No. Taking a deep breath, Danielle drew from the reserve of her earlier confidence. If she wanted to make this sale, she couldn't act like a frightened child. Sure, he had a gun, but he wasn't pointing it at her.
Yet.
“No, I'm not lost. I'm looking for Turnaround Bar... isn't this it?” She gestured to the pathetic dwelling behind them.
“Oui.” His heavy accent and smattering of French vocabulary pronounced him one of a plentiful Cajun community in the area. “And why might you be looking for da Poison Sons?”
“Oooo, look at this one.” Before Danielle could begin to answer, another man appeared from the thick foliage surrounding the bar's parking lot. He seemed the exact opposite of the rifle-toting giant she'd met already — short, thick-necked and broad-shouldered. Blonde hair was buzzed close to his head and his carriage spoke of past army training, even if his manners didn't. “Ain't she a pretty one?”
This one didn't have a gun, but something in her gut told Danielle that he was no less dangerous than the Cajun.
“...Thanks.” She finally tried, carefully. Extracting the thick manila folder with the warehouse specs and paperwork, she went on. “My name is Danielle Sparks. I'm looking to speak to Randolph Hicks?”
“Rusty gets all the good ones,” the blonde quipped at his companion before turning back to her. “Well I'm Billy and this here's Silas. You'll be wantin' to go inside if you're looking for Rusty. Though... uh.... you sure you haven't found what you're lookin' for already?”
Danielle bit back a snort of laughter at the blatant come-on. Poison Sons or not, these boys were still about as stereotypically male as they came. Usually, she'd be making a very apropos exit in the face of such a bold move, but that wasn't exactly an option at the moment. Instead, she swallowed her mirth, straightened her skirt and gave the most polite reply she could come up with.
“Sorry, handsome, but I'm here to speak with the big guy. Can't divert from my business.”
When Billy scowled, the Cajun beside him grinned, revealing a mouth full of gold caps that probably cost more than she made in a month. “Go righ' inside, chère. Rusty waitin' for you.”
With what she hoped was a friendly smile, Danielle turned on her heel to start for the main entrance of the bar. Though her bravery was bolstered by the fact that she appeared to have made it past the guard dogs, there was a smaller part of her that was praying that she wouldn't get shot in the back.
She breathed a sigh of relief after she'd picked her way over the rickety porch and finally made it into the dim interior of the building. To say the least, it wasn't much better aesthetically than the outside. A beat up jukebox in the corner was playing eighties rock, and the entire establishment smelled of beer, cigarettes and gun smoke with an underlying hint of rotting wood.
A quick glance around the place revealed it to be almost deserted; there was only a snoring man in an armchair, face covered by a water-spotted paper, and the bartender.
But what a bartender.
The man had to be at least six and a half feet tall, which let him tower over her 5'9” frame even in her work heels. A black t-shirt was stretched thinly over a wide, flat chest and arms that bulged with hard-earned muscle. His face was a thing of rugged beauty, with slate gray eyes and a long nose that looked like it had seen a few fights. Stubble the same raven color as the waves carelessly falling about his shoulders covered his jaw and cheeks; and Danielle couldn't help but bite her lip as she imagined how it would feel rasping over the more sensitive parts of her body. That, and the notion of his sensuously full mouth on hers made her hesitate by the pool table. She'd known that many a woman in town lusted after the Sons for their power, but she hadn't ever seen one she'd been so physically drawn to.
“Um... excuse me.” When she finally found her voice, it wavered embarrassingly. “I'm looking for Randolph Hicks.”
The man looked up from the glass that he was cleaning and his intense gaze sent a shot of liquid desire through her. There was a moment in which he just stared at her, taking her in from head to toe, before his lips curved slightly.
“Call me Rusty.”
Danielle had to inwardly wrestle her shock to keep it from showing on her face. This man was the new leader of the Poison Sons? She'd been expecting a grizzled, scarred biker twice her age or at least someone not so... good looking. Any ideas that she might have had about charming an older man into a business deal went out the window.
“Well... Rusty, I'm Danielle Sparks.” Crossing to the bar, she held out his hand for him to shake. When he took it, electricity sparked in her fingertips and zipped down her body to make her thighs tingle. “I've come here with a business proposition for you. I heard that your father stepped down and that you're the one to talk to.”
“Who'd you hear it from?” The South had colored the man's deep bass so it sounded like silk and it took Danielle a moment to clear the fog from her head before she could contemplate an answer.
“Oh... around.” She wasn't careless enough to rat out anyone who'd been gossiping about the town's ruling gang. In addition to protecting her information sources, she'd never been and never would be a snitch.
“Well, you heard wrong.” The young woman froze for a second as the man pulled a bottle of whiskey from an upper shelf to pour into a short glass.
What did he mean? Wasn't he in charge? Or hadn't Jonah actually stepped down? Perhaps she'd come to the wrong person.
“My daddy's dead, Mrs. Sparks. Cancer got 'im. I always thought he smoked too much.”
“Oh... I'm sorry.” Danielle looked up at him in surprise as he set the glass of whiskey in front of her.
“Don't be. When it's your time, it's your time.” He poured a second glass of whiskey, adding a little ice before slinging the bar towel over his shoulder. “But I'm betting you didn't come here to give me condolences about my pops. If we're gonna talk business, I need a drink.” With that, he came around the bar.
Long legs quickly ate up the distance between them and Danielle had to force her eyes upward after admiring the way his jeans hugged slim hips, muscular thighs, and everything in between. As he sat next to her, the scent of him — motor oil and spearmint — wafted over her. Her thighs clenched in reaction and she cleared her throat, taking a sip of her whiskey to hide her discomfort.
The alcohol went down smooth and warm, soothing her digestive tract and heating her stomach.
“Mmm... That's good.”
“20 year Glenlivet. The best. Now, Mrs. Sparks—”
“It's Miss,” the young woman couldn't help but correct him when he wrongly addressed her the second time.
The information made his gray gaze intensify slightly. Never taking his eyes from her, the man took a swallow of whiskey before replacing his glass on the bar. “Miss Sparks. What was it you came here to talk about?”
“A real estate opportunity.” Despite the electric attraction crackling through the air between them, the prospect of the sale put Danielle into her element. She immediately straightened before extracting her manila folder from her bag and placing it on the bar. “I hope you don't mind me saying, but you look to be in need of a new base of operations.”
Rusty continued to eye her, his expression unreadable. “Go on.”
“I know you boys have been using this place forever, and frankly, it's falling apart. The costs for the work needed would be so high that it'd benefit you more to just purchase a new property. Lucky for you, this just fell into my company's hands.” Flipping open the folder, she pushed it toward him to reveal the specs for the warehouse. “It's in the center of downtown, underground. It'd be exceedingly convenient for doing business as well as for storing goods.” Exactly what kind of goods she didn't venture to specify. “You could probably fit over twenty bikes in the garage. The location and the benefits would be enormous for the Sons. You can see for yourself.”
She watched as the dark-haired man flipped through the first few pages of the packet, his eyes scanning over the information. After thre
e or four minutes, however, he closed the folder to look up at her, his gaze amused.
“You want me to buy this place?”
Danielle trod carefully here; clearly he wasn't as open to the idea as she'd hoped. “I think it would be a good investment for your organization, yes.”
“Why come to me directly?” He inquired blithely. “You could have sought out any of our contacts in town.”
“Your contacts can't make decisions like you can, Rusty,” she shot back almost immediately. “I needed someone who could give me a clear yes or no on this property, and the last time I heard, only the man in charge is able to make financial decisions of this caliber for the Poison Sons.”
Her fiery words had the man before her scratching his chin thoughtfully. “...What else have you heard about us?”
The question caught Danielle off guard and she reddened slightly. Most of what went around town concerning the reputation of the Sons didn't bear repeating. She was far too smart to risk ruining the sale, and more importantly, putting her own life in danger.
“A lot of people think you've saved this town.” Her reply was as tactful as it was measured. Rusty leaned against the bar, taking her in for a moment before sliding forward in his seat so his hard thigh grazed hers. Danielle's slight jump of awareness made him smirk.
“What do you think?”
“I think...” She swallowed slowly as she considered her answer. “I think you're smart... and dangerous. You need to be both to run a town like this one.”
Rusty took another swig of whiskey. When a drop escaped the corner of his mouth, his tongue darted out to catch it and Danielle's heart hammered against her ribs. The man was beyond gorgeous — he was absolutely sinful; and everything he did, from his swagger when he walked, to the way he undressed her with his eyes as he spoke, told her that he was quite aware of the fact.
“Listen, sweetheart.” He spoke after a moment, looking down at her. “If I wanted a new headquarters for the Sons I could choose any of a shit ton of buildings we already own.”
The comment stung and the young woman lurched back, taking up her own drink to down the entire contents. As the liquid simmered in her belly, she glared at him, fire in her eyes. “If that's so, why am I still sitting here?”
The large man's eyes gleamed in something very akin to admiration as he chuckled lowly, passing the folder back to her over the length of the bar. “Tell you what, darlin': That warehouse of yours doesn't interest me half as much as you do.”
**
The shock in her eyes was pretty evident.
Rusty didn't think he'd been doing a stellar job hiding his attraction to her, but he hadn't really meant to. From the moment she'd walked into the bar, the little vixen had had him hot and bothered.
She was a tall glass, with curves a man could kill for, poured into that sexy little skirt and shirt combo she wore. The fact that he couldn't see much skin only made him want to undress her more; and if that wasn't enough, those big blue eyes and heart shaped mouth sealed the deal.
Billy had texted him as soon as she'd rolled up to let him know the woman was a looker and that was putting it lightly.
Throughout the so-called business conversation they were having he kept picturing bending her over the bar and fucking her until her hair was mussed and her makeup smeared — until she begged him for more.
It was distracting as hell, especially considering that she was offering him exactly what he'd been looking for. To tell the truth, he'd spend the past few weeks attempting to find a place to which he could move the headquarters that was convenient and central. The warehouse she was talking about hadn't been listed locally — he was betting it was because it was owned by an out-of-towner, which meant he wouldn't have been able to touch it anyway unless he'd found the realtor who ran the sale.
Lucky him. She'd fallen right into his lap.
Now that the answer was staring him in the face, however, he found himself far too distracted by Danielle Sparks to be able to have a serious conversation with her. The way her mouth moved when she talked in particular did unmentionable things to his nether parts.
When she downed all her whiskey in a huff, he knew he had to have her. A woman who could drink and didn't mind standing up to him played third fiddle to only God and country.
And now she was staring at him, those amazing eyes wide and her cheeks tinged a pretty red.
“I... I... Mr. Hicks, I came here to discuss business.”
He grinned at her sudden change to proper address. “It's Rusty. And we talked your business. Now I want to talk about something else.”
The fiery woman before him closed her eyes and appeared to take a deep, composing breath. “Rusty, I hope you know that I'm the only way that you can get this property. If you don't get it through me, you'll lose your chance.”
Sure, the warehouse was perfect for his needs, but he had other needs in mind just now; and he couldn't concentrate on anything else until they'd been assuaged. “How about we discuss it over another drink at my place?”
The heat that flared in her eyes, sudden and mistakable, told him that the attraction he felt wasn't one-sided. He caught her expression just moments before she retrieved the manila folder with the warehouse information from the bar and replaced it in her bag. When her head rose again, she appeared both determined and aroused.
It was sexy as hell. “If I go back with you, do you promise me a serious discussion about the warehouse?”
He couldn't be so goddamn lucky. “I swear. After.” He punctuated, swallowing to wet his throat. “After drinks.”
“I mean it, Rusty.” She warned him, beginning to rise from her chair. “Don't think you can walk all over me just because of your title.”
Goddamn, this woman was a loaded cannon.
In a swift motion, Rusty stood, sweeping her into his arms to lift and press the small of her back against the brick outcropping of the bar. “Christ, woman, all I wanna do is kiss you.” With that, he pressed his mouth to hers.
She was hot, heady and sweet, the taste of coffee and mints lingering on her breath. As soon as their lips touched, her tongue darted out to explore his mouth eagerly as her arms slipped around his shoulders. Rusty groaned deeply as she pressed the length of her hot little body against him so he could feel every inch of her; from the curve of her ample breasts to the heat between her thighs.
He kissed her again and again, each time exploring her mouth in new ways. His teeth grazed the underside of her upper lip, making her inhale sharply. His tongue tangled with hers and she squirmed against his rapidly rising cock. He bit down on her lower lip and she arched against him, popping a button to reveal the glorious V of her cleavage.
It took maybe about five minutes for him to lose himself in her right in the middle of the bar, which was about three weeks faster than it had ever taken him to get so wrapped up in a woman. His face was buried in the naked v of her breasts, biting and licking at them, when the audible sound of a throat clearing interrupted them.
Rusty's head jerked up to see no less than five of the Sons in the doorway, each of them with an expression of indulged amusement on their faces. Jackal, the wildest of the bunch, was making lewd motions with his hand, his grin exposing a mouth full of half-rotted teeth.
Cursing, he set an extremely flustered Danielle back on the floor, straightening her shirt. He didn't want a single one of the guys catching a glimpse of what he'd claimed for his own.
“We interrupting, boss?”
Rusty turned away from the cherry face of the woman before him to run a hand through his hair in exasperation before speaking. “Fuck. No. We were just leaving.” He turned to address the sleeping man in the corner. “Reed, wake the fuck up. It's time to go.”
Flailing wildly, the middle-aged man returned violently to awareness, shredding his paper in the process. With that done, Rusty addressed the men who had just entered. “Call me if you need me. I'll just be out back for a while.”
Leaning ov
er the bar, he grabbed a leather jacket emblazoned with the Poison Sons insignia a moment before taking Danielle's hand firmly in his to lead her toward the back exit. Still blushing furiously, the young woman followed quickly after him. They found themselves silhouetted by the dim outdoor lights of the bar as they passed ancient dumpsters and headed for a low, concrete building among the trees about thirty yards away.
It only took about a minute to reach it, and another thirty seconds for Rusty to find his keys and unlock the door before they were inside.
He watched as Danielle took in the small space. He'd had it built a while back when he'd started spending more time at the Turnaround than he did at home. The one room dwelling housed a small kitchenette with plenty of storage for his clothes and boots, along with a workspace and his most beloved bike — a Gold and Black Harley he'd inherited from his dad.
The place was a bit messy, but all that mattered to Rusty at that particular moment was that it had a queen sized bed and it was private. Additionally, it didn't require a fifteen minute drive to get to like his house in the mountains.
Naming His Price (Poison Sons MC) Page 2
