While he was trying to figure out why her presence shut down his signals, she was sizzling with a heightened awareness of him as a man. Beneath his calm exterior, his tightly coiled sexual energy was keeping hers in overdrive. She’d spent all morning drooling over his tats and beard and those dreamy sapphire eyes and wondering what it was going to take to get in his pants.
So far, he’d deflected every offer, subtle or otherwise.
He wasn’t gay. There was no ring on his finger and nothing in his quarters to indicate a love interest of any kind. As far as she could tell, there was no real reason why they couldn’t make the two-backed beast and do a little bump and grind.
News flash. First Daughters had sex. He’d cited her status as to why he wouldn’t screw her but it was just a flimsy excuse. For whatever reason, he seemed determined to keep her at arm’s length. That was fine if he was fisting her hair and fucking her senseless. She just needed to get him to that point. The man was being stubborn as a mule right now. All she had to do was get him to share his bed with her. Sleep would eventually follow.
But first, she needed to make a call.
It was a fucking miracle when she stepped outside and her phone showed two bars of service. Book stepped out, too, but stayed by the door with Loki, letting her have a bit of privacy while offering the comfort of his presence, her self-appointed protector among his brethren bikers.
At least, as long as Deacon allowed it. She needed to stay in the Lost Creek President’s good graces or who knew what would happen?
She’d walked halfway to the fence before Jacob Thomason answered the phone. Thank fuck it hadn’t gone to voice mail. She would have had to call her mother. Fathers were easier to deal with. Her mother loved her but they were too much alike to not clash on occasion.
Her daddy sounded distracted. “Sweetpea, honey, it’s not a good time. We’re getting ready to head into a press conference.”
Tears stung her eyes, more of a reaction to hearing his voice than what he’d said. As Presidential advisor, he regularly attended meetings that her papa’s press secretary, Glen Altman, conducted, providing a show of solidarity in a world torn by strife.
“I’m sorry, Daddy, but this can’t wait,” she blurted. “I’m in Kansas. I had van trouble. I need fifteen hundred dollars before they’ll let me go.”
“Jesus Christ.” He pulled the phone away from his mouth. “Sorry, Glen. Emergency. Go on without me. Whatever I miss, I’ll watch when I’m through. Kristof, get Anna! Now! Okay, sweetpea. Let’s start from the beginning.”
She told him everything— well, almost everything. She told him the basics, reaching the Flint Hills, blowing a hose, and finding water to refill the radiator. She left out Grace’s part in her choice to come to Kansas, her instant attraction to the biker who’d found her, her growing lust for Book, and the death sentence still lurking in the shadows.
She knew her mother had joined him when she heard Anna James bite back a sob and Jacob croon to her, reassuring her that everything would be all right.
“I’m sorry, Mama. I’m so sorry, but I didn’t know what else to do. Getting here cost a lot more than I planned, and I had no way of knowing I’d need so much cash. But I have a safe place to stay, room, and board until I can settle my bill. They said a wire transfer or courier— either way would work.”
“They?”
Adrienne heard the sharpness to her tone and knew her mother’s instincts were on high alert. The use of her full name just confirmed it.
“Adrienne Nicole James,” she clipped, “just where the hell are you?”
Deacon was standing by Book, both men watching her with fifteen hundred dollars’ worth of interest.
“I’m in the Flint Hills District of Kansas, north of I-70 between Manhattan and Wamego at the Lost Creek MC garage,” she hedged, cringing when she heard her mother blister the air with words that would make a biker blush. “Their club President, Deacon, and their Vice President, Book, have been very helpful. Book’s the one who found me and let me follow him back to their lodge. Mack did the repair in their garage but now I need to pay them.”
There was a moment of silence. Whispered conversation not meant to reach her ears.
Jacob, a radiator hose does not cost that much.
She took water, Anna.
More muffled conversation
Jesus Christ, Lord God Almighty! What the . . . ? Motherfuck! You’ve got to be kidding me! You’re saying that . . . God damn it all to hell! Get them on the fucking phone!
Her daddy was the voice of reason, as always. “Adrienne, honey, let me speak to Deacon, please. And, sweetpea, don’t worry. Everything’s going to be alright. You just hang tight and be a good girl.”
Drawing a deep breath, she walked to where the two men stood and offered her phone to the club President. “My daddy, Jacob Thomason, wants to speak to you, Sir.”
Another Dom. If she didn’t know it before, she knew it now. Good Lord. Maybe she’d stumbled into a clubhouse full of them. If that was the case, where were their submissives? So far, she hadn’t seen a single female. She was the lone woman, surrounded by leather-clad testosterone and four-legged fur.
While Deacon walked far enough away to keep his conversation private, Adrienne hugged herself and tried to not freak the fuck out. Hang tight and be a good girl. That had always been a challenge. At least her parents had acknowledged her choices even when they didn’t approve. They hadn’t cast her out or cut her off the way her grandparents had done with her mother.
The only family members Anna James claimed were by choice, not blood. Adrienne was named for her parents’ writing partner Nico White, one of Aunt Grace’s two husbands. People called the Thomason twins The Prophets but really, the words came from Aunt Grace and Uncle Nico. Her fathers had just given their messages a voice and put them out for the world to hear and to heed if they were wise.
From what she’d seen, the Lost Creek MC certainly seemed to have listened. They’d built an eco-friendly headquarters with a commanding view and protection from the twisters that ripped through Kansas multiple times a year. The lodge had a state-of-the-art kitchen, welcoming communal areas, and comfortable private quarters.
She’d be sharing Book’s tonight.
Whether or not she slept alone remained to be seen.
Deacon ended the call and handed back her phone. “It’s coming by courier,” he told her. “Lunch is at noon. Supper’s at six. You need anything between times, ask Book. He’s assigned to you until we can send you on your way. You’ll be sharing my table and bunking in his room. I’m guessing you’ll be here two more days, maybe three.”
She didn’t bother to hide her dismay.
Deacon reminded her why it was no longer a twelve-hour trip. “They’ll have to get clearance to cross the borders if they come with any kind of numbers, and no one smart travels at night. If it’s just a small party, they’ll still need to get permission, but they’ll have to arrange protection, find accommodations, fuel, ways around where bridges are out or bandits are active.”
Sadly, Oklahoma was notorious for them, the worst and most successful being the Gray Ghost and his band of wraiths.
“I told them we’d accept Texas currency. At least they won’t have to find a bank and wait for it to open.”
He’d extended what consideration he could, she supposed. The delay in getting the money here was unfortunate but it couldn’t be helped. “I’ll need some clothes and things from my van. Can someone open it for me, please, Sir?”
“Of course.” Deacon dangled the carrot then snatched it away in a subtle demonstration of power, making certain she understood her position here. “After lunch, Mack can help you.”
Adrienne knew better than to argue.
* * *
The noon meal was simple, sandwiches and sides. Still full from earlier, she took a deviled egg to be sociable and cut tiny bites to make it last. Once Book finished eating, she was allowed to load a duffle with toiletries, toy
s, and clothing that she pulled from her van.
Book watched her work and escorted her back to his room when she was done.
“You can use the seat for a luggage stand,” he told her, pointing to a sturdy wooden side chair near his wall of closets.
She set the duffle where he wanted and carried her purse to the sofa, intending to find her cord and recharge her phone.
He frowned at the solar pack she’d been using. “You’ll drain it down here.”
“If the sun’s out tomorrow, I can find a spot and leave it to recharge.” It wasn’t ideal, but she hesitated to ask him about plugging in. Her trip through Kansas was already costing her dearly.
“There’s no need,” he told her, rubbing his jaw and stroking that gorgeous beard of his. “Not if you have an adapter for one-ten.”
“I do,” she said slowly, refusing to get excited just yet. “Is there a hookup fee I need to know about?”
“No fee. Get your adapter and we’ll find you an outlet.
His kitchenette proved ideal, offering easy access to plug in her devices and enough counter space for her phone and her e-reader. From the sound of things, she had two or three days of downtime to fill.
Maybe she could talk Book into showing her his tattoos. The man had ink on his body that she was itching to see. If she was lucky, he could scratch another itch while they were at it. Preferably, hot and hard with kink, please.
She’d brought in a few toys, just in case. Right now it looked like she’d be using them on herself, but she was clean and ready to play. If Book was, too, things could get interesting.
“May I ask you a question, Sir?”
Book peered at her over a dog-eared paperback of Slaughterhouse-Five. Judging by its condition, she’d guess that it was borrowed or he’d acquired it used.
“You may,” he answered, lowering the book to show that she had his undivided attention.
“What are the plans for this evening?”
“Nothing,” he said, “except enjoy the quiet. I still don’t know why I can’t read you or why I don’t hear other voices when you’re close by. It’s like a mute button’s been pushed in my brain. This morning, when you stepped outside to make your call, all of a sudden I was hearing Deacon just fine. Usually, I have to listen to the radio or TV or music to drown out the voices enough to sleep. Tonight will be interesting.”
It would be if she had anything to say about it.
Adrienne pounced on the opportunity he’d presented. “Aunt Grace says our guards go down while we sleep. You told me I could pick, but I think we should share the bed. Keep me close. See if it works. Tomorrow night, I can take the couch and you’ll have something to compare it with. You may hear things with me at night that you won’t when we’re awake. Sharing a bed will give you a basis of comparison, something to measure against.”
She looked forward to making her own comparisons. Length and girth. Skill and duration.
Her eyes must have betrayed her. He leveled another Dom look at her and slowly shook his head.
“No,” he said firmly, his voice quiet, his Zen-master appearance perfectly calm.
In command of her and in control of himself.
If she didn’t have a lady boner before, she had one now. Soft-spoken Doms were the best. They’d watch you misbehave and whisper darkly in your ear, promising to make you regret it.
“Nothing is happening here,” he warned. “You’re the First Daughter of Texas. No one in our lodge is gonna touch you, including me . . . unless it’s to spank that ass and make you behave.”
Yes, please.
“Settle,” he growled.
God damn, she liked the sound of that. She liked it a lot. “Are you sure you can’t hear my thoughts?” she wondered. He certainly wasn’t having any trouble reading her.
The corner of his mouth lifted slightly, lips canting upward. “Your body language is enough. And you’re not masking your face. It’s pretty clear where your thoughts are headed, even if I can’t hear them.”
“Well, damn.” She huffed a breath, unhappy with his refusal to budge when he could be bending her over his knee.
Or his bed.
Or both.
Such a waste.
“I guess I’ll have to find something else.” She looked at the well-read novel in his hands. “My reader’s charging. Does the lodge have a library? Is there something I can borrow while I’m here?”
“Books, music, DVDs, a big-screen TV, and game systems are in the media room. Ignore the guys if they’re playing. Competitions can get fierce.”
It was her turn to smirk. “You haven’t seen me play The Ninth Circle. Set it on Apocalypse mode, find three other guys up for a challenge, and I’ll show you fierce.”
She could tell the idea intrigued him.
Book said yes.
It wasn’t what she wanted most— which was in his pants— but playing games together was a start.
5
She was good, Book would give her that. Not surprising when she’d grown up in a family where everyone— including her mother— was a gamer.
They paused play long enough to eat supper in the dining hall and spent the rest of the night in the media room, where Adrienne kicked everyone’s ass.
Everyone’s except his.
She was still pouting when he made her pay up. “A song,” he reminded her. “I promised I’d let you read Slaughterhouse-Five if you won, and you promised that you’d sing. We’re waiting, Texas.”
The room had a corner stage with microphones, frame drums, a drum kit, an acoustic guitar, and a karaoke machine. She approached the stage grudgingly, shooting him a dark look full of allegations. It wasn’t his fault she assumed he didn’t play at her level just because no one else here did. Little Miss Sunshine wasn’t used to losing. She wasn’t used to men denying her charms, either. He planned to keep doing it, but he was only human and Adrienne James was this gorgeous, fascinating creature that fate had dropped in his lap like Dorothy in the Land of Oz.
She tapped on the microphone until it came alive. Turning down the offer to cue up a track on the karaoke machine, she looked away from the crowd, closed her eyes, and went perfectly still. When she opened them again, her whole face was transformed. The fierce gamer girl was gone, replaced by a torch singer whose sultry voice could bring a man to his knees.
The problem was, she sang Etta James’s classic “I Just Want to Make Love to You” while making eye contact with every damn man there. As soon as she finished, he dragged her ass off the stage and back to his room, itching to give it the spanking she’d been begging for.
Which meant that he couldn’t. She wanted to be spanked. She needed to be punished. Something that would make a point but offer no pleasure.
“Sit,” he ordered. “Take off your shoes, gaiters, and stockings. I want those legs bare.”
She reached for her right foot. He left her long enough to spread a towel on the kitchen’s ceramic tile floor and put a large wire cooling rack upside-down on top.
“Not a word, Texas,” he told her when she balked at the sight of it. The wires would hurt like the devil, but Adrienne knew better than to argue. “You were dangerously foolish this morning. Tonight was just plain mean, tempting the men with something they can’t have. You’re gonna kneel on this grate with your hands clasped behind your back and stay there until I say enough. When I’ve heard a sincere apology, I’ll let you shower and go to bed. Breakfast is at seven. Behave and I’ll consider taking you back to the media room tomorrow. Is that understood?”
“Yes, Sir,” she whispered glumly.
She lasted all of fifteen minutes. Even Loki was crying by the end, distressed by her tears.
“It’s okay, boy,” he told him, speaking in the language of his people. Training him in the Kaskaskia Indian dialect of Algonquin seemed wiser than German, the language still used with police and military service dogs. He’d made certain that no outsider would know how to command Loki. He’d have to be comp
letely retrained.
“I’m sorry, Sir,” she sobbed. “I’m sorry! I should have told my parents . . . maybe gotten an escort. Done more research. I would have known about the tap fee. I’m sorry I took water without permission. I’m sorry about what happened in the media room. I should have picked a different song and not tried to make you jealous after you said you wouldn’t sleep with me.”
“That hasn’t changed,” he stated, reaching down and pulling her to a stand. Each knee was embossed by a grid of angry red marks. Her breath hissed when she tried to straighten them. More tears fell, wetting his arm.
Well, hell.
Scooping her up, he carried her to the sofa and sat with her cradled in his lap, offering his shoulder to cry on while Loki whined and paced.
Adrienne was heavier than she looked, toned muscle and trim curves. She snuggled into his embrace, seeking absolution and comfort that he might have given just for the pleasure of holding her.
He’d held a lot of women, but none had felt so perfect in his arms.
Book stroked her hand and petted her hair, wordless, listening to the cadence of her breath and the beat of her heart. Eventually, she sighed a deep, cleansing exhalation and sank more deeply into him.
Another whimper made Book realize the dog required attention, too.
Rotten timing, but there was no help for it.
“Texas, Loki says he needs to go out. He’ll want to check things while he’s at it, patrol the fence line and scare off any raccoons that have climbed over it. You know where the shower is. There’s hot water on demand and we draw from an underground river but we conserve where we can. Take what you need and no more, alright?”
“Yes, Sir.” Straightening, she pushed herself off his lap and onto the sofa, allowing him to rise.
Twisted Steel: An MC Romance Anthology Page 18
