by Lilly Atlas
Thankfully the trip only lasted a few minutes more before he pulled into a dirt parking lot and stilled the bike. Even before she got a good look at the small building, the tantalizing smell of spices and cooking meat tickled her senses. Her mouth watered and she could practically taste the food.
“What is this place?” The building was tiny, nondescript, and certainly not on the Vegas strip, which was where she assumed he’d take her to try to impress her with the flash and lights of Vegas nightlife.
“This place—” Lucky let out a groan as he removed his helmet. “This is the best eating in Vegas. It’s a hole in the wall, non-tourist-discovered Tex-Mex joint that makes fajitas so amazing, you could cry. Mmm, I think I may be as hungry as you are.” He winked. “Not to mention, I’ve kept this place my little secret and haven’t shared it with the club, so you won’t have to hang out with bikers tonight. Well, one biker, but I’ve already promised to behave.”
His enthusiasm was infectious and she found herself excited to check the place out. Local eating was her absolute favorite and the fact that he didn’t take her to some showy, flashy establishment on the strip impressed her.
“Okay, let’s do it. It smells fantastic.” She hung the helmet from the handlebar as he did and climbed off the bike, falling in step next to him as they made their way to the entrance. True to his word, Lucky didn’t make any suggestive comments about their ride, didn’t reach for her hand, didn’t sling an arm around her shoulders. He was a perfect gentleman and respected the boundaries she’d demanded.
So why the hell was she so damn disappointed?
Chapter Eight
“So tell me,” Lucky said as he drew the frosty beer bottle to his lips. “Why the no biker rule? Bad experience?” Man, the ice cold, hoppy flavor was the perfect complement to the spicy salsa and salty chips.
He’d grown up coming to this restaurant. Even worked as a busboy during his misspent youth. Rosita, the matronly owner, had caught him red-handed stealing from a delivery truck. Instead of turning him in, she put him to work. He’d been treated like family ever since.
“Geez,” she said as she ran a fingertip through the salt on the rim of her margarita glass. “Aren’t we supposed to start with simple, get-to-know-you questions? Like, what do you do for a living? Where did you move from?” She brought her index finger to her lips and licked it clean of salt.
Jesus. If she had any idea of the massive hard-on he was hiding under the table, she’d toss that drink in his face and twitch that sexy ass right out the door.
“That would be if we were on a date, angel.” He snagged a chip and sank it into the guacamole. “You made it clear this is not a date. So, I don’t need to stick to any polite date small talk rules.”
Her delicate snort made him chuckle. “Somehow I don’t imagine you do much in the way of politeness on dates. In fact, I bet you don’t even go on dates.”
Well, she had him there. “Point to you,” he said, lifting his beer bottle in toast to her. “But you’re avoiding my question.”
“Okay, cowboy, but you asked, so don’t get offended.”
“Takes quite a lot to offend me, babe.”
The right side of her mouth lifted in a half grin. “I’ll bet it does.” She sighed as though resigned to the fact she couldn’t stall any longer. “My mom is—well, was, I guess.” She cleared her throat and shook her head as though shaking off sadness. “Anyway, for most of my childhood, she was a club…girl with a club near Tallahassee, in Florida. The Red Devils. Ever heard of them?”
Lucky shook his head. There were hundreds of clubs across the country, most weren’t outlaw, but he didn’t know every single club. And for now, he wasn’t sure if she was referring to an outlaw club. “One percenters?” he asked.
She nodded and he believed her. Just the fact that she knew the expression, that one percent of motorcycle clubs were outlaw, was enough to let him know she knew her way around an MC.
“Anyway, I grew up around the club and eventually, when I was about ten, she became an ol’ lady. Was married to the same guy until she passed. The same lying, cheating, scumbag that fucked anything with tits. The younger the better.” Her voice was full of bitterness as she shook her head. “And it wasn’t just him, it was just the culture of the club. No one was faithful. No one gave a shit that the women were treated like garbage. I want no part of that shit. Hence, no bikers.”
He’d love to shoot down her claim, but she was pretty dead on with the culture of most clubs. Sex was easy to come by. Women looking to party flocked to the clubs and to say they were free with their bodies was an understatement. Temptation was rampant. Access was comically easy.
That wasn’t to say Lucky didn’t know plenty of brothers in committed monogamous relationships, but he knew quite a few who weren’t loyal to their ol’ ladies either. “We aren’t all like that.”
She cocked her head and raised an eyebrow. “We? You saying you’re big into monogamy, Lucky?”
The way she said his name grated on him. Like she was mocking him and his reputation. Unfortunately, her willingness to challenge him and not just say what he wanted to hear for the sake of pleasing him appealed to him in a way he didn’t expect. “No. I’m not saying that. Not at all. Which is why no woman I’m with is ever under the impression that they are in for anything more than a mutually good time. However, I know myself well enough to know that if I did, in fact, make that kind of commitment, I’d be loyal to it. Miserable, but loyal.” He winked.
“Hmm.” She studied him for a moment and he could tell he’d surprised her with his honest answer.
And it was honest. He had no interest in being a one-woman man, however, he also had no interest in hurting anyone. He loved women. What was the point in making one feel worthless? Men who entered serious relationships under false pretenses didn’t impress him. He was blunt and upfront about what he wanted. One or two nights of fun, then done. Kept things clean and easy.
He met her serious gaze across the table and the air hovering between them crackled and popped with electricity. For the first time in his thirty-four years, Lucky wondered what it would be like to spend more than a few torrid nights with one woman. How would it feel to wake up to a familiar face each morning? A face that topped off an incredibly sexy body. A face that also belonged to a sharp, interesting, witty woman. Might be kinda nice.
Thankfully, he was saved from his out of character, runaway thoughts by the pop and sizzle of piping hot fajitas. “Hola, Lucky. It has been too long.” Rosita placed Kori’s fish tacos in front of her before setting his mouthwatering plate on the table. “I do not want to keep you from your pretty lady, but I wanted to say hello.”
“Hi, Rosita. This here is Kori.” He rose and gave Rosita a kiss on her wrinkled cheek.
Kori greeted the older woman and Rosita chatted with them for a few minutes before leaving them to their meals. They fell into easy conversation between bites and before he knew it, they were each sipping a second drink, and plates were being cleared. He found himself enjoying the evening more than any he’d had in quite some time.
A comfortable silence fell between them as they listened to the upbeat Latin music and polished off their drinks. Kori’s attention was on the rapidly filling dance floor and the laughing couples who twirled and salsa danced their way around the room.
She really was gorgeous, but not in the in-your-face way Lucky was used to. She didn’t dress with the sole purpose of attracting a man’s eye, didn’t eye his dick and drop not-so-subtle hints as to her goal for the evening. Nope. She wore a simple red tank top that hugged her full breasts and clung to her curves but kept her cleavage concealed. She enjoyed her food in a way that said she wasn’t trying to impress him with her dainty appetite, and she flat out told him sex of any kind was off the table.
Her eyes sparkled and her foot tapped to the rhythm of the music as she observed the dancers. She probably had no idea, but her body swayed in time with the beat as well. This was one
woman who wanted out on that dance floor. Well, it just so happened he could hold his own out there. Rosita made sure of that in the years he’d worked for her. It was the perfect excuse to have her in his arms while maintaining the rules he’d set for the evening.
He could dance with her and keep his hands in appropriate, nonsexual places.
Hopefully.
Lucky held a hand out and cleared his throat. “Okay, I can’t watch you dance in your chair by yourself any longer. Let’s get out there and show ’em how it’s done.”
Kori turned her head and stared down at his hand like it was a trap. Her lips pursed and she looked like she wanted to say yes, but held herself back.
“Please. I’ve been a good boy. Just a few dances, nothing more.”
She lifted her gaze, and excitement burned in her eyes. If he wasn’t mistaken, there was a distinctive gleam of lust as well.
Well, damn it. She was supposed to the sensible of the two. How the hell was he supposed to keep his hands in the safe zone knowing her actual wants didn’t match up with what she said?
Chapter Nine
Kori’s tongue wouldn’t form the word yes. And even if it would, her mouth wouldn’t open to allow the assent out. On the flipside, the words no thanks didn’t grace her lips either. Instead, she stared at his outstretched hand and willed herself to make a decision.
The right decision.
The smart decision.
Lucky had stuck to every promise he made her. He’d been a complete gentleman, a great conversationalist, and a fun dinner companion. He also looked good enough to be the dessert that capped off her amazing meal.
Who was she kidding? This had nothing to do with her general rule of not dating bikers, and everything to do with the fact that she was wildly attracted to a man who flat out told her he never stuck around for more than a night or two.
Hello, disappointment.
Kori knew herself too well to think she could sleep with Lucky a time or two and be done with it. Maybe if he’d just been the cocky, womanizer she met a few days ago, but nope. He had to go and be sweet, and attentive, and easy to talk to. Qualities that appealed to her emotions as much as his muscles appealed to her libido.
“Do you even know how to dance?” Where the hell had those words come from? They sounded dangerously close to flirty consent.
A mesmerizing smile transformed his face. When he was genuinely amused, not the I’m-trying-to-charm-you-out-of-your-pants smile that he so often flashed, but a real smile of happiness, the left side of his mouth rose just a hair higher than the right. It gave him a carefree, almost boyish look and she couldn’t help but return the grin.
“Ahh, you’ll have to find that one out for yourself.”
“Okay.” What? No, that wasn’t the word that her brain had sent to her mouth. “Just a few dances. And this is not a green light for anything else, mister. Understood?”
“Si, senorita,” he said as he snatched her hand and pulled her toward the dance floor. He moved fast, as though he was afraid she’d change her mind in the ten-foot trip.
With practiced efficiency, he spun her and drew her into a perfect salsa hold. Her eyes widened and she stared up at him.
“Guess I do know what I’m doing.”
Kori couldn’t help but laugh. His crooked smile and teasing were infectious. She knew the basic steps, plus a few extra moves, but was no expert herself. However, with a good lead, as he seemed to be, she shouldn’t have any trouble keeping up.
He spun her again and she ended in the same position she started in. In a salsa hold, close to him, but not touching. True to his word, he kept his pelvis and torso on his side of the line. It wasn’t long before she was relaxing into his hold and following his competent lead. The next thing she knew, she had her head thrown back and excited laughter was bubbling up from her as he twirled her in a complicated pattern.
Their hips swayed, a few platonic inches separating them, and while it should have placated her need for space, all she could think about was how it would feel if she closed the distance between them. His firm chest was the kind a girl would love to press against as he held her close. Was he turned on? Did this closeness affect him as it did her?
The thought of him erect and wanting her, just inches away had moisture pooling between her thighs. It was as though an unseen force was pulling her pelvis closer to his. She resisted it with everything she had, but the reasons for doing so were becoming muddled in her head.
The music changed and a slow, sultry pulse meant for lovers filled the restaurant. Lucky drew her flush against his body and she stiffened. Holy shit it felt good. Brain scrambling good.
“Fuck. I’m sorry,” he said. “I wasn’t thinking.” The serious look that stared down at her verified his words. “The song just…demanded it.” He shrugged, his lower body moving against hers.
“It’s okay,” she said, her voice low, raspy, almost unrecognizable. “You’re right. It’s how the music should be danced to.” She allowed herself to relax against him and truly process the sensation of him against her.
Her breasts pressed against the hard planes of his chest. As they swayed to the music, his upper body moved against hers and her nipples beaded to tightened points. The answer to her earlier question was a resounding yes. The man was turned on. Hard. Very hard, and nestled into the softness of her stomach as though she’d been made for this very reason, to cushion his steely length.
The problem was, that left her throbbing center, too low to grind against him. An insane thought crossed her mind and she almost shifted, straddling one of his legs so she could apply pressure to her core and find some kind of relief.
Her gaze met Lucky’s and she couldn’t tear herself away from the intensity staring back at her. Somehow, he read her mind, and as their hips rolled and moved to the music, he shifted, inserting one thick thigh between her legs. Then, the hand on her back drifted downward and came to rest a millimeter above her ass, anchoring her to him.
He kept to his word, hands in appropriate places, and had she any brain cells not focused on lust, she would have laughed at the irony of it. Hands dutifully in the safe zone while she practically rode his thigh.
She had no idea how many songs they stayed that way for, gazes locked, bodies gently grinding to the sensual Latin beat. With each second that passed, a bit more of Kori’s resolve crumbled. Her body’s demands overrode her brain’s sensible wishes and she pressed even closer to Lucky.
His erection ground into her stomach at the same time her clit rubbed over his thigh and she was helpless to stop the small moan from slipping out.
“Christ, Kori,” Lucky whispered in her ear. “Do you have any fucking idea what you are doing to me, babe? I’m trying to follow the rules, but you’re making it damn near impossible. There’s only so much I can take.”
He spoke through gritted teeth, as though in pain. Would it really be so harmful? Breaking her no biker rule for one night. Would it even be fully breaking the rule? She told Lucky she didn’t do bikers, but it really meant she didn’t date bikers. Because she didn’t do anyone. Not without a few dates and at least the possibility of a semi long term relationship.
Perhaps it was the pleasant hum of two margaritas coursing through her bloodstream, but her determination weakened. She’d been given all the information upfront. There would be no dating. There wouldn’t necessarily be a second…encounter either. She was an adult. She could have a one night stand and survive to tell the tale. And if her instinct was right, it would be quite a tale to tell.
Fuck it.
She opened her mouth and the words just flew out. “Take me home, Lucky.”
Lucky’s entire body grew nearly as rigid as his cock. He was dangerously close to shooting off just from the way her soft stomach cupped his straining erection and the heat of her pussy against his leg. All he could think about was gripping her ass tight with both hands and rocking her on his thigh until she flew apart. Christ, he wanted to watch her come.
Over and over.
“Take—” He cleared his gravelly throat. “Take you home to Rebel’s?”
“No, Lucky.” She shook her head as she spoke. “Take me home to your place.”
There was a God. Almost. He needed to be sure that she was one hundred percent certain of what would happen the second they walked through his door before he let himself feel triumphant. “Kori, you know what’s going to happen once we get there, right? It will be fuckin’ amazing. More amazing than I think either of us can imagine, but you know, right? If you walk into my home, there’s only one way this night will end.”
She drew her lower lip between her teeth and he groaned. If he didn’t know better, he’d swear everything she was doing was a calculated move to drive him insane. But it wasn’t. Kori was just naturally sexy as fuck. “I know. And I want it.”
“I’m a biker. It’s in every cell in my body.”
“I know that too.”
There it was. Verbal confirmation. He tried to swallow, but his throat was thick and made the action near impossible.
Just one more test.
By now, they’d completely stopped moving with the music and Lucky cupped the back of Kori’s head. His plan had been to shoot for slow seduction, but the sight of her lips parting as she realized his objective blasted his good intentions to hell. He captured her mouth in a soul-searing kiss that rocked him to his core.
The air heated as his brain registered the softness of her lips. There was no hesitation on her part. She met him head on and battled him for control of the kiss. He stroked his tongue against hers and had to forcibly remind himself they were in public. Another two seconds and he’d be tearing at her clothes like a madman, other diners be damned.
With his last shred of sanity, Lucky tore his mouth away from hers. Kori’s puckered nipples pressed against her tank top and rose and fell with the heaving force of her breathing.
