HANDS OFF MY WOMAN: Padre Knights MC

by Claire St. Rose

  She tipped her face up to his, gorgeous in her pain. He wanted to scoop her up and carry her home like a tired child. He wanted to strip her down and fuck her on the rock like a wild beast taking its mate. It all swirled around in his head, knocking him off balance. And she thought it was a mistake. Fuck.

  “It’s complicated,” she whispered.

  He shook his head. “Most things that seem complicated are really pretty straightforward. It comes down to a gut feeling. If your gut is telling you not to do this, then don’t.”

  Ali stared at him for a long while, her face miserable. Finally she spoke. “That’s the thing. My gut is telling me to get on the back of your bike with you and never look back.”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Alejandro had driven Ali home without kissing her again, just as she asked. When he dropped her off he’d given her a big, tender hug but hadn’t tried anything more. He told her he was going to be in town a few more weeks and hoped they could have lunch one day before he left. Maybe with Cristina, if that was more comfortable. She’d agreed, and they’d exchanged numbers.

  All night she had feverish dreams about him. She woke on the desperate edge of a climax, imagining Alejandro’s mouth and hands on her. It was glorious torture. She wanted to invite him over to finish what he’d started at the Ridge. Instead she relieved herself efficiently with her own fingers, sobbing his name when she climaxed.

  Bobby texted her later that morning to ask if they could have dinner together. With a knot in her gut she agreed to meet him at their favorite restaurant, because she figured he’d behave himself in a public place. She knew he still thought they should get married, but she wanted to try again to make it very clear to him that he couldn’t expect her to change her values and her dreams. He couldn’t expect her to suddenly abandon everything she’d worked so hard for.

  Except that’s exactly how Bobby thought. It was the result of his easy life, the dangerous byproduct of always being at the top, of never hearing the word “no.” Though she’d had a similar (admittedly, not quite as privileged) upbringing, her job landed her squarely among the underprivileged members of their community. She had daily exposure to people with few options and couldn’t bear the thought of consciously giving away freedoms that other people had no choice but to fiercely cling to.

  Ali sighed and smoothed the hem of her dress over her thigh. She could almost predict frame for frame how the dinner would go. Bobby will come in, compliment me, be his charming Dawson self for at least the first hour. Maybe drink too much. No, scratch that—definitely drink too much. He’ll tell me he wants me back and tell me all the reasons I should go through with this wedding. Nothing I can’t handle.

  In the back of her mind was the Bobby who’d eaten cold takeout with her in bed, who’d nursed her when she had the stomach flu, who’d surprised her with a picnic on the first day of spring. When he walked toward her, his blue eyes warm and loving, she ached for the old Bobby but realized it had been too long since she’d seen him. The stomach flu was three years ago; the spring picnic maybe two. The loving gestures had been replaced with stress and whiskey. She was never getting the Bobby she fell in love with back.

  ***

  She’d been close with her predictions. Bobby had looked gorgeous in his French blue dress shirt and gray pants and had smiled so sweetly at her when she walked in that her resolve wavered a bit. She slid into his embrace as easily as breathing, and he kissed her cheek and whispered that she looked breathtaking before leading her to a secluded table.

  He sipped his first two whiskeys slowly and wooed her, asking after her pulled muscle and complimenting her dress. He insisted on giving her a taste of his risotto and she enjoyed the look of pleasure on his face as he spooned the creamy rice between her lips. Halfway through dinner she was tempted to tell him she’d made a terrible mistake.

  But after his fourth whiskey he’d suddenly steered the conversation to Alejandro. His gradual, skillful probing gave way to outright interrogation when they moved to the patio to enjoy some air. She desperately wished another couple would venture out, but as if he’d orchestrated it himself, the patio remained deserted except for the two of them.

  “I heard that Alejandro Rojas is back in town. Did you know that?” His eyes searched hers for a trace of a lie, and she answered truthfully just to disappoint him.

  “Yes, I knew.”

  “I know he’s an old friend, and obviously that friendship is important to you for whatever reason, but stay away from him, Ali. The Padre Knights are involved in some serious crime. These are not people you want to spend any amount of time with, Sugar, believe me.”

  “You make it sound like I’ve run off and joined a biker gang,” she said, trying and failing to sound casual. “Yes, Alejandro is in the Padre Knights and yes, he is my friend. So what?”

  “So what?” He looked at her incredulously. “Do you have any idea what he and his friends are involved in? Weapons trafficking, drug trafficking, coyotaje, fraud… The list goes on and on. Do you really want to associate with a guy who has that kind of a target on his head?”

  She hadn’t known, and hearing the details of Alejandro’s illegal activities made her a bit queasy, but she refused to let him play the jealous boyfriend card. She stood at the railing, looking out at the lights, and didn’t say a word.

  Bobby came behind her and stroked her back. “I just want to keep you safe,” he murmured, his voice thick. “If anything ever happened to you…” He wrapped his arms tightly around her waist and murmured, “If anyone ever hurt you…”

  “No-one's hurt me. I’m perfectly fine.” She tried to ease herself out of his embrace, but he held her fast.

  “He’s trouble, Sugar.” His voice in her ear was deadly calm, his grip on her so tight that it almost hurt. “This isn’t about me and you. That guy is a fucking animal like the rest of his kind. Stay away from him.”

  “I haven’t been anywhere near Alejandro.” Even to herself it sounded false, but she relaxed in his arms, hoping her body language could convince him where her false tongue could not.

  “You’re lying,” he whispered hoarsely. She’d lost count of the refills to his glass since the end of dinner, but the amount of whiskey on his breath told her he’d had way too much to drink. “You’re lying to me, Ali, and that's breaking my heart.”

  “Nothing happened.” It was mostly true. “We spent some time together… caught up… But that was it, Bobby. Really. He’s not the reason—”

  He pressed his lips to her throat then, hot and insistent as he blazed a trail of kisses up the side of her neck to her ear. “You don’t know what a relief it is to hear you say that, Sugar. I knew this was all just about nerves. I thought maybe it was about him and I’ve been going crazy over it.”

  She knew better than to argue with him at this point, but as his hand crept up to cup her breast she realized he was going to think she was with Alejandro if she didn’t let him touch her. And he was touching her in earnest now, his palm making lazy circles across her nipple, which hardened traitorously under his familiar ministrations.

  “Bobby…”

  “Shhh… Ali… Don’t say anything. Just let me touch you for a minute. It’s been too long.” He pressed into her buttocks and pinned her hips with his.

  “Bobby!” She was firmer now, but he wasn’t taking the hint. “Bobby, you’re drunk. Please stop.” She managed to turn around in his arms but that only provoked him further. He pressed his lips to hers, his tongue thrusting between her lips. The sickly sweet taste of liquor on his breath made her want to gag.

  “I don’t want to stop.” He shoved his hand unceremoniously down the front of her dress, squeezing her breast way too hard. “Let me make you feel good, Sugar. I miss you. I know I haven’t paid you enough attention lately, but I’ll change. We’ll go somewhere, just the two of us. Take a break.” He rained fervent kisses across her chest, ignoring her protestations. Probing fingers handled her too roughly, and she had a moment of
panic before she collected herself and decided the subtle approach definitely wouldn’t work with him, not when he was this inebriated.

  “Bobby, stop.” Her words did nothing to deter him and she pushed at his chest but he just kept kissing her. “I love it when you struggle,” he panted.

  “Stop, I said!” She squirmed in his arms and looked wildly around. Where the fuck is a waiter when you need one?

  It wasn’t until she yanked his hair, hard, that he took the hint. His blue eyes struggled to focus on hers as she gripped the front of his locks and held his head in place. “Stop it,” she repeated firmly. “You’re drunk. You’re going to regret all of this in the morning. Now let. Me. Go.” To emphasize her point she raised her knee between his thighs until it pressed threateningly against his balls.

  Bobby murmured something incoherent but released her, fumbling for the railing, and a moment later she heard him violently retching into the bushes. Shit. She couldn’t leave him there, not in that condition. He stood wiping his mouth on his sleeve, rocking unsteadily on his feet, and she decided she had no choice but to get him out of there. He was about three seconds from doing something to put his entire political career at risk—or worse, trying to drive home and potentially killing someone or himself.

  I should leave him here, let him do something dumb, she thought. But she knew that would never really happen. Even if Bobby did do something stupid or illegal, his daddy would only cover it up. That kind of money bought a lot of damage control. And you love him still, she chastised herself, even if it’s a different love than the one he wants from you.

  She managed to wrestle his keys out of his pocket while he flopped into a chair and went inside to grab one of the bartenders, a guy she knew from high school, to help her wrangle him into his car. She silently cursed Bobby every step of the way but didn’t correct John when he said, “Good luck with your fiancé,” as he deposited Bobby in the passenger seat of the white SUV.

  She had always hated when Bobby drank whiskey, not only because it turned him into a strange, junior version of his father but also because it meant she had to drive the Escalade. The vehicular monstrosity was far better suited to Bobby’s six-foot-three frame than her own five and a half feet, and as she adjusted the seat and stretched her toes toward the pedals she cursed aloud.

  When she finally pulled into her driveway, exhausted and frayed around the edges after taking Bobby home, she was surprised at her disappointment when she didn’t see the gleam of chrome in her headlights. You’re ridiculous, she thought. You told him it was a mistake. Why the hell would he be waiting for you in your driveway?

  She paced the floor for the next hour, trying to get up the nerve to call Alejandro, but every time she remembered how she pushed him away at the Ridge she knew she couldn’t. Stupid, stupid, stupid, she cursed herself. He will never trust you again after that.

  And I can’t trust him after he left me brokenhearted ten years ago, she thought. So I guess we’re even.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Alejandro was surprised when Benny told him there was a woman looking for him at the front counter of his father’s shop. He walked out and there she was, those long tanned legs he was so crazy about showcased beautifully in a short skirt and cream-colored cowboy boots. She looked a bit nervous to be there, though she smiled graciously at the prospect when he brought her back to Alejandro. He noted with some satisfaction that Benny didn’t dare openly gawk at her, though he snuck several glances when he thought Alejandro wasn’t looking. Keep dreaming, you little fucker.

  She leaned in for a hug and he took in the clean, floral scent of her, every inch of her soft and squeezable beneath his hands. But he wasn’t going down that road with her again. The ache in his balls from their ride together three days before still hadn’t quite subsided. He hadn’t stopped daydreaming about the grown up, sensual Ali who’d replaced the lithe teenager of his dreams. He hadn’t stopped wondering how far he could take her without one or both of them regretting it.

  When he’d driven her home the other day, she was still sweet and friendly, but whatever floodgates of sexual tension had opened on the Ridge had been firmly closed to him. Her eyes had been haunted by regret and shame. She’d seemed suddenly fragile, and he had ached not to fuck her but to make sweet love to her until he erased the doubt and sadness from her eyes.

  Here in the garage, though, she didn’t look vulnerable. He knew women well enough to realize she was there with a purpose. And from the looks of her outfit, the purpose was pretty clear. His gaze skimmed down the wispy nothing of a top and tiny skirt. He could see the pulse fluttering in her throat as she stared back at him.

  “I wanted to apologize—”

  He grabbed her hand. “Come on, let’s go somewhere more private.” He noted with satisfaction that her fingers clutched his immediately as he led her to the empty bay.

  When they were alone she began again. “I’m sorry, Alejandro. For the other day.”

  “You don’t need to be sorry. What are you sorry for?” He looked at her closely, trying again to count those damned gold flecks, hoping it would keep his eyes off her tits.

  “For…” she ran her hand through her hair before answering. “For not being straight with you.”

  He folded his arms across his chest. “Straight about what? I knew you were engaged when I kissed you.”

  She shook her head. “I’m not. I called the wedding off. And that’s not what I meant.”

  “You what?” He took a step closer, tipped her face up to his with two fingers. “When?” He noted with some satisfaction that her pupils darkened her eyes and she was trembling slightly.

  “The day before. But I was still deciding whether or not that was a smart idea.”

  “And was it?”

  She swallowed nervously and nodded.

  “But kissing me wasn't such a good idea?”

  “No.”

  “Because you want to get back together with him?”

  She shook her head, and he stepped closer still, sliding his fingers down her neck.

  “Because of what I do for a living?” She paused, then shook her head again. Alejandro leaned close to her. With his forefinger, he traced the ridge of her collarbone from the hollow of his throat to her shoulder and back. He watched her eyelashes flutter and droop at his touch.

  “Tell me.” There was no more soft coercion in his voice, just heat. “Why'd you do it?”

  “I don’t trust how I feel with you!” she cried. “You touch me and everything we had comes back. But then what? You'll just leave again the next time your club needs you to do something.”

  He felt a bit guilty about touching her when she was clearly struggling to resist him, but the guilt was quickly assuaged as his fingers slipped under the tiny straps at her shoulders and eased them down on her arms. She sighed and he dipped his head to kiss the soft hollow of her throat. His tongue delved into the little divot and he felt her whole body quiver against him.

  “If you don’t want to do this,” he growled against her throat, “Then tell me and it'll be over.”

  “Alejandro,” she moaned, and her tone said it all. He pulled her against him and covered her mouth with his own, and she wrapped around him as eagerly as she had on the Ridge. Her top shifted to expose the tops of her breasts, which were firmly ensconced in a lace push-up bra. He freed one creamy globe from its constraints and brushed the nipple with his thumb. She cried out and he did it again. Then he clamped it between his fingers and watched her mouth drop open in ecstasy.

  Her cheeks burned bright pink as he latched his mouth onto the candied nipple and slid his hand under her skirt. Between her thighs her panties were soaked and slippery, telling him she wanted the same thing he did. But a quick gaze around the garage told him there weren’t many options, not with the way he wanted to make love to her. He could bend her over a sawhorse, but that wasn’t exactly what he’d had in mind. The workbench was heaped with FedEx packages, and he couldn’t even fuck he
r against the wall because every surface was too grimy. The tightness in his balls telegraphed a frantic signal to his mind and he groaned in frustration.

  “Not here,” he murmured into her neck, hating himself even as the words slipped from his mouth. “Fuck, Ali, I want you so bad, but not here.”

  She wasn’t having any of that. “Please…” she breathed, “Please, Alejandro.” His name on her lips, the way she begged him, made him forget all reason. He hefted her onto the workbench, shoving the packages back with the force of his movements. He reached between her legs and yanked away the damp silky garment that covered his prize. They fluttered down, the darker sheen where they’d cradled between her thighs landing on the toe of his boot. He could smell her and it nearly paralyzed him with lust.

  Before him Ali parted her thighs wide, wriggling closer to him, and his hands instinctively slid back between her legs, seeking her welcoming heat. When his fingers brushed over the soft curls on her mound she whimpered and dropped her head back, closing her eyes with a satisfied sigh. His fingers began an exploration of her beckoning delta, teasing her swollen lips, flicking the sensitive bud nestled in her folds. He touched her as if he were a blind man trying to draw her by touch, no inch of her unexplored as he probed and stroked and flicked and teased.