.

  Matt just laughed. “It hardly matters anymore, Heath. I don’t remember why I hate you, not exactly, only that I do. It’s part of me, like another limb or something.”

  Heath nodded. He understood that exactly. He had that same steady hatred. It was hungry, and no matter how much he fed it, it never seemed satisfied.

  “The point is that my father was probably sleeping with your mother before my mother died, given what a piece of shit he was.”

  “Maybe,” said Heath.

  “And your mother wasn’t pregnant with you when she showed up,” said Matt. “At least she didn’t look pregnant to me. I was a little kid, and I can’t be sure, of course, but for a long time, I’ve wondered about it.”

  Heath set down his glass of whiskey, his head churning. “You’re not saying…”

  “Maybe Floyd was your father too,” said Matt.

  Heath shook his head. “No.” Couldn’t be true. Couldn’t.

  But the way Matt was putting it, it seemed obvious now. Like he should have thought of it before.

  “I don’t want to be your brother, Heath,” said Matt. “Trust me, I haven’t wanted to admit it either. But maybe now you can understand why I went apeshit when I found out about you and Cathy. Unnatural, man.”

  Heath was trembling. He tried to pick up his glass of whiskey, but he knocked it over instead.

  Matt laughed—a jeering sound. “I knew it would hurt you.”

  Heath stumbled to his feet.

  “You should leave her alone now, though,” said Matt. “She’s happy with Eli. And there’s no chance that they’re, you know, related. Obviously, the two of them are meant to be together. Don’t you think?”

  Heath’s stomach lurched. On unsteady feet, he made his way out of the kitchen. Scrabbling at the walls, he propelled himself down the hallway and out the front door.

  He leaned over the porch and heaved, vomiting everything that was in his stomach.

  *

  The clouds rolled in black and angry, blocking out the last of the sunset, but Cathy didn’t go inside. She sat on the patio outside the guest room when the thunder rumbled in the sky. When the lightning split the clouds, turning everything bright white, she only watched and waited. When the rain drops started to fall out of the sky, she didn’t move.

  So she was there when Heath’s car pulled up.

  Was he here for Isabella? It didn’t matter.

  She ran out to him, the rain pelting her, soaking her hair, drenching her clothes.

  He saw her, and he came to her, catching her in his arms.

  He’d been crying. “Cathy,” he said, his voice agonized.

  She ran her hands over his face, brushing away the rain. “What’s wrong, love?”

  He buried his face in her shoulder.

  She led him back into the bedroom, shutting the patio doors after them.

  Outside, the storm raged, wind whistling and thunder crashing. The noise drowned everything out.

  She went into the adjoining bathroom and brought out towels.

  He didn’t want them. He put his hands on her stomach. Her shirt was plastered to her skin, and her pregnancy was very apparent.

  “It’s good,” he said. “It’s good that you and Eli did this and not you and me.”

  “Why are you here?” she said. “Do you want me to get Isabella?”

  “Isabella can fuck herself,” he said.

  “Well, that isn’t who she fucked, is it?”

  He buried his face in his hands. “She told you.”

  “You wanted her to tell me.”

  “I wanted… It was a mistake. I don’t want to talk about it.” He thrust his hands into his hair.

  “If you’re not here for her, then why?”

  “I don’t know.” He looked lost. He looked like the little boy who had been her friend all those years ago.

  She wanted to comfort him. She wrapped her arms around him.

  He rested his foreh
ead against hers. “I guess I came to say goodbye.”

  “You’re leaving?” She shook her head. “No, you can’t leave me again.”

  “I think I have to,” he said. “I think everything I’ve been doing here…” He let go of her. “Oh, Cathy, the entire universe has conspired to keep us apart. It’s not meant to be. I think we both see that. And yet… you’re all I want.”

  He sank down onto the bed with a sob.

  She sat down next to him. “What happened?”

  He looked at her, his expression fierce. “I’ll tell you. I’ll tell you, but first, let me make love to you. I promise it’ll be the last time. I’ll never bother you after this.”

  “Eli—”

  “Eli can go to hell,” said Heath. His mouth was on hers, hot and urgent.

  She felt herself softening against him. His tongue was magic, undoing her. She moaned.

  He peeled at her sopping clothes, his fingers brushing her wet skin. His hands were large and tanned. His fingertips were calloused, but he touched her so carefully, as if she were the most precious thing on earth to him.

  She caught the edge of his chin, ran her fingers over his jaw.

  He closed his eyes. “I miss you. I always miss you.”

  “I’m here,” she said, kissing him.

  He pulled her shirt over her head and dropped it on the floor, where it lay in a wet heap.

  She felt exposed and self-conscious suddenly, her swollen stomach unclothed. She wasn’t sixteen anymore, and she was pregnant with another man’s child. This wasn’t the body that Heath remembered.

  But he simply rested his hand on the curve of her belly, almost reverently. “Does it move in there?”

  “Sometimes,” she whispered.

  He kissed her just below her belly button. “If things were different… god, I’ve been so stupid, Cathy. The things I said to you. I never should have—”

  She silenced him, putting her fingers to his lips.

  He kissed them.

  He gazed into her eyes, and she felt their connection. It had been a long time. She’d forgotten how intense it was. She thrust her hands under his wet shirt, yanking it off. Her hands moved over the planes and valleys of his solid, smooth skin.

  He groaned.

  Outside, the wind roared, knocking tree branches into the windows. It sounded like the world was ripping itself apart.

  His arms encircled her, and he deftly unclasped her bra. He slowly pulled the wet, satin fabric away from her skin, uncovering her slowly.

  Her breath caught in her throat in anticipation.

  And then her breasts were bare.

  He tossed the bra on the floor with her shirt, his gaze never leaving her body. His lips parted, and he stared at her, taking her in. “You’re beautiful.”

  She looked down at herself. She didn’t feel beautiful. She started to protest.

  But Heath’s mouth closed over one of her nipples, gently tugging it into his mouth.

  And she lost the ability to speak because of the pleasure that was moving through her, unraveling her.

  His hand found her other breast, cupped it. He teased her nipple erect with his thumb.

  She cried out.

  And suddenly, she was in a frenzy. She had to have him. Now.

  She ripped open his pants, tugging them off, wriggling out of the rest of her clothing.

  He caressed her thighs, pushing her down on the bed.

  She sighed, seeking his lips again.

  His mouth was liquid heat. His body was firm and silken.

  They slid against each other, and she remembered that she was tied to him with bonds that were unbreakable. She remembered that she’d felt that they were two parts of one being.

  She shoved him into the headboard, straddled him, and took him into her body.

  And then, she dissolved.

  There was nothing but gasps and sighs, caresses and strokes, a tumbling together of their bodies, so sweet, so pleasurable.

  She lost herself in him. He was inside her. She was gripping him. He moved in her, her hips undulated against him.

  She wasn’t only herself anymore. Alone, she was hollow and halved. Now, she was complete and perfect. Joined to Heath. Her Heath. And their bodies were moving together as a new being. Whatever it was she and Heath made together. They were something transcendent, something beyond two human bodies. Something bigger than that.

  How could she have thought of being away from him?

  Their climaxes ebbed over them together, at the same moment, and there was no need to announce her orgasm, the way she did with Eli. Heath knew.

  Belatedly, she realized it was the first orgasm he’d ever given her.

  It was beautiful—achingly sweet like the sunset outside. Her body was splintered with pleasure the way the sun split the sky with color. Her climax rocked her to the core, trembling through her—earthquakes of aftershocks, one after another. She thrashed and moaned and sighed her way through it. It was an exclamation point to her connection with Heath. It blew through her like the storm winds, knocking her over, leaving her gasping.

  But orgasm wasn’t the point of their love making. It was just part of the experience, the final cresting of their souls twining together. She’d had sex for the purpose of orgasm before. That was what she did with Eli. Now, it seemed somehow selfish and closed minded. The reason to make love was simply to be joined, to experience a spiritual connection. Orgasm seemed frightfully trivial and physical.

  And afterwards, she collapsed on his chest, with him still inside her.

  She breathed, and he breathed with her, their chests rising and falling in the same rhythm.

  “You’re my sister,” said Heath.

  The words didn’t register for several minutes. It took time for them to filter through her ears, descend on her brain, and then for her to react.

  She sat up. “What?”

  He pushed her off him. His penis slid wetly from her body. “Matt talked to me about my mother and Floyd, and it makes sense.”

  She let her brain make the necessary connections. “Makes sense?”

  “Matt doesn’t think my mother was pregnant when she moved into the tenant house.”

  “Your mother and my father…” The realization of it settled through her, and it was painful, like jagged ice cutting up her insides. She drew into herself, hunching her shoulders, grabbing onto her elbows. “No.”

  “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you before we…” His gaze raked her naked body.

  “No,” she said. “No, that can’t be.” Being with Heath was the most natural thing on earth. And if he were actually her brother, that would be unnatural. So there was no way that it could actually be true.

  There was a noise from the door—metal scraping metal. She turned at the sound of it, but didn’t know what it was.

  “I think it is,” said Heath. “At any rate, you’re with Eli. It doesn’t matter. But I’ll go. I’ll give up. None of it matters.”

  No. The way they’d made love… She’d remembered that she belonged with him. She and Heath were eternal. Somehow, she’d forgotten, but now she couldn’t let him go.

  Her brother?

  No.

  The door opened, and Eli stood there, a key in his hand. That had been the scraping sound. The key in the lock.

  He took them both in, made a strangled sound like a hurt puppy, and then shut the door without saying.

  Heath started putting on his pants. “I’m going to go.”

  “Please, wait,” she whispered. Everything was confusing. “Maybe I don’t care.”

  Heath looked at the door. “I hope I haven’t screwed things up for you and Eli. We don’t have a future, Cathy.”

  He buttoned his pants, picked up his shirt and shoes and went out the patio door, back out into the rain.

  The door didn’t latch after him. The wind picked it up and slammed it against the house, again and again.

  *

  When Heath got back to the tenan
t house, Isabella was sitting on the porch.

  He glared at her. She was the last person he wanted to see at that moment. “What are you doing here?”

  “I came to see you,” she said. “I thought that maybe we could—”

  He shook his head. “The first thing you need to realize, Isabella, is that it’s a mistake to refer to me and you as ‘we.’ There is nothing between us. You understand?”

  She blinked, looking hurt. “I only thought—”

  “Really, in all the time you’ve been alive, haven’t you realized that maybe thinking isn’t your strong suit?” He swept past her into the house. Maybe if he ignored her, she’d get the hint and go home. How much crueler could he be to the girl? Why did she keep coming back for more? Did she enjoy pain?

  She followed him. “I know what you’re trying to do. You’re trying to push me away because you’re afraid of being close to someone. You’re afraid if you actually care, then you’ll fall apart, and everything will hurt. Well, it’s not going to work.”

  He went up the stairs to the room he’d been sleeping in and began to shove his clothing into suitcases.

  Isabella appeared in the doorway. “Are you leaving?”

  “Go away, Isabella,” he said.

  “Where are you going?”

  He slammed the suitcase into the bed. “What is wrong with you? I don’t like you. I hate you. I only fucked you because I wanted to make Cathy jealous, and because I hate your brother. Go away.”

  She squared her shoulders. “Nice try. I’m not going anywhere. I’m coming with you.”

  He groaned. She was giving him a headache. “Leave this house, or I’m going to hit you.”

  “Heath, I know that you and Cathy have this weird, twisted thing, but you have to realize it’s going nowhere.”

  “Why do you think I’m leaving?”

  “All I’m saying is that if you opened yourself up to the possibility of loving someone else, if you just tried, then maybe things would get better.”

  He looked at her. She was a pretty girl, and she was kind of cute the way she was begging him. She was so… sweet. He swallowed. Could he do it? Could he try to be with someone that much like a little kitten?