The Sweet Under His Skin

by Portia Gray

  Thelma waved a hand at the chair across from her, and Arielle sat with one leg bent underneath her, in case she felt the intense need to escape. "Back when I first bought my farm, there was this man who I would hire every fall when he rolled through. He was just looking for a bit of work, a real rolling stone." Aunt Thelma smiled, suddenly looking very young. "He rode a motorcycle, too. He wasn't in a club or anything, but he spent every spring, summer and fall riding across the country. I was so envious of that. And the way he filled out a pair of Levis? I tell you, sweetheart, it should have been a crime."

  That made Arielle grin. And squirm. "He was fifteen years younger than me. The first time he kissed me I didn't know if I should kiss him back or take him over my knee for Christ's sake." Thelma's eyes got twinkly, just a little. "Some of the best nights of my life were spent letting that boy kiss me. I knew it wouldn't last past autumn. I knew he wasn't going to be all mine. But…I'd never give up those three autumns, even knowing what I know now."

  "Thelma—"

  "You took on Calvin, honey. Someone else's mistake, but you made it your responsibility. You've always been a little grown-up in one way or another. That whole oldest sibling thing." Now Thelma looked sad. "You should have seen how you looked right after he kissed you, honey. Ten years younger. A thousand pounds of responsibility lighter. So beautiful. He took everything away for a second."

  Arielle's nose tingled. Her eyes felt wet. "Thelma—"

  "Your mother would kill me for saying this, but…if he makes you feel that good, then let him. Enjoy being young while you can. Like I did. There's no shame in being happy, Arielle. And that man? The way he held you? And was touching you?" Thelma shook her head. "You deserve that right now. You deserve something that makes you feel good."

  Arielle felt heat prickling her cheeks. "I…I don't know what to say to that."

  "Don't say anything. Just consider it. Because, although I don't know him from a hole in the ground, I'd say you can trust him to be kind to you." They shared a moment of eye contact, then Thelma clapped her hands together. "Okay, I brought my cookie dough. Let's get these in the oven!"

  "What’s this?" Quentin asked, pointing at the baggies Bishop had just thrown down on the table in front of them.

  He'd gotten a call from the president late afternoon to come to the clubhouse right away. Impromptu meeting. Now there were four small baggies of white crystals on the table, and even though he'd asked he knew what it was.

  "That's the new ice on the streets. Dillon just found it on Trixie."

  "Who the fuck's Trixie?" Quentin snapped.

  "Dark-haired one with the snatch like a steel trap," Dillon answered.

  "Oh." Yeah, he knew which one that was. "Shit. She's an ice-head?"

  Bishop nodded. "I guess so. Smoking, not shooting. It's harder to tell."

  "She say where she was getting it?" Gage asked, stroking his beard.

  "Skinny white kid outside the gas station on Harrow. She bought it today."

  "Recruited some more dealers," Dillon pointed out the obvious.

  "Or sent some in," Bishop muttered, rubbing his forehead. "Dillon, you and Gage go take a look into this guy at the gas station. See if he's there. Quentin, you wanna tag along?"

  Quentin rubbed his hands on his jeans. He was dying to take out more of these dealers, but he had supper at Arielle's. And he didn't want to be late for it. So how could he share that without sounding totally pussy-whipped?

  "I got something tonight, can't do," he answered ambiguously.

  Dillon raised his eyebrows. "Really? Book club is it?"

  "Nah, tonight's the night he calls bingo at the Senior's Centre," Gage croaked from the far end of the table. That cut all those pricks up.

  Quentin just nodded, biting his lip hard. "That's right, fuckers. Laugh it up."

  "Is it a date?" Bishop asked, bringing the room to utter silence.

  Quentin didn't look up from his hands. "No, not a date."

  "Shit," Dillon muttered. "It's that piece next door to 'ya, isn't it?" Quentin just kept staring at his hands.

  "She looks like she smells good," Gage chuckled.

  They'd all seen her the day she knocked down that dealer in his driveway, wearing a low-cut top and her short shorts and looking absolutely fuckable like she always did. And Gage's comment made him crank his hands into fists.

  "What was that?" Quentin asked, head tilted.

  "Enough of this," Bishop snapped, bringing everyone's head around. "None of us should want to know anything about where Quentin sticks it."

  "Unless he's planning on sharing," Dillon amended with a grin. "I'd take seconds on that."

  Quentin wasn't sure what happened. One second he was sitting next to his brother, and the next he had the bastard up against the wall by the neck of his shirt, plowing his fist into Dillon's cheekbone.

  Two more of his brothers were pulling him back, and the room was a mess of raised voices and curse words. Dillon, for his part, looked completely shocked by Quentin's reaction, which was the only reason Quentin didn't get a retaliatory belt in his beak.

  Bishop was the one to toss Quentin off Dillon, Quentin ending up half sitting on the table. "Fucking hell," Bishop roared. "Dillon, take Gage and get the hell out of here. Now. Everyone else out." He pointed a finger at Quentin. "You. Stay." Everyone cleared out, and Quentin took the moment to straighten his kutte, not looking any of his brothers in the eye. Once the doors were shut again he brought his face up to Bishop's. "You gotta sort your shit out," Bishop snapped. "What the fuck is that about?"

  Quentin sighed, running his hand through his hair. "Nothing. I'm on edge."

  "About what? The broad next door? Honest to Christ, I can't have you falling apart on account of pussy, man. I can't have that, Quentin."

  "I know, Bishop. I'm sorry. I just…I don't like them talking about Arielle like that. She ain't another crawler."

  "And you know the guys will bust your balls for it. Because she's not another biker whore. And they likely don't think you really mean it. The places your dick has been don't show you to be picky, Quentin."

  "I just don't want them talking that way about her," he repeated.

  “Move the fuck on, man. She ain’t for this life. Just stick to the bitches we got here for you, yeah. And no more fistfights over gash in fucking the clubhouse, got it?"

  Quentin nodded, chastised and cracking his knuckles in nervousness. "Got it..." Bishop raised his eyebrows, obviously not believing it. "I got it!"

  Bishop nodded. "Did Mandy actually take her shopping today?"

  "Yeah. She's gonna lose her hair during chemo. They cut it off today, and Mandy's got this lady making her a wig I guess."

  Bishop blinked a couple times. "Fuck, Quentin, you're such a pain in my ass."

  "Yeah, I know." He didn't know where that accusation came from, but it was usually true so he agreed without hesitation.

  "If Mandy likes her, you cannot fuck this girl over. Mandy will tear your dick off with her bare hands."

  "I know."

  "Probably feed it to her fucking cat."

  "I know."

  "And then I'll be hearing about it, too." Quentin just nodded. "Fuck... Play house with the cutie-pie next door. But you know what these assholes are like when they think you're keeping a secret. You're not gonna be able to hide it. You're a shitty liar."

  Quentin grinned. "Yeah, I know."

  "And if she's willing to be with a miserable prick like you, you need to bring her out. Introduce her. Having her part of you when none of us know her is gonna make the guys nervous. You know that too. No matter how much she and Mandy might become best friends."

  "I know. But she's shy. I don't want them scaring her off."

  "When did you turn into such a pussy? She's gotta be tougher than that to be part of this club, Quentin," Bishop said quietly. "The women gotta prove themselves just as much as we do." Quentin nodded. "If you want them respecting her, you gotta show her the respect of letting
her get to know your family, man." Quentin looked at his feet, knowing every word Bishop said was true. The scariest part was that he was thinking this way about a broad. "Now go have dinner with your neighbor. Bring her a bottle of wine or something. And get fucking laid before your frustration ends up killing any of my guys, got it?"

  Quentin shook his head, but knew not to argue. "Later," was all he said as he made for his bike.

  And he did stop for a bottle of white wine on his way back to his house. And like Calvin's birthday, he showered and put a clean shirt on before heading over.

  Calvin let him in the door with a big "Hi, Q!" Then the kid bounded through the living room into the kitchen shouting "Q's here!"

  Aunt Thelma stepped out of the kitchen entryway, grinning broadly. "Quentin, nice to see you again."

  "Aunt Thelma," he greeted, surprising her by winding his arm around her back and kissing her cheek. "You're looking plenty saucy tonight."

  "Oh, you flirt," she mumbled, shoving him off but giggling all the same.

  "Damn, losing my touch," he mumbled back, grinning across the kitchen at Arielle and holding out the bottle of wine the broad at the store had recommended. "For dinner," he declared proudly.

  "Thanks," Arielle said, taking the bottle and putting it in the fridge. Dammit, her ass looked great in jeans, too. He had to avert his eyes with Aunt Thelma in the room.

  "Can I help with anything?" He wiped his hands on his shirt front like that cleared him for kitchen duty.

  "Can you use those burly muscles of yours to open this jar of pickles, for me?" Thelma asked, handing it over, still a little red-faced. "Damn arthritis."

  "Love to, doll," he grinned.

  As the seal of the jar popped and he handed it back, Quentin admitted to himself that Bishop was right. This woman let her in his house, sat him down to eat with her aunt and nephew; the only people she really had in the whole world. Hell, he'd even met her shit-show of a sister. In return, he was trying to shove her in a corner and keep her away from the people that mattered to him. Bishop met her by accident and Mandy had forced her own introduction on Arielle. What an asshole he was. And the thought of showing her off made him grin for some reason.

  "We're eating outside," Arielle brought him back with her voice while handing him an opened bottle of beer. "You can go take a seat."

  "You sure you don't need help?"

  "Everything's taken care of. Go ahead."

  With a nod and a wink at Aunt Thelma he joined Calvin at the patio table, setting his beer down next to the kid's bottle of root beer.

  "Isn't that your third one today?"

  "Yes."

  "You sure you can handle that, Chuckles?"

  Calvin laughed as an answer.

  "Okay, buddy. Your bike. What kind of pink were you thinking about?"

  "No, no," Aunt Thelma chastised while slapping Arielle's hand away from the pile of plates. "Calvin and I can handle the dishes. It's almost his bedtime anyway."

  Arielle gave her a very pointed look but Thelma was already through the patio door, Calvin dragging his feet behind her like he'd rather be in gym class. Arielle shook her head to herself, taking a swig of wine while Quentin cleared his throat and squinted at her over the patio table.

  "So, last radiation treatment tomorrow?" Quentin asked.

  She nodded. "Yeah. Then a week's rest at Aunt Thelma's before chemo. I'm looking forward to this week, actually. I always sleep really well when I'm there. Must be the country air or something."

  He grinned. "Yeah, this smoggy metropolis of Portus Felix can sure keep you up, and that's not even counting the traffic and loud parties."

  She laughed at that, setting her glass down. "Hey, this is urban compared to the farm."

  "Then the chemo starts, ey?"

  She nodded, feeling the smile fade. "Yeah. Really, the surgery should have been the scariest part but…the chemo has me terrified."

  Quentin cleared his throat again and shifted in his chair. "The contractor I lined up can start day after tomorrow. So that works out pretty well. He can do the bathroom while you're gone."

  She winced. "I'm not sure I want anyone here when I'm gone."

  "Would you trust me to watch over the work?"

  Arielle blinked a couple times, liking how he phrased that as much as she liked the offer. "I wouldn't want to bother you—"

  "No bother," he cut in. "I'm right next door. I'm not going anywhere the next few days. Plus, if I scare them enough, I can make sure they're not stealing the knick-knacks or panting over your photos up on the walls."

  She made a face. "Quentin!"

  He laughed at that. "Hey, if I noticed them…" he let that trail off.

  "Oh my God," she mumbled, reaching for the wine again.

  The evening was already getting dark since they'd all lingered outside chatting and talking for hours. It was pleasant and comfortable, but with Aunt Thelma and Calvin no longer there Arielle felt on guard again.

  "How're you holding up?" he finally asked quietly, those blue eyes focused on hers with alarming intensity and his sonorous voice showing concern. It made her uncomfortable in a very…warm way.

  "Me?" She shrugged. "I don't know. I guess…I'm fine. Just doing one thing at a time, really."

  He leaned forward, sideways to the table, elbows on his knees so he was almost close enough to touch. "I mean how are you holding up? After your surgery you were…upset."

  She swallowed. "I'm sorry about that, I wasn't—"

  "Don't be sorry. Not a lot of people trust me enough to really show me what they're thinking. Or feeling. I…kind of felt honored."

  She frowned. "By a weeping mess?"

  He grinned. "You were never a mess, Arielle. I've been worried about you."

  Another gulp of wine. Dammit, and damn Aunt Thelma for sharing her dusty ranch-hand Harlequin story.

  "And I'm still thinking about the night of Calvin's birthday," he continued, eyes on the deck boards now. "And when I might be able to do that again."

  Arielle inhaled, trying her best to not remember. Fighting back the sensory memory of his hands, his mouth, the smell and feel of him…but it was in her. And she couldn't pretend it wasn't.

  "Quentin, listen—"

  "I'll never push you. But I think it's fair that you know this. I like you." His eyes came up again and she was pinned in place. "A lot. And not just a roll-in-the-hay kind of like, that ain't it at all. It'd be easier if it was, I'm more used to that. But that's not what's going on here. And quite frankly Arielle, you can do a hell of a lot better than me. I know that. It doesn't mean I accept it. When I want something, I want it. I kissed you. And I think you liked it as much as I did."

  She couldn't interject, couldn't stop him from sharing. Who the hell talked like that? Just put it all out there as he was thinking it? Who did that?

  "Quentin—"

  "So you have to tell me to fuck off. Or let it lie. Or give you time. Or ask me to do it again. Because I need to know if I'm banging my head on this wall for a reason. So Arielle…what's it gonna be?"

  "We need to plan this out?"

  That brought on a crazy grin. "Not plan it. But I've laid it out there. And you haven't. You've a lot going on, I get that, too. But without you telling me what you want, I'm gonna just do what I want. And you're shy, you're quiet. I want to give you a chance to tell me to back off."

  Shit. It made her uncomfortable but she had to admit she liked that he laid it out like that. Arielle set her wine down, opened her mouth to speak, closed it, leaned forward, and tried again. She wasn't as direct. She couldn't do this. She couldn't just say what she wanted.

  "I'm not made like that," she said, frowning at how stupid it sounded.

  He nodded. "Okay." Then he got to his feet, took her arm and pulled her up with him. "Your aunt and Calvin will be out here soon. Tell me before they get out here or I'm kissing you right now."

  Her chest and cheeks warmed instantly, heart fluttering to be standing so close
while remembering how he kissed. "Um…"

  He laughed. "You're not that well-spoken."

  "No, I'm not."

  "That's okay," he whispered, hand along her waist, sliding around her back, pulling her close in the process. His widened his eyes, almost a threat. "I'm gonna do it, Arielle. I mean it."

  "I don't…I need time to think."

  "No, you don't," he assured her. "You've had plenty of time to think of a lot of things. You're leaving for a week, you'll have time to think then." His other hand slid along the side of her neck. "Right now, in this moment, what do you want?"

  She blinked. Breathed. Licked her lips. Shit.

  Quentin kissed her. Same as before, but it still shocked her how softly he could do it, and she again stopped breathing at first, her eyes closing right at the moment of contact. And then she licked his bottom lip.

  She might not have been able to say it, but apparently that said plenty. He…growled, was the only way to put it, hand spearing into her hair at the back of her head while his arm clenched around her back, tight enough that it wrapped all the way around her waist. And his tongue in her mouth was just as aggressive, just as consuming, bringing more heat to her face. Then she had to breathe so she gasped into his mouth but it came across more like a whimper.

  Her heart was hammering almost painfully. And the thought of what she may be lacking was gone, he held her tight and kissed her exactly in the way he likely wanted her. And she liked it, holy shit she really liked it.

  "Don't kiss her!"

  Quentin let her mouth go, but he was still holding her. She blinked to get her bearings back, turning her head to the doorway. Calvin was standing on the porch, his hands clenched tight, his face twisted with anger.

  "Calvin!" she scolded, and that's when Quentin stepped back, letting go of her. Her body didn't like that much, but she'd never seen Calvin so angry.

  "Don't kiss her. Don't touch her!"

  She made eye contact with Quentin, and he was looking just as alarmed as she was. She took a breath then approached her nephew, hand out to put on his shoulder. "Calvin—" she began gently, but he backed out from under her hand.