The Italian: A Mountain Man Romance

by Hazel Parker

  “Ugh,” Daniella groaned as she chugged back the burning liquid before gasping. I slapped her back as she coughed, eyes clenched closed and gasping for air.

  “What the hell is in that?” I yelled at the bartender, but she didn’t bother glancing in our direction.

  “Paint thinner,” Daniella rasped. “Another,” she choked out loud enough to get the bartenders attention while holding up her glass.

  “Holy hell. Girl. You need to chill.”

  She shrugged. “What? I ate first.”

  My glare was cutting.

  “I need this, Ally. Just let me have this one night.” She turned to me, eyes wide and already glassy. Her lips were folded into a pout. “Please.”

  I sighed. “Fine.” It went without saying that I would be looking after her. Who the hell knew what she would do if I left her to her own devices with that much in her system. “But I hope you know that you’re better off without that scumbag.”

  I said it with such venom, she paused with her glass halfway to her mouth. I saw her head tilt, the barest acknowledgment that she heard me before she finished the dregs of her first drink to make room for her second.

  The bartender obeyed, pouring the certain death into her glass while popping her gum. “You want something?”

  I couldn’t help my eyes darting back and forth around the room, taking note of all the possible exits and possible weapons. It was the surest way for survival. Just in case. It is best to stay ready so you don’t have to get ready. I didn’t want to run into him here.

  “Yeah,” I answered without looking at her. “Something to sip.”

  “Same as your friend?”

  “Hell no. Something smoother. You got brown?”

  “Bourbon good?”

  I nodded and tensed, sensing the bulk of a man beside me.

  “Go away.” It was rude, but I figured in this place, being tough was respected. I didn’t have time to pretend to be an eyelash-batting bimbo. I was here for my drink, and once I got that, Daniella and I would be shipping out. No need to be inviting. She got her drink, I would get mine, then a cab would be called, and we would all leave without paying any bikers no mind.

  “Now, Red, you don’t even know what I was going to say.” It didn’t matter what he was going to say: I didn’t want to hear it. Though his voice sent shivers down my spine, I tried to ignore the internal voice begging me to see the face that accompanied that baritone.

  “Unless you’re offering free booze for the night, I don’t want to hear it,” I said, grabbing a napkin to dab at the horrific mascara smudges around Daniella’s eyes. Between the wedding tears and the tears from the nail polish she was drinking, she looked like a train wreck.

  “I can arrange that.”

  “Then do it,” I challenged, sure that he was bluffing.

  “And if I do, do I get the opportunity to spend a little more time with you?” He was asking me but smiling at Brittany, though noticeably without the lust-filled leer most men had.

  I went ahead and tossed back my bourbon I was hoping to sip on, sure that Daniella and I would be leaving in the very near future. I didn’t have time to entertain any man, especially a biker. A lying biker at that. I’d heard enough about the men and seen enough Sons of Anarchy to know I needed to be careful.

  “Brittany,” he said with such authority, I knew she would do as he asked. “Make sure these ladies get whatever they ask for tonight. On the house.”

  She nodded, not bothering to flirt as she had with the other male customers. I had to see the man who got what he wanted, just like that.

  He was covered in ink. Some of it colorful, some of it pure black against his light skin. I recognized one on his arm that also inscribed his vest on his back, marking his allegiance. Starting above his shoulder blades and down almost to the hem of his vest was a leather billboard in ink of his affiliation. ‘The Bandits’ was written in an ark at the top. In the middle was their emblem of a cowboy’s face covered in a bandana, and just underneath it, in block letters: ‘for life.’ Even without leaning back to see the entire back I knew what he was.

  I didn’t bother saying thanks. I let the coolness of my eyes convey what it was. I was thankful, but not enough to facilitate conversation. I turned from the hulking man beside me to survey Daniella. She was close to done. Her makeup was a shadow of what it was when we first left her house. Her lipstick was now matte, the shine clinging to the lip prints on her glass. Her eyeshadow was smeared with her eyeliner and the streaked mascara. She should have known better and worn waterproof. Her brown hair was frizzy from the heat and her curls hung limp against her shoulders. Yet, her sad state was safer to watch than the breathing mass of strength beside me.

  “What’s eating you?” he asked, not taking my cold shoulder for what it was.

  “Nothing.”

  Brittany stepped out from behind the bar, following closely behind the man who had ordered a drink not too long ago. I guessed he ended up wanting something that wasn’t on the menu after all. Another biker with a vest took her place without orders, as if he knew to be on standby. He glanced to the man beside me before busying himself by concocting a drink

  “And your friend?” He kept talking, clearly ignoring my commitment to not talk.

  “She’s fine too.”

  “Right, because being fine means sitting at a biker bar, drinking and crying,” he said, taking the drink the new bartender pushed his way. Their brotherhood showed in their familiarity.

  I glanced at Daniella and sighed. To be fair, she wasn’t crying, though it was clear she had been, and she looked on the verge of crying again. Tonight had been hard on both of us. She watched her douche of an ex-husband pledge his love to another, and my nerves were fried from being on edge all night. It was not easy standing in a crowd, constantly checking your back. The biker was wearing on me. If I wasn’t sitting with a friend more focused on drinking than talking, maybe I could have held stronger for longer. “Okay. You’re right. Everything is not fine.”

  “Want to talk about it?

  That was the absolute last thing I wanted to do. I was sick of talking about tonight, and I wouldn’t dare lay out all my baggage for this man I just met. That was a sure-fire way to send him packing faster than I did when I ran away.

  I scoffed. “No.”

  “Well, what do you want?”

  “To drink,” I said, repeating myself.

  His lips pursed as he thought. “Okay. Tell you what: I’ll play you for it. If you win a game of pool against me, I’ll buy you and your friend drinks for the rest of the night.”

  I didn’t bother pointing out that he’d already guaranteed us drinking for the night. Maybe with Brittany gone, that offer had been rescinded. “And if I lose?”

  “You have to spend the night with me,” he replied with such arrogance that I laughed.

  I shook my head no. “Drinking isn’t enough to risk that. Sorry.”

  He sat before me, muscles taut, like he was ready to spring into action at any moment. He stared at me, waiting, with the look of a starving man on his face. As if he were standing before a buffet, just forcing himself to wait for one second longer. “Ok. What do you want?”

  That was a good question. What did I want? I wanted so many things: to feel safe, to be happy and to do whatever I wanted. It was time I stopped being so scared of life. He took my hesitation in stride. “I want to ride on your bike.”

  He bent his head back, exposing the long column of his neck as he gulped down his drink. His Adam’s apple, almost obscured by his long, thick beard, bobbed with grace as he swallowed back whatever was in his cup before slamming it down on the wood.

  His brown eyes burned into mine as his lips stretched into a wide smile.

  “Deal.”

  Chapter Two –Warren

  She didn’t belong.

  That much was clear from the scowl on her face and the crying mess of a woman in a hideous pink dress beside her. Though her friend in the loud
dress was a bit distracting, I couldn’t take my eyes off her.

  The blazing red hair on her head was a beacon, and I followed her with my eyes from the entrance to the bar. She hovered protectively over her friend. It seemed she only sat once she’d surveyed the surrounding area and deemed it secure.

  I liked that. Clearly she wasn’t here to ride a biker like the rest of the women.

  I knew most of the other women by face. I didn’t need to know their names. They were here for one thing.

  Pinky looked a lot like a good girl. Innocent and untouched by life, but Red looked tough. Which shouldn’t have piqued my interest.

  Tough girls and slutty girls were a dime a dozen in this bar, but to be tough and standing loyally beside an innocent, well, that was the beginning of a good story to tell. I could tell these two were good friends and I wondered just what in the hell were they doing in a biker bar. Especially considering this bar wasn’t known for its prices on whiskey.

  This bar clearly stated what it was: a Bandit hangout.

  The MC owned and operated the bar, as well as a shit ton other properties in town, which the townies knew of and tried to steer clear of. This place didn’t look like a goddamn Applebee’s. Everything about it shouted biker bar, from the line of bikes outside to the men in vests drinking with women on their laps.

  If anything, Pinky should have been shaking in her frills and Red should have taken her somewhere else. Yet there they sat at the bar, drinking like they weren’t getting curious glances from the rest of the club and like this was your normal Friday night. Maybe they wanted to have a little fun.

  I wasn’t into damsels in distress, but knew I would love to take Red for a ride. I could find someone for her friend. It wouldn’t be the first time someone walked into our bar looking to try something new for the night and forget their real life. And they wouldn’t be the last. Whatever Red was looking for, I could give it to her. All she had to do was tell me; I would even make her ask.

  I slid to the bar stool next to Red, making my presence known by sliding my leg against her thigh. Not enough to be perverted, but enough for her to know she had company and from the moment she opened her mouth she was a ball of fire. I couldn’t recall the last time someone told me to go away. It would have pushed a lesser man away. Instead, it pulled me in.

  Red had smooth, pale skin and deep, brown eyes that were trying to figure me out. I could practically hear her gears turning, but I didn’t miss the ways her eyes traced up and down me. Despite the drink in her hand and the good time she seemed to be having, tension sat in the corner of her eye and body.

  “What’s eating you?” I asked.

  “Nothing.”

  That was a bold-faced lie if I ever heard it, but I took it. She didn’t trust me. Which I got. She didn’t know me from Adam. She watched Jerry take Brittany’s place like it was the most interesting thing in the world. It wasn’t that interesting or hard to get: Brittany was a vest groupie. She got paid to man the bar as much as she got paid to entertain our guests. Only difference was it was always her choice. She clearly found something she liked.

  I decided to keep trying with Red. “And your friend?”

  “She’s fine too.”

  She narrowed her eyes and pursed her lips together. Even thinned like that, her mouth looked sensual.

  “Right, because being fine means sitting at a biker bar, drinking and crying,” I said as Jerry poured me a drink. I hadn’t meant to snap, but really there was only so much I could take. Most women liked when you asked them about their problems. They wanted someone to listen.

  She sighed heavily, obviously still annoyed, but not as hostile as before. “Okay. You’re right. Everything is not fine.”

  That was my in, and I wasn’t planning to let her out of here without, at the very least, her number.

  “Want to talk about it?”

  Her brows scrunched together and her mouth turned down in a frown. I quickly realized my mistake. She wanted to do anything but talk about it. Some women came to be found and others came to get away. It was clear which category Red fell into. She didn’t want someone to just notice her and validate her existence. She wanted someone to take her mind off whatever had her stressed.

  “No.”

  “Well, what do you want?”

  “To drink,” she said with a little smirk.

  I could see she was trying to take the easy way out, but that was a lie. She and her toasted friend could have gotten drinks anywhere. They chose to come here. Which said a lot, whether they wanted to admit it or not. “Okay. Tell you what: I’ll play you for it. If you win a game of pool against me, I’ll buy you and your friend drinks for the rest of the night.”

  Her eyes glinted with irritation as much as interest. “And if I lose?”

  I would have thought that was obvious. “You have to spend the night with me.”

  She laughed, a real laugh with tickling brass that she didn’t try to hold in before shaking her head. “Drinking isn’t enough to risk that. Sorry.”

  So she had come her for a risk, but didn’t want to play her hand to high. I could work with that. She just needed to show me how high a bid she was willing to make. I turned, completely facing her to let her know she had my full attention. “Ok. What do you want?”

  She thought for a moment before saying, “I want to ride on your bike?”

  That was it? I guzzled down my drink, ready to take on the challenge. Taking her for a ride was easy. What might come after was harder and I was willing to bet high and win big. She watched me swallow with lust in her eyes.

  “Deal.”

  I hadn’t expected the chance for more, but fate smiled favorably on me. I smiled at her while she racked the balls into the blackened triangle.

  “I’ll break,” I offered, stepping up with my stick in hand.

  She mirrored me, chalking the end of her pool stick with confidence. I wondered if she knew how to play, and part of me hoped she did. It would make winning that much sweeter.

  The balls separated with a loud crack and spun into various directions. “Solids.”

  Two solids fell into the hole, and I positioned myself to sink two more before it was her turn.

  She bent over the table, the top of her tongue stuck out of the corner of her mouth as she shot straight, pushing one stripe into the right pocket. Her ass curved deliciously over the table as she leaned a little further to reach a ball.

  I liked all the curves. Her ass, her curvy thighs, and her breasts were more than a handful. I wanted to grip every part and leave a handprint, if I could. I knew for sure she wouldn’t break if I decided to take her hard and fast. All that pale skin and candy-apple red hair made me want to take a bite of her and see if she tasted as sweet as she looked.

  "So, tell me, Red, what's your name?"

  "Why don't we just stick with Red." She wasn’t asking, but I had no problem with the solution. One less name to struggle to remember in the morning.

  I smiled at her. Red. I could live with that. My standards for women tended to deal with more physical attributes than personality. She was more beautiful than anyone in the bar, and then some. I couldn’t remember the last time a woman had captured my interest when I didn't already have my cock in her.

  “Red it is,” I said, shooting another ball easily. “Can I at least get your friends name?”

  “Daniella,” she slurred from the corner where she sat on the stool, slumped against the wall.

  “Nice to meet you,” I said, tipping my imaginary hat. “Warren.”

  “Nice to meet you,” Red said, fluttering her eyelashes.

  I scratched my next shot on purpose, just to give us more time together. “So, where you two from?”

  “A shitty wedding.”

  She said it like a punch line from a joke, and I laughed.

  “I’m not kidding,” she said, sitting on the table and leaning for her shot with uncertainty.

  “Want some help?” I walked behind her, rea
dy to help without her asking. I was shameless in looking for a reason to feel her up. She’d already been tempting me, shaking her little body, rubbing against me as she passed by, and I knew it was time she got a taste of her own medicine.

  “Who said I wanted your help,” she practically purred, rubbing against my body. I knew she wouldn’t complain. “What if I wanted some help from one of your brothers,” she said, glancing around the room. So she knew our terminology. I wondered if she actually knew something about it or was convinced everything she read in romance novels and saw on Sons of Anarchy was true. I was just glad she hadn’t called us a motorcycle gang.

  I grabbed her hips possessively. Although the room was full of my brothers, they were all busy at the bottom of their drinks or in between cleavage; the idea that she’d rub against anyone but me didn’t sit too well.

  “Is that right?”

  “Maybe.” She shrugged, smirking mischievously before bending over the table. Her ass sat in front of me, plump and begging for a spanking. She looked over her shoulder at me, her red hair obscuring her eye a little. “You going to help me or stand there all night staring?”

  I didn’t need another invitation. My crotch rested in the crack of her ass perfectly as I covered her back and aligned arm for arm and hand for hand. “Don’t close one eye. You need both to see clearly.”

  “Ok,” she whispered, shuddering under me.

  “Which ball do you want?”

  “Ten.”

  “Line it up,” I said, guiding her arm as she held the stick firmly and angled it behind the cue to push her ball into the corner pocket.

  “You ready?” I breathed.

  She nodded.

  “Do it.”

  She didn’t hesitate, and the ball cracked with so much force, as if a physical representation of all the sexual tension between us, before it landed perfectly into the hole.

  “Thank you,” she said, pushing back against me until I stood up straight. “Mind doing that three more times?” she joked.

  “I don’t think so, little lady.” I couldn’t help her too much. I fully intended to kick her pretty little ass, and then ride it.