by Jessica Ames
My stomach clenches at this idea. The thought of not speaking to this woman doesn’t sit right with me at all. I like talking to her. I like tormenting her is probably a better assessment.
Maybe she’s right about not talking…
I move over to my bag and rummage inside, looking for some clean underwear. “This is going to be a very dull trip if we can’t speak to each other, Kitten.”
“And stop calling me that!”
“You don’t like it?” I ask, keeping my voice level.
“You know I don’t.”
“You need to learn to relax. You’re definitely Gunner’s kid. He’s just as uptight—”
“I am not uptight,” she snaps. “At least I’m not usually. You bring this out in me.”
“Are you trying to say I’m irritating.”
I pull out a pair of boxer briefs and have the satisfaction of watching as her eyes slide to them. Yeah, she’s interested. I’ve never had a woman show me she’s keen with so much anger, though. This is a new one on me.
“What do you think?”
I flash her one of my patented shit-eating grins, then without another word, I step back into the bathroom, closing the door behind me. I can’t figure this woman out at all. She spits such bile at me, but then she’s staring at me like I’m her next meal. I don’t understand where her head is at. Does she like me or not? Does she want me or not? I’m not sure she knows herself.
I quickly dry off and pull my boxers on. I gather up my clothes and step out of the room to find her still sitting on the bed, eyes glued to the TV. I’m not even sure what she’s watching. It looks like some old cop show, but what the hell it is, I don’t know.
Her eyes slide to me as I toss my clothes on the chair at the side of the bed.
“Where are the rest of your clothes?” she demands, covering her eyes.
I glance down my bare chest to my boxers. Nothing has slipped out. I bring my gaze back to her, not sure what the hell her problem is.
“I sleep naked usually. Count your lucky stars I put on something.”
Carla’s eyes flare. “You are not sleeping naked in the same room as me.”
Her eye rolling must be catching because mine go skyward. “Relax. Your virtue is safe.”
“I’m not worried about my virtue. I just don’t want to see anything.”
I stare at her a beat. “You know, looking at you, dressing the way you do, I didn’t expect you to be a prude.”
I know my words are the wrong thing to say when her eyes narrow, flames dancing in their depths.
“What the hell does that mean? Dressing the way I do.”
Oh, boy. I really stepped into that hornet’s nest.
“I just meant you look a lot more fun than you actually are, Kitten.”
“I’m fun.”
I snort. “You are the absolute opposite of fun.”
She pushes off the bed and snags her bag from the foot of it and without a word storms into the bathroom.
I grin. Yeah, this is going to be a fun few days. She might kill me in my sleep. She might kill me while I’m awake too. Carla doesn’t seem to like me very much.
The sound of the shower coming on has my cock stirring in my boxers. The thought of her in there, naked, the water cascading over her is enticing.
I ignore the way my mind is going and check the front door is locked before climbing into the bed nearest it. I pull my phone out. There are no messages from Gunner or Grim, which is both a good thing, but also concerns me. Have the Filthy Reapers attacked already? Are we riding into a war zone?
No, Gunner would have found a way to let me know not to bring his daughter home if their club had attacked ours. There’s no way in hell he’d let me take her anywhere into danger. If the clubhouse hadn’t been under threat, the whole club would have ridden west to get her, but that wasn’t an option. It would have meant leaving our territory undefended. It was a decision that killed my president, but sending me alone was and remains the right decision. Too many bikers would draw attention. One lone rider is more inconspicuous, able to blend better.
I fire off a text message to Gunner and get a reply back almost immediately telling me everything is quiet at home. Thank fuck.
I hear the water shut off and it’s torture imagining her gorgeous curves as she steps out of the shower. I need to clamp down on those thoughts, though. Gunner will gut me if I touch his daughter. It’ll be the last free breath I take.
She steps out of the bathroom in a cloud of steam a few moments later dressed in tiny sleep shorts that show so much leg and a little camisole top that does nothing to hide the fact she’s not wearing a bra.
I lied.
This is torture. This is the worst. I try not to ogle her, but hell, I’m only human. I can’t stop from looking at that rocking body she has. She’s stunningly beautiful, even with a towel wrapped around her hair.
Carla moves over to the bed and sits on the edge.
I keep my eyes locked on the television, which I didn’t turn off. I’m grateful as fuck because if I look at her, I might explode in my boxers. She looks stunning with all that makeup wiped off her face, although she looks beautiful with it on too. The woman is just the picture of perfection.
I try not to watch as she unravels the towel from her hair and begins to dry it. I try not to stare at the slopes of her shoulders. Her expansive curls are gone, but I prefer this natural look. She looks beautiful.
I pull my eyes away and concentrate on the TV. It is going to be a long fucking night.
Five
Carla
I wake unsure where I am for a moment. Then I remember the motel we stopped in when we hit Blythe yesterday. I also remember I’m sharing a room with a certain brazen biker.
Slowly, I turn over and when I do, I’m greeted with a view of his ass. He’s somehow kicked most of the covers off and is tangled around the comforter, his ass hanging out showcasing the perfect globes in his boxer briefs. My mouth dries instantly and my tongue feels too thick for my mouth. He looks delicious and I curse myself for thinking that. I’m not supposed to be interested in a crazy assed biker, especially one who thinks he’s God’s gift to women, but I can’t deny he makes my belly flip a little.
I get out of bed and head into the bathroom to clean my teeth, freshen up and get dressed. I pull on a pair of riding jeans, a tee and my boots. I don’t have any of my hair stuff with me, not that I could put my hair in curls anyway. The helmet will destroy any styling, so instead, I braid it. At least that way it’ll stay neat and I won’t look like a tree.
By the time I step out of the bathroom, Rooster is sitting on the edge of the bed, facing the motel door. His broad shoulders are muscled and arced between them is the words Savage Riders. I swallow hard. How does he have the power to make me forget who he really is, the danger that comes with his lifestyle? A danger that he can’t avoid. Even now, I’m being dragged thousands of miles across the US because they’re knee-deep in trouble.
I clear my throat, and he twists to look over his shoulder at me. His eyes move up and down my body in a way that makes me internally squirm before they come to rest on my face.
“Morning, sunshine. It’s about a two-hour ride to Phoenix. Figured we’d stop there for breakfast, unless you can’t wait that long.”
“No, it’s fine. Although if we stop every two hours, it’s going to take us a month to reach New Jersey,” I tell him.
He smirks. “Think of all the fun we could get up to in a month.”
I shake my head. “Think all you like. Nothing is ever going to happen between us.”
“We’ll see, Kitten,” is his infuriating response.
He finishes getting dressed and we gather up our stuff, ready to leave the motel. It’s hotter than Hades already, even though it’s only early in the morning, and the sun is beaming down on us. The desert landscape stretches before us, trees lining the road, a hint of mountains on the distant horizon towards the Arizona border. There are a fe
w clouds in the sky, which is such a bright blue it doesn’t look entirely real. Dust settles in the back of my throat as the breeze picks up a little, cooling me.
Rooster takes the key back to the motel reception while I wait by the bike. When he steps out of the building, I can’t help but follow his movements. The man knows how to swagger and he moves with the confidence of a person who has never been challenged in his entire life. There is something attractive about that and I can’t lie and say I’m not affected, because I am. He makes my stomach dip, makes me feel things I shouldn’t. I don’t know what to do with this. I don’t want a biker, never have, but right now, I’m thinking things about Rooster I really shouldn’t be thinking.
I lick my suddenly dry lips and swallow hard as he approaches, trying not to let on that I’m affected by him.
“Ready?” I ask.
He nods and pulls his keys from the wallet chain slung around his hip and upper thigh. I watch as he detaches them from the chain and pushes them into the ignition. He then reaches for his helmet as I reach for mine and a jolt of electricity goes through me as we brush our hands over each other’s. I peer up at him and see need in his eyes, desire, want. Butterflies flutter against my stomach, their frenetic wing beats sending tingles of pleasure through me. I pull my hand away and lower my eyes, not wanting him to see I’m affected.
My heart starts to gallop in my chest and I don’t understand why. The man is infuriating. Everything about him drives me crazy, yet I can’t deny he’s attractive.
I watch as he throws a jean-clad leg over the back of the bike and waits for me to climb on behind him. I quickly fasten my helmet and climb on. When I’m settled, his hand goes to my thigh and I try to ignore how that ignites fire inside me.
When he starts the engine up, I’m nearly panting. It takes everything I have not to. I secure my hands around his waist and he maneuvers the bike toward the exit.
Then we’re back on the I-10 and moving at speed through the desert. As we pass the Arizona border sign, I can’t stop the sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach. I vowed I’d never go back to Jersey, and yet here I am, taking the nearly three-thousand-mile journey back home.
I press into Rooster’s back, my heart feeling heavy as we ride, the wind whipping past us both.
For miles, civilization is pretty sparse until we hit the outskirts of Phoenix. It’s almost a relief to see signs of life again. Rooster directs the bike off the highway and into the city center. He stops at the first diner we come across, a small mom and pop type place that looks clean and inviting.
He pulls the bike into a space and waits for me to climb off. Once my feet are on the asphalt, he kicks the stand down and gets off himself.
I’ve never been to Phoenix, so my eyes are everywhere, taking in everything as we stride into the diner. It seems open, more sprawling than most cities. The buildings are spread out, giving it an airy feeling, despite the fact it’s a huge place. The traffic moves on the main street as I wait for Rooster to get himself sorted.
Then together we head inside the diner. It’s decorated in red and white, with individual booths lining the window side and there are stools at the counter. Rooster leads us to a booth near the back and sits facing the doors, leaving me to sit with my back to them. He picks up a menu, his eyes moving around the space. It seems casual, but there’s a sharpness in his gaze that tells me he’s seeing everything. I glance over my shoulder before bringing my eyes back to him.
“Everything okay?”
He beams at me, his smile radiant, his dimple sneaking out. “Yeah.” He hands me the other menu. “Pick whatever you want. I’m paying.”
I arch a brow. “Why are you paying? I have money.”
His eyes lift to mine. “Kitten, do you enjoy arguing with me for the sake of it?”
I fold my arms on the table top. “No, but I don’t need you to take care of me, Rooster. I can look after myself.”
“Can we try to have breakfast without an argument?”
I huff out a breath. “Fine. If you’re so set on paying, be my guest.”
My gaze roam over the menu. I can feel his eyes on me, so I raise my head to find he is staring at me.
“What?”
“You’re cute when you’re huffy.”
I let out another sigh and peer back at the menu. “And you’re annoying, but who’s keeping track?”
The waitress comes over, putting a halt to our conversation. She’s maybe in her thirties, pretty, with blonde hair that’s pulled up into a loose ponytail. I sit back, expecting Rooster to flirt with her, since he seems to like anything in a skirt, but he keeps his eyes locked on me as he orders.
I should look away, but I can’t.
I rattle off my own order without looking away and when the waitress leaves the table, Rooster leans his arms on it and gets close to my face.
“I think you put on a good show, Kitten, but deep down, I think you like me. I think you more than like me, and I’m going to spend the rest of this trip showing you how much.”
Six
Rooster
Carla wrinkles her nose at my words and I have to resist the urge to laugh. She’s so desperate to hate me, she can’t see the truth right in front of her. She does like me—although I’m not sure if that is romantically or not. That might take longer to unpack.
“I don’t think so, but nice try Romeo.” She reaches for a napkin and picks at the edges of it, shredding pieces of it onto the table.
I grab her hands, cupping them in mine, stopping her destruction. She raises her gaze to me and for a moment, I get lost in those big eyes of hers.
“You’ll see,” I repeat my earlier sentiment.
Tugging her hands from under mine, she puts them on her lap instead, under the table, away from my reach. I grin.
“What are you smirking about?” she demands, sounding annoyed.
“Nothing, Kitten. Absolutely nothing.”
Her eyes narrow on me, shooting daggers in my direction before her fingers move to the end of her braid. I loved her pinup look, but this shit is hotter than hell too. She looks sexy as sin, and I want to have her, but I want her to want me too, which might prove a challenge. Right now, she swings between heated, needy gazes and firing flames at me.
Our breakfast is brought out, silencing her as the waitress places a plate in front of each of us. She digs in first, and the moment the pancake touches her tongue, she moans.
“They’re amazing.”
They might be, but that noise she made has my cock sitting up and taking notice. Would that be the noise she’d make while I was inside her? I swallow hard, trying to regain control of my body, which seems to have its own ideas.
“Glad we stopped then,” I tell her, genuinely meaning it. “Although we should have taken the I-15 and stopped at Vegas instead.”
Her brows crawl up her forehead. “I don’t think putting you anywhere near Las Vegas would be a good idea.”
“I’m an excellent poker player.”
“You’d get lost at the tables and we’d never make it back to Jersey.”
I tilt my head at her, my smile broad. “You act like you know everything about me.”
“I know enough.”
“Your father gave me an order to bring you home. That’s what I’m going to do, no matter what, but he didn’t say we couldn’t have fun on the way.”
She grabs another forkful of pancake. “This is what you call this? Fun?”
“I think if you relaxed for a moment and enjoyed it for what it is, you’d get a lot more out of this trip.”
Carla stares at me a beat, chewing as she does. Once she’s emptied her mouth, she says, “What’s your name?”
I dig into my own breakfast, taking a generous helping of pancake and bacon. “Rooster. Didn’t we go over this already?”
Her eyes roll. “I mean your real name, asshole.”
“Why?”
“Rooster’s a stupid name.”
“Blame the club
. They gave it to me.”
“So, what is it?”
I don’t know why, but the thought of her having my real name and calling me by it has a tingle of excitement racing through me.
“It’s Finn Reilly.”
“Finn.” She rolls the letters off her tongue in a sultry way. “You don’t like your name?”
I shrug. “I don’t care either way, but I’ve been Rooster for so long now, I don’t know how to be anyone else.”
“Why did you join the Savage Riders?”
My eyes go to the window, peering out over the parking lot to the street beyond. Cars are moving, but there’s a lot of traffic.
“That’s a complicated question with a complicated answer.”
I watch as Carla sits back in her seat and shrugs. “We have time.”
I let out a breath. “I didn’t grow up with much. My dad was an alcoholic. My mom did her best, but she was a single parent with three kids, trying to keep money coming in that he was pissing away every night. When I turned eighteen, I was rudderless. I had no idea how to do shit, but I knew I wanted a better life for any kids I might have.”
“So, you joined an MC?” Her brow arches. “Not seeing how that’s a better life.”
“I earn good money. Enough to provide for a family. I have my own house that I own outright, a decent car, my bike and plenty of savings. I take care of the people who mean something to me. My mom included in that.”
Her face softens. “You take care of your mom?”
I shrug. “Least I can do. She sacrificed everything for us growing up.”
I know Carla’s mom took off when she was a kid. Gunner’s mentioned it before, so I don’t bring up her mom, in case it’s still a sore point for her.
“You’re not supposed to be like this,” she mutters.
“Like what?”
“Someone who cares about his mom. You’re supposed to be a jerk.”
“I can still be that,” I say, waggling my eyebrows.
She rolls her eyes, but she laughs as she does. Breakthrough? I’m not holding my breath, but it definitely seems more positive than shooting venom at me, which is her usual go to.
