Burning to Ride

by Michele De Winton

  “Come on now. You know he loved you.”

  “Only because I know my way around a Harley better than most women know their way around a shoe store. I’m supposed to be out on dates, fraternizing with nice men, wearing dresses even. Not drinking beer and watching NASCAR with you guys every Friday night.”

  “Tell me you don’t love it and I’ll push you out the door myself,” said Rocco.

  Briony grinned. “You got me.” She knew all the things she was supposed to enjoy. And raising her by himself after her mother died giving birth, Pop had done best he could. The truth though, was that her pop must have slipped some engine oil into her bottle when she was a baby because given a choice between Miu Mius and anything with a motor, the roar of a well-tuned engine won every time. Only thing she ticked all the girly magazine boxes for was men. Briony liked men. A lot.

  “I would have been better off liking shoes than bikes. A pair of stilettos might have helped at that last meeting with the bank.” She bit her lip. “What I really need is a credibility transplant. I’ve got great plans for this place. It could be an attraction instead of a dive if only they’d listen to what I want to do with it.” She sighed. “They might if I were someone else. Or maybe even if I had better shoes.” She kicked her worn Doc Martens at the bar.

  “How long have you got?” Rocco asked.

  She shrugged. “Less time than I’d like. Couple months before I have to start selling off your bikes to keep the doors open.” She grinned and Rocco scowled at her. “But the biggest issue right now is that the planning department doesn’t want to renew my liquor license.”

  “When’s it up?”

  “This month.”

  “No beer?”

  “No beer. And no beer means there’s definitely no money, and then I’m screwed.”

  He nodded. “It’ll work out, babes. We’ll think of something before the month is done.” Rocco patted her on the shoulder. “Now go lift a few greenbacks out of that bastard’s pocket, flirt them out if you have to. And quick before Hade or Marnz get in first.”

  “Crap.” She, Marnz, and Hade had known each other since they’d played hide-and-seek in the hotel as kids. Hade had calmed down a little since he’d found his girlfriend, Lee Delevigne and given up his claim to the Raising Hellfire Gang’s leadership, and Marnz . . . well, she and Marnz had history. Drunken, unsatisfying history that she mostly forgot about, but still, history. The two men were the closest thing she had to brothers, though. Brothers who liked to make sure she was okay. Loudly. Anyone say protective much? Briony rushed to stop Hade from pushing his tattooed hand any farther into Slick’s face.

  “Can I help you?” She reached up to tap Slick on the shoulder.

  Hade saw her first and nodded at her. “Guy here wants to know about the hotel. I told him he must be in the wrong place ’cause no one who comes here asks questions.”

  Marnz added, “Not if they know what’s good for them.”

  “I’ll take it from here. Maybe you could go and check no one’s trying to ask questions outside.” She jerked her head at the two bikers and they got the hint.

  “Riiiight. Hope you have a nice evening. I’ll make sure no one parks their bike too close to your car,” said Marnz, giving Briony a look that said he’d rather do a lot more than that.

  “Good luck with that. I broke down two blocks away.” The stranger turned to her as Hade and Marnz headed for the door. Briony had to stop herself from sucking all the air out of the room. In a voice that was two parts crushed gravel and one part honey mead, Slick continued, “Interesting place you got here. You always threaten to kneecap your customers?”

  Shit, he’d heard everything. Briony’s heart sank into her DM boots. Oh well, might as well go down in flames if I’m going down. “Only ones who deserve it.”

  “Touché. Still, you sure you could have taken him?”

  “You angling for an arm wrestle?”

  Slick laughed, a rich, full, delighted sound. “How about a drink instead?” Again, the gravel-honey-mead-drenched voice, capped off with the most violently green eyes Briony had ever seen. Violent as in bright, but also laced with enough dark backstory spark that Slick could have easily fit in at a Hell’s Boys stare down and come out damn near the top. Must be hiring a whole new type of guy for the planning department these days.

  Thing was, the rest of him was clean cut as a priest on Sunday. Short, clipped, black hair. Smooth-shaven, hard-as-a-spanner jaw. Well-cut suit. Bright white shirt and even a tie. Briony couldn’t remember the last time she saw anyone with a tie come to Wilde’s. Still, those eyes. Briony forced herself to exhale, but she couldn’t stop the spokes of overexcited Harley lust-wheels doing burnouts in her stomach. Guy’s said twenty words and you’re panting after him like a teenager? What the hell, girl?

  “I like to know whose drink I’m pouring first. You gotta name?”

  “Cole.”

  Like his hair, black and rich and ready for her to run her fingers through it. Briony’s tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth and it took her three swallows before she managed to detach it. Suck it up, Wilde. “And what brings you here?”

  Slick stroked his chin. “Like I said, car broke down. Didn’t feel like walking too far with bad weather coming.”

  As if wanting to back him up, a roll of thunder sounded low and loud outside. A couple of Hell’s Boys cheered from a table by the window. Storms always brought the club good luck.

  “You hand over my license and I’ll give you a round on the house,” said Briony, jutting out her jaw.

  “License?”

  Briony paused. “You’re not from the planning department?”

  “Nope.”

  “The bank?”

  “Nope.”

  She gave him a long look. “Your car really broke down?”

  “Yep. We can check it out if that’ll make you pour me a drink, but this suit is Armani and I’m not sure you’re the wet T-shirt competition type. Although, you’d wipe the floor with any competition if you ever entered one.”

  Briony looked down at the white T-shirt she had under her red leather vest, a vest that proudly bore the Raising Hellfire patch on the back. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

  “Good.” Slick pulled out one of the bar stools that looked like a rat had made a meal out of the black leather. Despite the neat-as-a-pin suit, he didn’t even glance down as he sat.

  Briony looked at the clock on the wall behind Slick’s head. It was 7:30. Could he really just be there to drink? “What can I get you?”

  “Jack. Neat. Short glass.”

  Briony raised an eyebrow and headed behind the bar. “Wouldn’t have picked you for a Jack Daniel’s man,” she said as she poured out the bourbon.

  Slick knocked it back, put out his glass for another, and shrugged. “Old habit. You’ll have one?”

  “Sure.” She poured herself a shot and downed it. If he wasn’t bank or planning department trouble, what sort of trouble was he? Who cares? Rocco had told her to flirt with the guy, so why the hell not? Wasn’t she just thinking she should be getting out there more? “You’re new in town?”

  “Does it show?” When he grinned, his green eyes went from emerald to viper green, a brilliant sheen lighting their depths. Their reflection sent goose bumps over her skin to compete with the lust-burnouts in her stomach. She thought she might have to sit down. Guy’s making you hot and cold? At the same time? Confused much? Briony gave a weak smile and turned her back on Slick, ostensibly to put the bourbon back on the shelf. Hello? Forgot your big-girl undies?

  He was flirting fine. If he was lying and he was from the planning department she might get some useful info if she played along. If he really wasn’t, then he was fair game. His wallet and his body. She turned and leaned over the bar, making sure he got a good glance at the peep of black lace she always wore under her red leather.

  He glanced down and his mouth twitched. Good. He wasn’t an emerald viper all the way through then. G
uy had hot blood just like anyone. So why is he turning you into mush? She straightened. “What street did you say you broke down on?”

  “Florence Ave.”

  Two blocks away, like he’d said. “And what sort of car do you drive? I can send one of the boys out to make sure you still have tires in the morning.”

  “It’s a Corvette. Stingray. Black. But the tires’ll be fine. Anti-theft device on them.”

  Briony raised an eyebrow again. “You left a Corvette Stingray on the side of the road and you expect she’ll still be there when you get back?”

  “She?”

  “You trying to tell me a car like that is anything other than a woman?”

  “You trying to tell me you know a woman that goes that fast?” He waited but she wasn’t about to dignify that with an answer. “She’ll be fine.”

  She snorted. “You better have another drink.”

  He knocked back the bourbon.

  “You’re awfully sure of yourself, ain’t you?” she said as he put his glass out for another refill.

  “You calling me cocky?”

  Cocky. Gah. Briony couldn’t believe the blush she felt heating her neck. “We’re running low on ice. Be right back.” Stalking over to the other end of the bar, she delved into the freezer and shifted things around.

  “Can’t decide whether to eat him or spit him out?” Briony jumped as Rocco’s voice came from behind her. She turned to the door and saw his smirk. “Reckon you should do both.”

  “Depends who he is.”

  “Well, ask him.”

  “I did. Said his name’s Cole and he’s not from planning or the bank.”

  “And?”

  “And what? ‘Hey, Slick, are you a legit, lost, handsome stranger who is waiting for me to lure you into my bed, or are there hidden cameras I don’t know about?’”

  “Maybe not in so many words.”

  “Good one.”

  “You asked him straight if he was from planning or the bank?”

  “Yep.”

  “Can’t do more than that. Get back there and get him paying for top-shelf stuff. Or better still, get him hammered and steal his wallet. We’ll find out who he is and lift a few notes at the same time. He’s not going to miss them.”

  “I’m not stealing the guy’s wallet,” Briony said, waving Rocco off and straightening. But the moment she turned back toward Slick, Briony’s vision was fractured into dizzy splinters . . . green eyes, quizzical eyebrows, nutcracker jaw. Boom. Slick was starting right at her. Briony’s stomach let loose the lust-engines again and their rumbles threatened to fold her in two. What. The. What. A molten panties crush? On a stranger? Really?

  Yes, really. One hundred percent proof, top shelf, full horsepower, really. There had been men in and out of Briony’s bed at Wilde’s Hotel, sure. But none of them usually had this sort of effect on her. Then again, Slick wasn’t usual. None of her usual connections a) looked like him, b) had been around since she was knee-high to a grasshopper and c) looked like him.

  “Here, drink this.” Rocco pushed something at her and without looking, Briony knocked it back. Her mouth almost sucked itself inside out at the taste. “Jeeezus. What was that?”

  “Love potion. Now get in there. You were the one complaining you were supposed to be dating.”

  Briony shut her eyes a moment as whatever had been in Rocco’s glass made its battery-acid-way down toward her stomach. By the time she opened them, the taste had receded and she just had a burn somewhere below her heart. Her mantra, If you want it, take it, or fake it till you make it, echoed in her head. She stalked back to Slick.

  “Didn’t find any ice?”

  She looked at her empty hands and shrugged. The warmth was spreading around her torso now and heading south. Waaaay south. Must ask Rocco for the recipe for his love potion. Or was the burn from looking into Slick’s eyes?

  “Interesting place you got here. Owner must have quite a time with you behind the bar.”

  “You swear you’re just a lost, handsome stranger?”

  Slick laughed. “Nice to know I’m handsome. Whoever it is you were expecting, I’m not him. Another drink?”

  Briony let go of the breath she didn’t even know she’d been holding and grabbed the bottle. “Damn good idea.” She poured them both another shot of bourbon and knocked hers back. As the liquor hit the back of her throat, whatever Rocco had given her mixed with the bourbon and ratcheted up the effect of Slick’s lust-pheromone cologne.

  A bunch of bikers chose that moment to burst into the bar, full of the smell of thunder clouds, big talk, and clumsy-ass fingers. Briony darted a protective look at the last tray of new glasses that Hade had put back up on the edge of the bar.

  “Go,” said Slick. “You’ve got a bar to run. I’m not going anywhere for a while. I was hoping to stay the night.”

  Was that glint in his eye meant for her?

  “Bri-bird, sweet cheeks, pass me a beer.” One of the bikers who’d just walked in waved her over to their group.

  “I’ll be right back,” she said to Slick and let her fingers stray to his hand.

  He put his larger hand over hers for the briefest moment, but long enough that the engine in her stomach ratcheted from a low purr to a rumble again. “Good.”

  As she poured countless glasses of beer and shots of bourbon, Briony kept sneaking looks at Slick. True to his word, he didn’t leave. In fact, he seemed to be chatting almost amiably with a couple of the Hell’s Boys. In side profile he was every inch a Dark Knight. All he was missing was a cape. Holy hormones, Batman. Whatever had been in Rocco’s potion was hella powerful. Happily, her bartender, the night’s solitary staff member, clocked in at 7:30, so Briony was able to sidle down the bar and leave the other woman to pouring beer.

  “You came back. Thought you might run off there for a second.” Crushed-gravel-honey-mead. Sheesh.

  “Why would I run away?”

  He shrugged and his eyes darkened. “It’s happened before.”

  Someone ran out on him? Seriously? Her face must have betrayed her disbelief. He smiled and the viper came back into his eyes.

  “Okay,” she said, the liquor, potion, and pheromones loosening her tongue. “You can stop it now. If you’re trying to play the wounded hero card, you’ve come to the wrong place. These guys have more wounds than I know what to do with and I’m one of the only women who puts up with it. If you’re looking for a room discount, you’re out of luck too. You’re also wearing the wrong type of jacket. Now if you’re looking to offer me a pile of money, maybe buy me a few more drinks, take me to dinner, then perhaps we could work something out.”

  He laughed, throwing his head back. His posture changed and his shoulders, as if they’d been held back, relaxed and broadened. “It’s a quiet night, surely it doesn’t take two of you to run this bar? How about we start with a full tour. Your girl there looks like she’s got things covered.”

  A full tour? Of her bedroom? Anyone say jumping the gun? “A tour?”

  “This is a hotel, isn’t it? I think I mentioned my car broke down . . .”

  “Right. Sure.” Briony checked and the bar seemed reasonably calm. She could duck out for a bit and trust that there would be at least some unbroken glasses when she got back. Rocco caught her eye and made a pushing motion with his hands. All right already.

  “One sec.” She grabbed the half tray of glasses and put them on the shelf behind the bar before she turned back to Slick. “This way.” Briony grabbed the quarter-full bottle of bourbon, stepped out from behind the bar, and headed through the doors into the hotel’s main reception area, past the curved staircase that led up to the bedrooms above the bar, mindful of the tall dark stranger towering behind her as she went. If he’d had a shadow, it would have completely covered her body. Enveloped it. Enfolded it. Briony’s skin goosed again and she turned, but Slick was still a few steps behind. She could have sworn he’d touched her. Her bare arm still tingled from his fingertips and she cu
rsed Rocco. Love potion? Knock-out potion, more like.

  She shook her head to try and clear it and then there he was, his hand on the door, pushing it open and ushering her through. As his hand touched her back for real, the goose bumps blossomed again, and this time also there was no mistaking the thrum of heat that started up under her jeans as she took a big breath of his fresh, minty scent. Maybe she wouldn’t lift his wallet, but she was going to encourage that suit jacket off his shoulders. And those pants. And that tie. If her body could respond so willingly to the smallest of touches, a night with Slick promised to be a whole lot more interesting than standing behind the bar with men she’d known her whole life. Especially considering she’d sworn she wouldn’t date another biker if her life depended on it. What’s more, Slick hadn’t balked when she’d told him to shower her with money.

  The door closed behind them and the quiet almost echoed after the ruckus of the bar. No one was behind the desk; in fact, no one was in the hotel area, period. No guests, no staff, no one. She’d had to let her last housekeeper go the week before and already she could see dust settling on the skirting boards. If she ever got to remodel the place like she wanted, it would be a whole lot more modern. She’d keep some of the details that gave it charm, but get rid of the fussy cornicing detail that was currently crumbling with age. She looked up to the airy ceiling, high above where the staircase reached the other floor and saw the cobwebs ringing the walls and when she pulled her gaze away, the booking register lay open on the empty desk, an accusingly blank expanse of white, lined paper. Anyone sensible would be taking the Knight Industries’ money and running. This place was a crumbling money pit. But it was her money pit. And the place she’d called home her whole life.

  “Not exactly bustling.”

  Briony bristled. “It’s a quiet night. Tuesdays always are.” This was her problem right here. People used to come to Wilde’s to mingle with the Hell’s crew. It was just dirty and dangerous enough that the tourist dollar made it through the door, instead of being stolen out of tourist pockets. The gang’s leadership had made a pact with her father that nothing really dark would ever come through the doors at Wilde’s and they’d stuck to it. Or at least tried to. A little bike leather made the place exciting and even a little glamorous rather than dangerous. A few years back, though, there had been some trouble. The gang had fallen on hard times and harder members. There were fights. Every day. Every night. When word got around that Wilde’s was actually wild, things started to quiet down till they dried up altogether. But she was going to change that. She had to.