Fred continued hooking up her car, seemingly oblivious to the numerous two-wheeled chrome-covered machines pulling into the lot. Tate’s actions were more surprising; he wrapped his arm around her shoulders and pulled her next to his body, tucking her securely under his arm. She caught a whiff of spicy aftershave mixed with the faint scent of fabric softener.
Shocked speechless, she looked up at him. His eyes had narrowed, and she got the impression he had just switched from focusing on her to focusing on the riders. The expression on his face was carefully blank. She felt the tension coil in his muscles as he watched the men pull up and park their motorcycles in a neat row facing the bar. As they silenced their machines one by one, the quiet seemed almost as deafening as the noise.
What the hell…
“Campbell. Been a while.” The stocky man riding the first motorcycle into the lot dismounted and swaggered over to Tate. He wore a bandanna tied around his head, a sleeveless leather vest covered with patches, and chunky thick-soled boots with metal buckles. His chest and arms were decorated with faded tattoos, and he had a wrinkled scar that snaked across his left cheek, trailing down to his neck. Obviously cosmetic surgical repairs weren’t a priority for these guys, even on facial wounds. His black beady eyes skimmed over Tate and focused on Dace with uncomfortable attention.
Tate gave a short upward chin jerk. “Whip.”
“So who’s your friend?” The biker was still looking at Dace, and she almost opened her mouth to reply before feeling the subtle tightening of Tate’s arm across her shoulders as he squeezed her even closer to his torso.
“Mine.” His reply was quick. “Aren’t you, babe?”
He looked down at her, his gaze guarded. The air sizzled with tension. She didn’t understand what message he was sending, but she wasn’t stupid. She nodded.
“Not wearing a property patch, Campbell. You sure she’s yours?” Whip’s eyes never left Dace, making her feel slimy.
“Yeah. I’m sure.” Tate’s response came fast, even though his tone was calm.
“Damn, Campbell, you know how to find ’em. She got any friends who want to party?” Whip rolled his shoulders and coiled his hands into fists, flexing and releasing his fingers. Dace noticed spaces in the blue ink covering his hands and knuckles, and realized belatedly the clear spots were actually dozens of thin scars.
“Nah, not tonight.”
Whip raised an eyebrow. “Share the love, bro. Bitch like that has to have some good-looking friends just a phone call away.” He turned and gestured at the dozen men who had dismounted from their bikes and stood behind him, silent and somehow threatening, even though none of them had said a word. “Long ride today. We could all use some company.”
Tate tilted his head toward the bar. “Jack’s tending bar; tell him first round’s on me.” Dace could still feel the edginess pulsing through his body; his muscles were taut as wires.
Whip stood, his gaze moving between Dace and Tate. The men behind him grunted their appreciation, their attention distracted by the offer of free alcohol. She realized that was Tate’s intention, and sent up a quick prayer of thanks. The situation had gone very weird very fast, and while she was a hell of a doctor, this was beyond her training and life experience.
After a long moment, Whip raised his chin in a quick jerk. His lips drifted into a sneer as he looked at Dace. “Another time. Appreciate the round, Campbell.” Turning on his booted heel, he stalked toward the bar. The other men followed him, and she noticed they all wore leather vests with identical center logos and curved lower patches across the back.
Pressed as tight as she was up against Tate, Dace could feel the deep breath he took as he relaxed. The rigidity faded from his muscles, and she pulled back to stand a few steps away.
“What was that?” Her question was rhetorical—she knew a motorcycle club’s colors when she saw them—but she still wanted an explanation for Tate’s ownership claim.
“Nothing.” Tate looked at her. “Nothing for you to worry about, anyway. A hundred bucks or so in free liquor for me, more if they order top shelf.” He sighed as he raked his fingers through his hair.
Dace jutted her chin out, the tension she felt beginning to morph into anger. “Anarchy doesn’t reign in this city. So they look scary; what would have happened? Your phone is in your pocket and police come when 911 is called.”
Glaring at her, Tate’s gaze was incredulous as he crossed his arms in front of his chest. “You just met Whip, president of the Dark Riders MC, and half his crew. They are capable of doing things you can’t imagine in your worst nightmares, and police response time in this part of town is at least half an hour. That crew can cause a lot of damage in thirty minutes.” He raked his fingers through his hair again in a distracted gesture. “I have to get back in my bar before they start hassling my servers.”
“Your bar?”
“Yeah. I own it.”
Dace could tell his attention had shifted back across the street.
“Okay, so go. I’m good here with, uh, Fred.” Dace stuck out her hand toward Tate again. “Thanks for the help. I really appreciate everything you did.”
Tate grasped her hand, but didn’t immediately let go after shaking it. “Any chance you might have time for coffee sometime? My treat.”
Dace responded with a tired smile. “Coffee? Not a beer?”
Tate grinned. “Seriously—I own a bar. Alcohol is like a job; it doesn’t interest me. You’re not a bar patron…you’re, uh, different.”
She goggled at him. “Different? Yeah, I’m different all right. Without a vehicle, I’m not only different, I’m stranded; as in, not going anywhere. Maybe once my car is fixed and I get it back.” She smacked her forehead with her palm. “Duh. No car. How in the hell am I supposed to get to work tomorrow?”
From the front of her car, Fred hollered at her. “Give me another few minutes for your paperwork, and we’ll be ready to roll. You got towing insurance? AAA, maybe?”
“My AAA card and my driver’s license are in my wallet. Hang on and I’ll get them for you.”
Dace noticed Tate glance back across the street again. From the snippets of music bleeding out of the bar’s door as it swung open to admit the bikers, the band’s noise level seemed to have increased dramatically. He turned back to Dace and dug in his jeans, then leaned forward and slid a business card into the pocket of Dace’s scrubs as she scrabbled through her backpack, looking for her wallet.
“Look, I’d really like to see you again. No joke. I know you said your phone is dead, but my number’s on the card.” He grinned at her. “Got to go. Hope to hear from you.”
He leaned forward and wrapped Dace in his arms. As he moved his mouth near her ear, he murmured, “The prospects are still out here watching the bikes, so make this look good.”
Chapter Three
Dace opened her mouth to ask what a prospect was, just in time for Tate’s lips to swoop down and drift across her mouth. He nibbled her upper lip, touching her teeth gently with his tongue, and shifted his head to the left as he moved his head to more closely align his mouth with hers. He tasted like warm, vital man, and just a hint of chocolate.
It had been so long since Dace had kissed a man she felt stunned. On the heels of that emotion came the realization that Tate was one of the best kissers she had ever embraced. His mouth was soft but insistent, arousing her tired limbs, and kindling a bonfire in her belly. Scalding heat danced through her veins as she wrapped her arms around his neck and ground her body up against his, writhing against his muscled body, grinding herself against his abdomen. She felt the hardness between his legs, and she almost reached to caress his stiff penis with her hand before pulling back.
He groaned softly. “Jesus Christ, Dace…let’s take this inside.” Panting, he pulled away from her, and slid his arm around her shoulders, urging her toward a secluded stairway at the side of the bar building. “Babe, come upstairs with me.”
She dropped her head back on her neck
with a groan. “We can’t. You’ve got Marlon Brando and the Wild Bunch in your bar, and I’ve got a broken car I have to see to.” She wanted to—she had rarely wanted anything so much—but she had always been the responsible, organized person who never missed a detail, who followed through on commitments and put everyone else’s needs first. That’s why she was such a stellar doctor.
And right now she would have traded everything for a few moments with Tate above his bar. Hell, the backseat of her Honda—provided she could get Fred to go get some coffee or something—would serve nicely. She knew her body, and it had been a very long time since she’d had anything between her legs other than her battery-operated-boyfriend. Anything with a heartbeat, anyway. Her arousal was off the charts—she couldn’t explain medically or anatomically how a man she barely knew turned her on so strongly and so quickly. At the moment, she was on fire; a climax was a light touch away.
Denying her personal physical satisfaction only thickened the icing on her poop cupcake of a day. She rarely cursed; but if there was ever a swear-worthy situation, this qualified. “Fuck…”
Tate managed a smile, even though it was through gritted teeth. “Yeah, that’s what I’m talking about. C’mere.”
He grabbed her hands and dragged her around to the far side of Fred’s wrecker, then pulled her back in his arms. Here they were concealed from the curious eyes of the two men watching over the cycles. Behind them stretched a mostly empty parking lot, and the windowless concrete walls of nearby buildings.
“Fred. How about dinner on me?” Tate’s voice sounded composed, but Dace was close enough she saw the strain reflected on his face.
Fred poked his head out of her Honda’s front window. “Right now?”
“Yeah. Right now. Tell Jack whatever you want him to make and tell him to put it on my tab.” Tate dropped his head and nuzzled Dace’s neck, running his hands down over her hips. Dace swore she could feel her eyes roll back in her head. What the hell was she doing?
Tate traced the delicate rim of Dace’s ear with his nose, and murmured in her ear. “Let go. Be in the moment, babe. I’ve got you. It’s okay.”
Grasping at her last fully functioning brain cell, she moved her head back and looked up at him, seeing the blazing heat and arousal in his eyes. “Let go? I just met you and I don’t even know you.” With regret in every step, she slid her feet back, moving slowly away from his embrace. “We need to stop this right now, before we do something stupid. Thanks for the phone, and, uh…everything else.”
Before she had gotten half a step away, he grasped her arms and pulled her back against him. “Who says it would be stupid? Relax. You know who I am, and you know what I do. I run a bar that I happen to own. My business card is in your pocket.”
He smiled at her and she swore her panties got even wetter. “I can make you feel really good if you let me.” His nose drifted around her earlobe and down her neck again. “You smell like lemons and soap and warm, sexy skin. And Dace, if we had time, I’d like to know how every inch of your skin smells, and how it tastes. I want to see what is under these scrubs.”
“You’re a guy. You have to say us getting intimate wouldn’t be stupid, or you lose your membership card in the man club.” Pushing up against him was like being pressed against a wall; a really sexy wall with a seriously buff body and a mouth made for slow, sensuous kissing. He was implacable, immovable, and irritating—not to mention protective.
And hot. Completely and utterly hot.
“My membership card in the man club?” Gently he traced her lips with his index finger. “Hate to disappoint you, but I wouldn’t belong to any club that would have me as a member.”
“Quoting Groucho Marx isn’t furthering your cause.”
“And here I thought humor was an aphrodisiac.” He chuckled. “Dace, you kiss like an angel, and I’ve already told you I want to see you again. You’ve got my number, so the ball’s in your court.” He nudged his hardness against her hip, as he nodded at her erect nipples straining through her scrubs. “There’s attraction on both sides here, unless I need my eyes checked.”
He traced a finger across her collarbone, and down the neck of her scrubs into her cleavage, making her shudder. “Let go, babe. Just for a few minutes.”
She gaped at him, her mouth open. Thoughts whirled through her head, arousal and sheer lust fogging her brain.
To let go…just for a few minutes…
No patients, no nurses, no ringing cell phones, no decisions to make, no paperwork, no intercom pages…
She couldn’t help it; she nodded.
Chapter Four
Tate felt as if his brain was boiling inside his head. His heart was trying to pound its way out of his chest, and he realized it had been a very long time since he’d had someone in his life; someone who intrigued him and attracted him, who actually made him want to get to know her better. One-night-stands were easy for him to find, given that he owned a bar and single women were plentiful. She was different, though; he was attracted to Dace from the first moment she came into the bar, and his attraction had grown, along with the possessiveness he felt for her.
He was surprised to see the Dark Riders pull into his parking lot earlier. After Tate’s tours in the sandbox, courtesy of Uncle Sam, word got around the biker community that he wasn’t a pushover. Early on, he convinced Whip and his boys to mind their manners when they were in his bar. After a few unpleasant encounters, the lesson had stuck. Whip liked raising hell, and he didn’t like someone telling him what not to do; consequently, he avoided Shooters on most of his runs. Whip hitting on Dace earlier raised the hackles on Tate’s neck, and he responded instinctively by claiming Dace in front of Whip.
He was sure Dace didn’t understand what that meant, that he had claimed her. But Tate knew that Whip did, and that Whip understood the consequences of ignoring that statement.
What surprised Tate the most was how natural it felt; as if she belonged in his life and in his arms, warm and soft and responsive to his caresses. Her head nestled perfectly under his chin, and by bending his head slightly, he could catch the lemon scent of her hair. Beneath the lemon, he caught the occasional whiff of a sharper, more acrid scent, and he recognized it as disinfectant.
“Tate, we’re in a parking lot…” Her words came out on an exhale, drifting through the air in a whispered plea. “We can’t do this.” Despite her earlier nod of assent, Tate felt the uncertainty in her body; she rubbed against him, her touch sleek and hot as if she couldn’t bear to move away from him. Her hands slid up and down his arms, pulling him closer and sliding under his T-shirt against his belly.
She groaned hungrily again, desperation bleeding through her voice. “Oh, God…” He felt her nuzzle his neck, flicking it with the tip of her tongue, and it pushed him over the edge.
He nudged her backward as he felt for the door handle on the cab of Fred’s wrecker. Lady Luck smiled; it was unlocked. Pulling Dace against him, he eased her backward and boosted her into the truck cab, yanking the door shut behind him.
“Thank God for bench seats,” he murmured. “Put your arms around my neck and hold on.”
She did as he asked, and he scooted her across the wide blanket-covered seat, pushing her head past the floor shift and almost under the big steering wheel. He left one knee on the floor and moved his other leg between her thighs. Light from the parking lot security lights streamed through the window, casting her face half in shadow.
“He’s going to come back any minute. You know that, right?” Tate could hear the anxiety in her voice, but if he wasn’t mistaken, there were equal parts of arousal and excitement mixed in as well.
“Dace, Fred is a sucker for bacon cheeseburgers and cheddar curly fries. Right now, he is plowing through a double order of both. Like I told you, I know my neighbors. We have enough time.”
The one eyebrow on her face he could see lifted skeptically. “Enough time for what?”
“Not enough time for what I really want t
o do—but enough time for me to give you what you need.”
She made a small sound in her throat, like a cross between a whimper and a moan. Her hands fisted in his T-shirt, and she lifted her head to meet his lips in a scalding kiss of assent.
All the high school memories of hot make-out sessions in the front seat of his car came flooding back to him. He pushed up against her with his leg, using the knee on the floor as leverage, and shifted his left arm under her torso. The bottom of her scrubs was twisted around her hips, and he grabbed the waistband and yanked up the seat so the garment was pulled tightly across her crotch. The unexpected pressure against her sex made her gasp in surprise, and she arched against him.
Undulating his lower body against her core with long gliding strokes, he began to move. In between his upward thrusts, he alternated fiery kisses with nuzzling her breasts through her scrub top. At one point, he clamped his lips over her erect nipple and exhaled, pushing his warm breath through her clothing and against her flesh. She jerked, startled at the sensation, and he smiled.
“Like that?”
“I thought …Tate…what are you…” The rest of her words were lost in a moan.
His smile grew wider. “Hasn’t anyone ever told you it’s all about the journey?”
Chapter Five
“Tate. Ta-ate…”
Her head was spinning from his kisses, and she was gasping for breath, more aroused than she could remember herself ever being. Her body was arching up against him, hard enough to sway the heavy truck on its frame.
The vexation of wanting to be naked, in a bed, his hard maleness inside her, added to her emotional frustration. Capable, calm, controlled Dr. Dace was left standing in the parking lot; inside the wrecker cab, she became X-rated Dace, wild woman intent on climaxing in a semi-public display of wantonness.
I Love You Page 2
