Wild & Free: A Motorcycle Club Romance (Burning Angels MC) (No Saints in Biker Hell Book 1)

by Claire St. Rose

  “Wow. A perceptive biker.” She snorted, settling on her favorite cheesy comedy—Vacation. She set the remote down on the end table. “Not what I expected.”

  “You don’t know anything about bikers,” he said, stretching his legs out. “So I’m not surprised.”

  Zing. He had a point. “Well I guess this is the education I never asked for.”

  He smirked and shook his head, but didn’t say anything more. They settled in to watch the movie, but Dakota could hardly concentrate, not with his heat so near, and that fiery skin begging to be touched.

  ***

  Bo awoke the next morning, his cheek mashed into the couch cushion. For being a piece of shit, it was surprisingly comfortable. At least enough to get him through while he hid out. He and Dakota had whiled away the night between movies and conversation, carefully executed jabs masking as a strange breed of getting to know each other.

  Her curiosity was palpable, hung in the air between them like knives at the ready. And he was curious too; except that he had no problem openly admitting he was more than ready to bend her over the back of the couch the second she’d agree to it.

  Sunlight streamed through the white plastic blinds covering the only window in the living room. This place was spartan as fuck, and already he was itching to help her improve it. She deserved that, at least, even if she was planning on leaving. Something to make it feel less dreary.

  He rolled onto his back, looking up at the stained ceiling. The marks looked like an ink blot test, and after enough staring he could make out a few images—clouds, for sure, but also a penguin. And maybe a mountain landscape.

  He sighed, pushing himself up, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. The apartment looked different bathed in the bright light of day, like maybe he’d woken up someplace new. He heard her stir inside her bedroom and stretched, yawning. Time to get a start on the day. See what sort of shit he could accomplish while holed up here.

  He scratched at his chest as he padded over to the kitchen counter, reaching for his phone. A few texts from his brothers awaited him, nothing important. He typed out an update to Turbo, asking if there was any movement. He went into the bathroom to splash water on his face and when he came out, Dakota was in the kitchen in an over-sized t-shirt.

  The sight of her was a punch in the gut. His mouth parted and he couldn’t force his gaze away from the sexy curves of her legs. The shirt ended at mid-thigh, and her breasts were suggestive rounds under the fabric of the shirt. She waved and yawned.

  “You sleep okay?” She went behind the counter to fill the teapot. He nodded, easing onto the stool, adjusting his hardening cock in his pants. Fuck, he wanted her—way more than what was even reasonable.

  “Had some fucked-up dreams, but that’s normal,” he said, running his hands through his hair. “I checked with my guys to see if it’s safe to go. I’ll let you know when they write back.”

  She nodded, her gaze lingering on him. “No problem. You hungry?”

  He nodded, patting his belly. “Whatcha got?”

  She smiled softly, like maybe she enjoyed this as much as he did. Even though the circumstances were strange…this had been kinda nice. It would be a nice memory. “What do you normally eat? You look like a guy who has protein shakes and three avocados for breakfast.”

  He laughed. “You might be right.”

  Her eyes widened. “Really? Bikers eat avocados?”

  “Darlin’, you gotta move past the stereotype. Bikers eat whatever they damn well please.”

  She sighed, nodding. “You’re right. Sorry.” She tugged open the fridge. “Well I definitely don’t have protein shakes. But I have toast, and plenty of avocados. Hell, we could sprinkle some flax on it.” She looked to him to confirm his interest.

  He nodded. “Sounds awesome.”

  She smiled, arranging the bag of bread and some avocados on the counter between them. “I have to say, it’s exciting when someone wants to eat avocados with me.”

  “You a fan?”

  “I would bathe in them if it were socially acceptable.”

  He shrugged, reaching for the knife she set down. “I wouldn’t say anything if you wanted to do it right now.”

  She laughed. “You wouldn’t have much of a problem with anything I wanted to do, would you?”

  He shook his head, meeting her sparkling hazel eyes. “Nah.”

  They shared a private look, one that made his belly flop. He reached for an avocado and sliced it open, deftly removing the pit. She arched a brow.

  “Don’t even say it,” he warned, unable to fight the grin. “You didn’t expect bikers to know how to use a knife.”

  Her tongue pushed into the inside of her cheek. “Maybe.” She popped four slices of bread into the toaster and pushed the level down. He watched her, knife poised in his grip, unable to look away.

  “You look different without all the makeup,” he said softly. As soon as the words were out he tutted, cursing himself. What woman wanted to hear that? “I mean, it’s good. Don’t get me wrong.”

  Her cheeks flushed, which made his belly flop again. “I hope so. It’s my real face. The only one I’ve got.”

  “It’s a good one.” He winked at her. “You should keep it.”

  “Was planning on it.” She reached for some glasses, grabbing a jug of filtered water from the fridge. “You want?”

  He nodded, feeling really good here. This was a sweet, simple morning. One that made something foreign and welcome blossom inside. Water whooshed as she poured two glasses, and then the toast popped. She divvied up two slices per plate and pushed one to him. “Let’s eat.”

  They took turns slathering avocado all over the bread, giggling like kid intermittently when they fought over the knife when one took too long. Bo sprinkled flax on top with a flourish, then grinned as he crunched into his first bite. They watched each other as they ate, a quiet comfort.

  “This is good,” Dakota said.

  “The best.” He nodded toward her bedroom door, where he’d noticed a bar hung near the top. “You ever use that bar?”

  “What bar?”

  He pointed. “You’ve got a chin-up bar installed there.”

  She squinted at it, like seeing it for the first time. “Oh. Since when?”

  He laughed. “Probably the last guys left it. Who knows.”

  “It’s a chin-up bar?”

  “Mm-hmm.” He swallowed and wiped at his mouth. “Can I use it?”

  She shrugged. “Whatever. As long as it doesn’t break.”

  “I’ll test it out later.” He winked, crunching into another bite. His phone dinged at the same time and he fished it out, finding a message from Turbo.

  Stay wherever you are. Had a drive-by at headquarters today already. DS is hot on trail.

  He sighed tersely, tossing the phone onto the counter. “Bad news.”

  “What is it?”

  “I need to stay longer.”

  Her eyes rounded. “Seriously?”

  He nodded, avoiding her gaze. “Yeah. ‘Fraid so. Those guys are waiting for me to show up. Causing trouble at the clubhouse.”

  She drummed her fingertips against the counter, staring at her toast. “I mean, sure. If you think it’s safe here.”

  “I’ll repay you. I promise.” He reached for her wrist, and she yanked her gaze up to his, surprise streaking her face. Whenever their skin met, it was electric. From somewhere else, the undertones of voices drifted through the apartment. Bo creased his brow. It sounded like yelling—or maybe moaning. “What’s that?”

  She sighed. “The neighbors. They get…boisterous.”

  Bo squinted at the wall. It was definitely moaning. “Do they do this all the time?”

  “Often enough.”

  “Well listen. I’ll pay for groceries,” he said, “And whatever you need around the house. Insulation for the walls? I’ll order stuff right now. Whatever you want.”

  She softened. Maybe she was strapped for cash, or just touche
d by the offer. Wherever it resonated inside her, it worked. “That would be nice.”

  “And let me buy you something nice for the apartment, too.” He slid his hand back, smoothing his palm over the counter. “This place needs some love, darlin’. I can help.”

  “What are you, an interior designer?”

  “Hell no. But damn, let’s get a bookcase in here. Curtains. Something.”

  “I told you I was moving.”

  “Right, but you haven’t moved yet.” He leveled her with a look. “Come on. You’re letting me stay here. I’ll build you a bookcase and we call it even?”

  “You’ll build me one?”

  He shrugged. “Why not? Can’t really teleport one so I guess I have to build one.”

  She bit her lip and grinned, a dimple flourishing. His belly flopped again and his fingers twitched as he thought about touching her, just smoothing a fingertip over that cute little cheek of hers.

  “You do whatever you want,” she said. “I can’t stop you if you order groceries.”

  Bo reached for his phone but hesitated. Ordering groceries was a thing that existed, but he’d never done it before. He’d never needed to, not while living at the clubhouse. “You got an app or something for it?”

  She burst out laughing and got her phone. “Let me help you.” She pulled up an app and swiped through some screens, then leaned over the counter to show him. “Here. This is the grocery store about a mile down the road. I used to use this all the time in Vegas. Just order what you want and we’ll figure out the payment at the end.”

  “You came from Vegas?”

  She nodded, tucking some hair behind her ears. “Why?”

  He looked her up and down. “Why’d you wanna come to L.A., then?”

  “It’s complicated.”

  “Tell me.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “I don’t need to tell you shit.”

  He raised his hands in mock defense. “Sorry. Just trying to get to know you.” He took her phone, scrolling through the options, squinting at the screen. Dakota could be barbed wire, and he would do well to remember that. Even though he wanted to push past all those defenses and find that sweet core he’d been lucky to glimpse a couple of times already.

  Dakota nibbled on her toast as he shopped on her phone. After a few minutes of selections—toothbrush, more toothpaste, toilet paper, five pounds of avocados, and free range chicken eggs among other things—he passed her the phone. “Make it so I can pay in cash.”

  Her eyes widened at the total. “You have this much in cash on you?”

  “Yeah, why?”

  She let a low whistle. “Okay, Bo. Whatever you say. This sleepover party is about to get crunk.”

  He chewed on the rest of his toast, loving her mussy hair, her soft, natural face, the sharp blue eyes that snagged him like a fishing hook whenever he caught them. “If you’re lucky, I’ll let you braid my hair tonight.”

  CHAPTER SIX

  Dakota roused slowly the next morning, confusion clouding her consciousness as soon as she opened her eyes. Sunlight broke through the closed blinds, falling in streaky patterns on her bedspread. She’d burrowed into a nest, which felt somehow empty since she’d relegated Bo to the couch for the second night. And already she was wondering if maybe she could change that rule…invite him into her bed for the third night…

  She yawned and stretched, a strange noise grabbing her attention. She stilled, listening closely, trying to place it.

  It sounded like soft huffing…rhythmic. A little grunt.

  She turned and looked toward the bedroom door, which she slept with open as a rule. She hated going to bed with the door closed at night. And maybe that was a genius practice, because Bo hung from the chin-up bar in the doorframe, facing away from her, muscles flexing as he pulled himself into chin-ups.

  Her mouth parted and she watched, enthralled. She clenched her legs together, unable to control the desperation pulsing through her. Get that man on top of you, immediately. Her body was begging for it. It was practically a necessity at this point. She swallowed the sick morning taste in her mouth, curling into a ball to watch the show.

  Bo huffed and puffed softly as he hung from the bar between sets. After a moment, he pulled himself up again, launching a new series. She lost count after a while. What a beast—she could barely do one.

  When he paused again, she fluffed the pillows beneath her head, snuggling into a comfier spot. One of her hands drifted between her legs, heading for the needy nub that controlled her fantasies. She flicked a finger over top of it, pleasure shuddering through her. Maybe this was too much, too creepy—but damn, she was aching for it.

  Watching those muscles flex beneath his golden skin didn’t help matters. A few beads of sweat trickled between his shoulder blades and she whimpered involuntarily. She froze, pursing her lips together. Had that really escaped her?

  Bo dropped to his feet and turned, face glistening with sweat. He must have been at it for a while. “Morning. Didn’t realize you were up.”

  She cleared her throat, feigning sleepiness. “I was dreaming and I just woke up.” She forced a yawn.

  “Don’t worry. You’re not dreamin’ now, even though it might look like it.” Grinning, he grabbed onto the chin-up bar again, facing her. Workout shorts sat low on his hips—one of the scores from his virtual grocery run the day before. His low abs flexed and flinched as he pulled his knees up to his chest and then down again, up and then down. The wings of some creature tattooed across his low belly seemed to fly with the repeated movements.

  She grinned, nestling into the pillows. “You think you’re so dreamy? Think again.”

  “I know I’m dreamy.” His tongue poked out a little as he grunted through another lift.

  “You’re also arrogant.” She flopped an arm over her eyes. Looking at that body for too long was dangerous. It might lead her down the wrong path. “Among other things.”

  He was quiet for long enough that she moved her arm from her eyes to peer at him. He grinned like he had a secret.

  “What?”

  “Nothing.” Knees to the chest, and then slowly back down. Belly flinching all the way.

  “Quit looking at me like that.”

  He grunted, lifting his knees. “I’m not looking at you like anything.”

  “Yes you are.”

  His smile widened, which meant one blossomed on her own face. Jeez—three days with this guy and she was like a teenager around him. Horrible. “Whatever.”

  She rolled over onto her side, away from Bo. For how rocky things had started between them, they sure had made a surprising 180 in so little time. Maybe their relaxed evening over beer and wine the night before had a lot to do with it. Where they’d interspersed bad television with interesting conversation and a pointed appraisal of all the things that needed repairs in her apartment. All the while sipping on his favorite brand of cheap American beer, plus a merlot he’d thrown into the grocery mix, because he thought she might like it.

  The guy was a walking contradiction. How could he murder a guy and recommend black-out drapes for her bedroom? It didn’t make sense to her. None of it made sense.

  But what made the least sense of all was how each passing hour made her more hesitant to see him leave.

  His continued grunts and puffs echoed through her, driving her wild. Her pussy throbbed with need. She pushed the covers off of her and slid out of bed. Time for a cold shower.

  Bo didn’t pause or even flinch when she walked up to him, just continued his methodical knee lifts. She crossed her arms over her chest, hiding the tight points of her nipples. Her gaze skated over the sweat-streaked skin of his chest.

  “Excuse me.”

  “I’m busy,” he said, a grin breaking through his concentrated façade.

  “Well I need to pee.”

  He let a whoosh of air out and dangled from his arms. “So?”

  “Lady of the house gets to go to the bathroom whenever she wants, so questi
ons asked.” She narrowed her eyes, but secretly couldn’t get enough of the banter.

  He dropped to his feet with a thud, straightening his back. He loomed over her, his cocky grin setting her pulse racing. “Yeah?”

  She nodded, clearing her throat, trying but failing to prevent herself from visibly lapping up his bare chest, and all the fascinating rivulets of sweat dripping between those two dime-sized nipples. Would it be so wrong to smooth her hands over it? She just needed to touch it once, then the urge would obviously go away. Forever. “Them’s the rules.”