Bash's Hurricane (Black Crows MC)

by EA Hunt

“Bash,” she reached out, grasping his upper arm. “There’s no one better than me,” she smiled up at him. “I’m the right woman, know how to keep my mouth shut unless otherwise occupied, at the right time to be by your side and help you lead,” she shook her head. “I’m the perfect Old Lady.”

  He shook his head. What made her think he wanted an Old Lady? There wasn’t time for an Old Lady in his life. Well, not yet. He had a club and a legacy to build. He wouldn’t take an Old Lady until fate demanded it, much as it had for his parents. Fate had brought them together and he believed Fate would bring him together with the woman who was destined to be his. And Claire was not that woman.

  Removing his arm from her grasp, he walked around the pool table and headed towards the bar. He needed to figure out what to do with Claire. He could ban her, but he was sure that wouldn’t stop her from coming after him. Raising his hand to Rene, he waited for the woman to place his drink before him. He could tell the brothers she wasn’t to be touched, but according to Trigger, she’d shunned anyone who’d come near her. So that wasn’t an option either. He’d figure it out because if he didn’t, he would never have a moment’s peace. Bringing his drink to his lips, he was about to down the whiskey in one swallow when the doors to the bar opened with the wind whipping in and the most intriguing woman he’d ever seen standing in its wake.

  “Oh, honey don’t you look lovely this evening. That boy isn’t going to know what to do with himself when he sees you.”

  Standing in the entrance of the Crow’s Nest Bar, a small smile graced Celise Carmac’s lips as she remembered her grandmother’s gushing words before she’d left for her date. A date that had been set up by her grandmother with the grandson of one of her grandmother’s bingo partners. Licking her lips, she lightly ran her sweaty hands down the skirt of the too-short dress her grandmother had insisted was perfect for tonight. Celise wasn’t so sure it was –especially with the crowd she saw in this bar. The Crow’s Nest was two towns over her from her hometown and had been the talk of the area since it’d opened. The stories she’d heard about the place while working at the small café made her nervous to even come here. But Larry, the man she was supposed to meet, supposedly worked not far from the bar and believed it would be a good place to meet and have a drink.

  Celise wasn’t so sure. Taking a cleansing breath, she headed towards the bar, only tripping in her heels once. Damnit, she’d wanted to look confident in these things even though she hadn’t worn a pair of heels in several years. Heels weren’t something you wore when you served people in the café. Nor were they something you wore when you were baking in your grandmother’s kitchen. There she would be barefoot with flour all over her trying out new recipes or perfecting the ones which were selling out every time she offered them at the café. Stepping up to the bar, she waited until the woman behind it acknowledged her though she was positive by the crowd that it would be a minute. That was ok with Celise. She wasn’t much of a drinker and the fact that she had driven here made drinking unappealing. She needed to have her wits about her when it was time to head home and given her past the last thing, she wanted was to drive drunk.

  Sitting on the stool against her hip, Celise allowed the heels she had on to dangle from her toes. She breathed a sigh of relief as her aching feet stopped throbbing. Why had she allowed her grandmother to talked her into wearing these? She had a perfectly acceptable pair of flats she could have worn which would have looked just as wonderful with this dress. ‘We want him to want more, my dear,’ her grandmother had advised her while brushing out her chocolate brown hair. Her grandmother, Willa Jean, believed that you could get any man to want you if you were wearing heels. Celise believed that too, to an extent. But she didn’t want just any man. She wanted the right man. But when you’ve been raised by your paternal grandmother since you were ten, after losing your parents to a drunk driver, and you’ve spent the last fifteen years in a small town in Northwest Georgia where everyone knows your business and still tells you, ‘Aren’t you pretty even with your size?’ you tend to think the right man will never come.

  “What can I get you, sweetie?”

  “A water, please. I’m waiting for someone,” she advised the bartender.

  “Let me grab that,” the bartender replied before turning and grasping a water bottle and glass from the cooler behind her. Turning back to Celise, she placed the items she’d grabbed, onto the bar top. “Anything else you want? We have a menu.” She slid the laminated paper before Celise and added, “It’s limited but decent. Nothing to write home about, though.”

  Celise chuckled as she looked at the menu the woman had given her. “Thank you. I am a little hungry,” she admitted, waiting for the backhanded comment, ‘I’m sure you are.’ When she didn’t hear it, she looked at the woman expectantly.

  “Let me know what you want, and I’ll put a rush on it,” she replied with a wink before turning and heading to another customer a few feet away from where Celise was sitting.

  Celise watched the woman talk with other patrons as she filled drink orders either given to her by the waitresses or by those coming up to the bar. Celise could feel tears welling in her eyes. If she were back home and she said she was hungry, a mumbled comment would have come before the waitress had departed the table. Or she’d hear it said behind her back when she’d leave for her lunch break when working at the café. She would just continue to smile then move on with what she was doing. She’d never talk back to those who insulted her because there would be no point. She’d always been what her grandmother had called a ‘curvy girl.’ Her grandmother had always told Celise that she took after herself and her mother, Jeannette, in the curvy department. And there was nothing wrong with that because a man wanted something he could hold onto.

  Celise wasn’t so sure. Any man she’d gone out with since she’d finished junior college, had given her curious looks if she didn’t order a salad. Some had even suggested a less hearty meal because they were concerned about her weight. She’d rolled her eyes at that suggestion and the suggestion of a twelve-hundred-calorie-a-day diet. She chuckled to herself. Those dates had ended quickly and she’d continued to eat what she liked because she liked good food and good treats.

  That was why she was a baker. Well, that and the fact that her grandmother was a wonderful baker and had taught Celise everything she knew. Willa Jean Carmac was known for her baked goods and during the holidays her pies were in high demand. Now, so were Celise’s.

  Her junior college degree was in culinary arts. She’d known from the time her grandmother had given her a wooden spoon and taught her how to make cookies that she was going to be a baker. One who offered more than just the simple cookies, cakes and pies that, though amazing, were all her grandmother produced. She was always trying new recipes at the café she worked at in her hometown. Her open-faced apricot and apple pie were a hit at the café but her raisin and walnut cookies didn’t sell as well as her pie. That didn’t stop her from offering them though.

  Finally settling on some cheese fries from the kitchen, Celise lifted her head and waited for her turn with the bartender. So what if some of her desserts didn’t go over well? That didn’t stop her from continuing to try new things. Nothing and no one was going to stop her from her end goal. She was determined to open her own bakery. She had it all planned out. With her grandmother’s recipes and her own creations, she was going to open ‘Willa Jean’s.’

  She could see it now. A small storefront with twelve tables and glass cases with cakes and cookies inside. You could either buy a whole cake or just slices. Same with the cookies, either a dozen or just one. With the remainder of her parents’ life insurance and the money she had been saving from working at the café since she was a teen, and all through junior college, she was halfway there. Some would encourage her to take out a business loan, but she didn’t want to go down that route unless she had to. She wanted to do as much as she could on her own.

  “Having trouble deciding what you want to e
at, babygirl?”

  The baritone drawl had Celise’s head turning to see a pair of blue-green eyes encased in a light latte-skin tone, looking at her. She swallowed at the man before her. He was standing at his full height which was easily a foot and several inches taller than her five foot six. With his tight-fitting shirt and charcoal leather vest sitting comfortably over broad, confident, shoulders. The man before her was… meaty? She shook herself mentally, that wasn’t right. He was bulk…? No, not that either. Husky? A bear? She smiled to herself. Yes! He reminded her of a bear. With his blue-black hair and a not-quite-full beard covering his face, he was a teddy bear. A teddy bear she wanted to cuddle into her. “Kind of,” she replied, though she had no clue why when she already knew what she wanted.

  “Then allow me to help,” he said as he stepped behind her.

  His scent was musk, leather and deliciousness. She wanted to lean into him and have him wrap his scent and arms around her. Who was this man?

  “Let’s see if we can get you fed,” he told her as his front pressed to her back. He picked up the menu.

  Whose hands were this massive? Celise admired the width of his fingers. The thickness of them had her wanting to trace them with her index finger. ‘A man with big hands is kind, considerate and knows how to treat a woman,’ her grandmother would say. Willa Jean would always gush about how her, Celise’s, grandfather had had big hands and knew how to take care of his family, especially his woman.

  “All of it looks so good,” she told the man, turning her head slightly. His growth grazed her temple, sending a little shiver through her.

  “Some of it is,” his smiling voice replied. “And some I would stay away from, Babygirl,” he looked into her light brown eyes. “I’m Bash,” he introduced. She smelled of cinnamon, sugar and innocence. Innocence he was desperate to taste. Lifting his hand, he placed it on her caramel-colored skin. “What’s your name, Babygirl? Though,” he smiled at her. “If you don’t tell me your name, I can call you Babygirl all night,” he leaned towards her a little. “I know you’d like that,” Bash told her. Every time he called her ‘Babygirl’ her breath would hitch, and her gorgeous eyes would dilate.

  She did like it when he called her ‘Babygirl.’ It had her stomach quiver while leaving her a little breathless. “You could, couldn’t you?” Celise replied, leaning into his hand. It covered half of her rounded cheek. She hummed as his thumb ran gently across her cheek.

  Damn! What was this man doing to her? She was never this open with the opposite sex or anyone really. She wasn’t a prude or anything, she just believed in personal space. So when others went to hug her, she always made sure it was a side hug, so they wouldn’t get too close to her. Unless it was her grandmother and now Bash. She was allowing him to get close to her and she didn’t know why?

  “Tell me what’s going on in that head of yours, Babygirl,” Bash said. He’d watched her eyes dilate then constrict before settling once she’d come to a conclusion.

  “That I’m allowing you closer to me than anyone who isn’t my grandmother,” Celise told him. “I can’t believe I said that to you.”

  “Ah, Babygirl,” Bash crooned. “You don’t need to hide anything from me.” He leaned a little closer to her. “I want to know all your secrets,” he told her, inches from her lips.

  “Celise, Celise is my name” she whispered as his whiskey and mint breath caressed her lips.

  “Hello, Celise,” Bash replied.

  “My grandmother said you were a good girl.”

  “Larry,” Celise flinched at the heightened voice. He’d sounded like that on the phone, but she’d assumed it was because of the connection. Not because that was actually his voice. Leaning back slightly, she tried to pull away from Bash but he had her blocked and partially pinned her against the bar. She placed her hand in the middle of Bash’s chest, “I need to speak with him.”

  “Not with the tone of voice.” And he was being nice calling the man’s speech a voice. It was grating on his nerves. “He’s using,” Bash replied.

  “What would you think if you walked into a bar and the woman you were supposed to meet was about to be kissed by a man that isn’t you?” Celise countered.

  “That she’d found a better option,” Bash replied. He could see the man out of the corner of his eye. He was lanky and his hair looked greasy and slightly unkempt. Whoever had set his Babygirl up with this man should have known he didn’t have a chance with his woman.

  “Bash,” she ran her hand on his chest. “Please,” she whispered.

  He stepped back slightly. His Babygirl needed to deal with this person so he could go back to having her attention solely on him. “Five minutes, Babygirl,” he told her. Though he was tempted to cut it to two. All she needed was to tell the man their date wasn’t happening and ‘goodbye.’

  Celise patted his chest before sliding out of the stool and stepping around Bash. The man before her was not at all what she had expected. He definitely wasn’t her type, which she had learned was the bear of a man who was standing at her back, his heated front only inches from her. “Larry, please allow me to apologize.”

  “As you should,” Larry huffed. “My grandmother said you were a clean, God-fearing woman. And though that usually means homely, I decided to go out with you despite that,” he informed.

  Bash took a step forward, pressing his front to his Babygirl’s back. His woman was far from homely. Even in the modest black dress that came to midthigh (that she was trying to pull down) and covered her more-than-ample-breasts, she was the most gorgeous thing in this room. Her body reminded him of the backroads he took sometimes when he needed to clear his head. She had dips and curves in all the right places and chocolate brown hair that came to the middle of her back and was so soft against his body.

  “Though I will have to tell Grandmama that you are far from homely,” Larry continued. “Even with the weight on you, though we can work on that,” he sighed. “I do wish you were prettier though,” he shrugged his shoulders.

  Before Celise could tell Larry where he and his comments could go, Bash spoke. “Tell the rude man good night, Babygirl.” Bash wrapped an arm around Celise’s waist, pulling her firmly against him. He wasn’t going to beat the man before him, but if he said one more disparaging remark about Celise the man would be digging his own grave before Bash put three bullets into him and buried him on the back forty.

  “Good night,” Celise smirked at Larry.

  “You can’t be serious? This trash tells you to say goodnight and you do?” Larry countered.

  “Bash isn’t trash,” Celise replied. “You are.” She shook her head. “You come in here and say those things to me then you assume I’m supposed to go with you?”

  “Well yes, because unlike him,” Larry pointed to Bash, “I’m a catch.” He scrunched up his face and added, “He looks like he could give you something you can’t cure with antibiotics.”

  “He does?” Celise laughed. “Have you looked in a mirror?” She pointed at the man who was easily pissing her off. “Last time I checked, only people who are seriously ill have skin that yellow and eyes that bloodshot.”

  “Eyes like that, Babygirl,” Bash interjected, “only come from heavy drug use.” He smiled at the other man. “I wonder if one of the locals know you by name and face.” Bash chuckled as the man opened and closed his mouth like a dead fish seeking air. “Come Babygirl, I need to get you fed,” Bash bent his head, kissing her temple.

  “Night Larry, I’ll make sure to tell my grandmother what an awful date you were,” Celise smiled as Bash kept his arm around her, directing her towards the pool table and a completely different date night.

  Chapter Two

  Watching Celise (or Babygirl as everyone in the club called her) laugh as she sat at the bar talking to Rene, warmed Bash’s heart. In the two weeks he’d known the woman, she’d charmed almost everyone who’d met her. It did help that she kept the club kitchen stocked with goodies she’d bring with her or have
delivered. She was a charming, beautiful woman and he found himself wanting to spend all his time with her. Which was an issue. He had a club and several businesses to run! He also had a run coming up which meant he was going to be leaving Celise for a few days. Days he didn’t want to be gone from the woman sitting across the bar from him.

  “Fuck!” Bash growled.

  “Dammit Danish, I owe you fifty bucks,” Trigger groused, reaching into his cut and pulling out the money. He handed it to the other man.

  “Thank ya,” Danish replied, taking the money and giving the other man a small salute.

  “Double or nothing,” Trigger started. “That he goes over to Babygirl, throws her over his shoulder and we don’t see either of them the rest of the night.”

  Danish gave a little nod.

  “I’m glad I can be entertaining to the both of you,” Bash told his brothers as he watched his woman bring a cheese-covered nacho to her lips. He wiped a hand down his face as her lips wrapped around the gooey goodness. In the week they’d been together, he hadn’t had a chance to taste her lips. He’d been about to on the first night they’d met, but then they’d been interrupted by some brothers arguing over a club whore. Usually, he would have allowed Danish to handle something like that, but he’d been at the mechanics shop the club owned, working with a few of the other brothers on cars they were looking to sell. So, he’d left his Babygirl at the pool table with a Prospect, telling the man to watch her but keep his hands to himself. By the time he’d gotten his woman the fries she’d said she wanted, she was slightly dozing even with the loud music playing.

  He’d scooped her up, despite her protests, and taken her to his room and placed her in his bed. Then he’d sat with her, catching up on his calls and messages before going back into the club to help Rene close up for the night. Once that was completed, he’d gone back to his room and crawled into bed, her under his covers and him atop them. There, with his Babygirl, Bash had slept more peacefully than he’d had in years.