by Rie Warren
“Needed a quick fix.” She leaned against the building, butting her hip against mine. “The real question is why are you here, Max?”
“You trying to rehabilitate me?”
I folded my arms across my chest, fully aware I still wore little more than workout shorts, sneakers, and a bunch of sweaty muscles.
Her eyes skipped down my torso, landing in an area that was strictly Off Limits.
Too bad my cock hadn’t gotten the memo.
“This is home, Shy. You don’t understand.”
She smiled sadly and hooked her fingers around my forearms. “You could try me.”
“You know what went down.”
“And that was crap. You’re so smart!” Her fingers tugged harder. “You got your psychology degree!”
“Who told you that?”
“Maddy.”
“My sister? She knows?”
“It’s not like you totally disappeared. You just left their lives.” Shy smoothed a hand up to my shoulder.
Shrugging free, I turned my back. “It didn’t go down like you think.”
I gave a dry laugh, a bark of sound more than anything else. “Better with my hands than my mind anyway. Better with them than with people. What I really want to do is . . .”
“What?” Shy snuck behind me, those hands once again on my bare flesh, flesh that stung, tickled, shivered, wanted.
Drawing a deep ragged breath, I pulled away. I spun around to face her down. “Nothing.”
“C’mon, Handsome.”
“You shouldn’t call me that.”
“Well, it’s true.” She stomped her foot.
“Get spunky lately or somethin’?” I bit into my slowly forming grin.
“Yes. Damn it!”
I raised my hands as she advanced.
“Okay. All right. God, girl, you sure got a lot of grit.”
She stood in front of me with her hands on the swell of her hips. “I earned it.”
Rubbing my fingers across my jaw I remembered I was shirtless, shower-less, and unshaved whiskers scraped across my palm.
Shy wasn’t used to seeing me like this any more than I was used to seeing her as an adult.
A woman.
“I want to start my own brewery,” I stated.
“Compete with your folks’ company?”
“That’s bad, huh?”
“Well, beer and not bourbon, right?” She reached up and rasped her fingertips against the stubble on my neck. “Besides, I don’t think you’re bad at all.”
Something hard knocked in my chest. Something harder knocked in my groin.
Seriously?
How many times did I need to tell my dick this was never ever in this lifetime gonna happen?
I kept a flat expression on my face while I stalked into the garage bay, made my way to the sink. Pumping out water, I splashed it over my cheeks and neck and chest.
Spinning with my hands skimming the excess before it reached my abs, I was heart-stopped by Shy’s hungry look.
At me.
Oh God.
This wasn’t gonna end good.
I needed a T-shirt. Chains to lock me up. To tase myself, maybe, as she advanced.
My hands warded her off. “I could be bad, Shy.”
Her lips parted.
Her feet moved.
Her hips swung.
She came so goddamn close I clutched the lip of the sink, wishing I could dive down the drain hole instead of diving into her silver-shaded eyes.
I only relaxed, slumped back, remembered to breathe, when a playful smile tipped her lips. “Naughty, naughty Maxwell Rush.”
Her finger wagged beneath my nose.
She turned about-face with an ass-swinging hypnotic move.
“Thanks for fixing my car.”
I tried to talk. Nothing came out. I was still clinging to the fucking sink like it was a buoy.
What the shit?
I spied Brodie leaning just inside the doorway, taking it all in, keeping everyone else out.
“One more thing, Max?” Shy’s breathy voice coiled back.
I raised my eyes to the ceiling. “What?”
“I sure could use some help moving back into my condo on Saturday.” When she turned back—just before slipping into her car—she bit into her lip.
My brain is backfiring.
Brodie loped out of the shadows, shook her hand, and closed her door.
She started the engine, wound her arm behind the front seat, and started backing out like a fucking starlet.
I frowned the entire time.
Before Shy got too far, Brodie—number one nosy fucker—leaned into her window, loudly stating, “Hell yeah. We got enough manpower. Lazy bastards could do with something useful on their work schedules. And Handsome can be the boss in charge.”
Evil. Fucker.
Chapter Six
The Other Other One-Percenters
“WHAT IS THIS PLACE? A fucking museum or something?” Tail wrenched his neck back to stare up at the three-story mansion on The Battery.
I smacked him on the back of his head. “Could you try not to swear for one sentence?”
The moving crew to help Shy consisted of Tail, Brodie, Cole, and me. I’d thought about enlisting Bo—because the dude was a former Marine and built like a tank—but he had a session with his sexy Doc Ronnie. I hadn’t even considered enlisting Kinkaid—because the dude was an ex-stripper.
And I was already gonna blind both Tail and Cole with my bowie knife if they didn’t keep their eyes in their heads instead of planted on Shy’s ass when they saw her again.
I rang the doorbell and hoped like hell Mr. and Mrs. Lockhart weren’t home. Did not wanna see them again. Frig it. I hoped even more my parents weren’t home next door.
Shiloh swung the door open, and I had to smile.
There was just something so fresh about her. Another long flowy dress she’d somehow hiked—a little bit too high in my opinion—on the right side so a long length of healthy tanned leg showed.
And up above some healthy tanned cleavage showed.
I quickly snapped my eyes away—and considered taking the bowie knife to my own peepers.
“Cavalry’s here,” I said.
Considered giving her a fist bump just to keep things totally straightforward and platonic, but that wasn’t how we did things.
By we I meant the privileged of downtown Charleston.
Brushing against her as little as possible, I hugged her with one arm.
Her lips nudged against my cheek, just above the neat stubble, right where I was most sensitive, leaving a warm, damp echo.
“Thanks so much for this, Max.”
“More like mini. Mini dick.” Brodie snickered.
“Shove it, Broderick,” I cracked back.
“Broderick, is it?” Shy asked, and I enjoyed watching Brodie get flustered.
“Hey”—he rolled his shoulders back—“not as bad as Boomer’s real name.”
“Which is?” Shy prodded.
“Harold.” He snorted.
“Oh my. He doesn’t look like a Harold at all.”
“Nah. He looks like a one-man wrecking crew.” Cole joined the nonsense conversation.
Hoping to get this show on the road, I rubbed my hands together. “Right. Where do we start?”
“The carriage house.” After shutting the front door, Shy started down the wide front steps, gripping the banister.
“Carriage house, oh-la-la,” Tail mouthed at Cole.
When we reached the brick-paved driveway that ran parallel to a secret garden, Shy turned to the other guys.
“And thank you too, Tail, right?” She glanced at the broad-shouldered, long-haired man.
He actually stumbled over a few words—Mr. Goddamn Bonafide Pussy Hound—before settling on, “Yeah. No problema,” with his hand rubbing the back of his neck.
I narrowed my eyes at Shy. She better not be flirting.
She then thanked Cole
trane as well as Brodie, turning on that sweet, southern charm that could’ve made her debutante-worthy.
“I’m indebted to all of you.”
“Can think of a few ways you could thank me, darlin’.” Tail lost the sheepish look to hungrily stare.
I shoved him back a few steps, blocking him from Shiloh. Nothing subtle whatsoever about my guard dog move.
“Yeah. Why don’t you lead the way, Shy?”
She carried on down the path, her pace unhurried, and I remained just slightly behind her to obscure any view of her ass she might’ve otherwise unwittingly provided to Cole and Tail.
Brodie was just along to do a good deed.
Cole and Tail? Way too hot for Little Miss Well-Bred.
At the carriage house, Shy rolled open the doors, revealing neatly stacked boxes, clear plastic bins, and dustcloth-covered furniture.
“Couldn’t you just hire a moving company?” I inspected the dim interior.
“Where’s the fun in that?” She angled her playful eyes at me beneath some seriously thick feathery-looking eyelashes.
Something in my chest flip-flopped, but I blamed it on the heat—set to reach a record-breaking 101 degrees by midday.
The guys and I hauled on our work gloves, and Shy took point—parceling out orders while she tugged grins from our lips with her bossy, chick-in-charge attitude. It was funny, watching her drill-sergeant her way around four massive biker dudes, all of us answering with polite nods of our heads and a constant supply of “Yes, ma’am” when we usually took swearing and riffing to a whole new level.
All fun and games until Shy puffed out her tits, placed her hands on her hips, and dressed down Tail. “Could you stop juggling that crate like it’s full of Styrofoam peanuts? That’s my china!”
Then Tail just had to be Tail . . .
“Not for nothin’, Miss Shiloh”—he dipped into a bow, balancing the heavy box on one shoulder—“but I’d take orders from you any day of the week.”
She blushed when he gave her a wicked wink.
I almost threw the enormous vase I was carrying at his head.
Damn.
I needed to get my temper under control.
But I did not like these guys chasing her like she was just another skirt.
Liked her pleased reaction to all the attention even less.
We’d brought the Chrome and Steele van, hired a U-Haul, too. Toiling away like demons in the flashing, slashing sun, we filled one vehicle and set to work on perfectly jigsawing the rest of her belongings into the van, box by box by container by trunk.
I made a final trip to the carriage house, guzzling a cool bottle of water. After checking to make sure we’d gotten every last stick of furniture and even the smallest boxes, I turned in the doorway then lounged against the frame.
This far back from the road I couldn’t hear Shy’s words, but I could see her ordering the other three around.
Swiping sweat from my brow, I chuckled.
Yup. A natural-born bossy chick.
I had new respect for her, instructing three badass MC dudes who fell all over themselves to do her bidding.
As long as everyone kept their hands to their own damn selves.
I slid even farther back into the darkness of the carriage house as Shy approached, presumably to do her own double-check. Reaching out when she neared me, I snatched her hand, listening to her light gasp.
“Max!” Her fingers curled around mine, a smile lifting her lips.
“We got everything. I already made sure.”
The million-watt sunrays outside only served to make the carriage house an even closer, cooler, more secret enclave.
And those sunbeams highlighted Shy from behind when she pressed against me to once again sneak a kiss to my cheek. “You’re so sweet.”
“Not really.” Looking everywhere but at her—like she was the sun and could burn my eyes—I slid away.
“So, how much are you paying us for this gig?” My voice echoed in the now empty chamber.
The look she returned was half flirty and a little bit dirty.
She pushed a hand to the hip she jutted out. “Us or you, Handsome?”
Bright beams of sunlight glinted off the bar pierced through the upper shell of her ear . . . and some part of me was tempted to tug it between my teeth, wondering if she’d whimper or moan.
Danger.
I took another step away, deeper into the dark recesses.
Biting her bottom lip, she flipped a smoky look at me. “I have beer at the apartment, on ice.”
She advanced.
I didn’t retreat.
But I did touch the thin straps of her dress at both her shoulders, my fingers fanning out across soft and sun-warmed flesh. “Not very practical clothing for moving-in-day.”
“But that’s why I got you to do all the work.” She gave an innocent blink that wasn’t so innocent anymore.
I growled and watched her turn on her heel. Suddenly my hand lashed out, and I lightly snapped it against her backside that had been tantalizing me all morning long.
I grasped that firm flesh for a moment.
Shock pumped through me, and I released her.
Shy looked back, gurgling the kind of throaty laugh that set my cock on edge and made me think of sex.
Hot, filthy, wild, nightlong fucking.
Mistake.
Big mistake even going there.
Oh fuck.
Suddenly brisk and back to business, I stormed out in front of Shy, pushing my gloves into the back pocket of my jeans. “We better head out if we’re gonna get this done today.”
****
Shy led us up East Bay Street, turned off the thoroughfare at Concord, and followed a cobbled one-way narrow lane to the key-code accessible parking garage beneath her building. She drove her Hellcat. I handled the U-Haul, tempted to plow down tipsy midday tourists, and Tail commandeered the big van.
There wasn’t enough room in the garage for all three vehicles, so we pretty much shut down the entire street with the truck and van.
Shrug.
The building faced the Cooper River—the opposite side of Mt. Pleasant. Only the historic Waterfront Park with the famous pineapple fountain separated Shy’s home from the water. Prime location. Prime real estate.
I shouldn’t have expected anything less.
“Gas lights on all the buildings down here, huh?” Tail met up with me, him at the back of the van, me at the truck. “Upscale or what?”
“She comes from money.”
Cole strolled up. “So you never said how you really know Shiloh, Handsome.”
“That’s correct.”
“Airtight motherfucker.” Brodie took me into a headlock.
Shy turned the corner and caught us in the act. “Sorry to interrupt.” Her sparkling eyes so said she wasn’t. “There’s an elevator in the garage. It should make this go faster. Once you finish roughhousing, that is.”
The unloading took less time than the packing. We got Shy squared away in her waterfront-view condo, arranged the furniture, and took every opportunity to rib one another just because.
The apartment wasn’t huge. It wasn’t flashy. But it was money. Clearly lots of money, especially newly decorated, totally understated, and smelling just faintly of fresh paint.
Sweet digs. I wondered if Shy was living off of Momma and Papa’s bucks.
Not really my business, one way or the other.
True to her word, she had ice-cold beer as well as eats ready for us four hungry, sweaty, kind of grimy guys.
Shy passed out the first round of beers, and I saw Tail frowning at a chair that looked too fucking tiny to hold his weight.
Stepping through the sitting room, Shy opened a sliding door, which led to a private deck. “There’s more beer out here in the cooler.”
Talk about a call to the cavemen.
We almost tackled one another to get to the deck.
I stopped on the threshold, after kickin
g Cole in the ass and sending him into a near face-plant, to usher Shy outside.
“Smooth, Handsome.” Brodie lifted his beer in my direction. “Real smooth.”
The heat of the day had released the scent of Shy’s potted flowers into the air. Something that smelled green and fresh surrounded us on the cozy terrace with epic views of the river and bay. Sailboats on the water, Patriot’s Point across the way, the Ravenel Bridge arching high across everything.
Shy took a seat, and I followed suit beside her.
She’d had overhead fans installed—the big bamboo ones. And as we sat on lounges in the shade with the whomp-whomp of slightly cooler air fanning us, I paid more attention to Shy than I should have.
Her cheeks wore a light splash of pink, and she idly swung a foot in the pretty sandal. Her bare shoulders gleamed, her smile gleamed brighter as she listened to the constant one-liners zipping from dude to dude.
The late afternoon with good food and totally shit-talking company became some kind of housewarming party. Shy only sipped from a beer, ate a small plateful of food. She’d shown us the two bathrooms and told us to help ourselves if we wanted to clean up.
Probably because we smelled rank.
“Ahhhh.” Brodie stepped outside later from a quick rinse-off, slaking his wet hair with both hands. “A deck and a beer cooler. Righteous set-up you got here.” He dug another ice-frosted brew from the Yeti. “Consider yourself an honorary member of Retribution, Miss Shiloh.”
The sun was about to set, sending long feathery trails of violet and pink and orange across the Cooper River. And when Shy’s lips tipped up in a smile, she was more stunning than the sunset.
Too monumentally aware of her all of a sudden, I excused myself from the crew. Navigating through the interior, I found myself in her private bathroom. I shut the door. Locked it.
With my fingers stabbed down onto the counter, I glared at myself in the mirror.
Suddenly Shiloh was part of the MC family while I still had nothing to do with mine for reasons beyond my control.
I couldn’t risk that shame or pain again.
I took a leak then turned on the sink to scoop up some much needed hot water. I splashed my face and hair, shucked off my shirt, soaped my chest and pits and what I could reach of my back.
I toweled off then hung the damp cloth on the bar after neatly folding it. Idly taking a drink from my beer, I swiped a palm across the fogged-over mirror. It popped open on contact, revealing a hidden medicine cabinet from which myriad orange prescription bottles rattled into the sink below.
