He barely moved, but his lips twisted in a cocky grin as he shoved the hands that had just been on her into his pockets. “Someone got out on the wrong side of the bed.”
“To get out on the wrong side, I’d actually have had to go to sleep,” she snapped, “and there were loud intruders in my house making that impossible.”
She glared at him, waiting for an apology or a flicker of unease in his eyes at the knowledge that she’d been awake and listening to their conversation. Of course, neither came.
Instead, Travis shrugged a shoulder and said, “I’m going for a shower. Care to join me?”
Yes, yelped her hormones—at an image of Travis naked with a bar of slippery soap in his hands and hot water sluicing over his even hotter body. “What?” She shook her head, trying to rid her mind of that image.
“Aren’t you Australians all about saving water?”
Argh. The man was a menace. Not rewarding his ridiculous (and tempting) question with a reply, she stormed past him. “Excuse me, I have to go let Baxter out.”
As she headed down the corridor and into the kitchen-slash-living area, the sound of Travis chuckling, and then the water in the bathroom turning on made her blood boil. It was bad enough that he’d moved in uninvited and brought his undesirable associates into her home, but flirting with her and being so suggestive was downright unacceptable. She opened the door onto the courtyard to let Baxter out and then, as he ambled over to the tiny garden area and lifted his leg, she went back into her bedroom, ignoring the sounds of the shower in the bathroom across the hall. Her gym clothes were on and her sneakers tied up in record time.
“Baxter,” she called as she stepped into the courtyard and closed the door behind her. He trotted over to her, his behind swishing excitedly despite the fact that he had a short stump instead of a tail. Billie bent down and clipped the leash on his collar, unable to resist scooping him up for a quick cuddle. He might be small, but his soft fur against her cheek offered a comfort she needed at that moment.
“You’re adorable, you know that?” she whispered to the top of his little head. He made a whimper in response, and she put him back on the cobbled floor, clutching his leash in her hand like a lifeline. “Come on, let’s go.”
She let herself out of the gate and then locked it again, noting that the lock didn’t look damaged or compromised, indicating Travis did know how to break and enter without leaving a trace. She shuddered. Or maybe the Deacons had a key. Yes, of course—Priest would have had one. Did this knowledge make her feel better or worse?
Trying to ignore the sick feeling in her gut, she started down Bourbon Street, hoping her daily walk with Baxter would help rid some of the pent-up energy in her body that seemed to be multiplying every second she spent in Travis Sinclair’s company. Had it really been less than a day since he’d waltzed into the gallery, claiming it as his own?
At this early hour of the morning, the French Quarter was pretty much deserted except for the street cleaners sweeping up last night’s shenanigans, homeless folks in the alleys and the odd drunk asleep on the sidewalk. Usually she didn’t even notice these things—instead looking up at the gorgeous old buildings, wondering which ones were haunted and admiring the beautiful architecture so different from anything in her hometown—but today she couldn’t help seeing New Orleans through Travis’s dark-colored glasses. The loathing in his voice when he spoke about this town, its streets and its people echoed in her mind like a song she hated but couldn’t get out of her head. Her skin crawled and her stomach revolted when she dodged a puddle of vomit on the ground. What did she love about this place?
But then she walked past the gallery that sold the famous Blue Dog paintings and she remembered. She’d come here because of what it stood for and the freedom it gave her to be who she really wanted to be. She was the happiest she’d been in a long time here, finally being true to herself and going after her dreams. Here the people accepted her for who she was, not who they wanted her to be. The thought that some mean, rough, tough bikers might rip that all out from under her feet made her blood boil.
If she had any sense she’d up and leave, cut her losses—such as the hefty security deposit she’d put down—and run, but buildings like this didn’t come up every day in the French Quarter and she couldn’t bring herself to walk away. What would she tell all her artists? And really, what did she have to lose?
Travis Sinclair might be wreaking havoc with her body, he might have set her on edge with his threats of eviction and his intimidating presence, but she would not let him ruin this place for her.
He would not rob her of her essence, which she’d only recently reclaimed.
Feeling determined to go about her business as if it hadn’t just been invaded by bikers, she continued on her walk, soaking up the eclectic beauty in the streets of New Orleans, refilling her mind bank with all the things she could throw at him when he tried to fill her head with his crap.
By the time she and Baxter arrived back at the gallery, the house was quiet, and Billie breathed a sigh of relief that she wouldn’t have to deal with her uninvited guest. She fed Baxter his breakfast, then made a cup of tea and some toast for herself. Part of her wanted to bang pots and pans together in the kitchen to give Travis a dose of his own medicine—why should he be able to sleep peacefully when he’d made it impossible for her last night? But if she woke him he might try to drag her into his den.
She hated that this thought thrilled her as much as it irritated her.
After nibbling on the toast—her hunger seemed to have deserted her—she headed down the corridor for the bathroom. If she kept going through the motions—daily walk, breakfast, shower, open the gallery—maybe she could forget Travis was even there. But as she passed his room and noticed the door open, she couldn’t stop herself from peering in. Her legs froze and her tummy twisted inside out as her gaze came to rest on the sight on the bed.
He lay there on his stomach, dead to the world, his body sprawled across the mattress like a chalk outline at a crime scene. The thin sheet that stopped just above his hips left little to the imagination, and Billie’s tongue darted out to moisten her lips as she stared at the perfection before her. All tanned skin, hard, smooth planes and a full-back tattoo that appealed and intrigued more than she’d ever imagined such a thing would. His wasn’t a body you could just decide to forget. It was beautiful. In fact, it was one she wouldn’t mind painting into something she could look at forever.
She tiptoed closer—aware she was playing with fire but curious, from an artist’s point of view she told herself, about his ink. Although her knowledge of biker tattoos was limited, she understood that the eerie skull in the middle of his back branded him to a particular club. That Ajax and the rest of the Deacons would have identical insignias etched into their skin, signifying exactly where their loyalties lay. But she gasped in recognition as her eyes fell on another tattoo—the image of Jesus, his arms outstretched, was an uncanny representation of the statue whose eerie shadow loomed across St. Louis Cathedral every night. That had been one of the first photos she’d taken when she landed in New Orleans. It seemed sacrilegious, yet still she wanted to reach out and trace the outline with her finger. Or maybe even her tongue.
“Need some company? You come to take me up on my offer?” Travis drawled, not moving so much as a muscle.
She startled and then swallowed as liquid heat rushed through her, pooling in her cheeks and between her legs. Thank God he wasn’t looking at her. “No,” she choked, wishing she could rewind the clock ten minutes. “I…I…” She racked her brain for some kind of logical reason why she was standing over the end of his bed.
“Yes?” he asked, his tone amused.
“I just came to ask if you wanted me to make dinner for you tonight.” It was the first excuse that came into her head, and she cursed it the moment the words were out.
Travis rolled over and the sheet peaked where his erection stood loud, proud and ready. Her whole body sh
ivered and she couldn’t help but stare.
“Dinner?” It sounded like he thought this was the funniest thing anyone had ever suggested.
“Yes.” She nodded and crossed her arms over her chest. “You know, meat and three veggies, eaten at the end of the day? Sometimes people share it over conversation.”
“I’m not big on conversation.” He smirked and shifted so he clasped his hands behind his head. His whole stance was cocky and inviting. “I think there are better ways to spend our time. Don’t you?”
The way he looked at her left no doubt as to what he thought those “better ways” were.
Irritated at the tingles that flittered through her body as much as she was by him, she shook her head in annoyance. “Fine. Forget I asked. I was simply trying to be hospitable. If you don’t know what that means, look it up in the dictionary. And sweet dreams.”
With that, Billie turned and stormed out of the room, pulling his door shut behind her so she couldn’t be tempted to return and offer him something else instead. Something more like dessert. Somewhere inside her she felt a tiny stab of disappointment that Travis hadn’t accepted her ill-offered dinner invitation. How stupid. It had been a lucky escape. Imagine if he’d said yes. What did one cook a biker for dinner, anyway? And what would they talk about? Her art degree? Drug deals? Gun trafficking? How many people he’d knifed or torched? She shuddered. It wasn’t like they had anything in common.
Besides chemistry. So much chemistry. No matter how much she wished they didn’t, she couldn’t deny the flare of attraction that arced between them whenever they were together. But where it was the first interest her body had shown in anyone in a very long time, she guessed Travis acted that way around anyone with a vagina. And she had no desire to break her sex drought with a man-whore.
Yes, it was a very good idea he hadn’t taken her up on her rash invitation to share a meal.
—
Travis didn’t roll out of bed until well after midday and the first thing he thought of when he did was Billie—the way she’d looked as she stood over the end of his bed and invited him to dinner. Her blond hair falling messily across her face and her eyes sparking with annoyance had been more of a turn-on than any tight top or short skirt he’d seen on Bourbon Street last night. He’d been so damn tempted to accept her offer, but common sense had landed in the nick of time. He didn’t do wining and dining women, and he certainly didn’t make conversation for the sake of it.
Still, he couldn’t help being curious. What would Billie cook? What would they find to talk about? What would such a normal date feel like? He racked his brain for the last actual date he’d been on, but he couldn’t think of one. Dating assumed a certain mutual hope for a relationship and he steered clear of those. Not that she’d called it a date exactly, but if he’d accepted her hospitality, he’d have to show his appreciation some way. His cock hardened at the thought and he ran a frustrated hand through his hair as he contemplated the day ahead. Trying to exorcise thoughts of Billie from his mind, he got dressed, forcing himself to think of Priest and how the hell they were going to investigate his death. Despite Ajax’s hunch that it was murder, they had fuck-all for information, and yet somehow the others thought Travis would be able to find some.
“You’re the smart one,” they’d said last night, alluding to the fact that back in the day Travis had looked after the club’s finances and hacked into computer systems whenever necessary, a talent he’d since leveraged into a legitimate career.
“You work out who is responsible and we’ll take it from there,” Ajax had added, glancing at Leon. Their dark, knowing expressions were identical, and Travis had no doubt that they would exact this revenge in the most gruesome way possible, whereas he’d much prefer to hand over any evidence to the police. Not that he’d admit this to his brothers.
Once he’d have been all too eager to jump in, but times had changed. Priest had exiled him, and that rejection, losing his place in the club, had almost killed him. But he’d risen above it. He’d adapted; he’d changed, learned to control his anger issues, and the new Travis didn’t believe in vigilante justice. He’d made a more than comfortable existence without it, and he wanted to return to that normalcy as soon as fucking possible.
With that thought as motivation, he yanked on his boots and headed out into the kitchen. A quick look inside Billie’s refrigerator and cupboards revealed nothing that appealed, so he decided to head next door to The Priory and grab something from the bar. He opened the door into the gallery and was immediately hit with the sickly sweet smell of incense and what sounded like whales fucking, fighting to be heard above the lapping water of the fountain. There were a surprising number of people strolling through the gallery, exclaiming cheerfully over the weird so-called art that adorned the walls.
They turned to look at him as he emerged but he ignored them, his gaze shooting straight to Billie right near the front gate, where she stood chatting animatedly with a trio of women. She wore a bright yellow sundress that accentuated every curve of her body, and for the first time in a long time he wished to hell he still looked like the big, bad biker whose presence would clear the gallery of everyone but her. He craved her attention; he wanted to ruffle her feathers and watch her get all flustered as she tried to pretend she wasn’t interested. A surefire way to get all that was to piss her off.
His carnal thoughts making him hard again, he sat down at her desk, leaned back in the seat and took a moment to take stock. Without thinking, his hands went to the mouse of her computer and he started clicking, wondering exactly how much money she made in a business like this. Sure, people were likely to wander through the courtyard and admire the produce, so to speak, but were they actually prepared to fork out hard-earned cash? He quickly located last month’s sales record.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Billie was next to him before he had the chance to take a good look.
He glanced up at her. “Just seeing what kind of profits you turn over.”
“That’s none of your business,” she hissed, clearly irate but not wanting to make a scene in front of potential customers.
He leaned back in her less-than-comfy seat and crossed his arms. “I think it is. You’re paying almost nothing in rent and I don’t like to be ripped off.”
“Nothing?” She held her chin high. “I’m not ripping anyone off. If you have a problem with my rent, why don’t you talk to your friends? You know…the others who also own this building. I’ve spoken to Ajax and he promised he won’t sell, so maybe you should stop acting like such a jerk and find some other hobby. I’ve heard knitting is good for the soul.”
Knitting? He raised his eyebrows. “You think I’m a jerk?” It was the lamest insult anyone had ever hit him with, yet somehow it irked.
“Oh, I don’t think, I know.” She perched her hands on her hips. “I just don’t understand why you’re picking on me.”
He half-chuckled. “This isn’t personal, honey. This is business. And just so you know, Ajax’s word means jack shit. At least to you. He doesn’t give a fuck about art or your livelihood any more than I do, but where I just want to sell this building and get out of town, he wants to turn it back into a biker’s lair.”
Her eyes widened, and for a moment he wondered if she was close to tears. Something inside him squeezed in the place where some people had a heart and he felt like the jerk she’d just accused him of being. Although he’d use a stronger word. Still, being a jerk was better than getting walked all over.
“Don’t call me ‘honey,’ ” she snapped, surprising him as she leaned across him to switch off the computer. Whether she meant them to or not, her breasts swished in his face. “And keep your nose out of my fucking business.”
He blinked, impressed and of course incredibly turned on by her bravado and language. It was in total opposition to the way she looked. As long as she didn’t talk to Ajax or Leon like that, she’d be safe.
“Well, since you asked nice
ly…” He smirked, palmed his hands on her desk and pushed himself into a stand. “Guess I’ll see you later.”
“Not if I’m lucky,” she called after him, obviously forgetting about keeping her voice down.
Grinning, he stalked through the courtyard and out onto the street, once again aroused by his interactions with Billie. Although she wasn’t his usual type, she was proving to be a fun distraction from the serious reason he was stuck in fucking New Orleans. His smile faded as he headed next door and inside The Priory, which had once been like a second home to him. The first being the clubhouse, because Lord knew wherever his mother shacked up had never felt like home.
For a second, he paused in the open doorway, glancing down Bourbon Street and wondering what had become of the woman whose name was printed on his birth certificate. Did she still trawl the streets at night? Sleep in gutters when she was too drug-fucked to make it home? Or had she finally succeeded in killing herself and made a permanent home in one of the local cemeteries? Whatever. He didn’t care, and he didn’t want to waste precious time thinking about her when he could be making leeway in the Priest investigation or even bantering some more with Billie.
“Afternoon,” Sophie said, setting a bottle of beer in front of him when he sidled up to the bar and claimed a stool. “Ajax says you and he are finally seeing eye-to-eye on the whole Dad thing.”
“Something like that.” His fingers closed around the cool glass. “Listen, Soph, do you have any idea who might have had a vendetta against Priest?”
She sighed. “I’ve already told Ajax that while I agree Dad’s death is suspicious, I can’t think who would suddenly have wanted to kill him. Things changed after Katrina, after you guys left. Dad cleaned the fuck up. As far as I know, he hadn’t been involved in anything shady for over a decade—the Ministry has the monopoly on criminal activity around here now.”
Fire Me Up Page 5
