Chapter 11
Nicole
I didn’t know what the hell I was doing. Tank? Again? I knew better. Anything more than a one-night stand with someone who had “temporary” written all over him spelled disaster. Like that time with the coder at the conference in Atlantic City. We hooked up the first night, then the second, and before I knew it we were exchanging phone numbers, then he’d sent me a friend request on fucking Facebook. Like I wanted a constant reminder of my mistake every time I read my Facebook feed and saw that my onetime hookup was posting pics of his dinner at some restaurant, or God forbid getting the news that he was engaged—before me. I just…No.
And yet tonight with Tank I’d gone from hell no to being the one asking him to get out of here. He was just so nice. Despite his gruff exterior, he actually cared about how I was feeling. He wasn’t like the bikers I knew before—in California. Maybe Jessica and Emily hadn’t snagged the only two good guys wearing motorcycle leathers. And he’d been as clear as could be that tonight was all he was asking of me. He and I wouldn’t last any longer than that.
Unless somehow two nights became three. Suddenly that didn’t sound like the kiss of death I’d been dreading moments ago. I was half afraid I’d become like the coder in Atlantic City—the one aching for more. Maybe Tank had a Facebook profile I could stalk…
I wondered if he’d somehow been able to read my thoughts because Tank hesitated to accept my proposition when only minutes ago he’d been the one to proposition me. Stung, I felt the need to qualify my question. “Don’t look at me like that, buttercup. It’s one night. But if suddenly you’re feeling unsure…”
Tank’s eyes narrowed, but he still didn’t say anything.
Disappointment sliced through me. “I’ve never been one to try to persuade an unwilling partner.” I gave him a weak smile. “I had fun, Tank. Thanks.”
After a beat and with no words coming from his end of the conversation, I turned to leave when he finally spoke up.
“Your room or mine?”
A huge sense of relief swept over me. I didn’t turn around to let him see it, but I couldn’t hide it from my voice when I answered. “It’s a hotel room. I don’t care. I’m not feeling particularly territorial.”
“Fan-fucking-tastic. Because I am. My room. Let’s go.” Tank put his hand on my arm much in the same way a bouncer grabs you before hustling you out of the bar. Not that I would know anything about such a move…
“Hold up a minute. I gotta check with Emily to see if she needs me to help with the teardown and all the decorations. The flowers. Centerpieces. The gifts.”
“She left you alone with Bridezilla all fucking week. She can handle collecting flowers or whatever the fuck you do after a wedding. You’re coming with me. Now.”
Before I could open my mouth and tell him what I thought about his arrogant command, Tank hoisted me up and over his shoulder like I was a damsel in distress in some lame Western. My hair fell out of the complicated style that’d taken the hairdresser an hour to accomplish and bounced in front of my face, obscuring my vision as Tank headed for the doorway. Blood rushed to my head and had nothing to do with the hoots and catcalls that surrounded us.
“Oh my god. Put me down, you asshole. I can walk all by myself, for crying out loud.”
“Nah.” Tank jostled me slightly, and I swore I heard two hands slapping together in a high five before his large hand palmed my upturned butt. “It was hard as hell to get you to agree to night two. No way am I letting you go now.”
I refused to struggle. The last thing I wanted was for this buffoon to drop me. Or heaven forbid, someone to think I was unwilling and try to stop and question Tank. “You can’t carry me through the casino like this. Security will notice.”
“Like I give a shit.”
“Well, I do. It’ll hurt like hell if you drop me. Or shit, if they taze you while you’re carrying me.”
Tank jostled me as he suddenly stopped. After a beat I heard the chime of an elevator and saw the metal jam of the elevator doors under Tank’s boots. The mirrored walls of the elevator whirled around me as Tank spun me over his shoulder, and I landed on my feet once more. I took a staggered step now that I had my feet under me. What the hell? I’d had to walk through the casino, around slot machines and restaurants, before I got to the ballroom from my hotel tower. Tank hadn’t walked more than fifty yards. Where were we going? I opened my mouth to ask as much when the elevator chimed once more and the doors slid open onto the eighteenth floor.
“Can I trust you to follow along like a good girl or do I need to carry you?”
“I, uh, where—”
Tank’s heavy sigh cut me off. And then I was swung back up into his arms. This time he carried me cradle style, with one arm around my shoulders and the other beneath my knees. I tried not to think about the symbolism of our position, and I sure as hell wasn’t gonna point it out to him, either.
He carried me down the long hallway before stopping at the last door on the right side. Unlike my hotel door, this one was a double door but with the same ubiquitous hotel key card slot. Tank jostled me slightly as he dug into his front pocket with one hand, but then he was passing the key card into the slot, and with a loud click the door unlocked.
But Tank didn’t move.
After a beat the lock clicked as it locked the door again. But still Tank didn’t budge.
“Tank? Are you okay?” I looked at his face just inches from mine. A blank expression stared back at me. “Tank?”
Aside from a flexing muscle in his jaw, Tank didn’t move.
“Okay, you’re really starting to freak me out here. Tank? Tank!”
He flinched, then it was like he suddenly entered his body or something. The blank expression disappeared from his eyes and he blinked a few times. His eyes flicked to me in his arms, then down to the key card still clutched in his hand.
“Are you okay?” I asked, concerned at the sudden change in him. This wasn’t the tough guy I first met or the lighthearted man I’d glimpsed at the reception. He looked almost wounded. Like he was upset to find himself here. With me.
“Fan-fucking-tastic,” Tank muttered as he unlocked the door again, then swung it open. We were across the threshold before I could absorb the symbolism. I was too worried about the sudden change in this enigmatic man.
Tank carried me past the sitting area—that I didn’t have in my dinky room—past the bathroom and into his spacious bedroom suite. Not that I really noticed the layout of his huge-ass room. I was too busy trying to figure out what was going on in his head. What had made him here one minute, then gone the next? And why was he so angry? His eyes were steely and a muscle flexed in his jaw like he was gritting his teeth. Not the body language of a guy who’d slow-danced with me only minutes ago or a guy who was so eager to get it on, he’d carried me out of the ballroom over his shoulder.
What the hell was going on?
Stopping at the foot of the bed, Tank unceremoniously dropped me on my feet, then took four steps away like I had a communicable disease.
“I need a drink,” he muttered.
And now he needed alcohol at the sight of me on his bed.
I didn’t say anything, but my heart sunk a little. Okay, more than a little. Was it me? Did he need a drink in order to sleep with me? Or was it whatever happened in the hallway with his key card? What the hell was going on?
Tank shrugged out of his leather vest and draped it over a chaise lounge in the corner. Then he tore at the tie at his throat like it was choking him. He stomped into the adjoining room and I heard glass clinking before he returned clutching a beer bottle. After angrily pulling off the cap, he’d downed about half of the beer before he took a breath. “Are you gonna get naked or what? Because if you’re waiting for candles and romance or some goddamn pretty words, you came upstairs with the wrong fucking guy.”
Everything froze for a second. My heartbeat. My breath in my chest. The ticking from the ornate clock in the corner
of the room. Or at least that was what it felt like. The room was airless, much the same way as my childhood home felt like right before my father unleashed his fury on me or my unsuspecting brother. One minute we were watching something stupid on TV and the next my father was railing at us about having such an easy goddamn life and could we stop crying so fucking loud?
Just breathe. The hardness in Tank’s eyes, directed at me, had me reliving that horrible memory like no time had passed.
Without even realizing it, I shrunk away from him. Clutching my tiny purse in one hand, I took a cautious step away, my eyes never leaving his face. I took another step back.
Tank looked away, clenching his fists, and at that telltale body language, I bolted.
I heard a muttered, “Four, five. Goddamn it,” behind me but I didn’t stay to listen. About ten feet from the door he grabbed my arm, and I lost it.
“No, don’t!” I flinched away from him and threw one hand up to cover my face, anticipating a blow.
But it didn’t come.
My breath heaved from my chest as I slowly lowered my hands to find Tank’s remorseful face staring back at me.
“You thought I was going to hit you?” Tank looked ill at the thought.
I shook my arm loose from his grip and took a step away—toward the door. “Doesn’t matter. For the record, I wasn’t expecting candles and romance or pretty words. But I think I did come upstairs with the wrong guy. So we’re not gonna fuck after all.”
I took two more steps when he grabbed my arm again. Whirling around, I held up my teeny clutch like it was a formidable weapon. “Let. Go.”
“Sorry.” Tank held up his palms in the face of my power purse. “I just wanted…Fuck, I’m sorry. Okay? I just wanted to say that I’m sorry. Before, earlier in the hallway, it was so damn quiet and I was carrying you kinda like I was carrying Thompson in Afghanistan and then the lock clicked and it sounded so much like that fucking land mine and…I’m just sorry, okay? I overreacted.”
Land mine? He knew what a fucking land mine sounded like? Oh, wow. I remembered the fear I’d glimpsed in the hallway, but it was nowhere near the pain he was holding at bay now. His hazel eyes held a world of hurt that I had a feeling would put mine in the minor league. Not that this was a competition or anything. Christ, what a couple we would make. Two broken, fucked-up people. Good thing we’d already agreed this was temporary.
Knowing that the last thing he wanted to do was talk about his feelings, I nodded. “Already forgiven.”
Tank blinked a few times like he hadn’t expected that reaction. “Okay. Thanks. I, uh, clearly fucked the moment. You can leave. I swear I won’t stop you. Or touch you. Christ.”
Tank hung his head as he clenched his ham-size fists. Obviously the thought of being labeled a woman beater hurt him more than I would’ve thought. He looked like he was in a world of pain—both from his PTSD flashback and my reaction to him. He most definitely shouldn’t be left alone. But something told me that he didn’t want anyone witnessing, let alone blabbing about, his vulnerable moment. Despite my reflexive reaction, I knew he wouldn’t actually hurt me.
I really hoped I wouldn’t later regret what I was about to do. And I did take some solace in the knowledge that literally everyone at the wedding—minus the bride and groom—knew exactly where I was and who I was with. I just couldn’t leave him alone. Not now. “Does your minibar have another beer?”
Tank’s head jerked up and he blinked a few times, then tilted his head toward the bedroom I’d escaped from like a convicted felon running from a pair of bloodhounds. “I stocked up the bathtub this afternoon.”
“Wait, you what?” I had to see this. Leaving Tank still standing at the door, I entered the bedroom, then the adjoining bath. And, sure enough, the tub was heaped with enough ice to cover a body—or the three cases of longnecks, judging by the cartons thrown aside. I grabbed one of the remaining bottles and twisted off the top. “Sweet. Why all the beer?”
Tank lingered in the doorway with his hands shoved in his front pockets. “The guys hung out here before the wedding. Tucker was napping in Reb’s room, and I think you guys were getting ready in Zag and Jessica’s suite.”
I nodded slowly, still clutching my purse in one hand and my beer in the other. I felt stupid. I didn’t know what to say or where to look. Unable to bring myself to meet Tank’s eyes, I took a pull from my beer, then looked around the gleaming white bathroom like I’d never seen a bathroom before. It was nice. Three times the size of the one in my room, and it had a separate shower stall that could easily accommodate two adults.
My cheeks heated with a flush. I didn’t know what the hell was going on. Between Tank’s flashback and my own, tonight was just all kinds of fucked up.
Tank echoed my awkward body language, not entering the bathroom, yet leaving enough space in the doorway for me to flee if I wanted. To see this huge, strong, manly guy be so embarrassed was humbling for me. I couldn’t remember a time—ever—that my father had apologized to me. Granted, he’d only been in my life eleven years, but still he had more than his fair share of horrible shit to apologize for. I think he’d honestly die before uttering those two little words—I’m sorry. While Tank had done very little but had apologized like his life depended on it. Like he was mortified that I’d even thought he’d raise his hand toward me.
I know I’d said only once—make that twice—and done, but something about Tank had me wondering if I could try for more, even with a biker.
A biker.
Somehow, when I’d least expected it, my life had taken a U-turn back to the beginning.
I tilted my head toward the tub, but Tank shook his head.
“I think the last fucking thing I need right now is more booze.” He laughed kinda uncomfortably, then rubbed a hand over his cropped hair.
“Holy crap! You have a TV in your bathroom?” I grabbed the remote next to the tub and hit the power button. And, sure enough, the mirror opposite lit up with an episode of some Internet clip show. I grabbed a rolled-up towel and tossed it onto the floor to support my back as I settled in to watch some dipshits get hit in the groin.
After a few minutes, Tank grabbed a towel and sprawled out a few feet away on the hard tile floor without saying a word.
And that’s how I found myself watching television leaning against a bathtub inside a posh Lake Tahoe suite with a biker.
Chapter 12
Nicole
After three episodes and a severely sore back on my part, Tank muted the TV, rolled his head on the edge of the tub, and looked at me. “I don’t know about you, but my bones are aching. Do you want me to walk you back to your room?”
I slowly shook my head side to side.
Tank jerked his head in a tight nod. “Yeah, I get it. I could call someone else to escort you if you want? One of my Brothers, or hotel security?”
God, he could be so thick sometimes. I’d spent the last hour plus a mess of emotion and longing, but I’d finally worked it out in my mind. I still wanted him. Sure, he had his issues—who the fuck didn’t? But I’d been covertly watching the way his lips curled when he saw something funny and the way his whole body relaxed with his laugh. He was human. He’d had some time to decompress, and I trusted that he wouldn’t do anything to hurt me.
My beer bottle made a slight clink sound in the still room as I set it down on the tile. Keeping Tank’s awkward sprawl in my line of vision, I crawled across the few feet separating us. His head was tilted down, but I could tell he was watching me. His whole body tensed and his hands fisted at his sides. Unlike before, the sight didn’t trigger my flight-or-fight instinct. Now I saw it as his protection against reaching toward me. He wanted me. The air was practically heavy with our pheromones. We both needed a moment to lose ourselves, forget all the angst and drama that we were hung up on. And if I was the one to give him even a bit of nirvana? Well, as Tank would say: fan-fucking-tastic.
I stopped when I could feel his body heat on my skin
. But still Tank wouldn’t look at me. Luckily for the both of us, I had a plan to get his attention. Reaching up with one hand, I wrapped an arm around the back of his neck and strained until I could cover his lips with mine. Tank didn’t help me one iota. His hands loose at his side. Tank just sat there and let me kiss him.
Groaning in frustration, I fisted the back of his button-up shirt and pulled until he closed the distance between us. And I covered his lips with mine once more. I teased the seam of his closed lips with my tongue, but his lips remained stubbornly closed. Giving up on that tactic, my hands released his shirt and danced down his torso to his fly. I nibbled on his lips while my hands made quick work of his zipper.
Tank’s hands batted at mine. “I don’t think—we shouldn’t—”
He broke off when I was able to open his pants and free him. His large, erect cock waved in the air between us. The sight made my sex clench. I wanted him. I wanted his hard, muscular body between my thighs thrusting his way to our mutual pleasure. But right now I wanted to show Tank just how eager I was to get him there.
I slithered down between his sprawled legs before he could blink. I grabbed his hard, turgid length in my hands.
“Nic, I don’t think—”
“Exactly.” I held him in my right hand while I ran my lips over his length, learning every wrinkle and vein on his cock. “The last thing I want you doing is thinking. We both need a little nirvana, so shut up and let me blow you.”
Tank laughed. Honest to God, while I was holding his hard cock in my hand, on my knees in front of him, ready to give him a blow job, this son of a bitch laughed. My hand reflexively tightened on his dick. Tank groaned.
“Christ.” Tank reached down, grabbed me under my arms, and hoisted me into his arms.
“What are you doing? What guy in his right mind turns down a fucking blow job? Are you sick? Do I need to call a doctor?”
Tank kicked out of his jeans, then stood and carried me out of the bathroom and into his plush suite while I railed at him. He stopped next to the biggest bed I’d ever seen and slowly lowered me onto the mattress. My heart clenched. I’d been so defensive, expecting his rejection when this was anything but.
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