by Anne Marsh
I’m not one of those people who refuse to believe that men and women can be friends, but I have no idea how that would work out for Blade and me. I mean, we’ve had sex and he’s been inside me—and his erection right now is Exhibit A that I’m not in his friends bucket.
“We can’t be friends.”
He frowns down at me. “You want to be enemies?”
“No!” I have a bad feeling that Blade’s MC subscribes to the “an enemy of my brother is my enemy” school of thought. “I don’t want us to be anything.”
“Gonna find it hard to ignore you, baby girl,” he whispers roughly. “Friends or lovers. Pick one.”
I stare at him, my gaze darting all over the place, and I’m sure I must look as suspicious as an IRS tax auditor, because he sighs when I ask, “Do you know how to be just friends?”
“Friends have each others’ backs.”
Okay. That doesn’t sound bad, although I’ve got Harlow.
“I’m not in town for long.”
“Not a problem,” he declares. “We can be pen pals.”
“I work a lot.”
Now he just looks smug. “You worry about stupid shit, don’t you, chère? Give me a big problem.”
“You want to be my white knight?”
His smile slips, his face going distant, as if he’s got a few memories of his own that he’s not so fond of. “There’s no such thing as a white knight.”
“No noble man begging for my favor so he can fix all my problems and carry me off on his noble steed?”
“You got something that needs handling?”
Yes! You want an itemized list?
I blurt out the first thing that comes to mind. “I can’t move this boat because the engine is busted and I don’t have the seven hundred dollars I need to fix it.”
“This is why it’s good we’re friends. I know how to fix engines.” He drops a kiss on my forehead and rolls off me.
Thank God I’m not disappointed he’s taking me at my word about the no-sex thing. Clearly, this gorgeous, rough biker can get it on with any number of girls. I’m no big attraction. And that’s good. Really, really good. Bad boys are strictly off-limits. He’s also big enough to do some serious damage—I’ve seen him fight, after all. This is the kind of man who probably has a prison record. There are a million reasons why I should put miles of space between us and never, ever repeat the mistake of jumping his bones.
“You know how to fix engines.” I parrot his words back to him, which is his fault. If he weren’t so good-looking, I’d be able to form coherent sentences.
“I’m good with my hands.” He shoves upright on the bed, practically vibrating with energy.
“Huh.” I’m not sure what to say.
“Having a mechanic as a friend is convenient,” he suggests. “Those might be the words you’re looking for, baby girl.”
“Uh.” Yeah. Still out of words. Blade’s gonna fix my engine for me? Of all the possible outcomes of his chasing me back here, free engine repair did not top my list.
“Oui.” He grins at me, and there’s something way too Cheshire Cat about his smile. He knows stuff, and not just what my pussy feels like up close and personal. Of course, the man’s also a walking sex god, so there’s that. “And in exchange, you’ll let me crash on your couch.”
And… hello, deal killer. Or is it a deal clincher?
“Why?” I blurt out.
He shrugs easily. “Got an issue with broken pipes at my place. Gonna take some time to sort it out and I’m used to running water now.”
“You really want to sleep there?” We both look over at said couch. It’s a perfectly lovely couch—except it’s more of a loveseat, and the dark blue velvet has seen slightly better days. The only way Blade fits on it is if he contorts. It’s also a mere ten feet from my bed. My big-enough-for-two bed. I need to take a stand, before my hormones forget bad boys are… bad for me.
He’s not helping because he gives me another slow smile. “I’ll sleep wherever you want.”
Danger, danger. I need to steer this conversation back to safe ground.
“For how long?”
He winks. “For as long as it takes to fix your engine.”
“And then you’ll leave?”
“If that’s what you want. You got the rest of my stuff around here?”
I point to the chair across the room where I dumped his leather jacket, and he swings off the bed and heads for it. This gives me a great view of his ass, which is yet another reminder I don’t need. His butt is perfect, tight and hard, and the worn denim clings to him with each step he takes. The motorcycle boots are the cherry on my bad boy sundae. Frankly, I’m not sure he could look any better completely naked. He’s got ink on his bare skin, and I pretend that’s what’s caught my gaze (and not his hot ass).
“Gotcha,” he says and shoves his keys back inside. Then he turns around and frowns. “So we got a deal?”
“We’re just friends? And you fix my engine in exchange for a spot on the couch?” I ask, because something tells me you spell shit out for Blade. You don’t leave him any gray areas to operate in.
Blade nods, pulling shit out of his pockets. Apparently, he comes with an arsenal of hidden weapons—and tools. Who knew the man was a walking toolbox? “I’ll be whatever you want me to be.”
Alrighty then.
Blade
Before I dive into breaking down Leah’s engine, I send a text to one of the prospects, asking him to drop off a saddlebag with my shit. Old habits die hard and I don’t need much. My non-fighting gear fits in two bags, so I’m always ready to roll. When I was a knight, I made do with even less. Other than my armor, shield, and weapons, I hadn’t possessed much. Besides, I’m here under false pretenses. The line I fed Leah about broken pipes was a story because I’ll do whatever it takes to coax her into letting me closer. I needed a reason to choose her couch and that one works as well as any.
Eventually the sun goes down. Since I’m covered in grease, I strip down to my boxer briefs and go for a quick swim in the bayou. The water is bathwater warm from the sun, and it feels good to wash off. Fortunately Leah’s neighbors mind their own business. I spot no lookey-loos peering out their windows, so I swim, dunk, and climb back on board. If Leah notices, she says nothing. Later, I pick us up some burgers and watch my mate pick the meat off and make a meal out of the bun and the leftover salad bar crap. Goddamned waste, so I steal her patty and give her all the fries. Not sure how I hooked up with an herbivore, but at least I won’t be fighting her for the last piece of steak at our barbecues.
Afterward, we watch a movie. Some chick flick, but I’m okay with letting her pick. Not like I’m really focused on the screen—not when she’s curled up on the couch close enough to touch. Not that we do. Touch. The two feet of space between us is as uncrossable as any moat I’ve confronted in my life. Most of those fuckers were dry, thank God, but others had been filled with water that doubled as the sewage tank for every privy in the castle. Stank like hell—wasn’t the kind of place you wanted to take a swim. The space Leah puts between us smells far sweeter, but she’s no less prickly than a defender on the castle wall. I don’t push her though—my being here is already closer than I thought she’d let me get.
When the credits start rolling, she switches off the TV and turns her head to look at me. Apparently, she’s in a talking mood.
“Why was the Breed paying T.D. a visit?”
The problem is between T.D. and Jace. It’s club business, which also means it’s not her business.
“Respect,” I say finally. “T.D.’s setting up his own club—” pack “—and he needs to let the other leaders know. You buy some tropical island in the South Pacific, you’re still gonna pay a few courtesy calls before you declare yourself the sovereign nation of whatever-the-fuck. Otherwise, you can’t be surprised when someone’s navy pays you a call. T.D. didn’t let Jace or any of the other local clubs know his intentions.”
“So you s
ettled the matter with your fists?” She looks at me with horrified eyes, but I’m calling bullshit on that. She let me in. She hasn’t asked until now. She’s more okay with what went down than she cares to admit.
“You call the cops?” We both know she didn’t. Would have run into them when we were leaving, or I would have heard about it from Jace. So I’m not giving her a free pass on this one. She doesn’t get to give me shit about looking after my brothers.
“I grew up around a club,” she admits with a sigh. “I know how you guys roll.”
So much for her holier-than-thou attitude. She’s seen her share of club business. T.D. made his move and got busted. He didn’t show us the respect he owed us and he paid. I reach out and pull her closer. Fuck being all hands off. My wolf needs to touch her. I need to touch her. Not gonna scare her, not gonna rush her—but I need something from her. To my surprise, she doesn’t stiffen, just rolls into me, her body softening. She smells sweet and warm, so I bury my face against her throat, breathing her in. Just briefly because I’m imagining pushing her down onto a bed, legs apart, pussy spread wide. I’d lick her all night.
“Blade?” She sounds uncertain, but not pissed off or scared.
I pull away from her before I do something stupid, like act out all of my fantasies. Her mouth looks so goddamned pretty, pink and soft. But there’s strength there too, a firmness that’s gonna bite me in the balls if I rush this. She’s my everything, but I’m nothing in her eyes—and I can’t change that in a handful of hours.
“Time for bed.” I give into temptation and brush a kiss over her forehead.
She stares at me, eyes wide, and I wonder what’s going on in that head of hers.
“Okay,” she says finally. “Dibs on the bathroom.”
Unless you want to share.
I’m smart enough to keep that thought to myself, so I send her off to the bathroom and listen to the sounds of water running and drawers opening and closing. Christ. Now I’m imagining her sliding her shorts down her thighs. Taking off her bra and stepping into the spray. She’d be lucky if I didn’t beg her for that second chance at being the man in her life and her bed.
When she comes out, I grab my stuff and brush past her for my turn in the bathroom. I turn the shower on, washing with ruthless efficiency because I need time to work out at least part of what I’m feeling for Leah. Aroused as fuck, possessive, on edge—I slap my hand around my dick, more than ready to work off some of my frustration, and grab her shampoo. I uncap the bottle, pouring the thick lotion into my hand. This much of me can smell like her.
I have to bite back the moan that nearly escapes my lips—the walls are too thin for this kind of shit. But my palm’s jacking up and down, moving faster and rougher as I imagine the woman in the next room. Her ass spread first for my tongue and my fingers and then for my dick. Her small body pinned beneath mine as I pound into her. Lick her. Eat her alive. Slam every inch of me deep inside her. She tempts me more than any woman I’ve ever met, and I can’t afford to fuck this up.
I thrust against my palm, fingers squeezing roughly. Nowhere near what I need, not the slick, tight pussy I’m desperate to explore but I’ll take what I can get. I jack off, coming with a muted growl in thick, hard spurts against the wall of her shower. Next time… fuck, next time maybe I’ll be inside her. Coming on her tits. Not alone in a shower that’s slowly turning icy cold and with a dick that fucking smells like something called moringa berries.
When I finally leave the bathroom, the cabin’s dark, although the faint glow of her phone says my girl’s still awake. Her fingers bang out yet another message, the soft tapping of her fingers a gentler, less hungry rhythm than the one I just sullied her shower with. Pretty sure she’s got her girlfriend on speed dial, and the two of them are dissecting my every move, but I wasn’t shitting her when I said I’d be whatever she needed me to be. For her, I’ll even be safe.
I think about stopping by her bed to say good night, but I don’t need to creep her the fuck out. So I head back to the couch and drop down onto it. She’s left me a pillow and a blanket, which is good because otherwise no way I hide the way my body reacts to hers. We’re in the same room. She’s lying on the bed, and every time I breathe in, I breathe in her scent. My wolf’s fucking, howling mad for her, but I’m not trying anything tonight.
The phone goes out, followed by soft rustling sounds as she curls up. For a long moment, I imagine we’ve both shifted, that she’s a wolf too, and we’re curled up together in our den. It’s a nice fantasy.
“Blade?” Her voice, husky and low, floats out of the darkness toward me. Maybe she’ll invite me to come over there. Maybe she has a few fantasies of her own. I’d be happy to make them all come true. Plus, the couch is too short. My feet hang off the end, and her couch is so worn out that not one but two springs jab me in the ass.
“Oui?” Please ask.
“Good night.”
I wait, but she doesn’t say anything else. The silence grows thicker and heavier as she falls asleep quickly and easily, as if she knows on some instinctive level that I’m no threat to her. That for the first time in her life, she’s one hundred percent safe because nobody is getting to her while I’m here. I lie there and listen to her breathe—and that is goddamned perfect. It is. It so fucking is.
Leah
Safe.
That’s what I feel when I wake up. If I listen carefully, I can hear the steady in and out of Blade’s breathing. He’s still on the couch, right where he promised to be.
I think I’m supposed to be nervous, not sure if he’s going to keep his word and stick to his side of the cabin or not. Maybe give into the temptation and invite him to crawl into bed with me because, God knows, the man is hot. Instead I lie in bed, listening to the bayou wake up outside my boat. Water slaps against the hull in a tiny rhythmic hi-how-are-ya. I so don’t feel like getting up. Right now, everything’s good and moving might spoil that.
My phone buzzes with an incoming text message. Automatically, I ease it out from underneath my pillow.
BLADE: Morning, chère. How’d u sleep?
I smile, not able to hold the grin back. Sleeping near him—but not with him—feels like the right decision. Harlow had argued that Blade could be a serial killer or some kind of sexual pervert. After all, he is a biker and we’ve already banged once. Maybe he decided that in the man-verse that was an invitation to get down and dirty. We both know there’d be no stopping him if he decided to get it on with me. Plus, I’m not entirely certain how he got my number since I didn’t give it to him.
Except… I’m starting to suspect that Blade might be one of the good guys. His outside package is all bad boy, but he’s got a good heart. Or if he doesn’t have the heart, he definitely has the manners. He’s never made me feel like I’m in any kind of danger with him, other than the inescapable fact that he is a biker and he does ride with a motorcycle club that has one hell of a reputation. They’re not the kind of guys who run a Christmas-time Toys For Tots operation. Still, if he’s not nice, he hasn’t rubbed my face in it. Other than, you know, beating the shit out of T.D. yesterday. Maybe that was club business. Maybe it was who he really is. Part of me wants to find out. I snuggle down in my bed and start typing.
ME: You got a thing against using your words?
BLADE: Didn’t want to wake u if u were sleeping. Just wanted to check on u because I was thinking about u. Yesterday was rough.
ME: Does that mean you’re making coffee?
BLADE: Whatever you want, chère.
The couch creaks as Blade gets to his feet. God, the man’s practically too good to be true. Not only is he better than a home security system, but he apparently makes coffee. He pads into my tiny galley kitchen, and I thumb through the other messages on my phone. T.D.’s been texting up a storm. Given that both his thumbs are clearly working and he can see his phone, he can’t be too badly hurt, right? I should probably care more, but our date ended way too badly for me to pretend that I eve
r want to see the guy again. The fact that he’s making noises about seeing me again is kind of surprising, frankly, because I didn’t think it was any better—or less embarrassing—for him. I’m not feeling it.
I rub the scars on my arm. The afternoon was all kinds of screwed up. First T.D.’s mistaken belief that the porch was some kind of substitute for a bed and reasonable foreplay, followed by Blade’s reappearance while I was half-naked. And the fight, the dogs, the violence… yeah. Definitely not an afternoon I need to repeat.
But I really shouldn’t ghost the guy. I think for a moment, and then send T.D. a quick but to the point message telling him I don’t think we should see each other again. He’s probably feeling the same way, but I go for honesty and let him know that I’m not feeling a connection between us, especially since I’d rather pretend our Rose Bayou afternoon never happened. I thank him for taking me out (lie) and sign off.
Mission. Accomplished.
Next I text Harlow back. We’re both working the nail salon today, and she wants to ride in together. This may be because she wants to grill me about my Rose Bayou fiasco—but frankly, I’d be happy to vent to her. First things first though—the scent of coffee is calling my name from the kitchen. And as amenable as Blade has been, I’m not counting on him for breakfast in bed. We may be friends swapping a favor for a roof, but I shouldn’t take advantage of him.
Okay, parts of me are totally voting for the take-advantage plan, but those aren’t the smart parts. They’re going to have to be satisfied with window-shopping rather than an outright purchase.
I duck into the bathroom and change. When I come out, Blade’s waiting for me. I thought he had a job running a gym or a training center or something, but he’s not making any move to leave. Or give me any space. When we made our roomies deal, I didn’t think we’d be joined at the hip.
“You headed out soon?”
He gives me an even look. “Not right now. Gym can live without me for today. Thought I’d get started on your engine.”
