Mica (Rebel Wayfarers MC)

by MariaLisa deMora

  He’d been close enough to feel her heat, but he hadn’t wanted to risk waking her with his touch. Seeing by her face that she’d not been sleeping well since the attack, he decided if it made her feel more secure to have him lying beside her, he would make sure she had full advantage of his presence.

  He had moved his hand, still hovering those millimeters above the silky expanse of her skin, across her face and down the column of her neck, pausing for a delicious moment at that dip in her throat that he found so sexy and attractive. He had taken a slow breath then, drawing in the scent of her; it smelled like sandalwood mixed with vanilla, and was incredibly arousing. He had been so hard all night lying there next to her, but had been careful to keep his hands away from himself, as well as her, not wanting to freak her out if she woke and saw him masturbating beside her. How crass that would be, and not the treatment she deserved at all.

  Daniel had drawn his hand across her collarbones to the rise of her shoulders, looking at the subsiding swelling in the injured joint and comparing it to the flawless skin that covered her other shoulder. Swooping slowly across her upper chest, he had carefully remained just above where the sheet covered her breasts, but he remembered what she looked like from undressing her.

  He had wanted to tug the sheet down a few, bare inches, revealing her physical attributes to his gaze. Craving the opportunity to memorize every inch of her skin, he had resisted and continued his touch-less exploration of her exposed flesh by moving down across her arms to her hands.

  Now he could touch, because her hand was curled around his bicep. He threaded his fingers in-between hers, and shifted her grip so the back of her hand brushed across his nipple through his shirt. He remembered gasping hoarsely and sitting up to drag his shirt over his head, wanting so much more.

  He took another moment to pull his pants down and off, adjusting himself slowly, looking down at her face. Laying back down, he gathered her hand up again, placing it back on his bicep and enjoying as her fingers tightened possessively around his arm. He bit his lip as the skin on her hand and arm touched his bare ribs and side, and again, brushed across his nipple. That slight friction continued throughout the night as she shifted slightly in her sleep, but refused to release his arm as if it was her anchor.

  Daniel had laid awake all night, seeing dream emotions chase themselves across her countenance in micro-frowns and smiles, subtle movements, and muscle play throughout her body. He was pretty sure she had been having bad dreams since the attack, and was glad there seemed to only be good dreams last night.

  When she had woken early in the morning, her reaction to his presence was so calm she made him want to keep her safe. He struggled to stay composed as she looked him over, sliding her eyes over every part of his body that was on display, and clearly liking what she could see. Then, oh, then…her reaction to seeing the head of his penis as it lay against his belly was so arousing he was nearly unable to control himself. When she licked her bottom lip, he felt his cock move he had clenched his groin muscles so hard in reaction, and felt the heat of a drop of fluid trail across the head of his cock.

  There he was, lying in bed with a beautiful, naked woman who clearly wanted him, but he had forced himself out of her bed and into a cold shower. While he had seen the clearly sensual woman who lay next to him, he had also seen her bruises and even some remaining blood still in her hair. He knew he had no excuse to do anything other than suppress his desire, at least until she was healed.

  Sitting in his chair, he opened his eyes slowly and realized that, once again, he had a massive erection. Sliding his hand down his belly to his crotch, he murmured, “Mica,” and thrust his head back as he imagined it was her hand touching him. Thinking about her lips caressing the head of his cock brought him even more erect.

  Brisk knocking at his door sounded moments before he would have been lost to the fantasy. Rudely brought back to real life, Daniel spun his chair and pulled up close to the desk in an effort to hide his erection. Sighing loudly, he called, “Come in,” and tried to compose himself for the day’s work to begin.

  19 -

  No thanks

  Daniel’s erection disappeared rapidly when he saw who Janice had escorted to his door. Thomas Donnelly strode into the room, pushing impolitely past Janice and slapping the door closed in her face. Standing slowly as Donnelly sauntered over to his desk, Daniel narrowed his eyes in distaste as he looked at the slovenly despot in front of him. “Donnelly, what can I do for you today?” he asked evenly, pretty sure he knew what this was about as the level of unspoken animosity in the office rose.

  “Call me Thomas; I’ve told you that before,” was the angry retort. “I’m here to talk about buying the Mallets franchise from you. I won’t take no for an answer this time, Daniel. Give it up already.” Donnelly was like a caricature of a spoiled, rich brat who had been denied a sweet he wanted instead of supper. The youngest son of a long-time legal dynasty, he was third generation unearned wealth, and his attitude showed it. He’d been kicked out of the finest universities on the east coast, finally settling into a low-leverage branch of the family business, brokering title searches that could control real estate deals in the city. He had a little bit of power, and found he wanted more.

  Pulling a crooked frown, Daniel offered Donnelly a head shake. “You know I’m not in the selling market. I like the franchise, and I’m excited about it even more after the win last night.” He chuffed a laugh. “Hell, I’d like it even if I wasn’t playing the best game of my life, but I can’t see myself ever selling.”

  Frowning fiercely, Donnelly looked Daniel up and down. “I keep thinking there must be something I have that you want, Daniel. I’ll find your weakness eventually, and then I might not be so nice about taking the franchise.”

  Tired of enduring thinly-veiled threats from this boy-man, Daniel leaned in close and gritted out from between tightly clenched teeth, “Don’t fucking threaten me, boy. Your health isn’t worth it.”

  Donnelly shook his hair back and glared into Daniel’s face. “Watch yourself, old man; I’d hate to see you get hurt over a piss-ant team like the Mallets.” Turning and opening the office door, he growled as Daniel reached out to quietly, but firmly close the door in his face.

  Much more effective than slamming it, he thought to himself, turning back to his desk and the excitement of possibly owning a playoff AHL team.

  20 -

  Old friends…not really

  Climbing the stairs to the loft where MishMash was housed, Mica wondered exactly why she wasn’t taking the elevator today. Was she really crazy? Maybe a masochist, because her stitches didn’t come out until this afternoon, and only if she could get back to the ER in time for her doctor to see her. At least they didn’t tug at her skin as badly. She’d been able to shower this morning, finally, and that by itself was heavenly. It was hard to imagine missing something like clean hair until you have been stuck with a mop that smelled of blood, sweat, and yes, vomit day after day.

  Gaining the second floor finally, she saw an unfamiliar face in the foyer and paused for a second to assess the person quickly. She was still pretty spooked about the mugging, and this felt unsafe having a stranger so near her work place. He was standing close outside the elevator, dressed in jeans and a trendy linen tunic, and after a second, she thought he might be an art student looking for work. Too bad for him she didn’t need a designer on staff, but she could sure use another developer.

  He just didn’t look the part, so she held her bet to roll on the job seeker quest, designer reward, D&D style. Laughing at herself, she used her key on the office’s outer door, then focused on him and introduced herself, “Mica Scott, owner of MishMash Development. What can I do for you, Mr.—?” Trailing off to entice him to speak, Mica flung open the door behind her and walked into her creative space.

  She reached out and turned on the lights, slinging her coat, computer bag, and purse down beside her desk. She turned around to see the man gazing in an assessing
manner around the room at the furnishings, which were yard sale chic, and the technology, which was lust-worthy. Her gut clenched in sudden fear again, wondering why he hadn’t yet spoken.

  “My name is Jack Peters, Michaela Scott.” He paused there, waiting for the name to sink in.

  Mica’s brows shot together, and she quickly glanced around the room for backup, understanding her fear now. Giving herself a shake, she reminded herself that even if he was the Jack Peters that knew him, this man was not Ray…thank God. Few people were like her ex-boyfriend, Ray Nelms, who preferred to use his fists over words any day. Taking in a shallow breath, Mica corrected him, going for an ‘I don’t know you’ vibe, “It’s Mica, actually. What can I do for you, Mr. Peters?”

  He smirked, watching her retreat behind a screen of politeness, but he knew the reason for her unease. He had been friends with Nelms for a long time, and knew he had certain…excessive tastes when it came to disciplining his women.

  “I own a small, exclusive bar in Waukegan, and I need a new, updated website. I heard about your work through…friends, but I thought it surely couldn’t be the barrel racer, Michaela Scott. After looking at your contact info, I realized it was you, so since I evidently already know a good developer, I thought I’d start here and see if it was worth your time,” he said pleasantly. “I have clear ideas on the features I need. I want to have my menu on all the social media sites, and be able to take advantage of crowdsourcing entertainment ideas. I’d like to encourage reservations by making it easy for people to set them up by themselves, but have management of the system from the bar itself. The website I have now is terrible. It was cheap, because it was put together by my wife’s little brother, but his tastes run very different from my clientele.” He smirked at her again.

  Mica looked at him, tension still in her face. “It certainly sounds like you know what you are looking for, Mr. Peters. Give me a few to start some coffee, and we can sit down to talk through the process, and I’ll explain our estimates.” Walking to the kitchenette area, she hit the button on the one-cup brewer to heat the water. “Would you like a cup of coffee before we begin?”

  Crap, she already knew she’d accept this job. Regardless of any past association, it sounded like he really needed the help and these were the kinds of projects that were the most fun to work on. She simply wouldn’t tell Jess about Jack’s association with Ray. There’d be a lot less complaining from her diminutive sidekick that way.

  21 -

  Stitchless day

  Standing in the grocery store, Mason flicked his gaze across the cuts of meat, his hands following his eyes as he mentally discarded selection after selection until he was left with a dozen beautifully marbled pieces of steak. Already in his basket was a bag of baking potatoes, a fruit tray, a couple bottles of good red wine, and a couple six-packs of Samuel Adams Irish Red. He was making dinner tonight for some of his patch brothers, and needed to get home and get the grill going.

  Bags stowed in the backseat of his car, he headed down Wacker Drive. He put the radio on seek and enjoyed listening to random ten-second snippets of radio shows and music selections. Laughing at the absurdity, he stayed out of the slush on the roadway, relishing the distraction from his day of managing inventory, entering costs, scheduling invoices into his bookkeeping software, and generally shuffling the work schedules of the half-dozen bars and restaurants that he managed by himself.

  He had another dozen businesses that had been placed into the hands of local managers, but these six were his first successes, so he held onto them with both hands, because they represented his triumph and rise from the poverty of his youth in Kentucky. Even after so many years, Mason could well remember the fear and heartache being destitute brought to everyone it touched.

  Whipping his head to the right in recognition, he pulled the car over to a parking space on the street and lowered the passenger side window. Sitting with a wide smile, he waited patiently for the woman walking up the sidewalk to get within hailing distance. “Mica, whatcha doin’ walking home?” He saw her start and look around, then she recognized his car and walked across to lean in and smile at him, tucking her chin down into the collar of her coat.

  “The train was late, so I thought I’d walk,” she explained, as if that made sense.

  Frowning, he asked, “Did you make it to the ER yet, babe? Today is stitchless day, if I remember right.” The way she was moving, he was pretty sure she hadn’t gotten the stitches out yet. He wondered what could have been so critical she would forget to take care of that personal detail.

  Sticking her tongue out at Mason, Mica laughed at herself. “No, I forgot about the stitches until I stood up from my chair about thirty minutes ago, more than three hours late. My doctor was only available until three, so I am once again a day late and a dollar short when it comes to important things. I’ll call him again in the morning I guess. I really wanted these dang things out today; I’m so tired of them.” She smiled at Mason. She watched as his face shifted between amusement and frustration, finally settling into something she didn’t recognize, but looked a little like uncertainty.

  “Babe, um…well…fuck. Come on, get in the car; I can at least give you a ride home.” His voice turned brusque near the end. That was odd, but he had earned her trust many times over the past year, so she nodded and opened the door to get in, placing her computer bag, and purse on the floorboard near her feet. Buckling her seatbelt, she used the control on the door to raise the window, and turned to look at Mason. Snapping her fingers in the air, she said in a faux-snooty voice, “Home, Mason,” and then laughed as he grinned back at her and nodded, responding with a fake drawl, “Yes’um, Miss Mica.”

  He drove into his garage and parked the car, pleased that he and Mica had laughed and talked all the way home. It seemed the most comfortable she had ever been with him, and he was loath to lose these moments. Taking a slow breath, he offered, “Babe, I have two propositions for you tonight, and dammit, I want you to say yes to both, because it would be good for you—both of them would be good for you.”

  Scrunching up her face in exaggerated consideration, she urged him, “Hmmm, I’m listening.”

  She was in such a joking mood that he hurried to explain his plans. “I have steaks and other food, wine, and beer; plus—and here’s the sweetener—I have five different kinds of premium tequila in my house. I would like you to have dinner with me tonight. Wait, not just me, because there will be a few Rebels here, but you already know them all from Jackson’s. I even have some of Brandy’s best cupcakes.” Here, he paused, trying to gauge her response and grinning as she nodded encouragingly towards him to continue. “That’s the first proposition—eat, drink, and make merry with friends. What do you say?”

  She thought a moment. “Only if I can help you get things ready, Mason. Would you allow that?”

  His brow furrowed for a second; her phrasing was somewhat odd, but he got that she’d agreed to stay for dinner. This was a huge step, and he was proud of her for taking him up on the invitation, finally. “You betcha; I can always use all the help I can get in the kitchen. Okay, now for the second proposition. You know my life has been pretty hardscrabble at times, yeah? I keep an odd assortment of medical equipment and supplies because of it, both here and at the clubhouse. I happen to have two different kinds of suture scissors, and if you’d allow it, I can make you more comfortable tonight by removing your stitches.” He waited for her response.

  Furrowing her eyebrows at him with a half-smile on her face, she asked, “You have suture scissors and know how to take out stitches?”

  He nodded his head slowly with a wry look. “It is a skill that has come in handy over the years. I can put stitches in too, if needed and it’s not too deep a slice.”

  Mica grinned at him, and he laughed out loud as she said, “I know what I want to do first, Mason. These things itch like heck, and I would really appreciate it if you could take them out!”

  They grabbed the groceries a
nd walked to the door. Mason trailed slightly behind Mica through the kitchen, pointing to the center island for her to set the bags down. “Let’s get things started for dinner first, and then we’ll tackle the hard stuff,” he said.

  Setting her up with a stool in the prep area of the large kitchen, he unpacked the groceries as she put together a marinade for the steaks. He greased and salted the potatoes before wrapping them in foil, and they were now in the oven. Out on the brick patio, tucked into the angle between the house and garage, he got the charcoal grill started and ready. The beer and wine were put into the mini-fridge on the back porch, and everything else was ready, just waiting for the rest of the guests to arrive.

  “Alrighty, let’s get these stitches out of you, babe. We’ll start with the ones on your back. I’ll need you to lay on your stomach and take off or pull up your shirt. You can choose the couch or my bed; both are through that way.” He pointed through a doorway at the opposite end of the kitchen from the outside door. “I’ll grab my stuff and find you in a minute.”

  Mica thought to herself that Mason knew her so well; having a choice was important. If he had suggested one piece of furniture, or one room over another, she would probably have panicked and gone home, but since he gave her the control to choose, it soothed her nerves and made it okay to do this. Plus, she really wanted the stitches out. They were making her crazy, and she wanted a really good, hot shower with a scratchy loofa, and couldn’t have that until she was stitch-free.

  Wandering through the door he indicated, she smiled when she saw his living room. It was completely filled with overstuffed furniture arranged in groups around the room. It made sense, because he often had large groups over, mostly motor club guys and their wives or girlfriends, so he would need more seating than most people. A gigantic couch was positioned directly in front of an obscenely large flat screen TV, and she was sticky enough not to want to lay face down on that leather monstrosity. She wrinkled her nose at her mental imagine of her adhering to the leather, or making embarrassing squeaking noises as she moved. Ugh.