Corey (Devil's Flame MC Book 5)

by Romi Hart

  With a sureness of her hands that belied her nerves, she smoothed a lavender infused oil over his shoulders and back, rubbing it in as she went. His body was extremely warm to the touch, and she winced at the terrible shape of his muscles, the tension knots tightening one on top of the other.

  She was used to making conversation as she began her work, and she couldn’t help but ask, “Are any of these tattoos, other than the obvious, related to your motorcycle club?” She meant the memorial tattoos. She had no idea if the Devil’s Flames led a dangerous life or not, and she was curious.

  “No,” he said shortly. Well, she’d just have to work harder if she wanted to learn more about him.

  Rolling the heel of her hands up the sides of his neck, she got a satisfying grunt in response and tried a different question. “How long have you been with your club?”

  “My whole life.” Again, he didn’t offer details. She scowled to herself. She didn’t exactly pick up negative vibes from him, but he obviously had no intention of being the least bit personable. And she wanted more than ever to get to the heart of this man, to manipulate her way under his skin until this became a Barbara Walters tell-all.

  “I didn’t know it worked that way. I mean, the only knowledge I have of the lifestyle comes from Sons of Anarchy, and I hear that’s more accurate than any other show, but it’s still just a show. I know a couple of girls who run with your pack, though. They seem happy. I’m guessing it’s a satisfying way to live.” She left that open, not quite a question but still begging a response.

  He didn’t answer right away, but then he uttered, “I like it.” And there was nothing more.

  With an internal sigh, Regan tried to seek out a question that would draw him into a conversation. She’d had men come in here that barely spoke English be more engaging. And just because she was desperate to know more about Corey, maybe get him interested in her, he was practically comatose for all the interaction he offered. “How big is your club? I mean, do you know everyone in the club, or is it so large that you don’t all hang in the same crowd?”

  “They’re my family. I know them all.” At least there was emotion behind the statement, fierce loyalty and love. And almost indignation at the idea he wouldn’t know a name or face of any one man in the club. It spoke volumes about him, and she couldn’t help but like him all the more for it. She didn’t know much about him, but she already held more respect for him than the average guy.

  The kind of guy she was used to.

  Setting that aside, she focused on her work. He really was a mess, and she needed to give it her all if she was going to work any of these knots into submission. She only had an hour to do so, and these sessions seemed to go by so fast, especially when she had someone attractive to work over.

  She only wished he’d taken off the skivvies. She would have enjoyed a glance at the gluteus muscles. Especially since he didn’t have much to say. She liked a little entertainment to spark her interest.

  Since she wasn’t involved in conversation, she found herself humming along with the music, the tones familiar, as she worked his muscles and eased some of the grotesque knots in his neck. He really was a masterpiece, but it was as if someone had painted a mustache on the Mona Lisa as she felt the mess beneath the skin. She wanted to smooth it all away, see what fine, masculine beauty would shine through when he was in perfect condition, but the hour sped by, and when her timer sounded, she jumped, not even realizing how long she’d been at it. Corey obviously needed a number of sessions before she could even get to the deep tissue, as the order had been, but for now, this would have to do.

  She stepped back, washing her hands as he sat up and tilted his head side to side, his eyes wide but blinking. He seemed more at ease, as if he had much greater range of motion and a lot less pain. She only wondered why he’d been so quiet, almost standoffish. He’d been awake the entire time. She could tell the difference. This was her profession, one she’d been at for more than a decade, and she knew the instant someone dozed off.

  Usually, when a client got this quiet, they fell asleep with the relaxing atmosphere and the tension release. But Corey hadn’t, and yet, he said precious little the whole time, the last forty-five minutes completely silent. “Well, Corey, I think we made a little progress. What do you think?”

  She watched him from the corner of her eye, curious what he would say, but he was completely silent as he continued to stretch and grunt. Finally, he told her, “I know you said not to have high hopes, but I seriously feel like a new man. I can’t remember the last time I could pop my neck.” He actually smiled as he threw his head side to side again with that resounding crack each way.

  Regan winced. “Just don’t do that in front of me. It sounds like you’re going to pop your skull right off your spine.” She dried her hands and faced him, swallowing the desire that rose within her as she caught another glimpse of the rock hard chest and abs so cut they might have been tattooed to look that way. “You’ll need something for inflammation. These types of massages, especially when you don’t get them on a regular basis, cause that reaction and leave you in more pain for a day or two, if you don’t counteract them with some ibuprofen.”

  He nodded. “I’ll pick some up.”

  “You need a lot more work, but it’s not my job to pitch a sale to you. That’s what Lena does best.”

  He narrowed his eyes at her. “Lena?”

  “I believe she set you up in here. She’s our admin assistant.”

  “Oh, her,” he said with a chuckle. “I figured her for an Elsa.”

  “What?” Regan asked, confused.

  He shook his head and waved a hand in dismissal. “Never mind.” He stood and reached for the clothes in the basket, and Regan had to hold back a strangled sound as she got the best look yet at what those ridiculously white Fruit of the Looms covered. His ass was just as perfect as the rest of him, and she curled her fingers deep into the towel, itching to grab onto him and not let go.

  She’d been celibate far too long, apparently.

  “I’m going to schedule another session,” he said, his voice muffled as he pulled his t-shirt over his head. “How long should I wait before I come in again?”

  Don’t leave.

  Come back around 6:30. I’m off. I’ll give you the royal treatment.

  “Three days,” she squeaked out, hoping she wasn’t blushing at her wanton thoughts. “Give the muscles some time to rest and heal before we go at them again.” There, that sounded more normal. What the hell was wrong with her? She never ogled, never considered what it would be like to run her tongue over the places that her hands touched. And yet, she wanted to beg this man to let her worship him from head to toe.

  “Alright. Thanks, Regan. I appreciate the work. I do feel better.” Shaking off the sexual imagery, she gave him a nod as he finished pulling on his boots, admiring the way his jeans hugged his hips as he slid the cut back over his shoulders, and then she watched as he opened the door and walked out. Probably never to be seen here again.

  With a sigh, she took the used sheets and tossed them in the hamper under the counter. She knew better than this. She wasn’t the type to even consider her line of work as a good opportunity to meet men. But then, no one like Corey Logan had ever come in here before. He’d said he would make a follow up appointment, but Regan had heard that before, from men who showed a lot more interest in her and her work than Corey had.

  Shaking her head, she started to leave the room. She wanted to get a snack in before her next client arrived, but she stopped short, noticing something out of place. Glancing down at the counter next to the door, under the edge of the bottle of hand sanitizer, was a hundred dollar bill, tucked just right so it wasn’t covered but couldn’t fly away.

  Well, maybe Corey had been appreciative, of her skill if nothing else. On a whim, she tucked the cash in her back pocket and headed to the front desk rather than to the lounge. “Hey, Lena, did Mr. Logan set up another appointment?” she asked, hop
ing she didn’t sound anxious.

  Lena nodded as she spun her chair to face Regan. “He sure did. He requested you, so I couldn’t schedule him in three days, like he asked. You’re off. He’s scheduled in four days, same time, with you.”

  That was better than nothing, she supposed. “Excellent. He’s in bad shape. He needs a lot of work.”

  Lena smirked. “I wouldn’t mind working him over. But he doesn’t seem interested. I tried flirting with him. He’s either clueless or immune.” She shrugged, glancing at her nails. “He’s probably got a woman already. It’s really too bad.”

  It was too bad, if he was already spoken for. But for some reason, Regan didn’t think he was. He seemed like a loner, very quiet, and the way he acted when she talked about the Devil’s Flames, she had a feeling he was married to the club. “Not that you care,” Regan teased. “I’m sure, if you wanted him bad enough, you’d be willing to take your nail file and shank his girl.”

  Throwing her head back in laughter, Lena shook her head. “Well, there’s something I wasn’t expecting. You, knowing prison jargon.”

  A chill rolled down Regan’s spine, but she ignored it. “I’m full of surprises.”

  But Lena shrugged. “I’m not, and you’re absolutely right. In fact, when he comes back in here, I’m going to flat out ask him if he’s attached, and I’m going to make a move either way. Unless, of course, you want a shot at him first. I would never stand in your way. I think you should let loose a little, maybe try Mr. Biker Boy on for size.” She waggled her eyebrows.

  Regan nearly moaned at the thought, picturing herself riding Corey as he sat on some gorgeous, rumbling bike. But she wasn’t going to divulge her secret fantasies to Lena. She didn’t even want to have them. They made her anxious, and if she kept this up, she was going to need as much massage therapy as Corey did. “No, go ahead. I’m good.” But she wasn’t. Heaven forbid she say anything to Lena, though. She was close with the girl now, but she also knew Lena was the source of pretty much all office gossip, and Regan didn’t want to be the headline news.

  As she went to the fridge to collect her apple slices and yogurt, Regan shook it off. Walking away from the conversation and the idea of a fling with Corey Logan was probably for the better. After all, she’d had such a rude awakening the last time she’d been in a relationship, assuming the best and getting the worst, that she didn’t need to go down that rabbit hole. There was no telling what sort of a person Corey Logan actually was, or any of his biker buddies, for that matter. Sure, the women she’d met who were involved seemed happy enough, and they obviously trusted their men.

  But how many were in the club? And those were just two out of a crowd. She’d taken probability and statistics in college. That was not nearly a large enough random sampling to make a broad, sweeping statement about all of them, and it didn’t mean that Corey was anything like the tall, dark one with her yoga instructor. And for all she knew, those women were faking it anyway.

  But as she absently chewed her snack, she had to wonder. She could tell herself she was dreaming and fantasizing all she wanted, but her gut instinct was that Corey was something special. He’d walked into her room for a reason, and she couldn’t tempt fate by not considering the meaning behind having met him, especially now, when she’d finally settled down and grown comfortable in one place.

  Lena would laugh at her. The girl didn’t believe in fate and destiny. And maybe she would get by with that. But Regan firmly believed that everything happened for a reason, and some universal power pulled the strings. She wasn’t a new age hippie. She left that to people like her yoga instructor. But she was a free spirit, one that had been weighed down and stunted for too long, and she followed the signs given to her.

  And there was a flashing exclamation point above Corey’s head, so to speak, a proverbial beacon that told her the man fit somewhere in her future, an important position. If she didn’t listen, she was bound to screw up and have to learn whatever lesson this life was supposed to teach her all over again in the next.

  Wadding up her trash and tossing it in the waste bin, she stood and arched her back, heading to the bathroom to clean up and get ready to go back to work. She had two more clients today, and she couldn’t spend the afternoon mooning over Corey or analyzing the future. She had to focus on her job and the health of her clients, if she intended to keep her regulars and be successful. She’d spent the last year building up her life here. She didn’t want to fall short of success because of a handsome face and dark, brooding manner. She could investigate Corey more when he came back. Maybe, the second time, he’d open up a little.

  3

  Corey was glad he’d taken the warning seriously and picked up the anti-inflammatory medicine, considering that when the first dose had worn off in the middle of the night, he’d woken up feeling tighter than ever. He’d taken more and, after a half hour, had relaxed back into a deeper sleep than he could remember having in months.

  But his dreams left him restless.

  He was used to violent dreams, in which he’d be caught and tortured or face the wrong end of a pistol. Since they’d made nice with the Diamond Kings and been at war with the Ravens instead, those nightmares hadn’t ceased. They were the bane of his existence. But he’d grown used to them, and he’d learned to expect them. They didn’t frighten him anymore, just piled on the stress and anxiety.

  He didn’t dream about women.

  But every night since he’d first seen her, Regan had entered his dreams, beckoning him, begging him to take action. And he’d come close, more than once, forcing himself awake so the dream didn’t escalate from teasing to erotic. And then, it had gotten worse. His rejection had come more easily, and she’d walked away from him, only to be grabbed by a band of Ravens, forced onto the back of Gomez’s bike. Corey watched them ride away with her screaming, and when he tried to follow, found the wheels of his bike melting into lava beneath him.

  For four nights, he was plagued with similar dreams, and when he rolled into the clubhouse parking lot the fourth morning, he was in a piss poor mood. He couldn’t hide the bags under his eyes, and he really didn’t want to talk about Gomez and his reign of terror. It would only remind him of the dreams that had disturbed him so terribly. But the raid was coming, and he had to be ready. He had to make sure his crew was ready. They were his responsibility, and he’d lost two already in this war with the Ravens. The Kings had lost a dozen. He wanted Gomez out of the picture for good, and he didn’t intend to lose anymore men in the process.

  “Well, aren’t you all sunshine and roses,” Harrison poked at him as he lumbered into the conference room and sat down at the head of the table. Corey glanced at him, seeing the ruddy complexion and the ease with which he was kicked back in his seat with his feet up on the long table, and he just grunted. Harrison chuckled. “What’s got your panties in a twist?”

  His jaw muscle twitching in irritation, Corey shot back, “Maybe it’s your overly cheerful nature since you got Skye’s panties all twisted around your fingers all the time.”

  “Come on, boys,” Rafe chastised, taking his chair beside Corey. “That’s enough.”

  “Aw, man, I was just starting to get entertained,” Zeke complained, across from Rafe.

  “You want entertainment, head over to Eli’s place and watch him cater to a wife pregnant with twins while running back and forth between there and the strip joint,” Harrison snorted.

  Several of the others laughed, but Corey wasn’t in the mood. He slammed a palm on the table and shouted, “Enough! We’re here for business. Let’s get this over with. I’m tired of beating a dead horse.” Especially since this horse just wouldn’t seem to die.

  An hour later, with a new plan firmly cemented and Rafe and Eli headed to visit with the Diamond Kings, who were leading the charge against the Ravens, Corey slammed Shawna into gear and took off for Merry Massage. He’d considered cancelling his appointment, since it didn’t feel wise to spend more time with Regan’s
capable hands all over his body. He thought it would just fuel his imagination. But maybe he could get the thoughts out of his system if he saw her again and reminded himself that she was a professional, there to help him rest easier and heal his muscles.

  Of course, if his hard on didn’t ease a bit, he’d just multiply the tension in his body. He growled to himself and rode the gas harder, leaning into a sharp curve without slowing down and then righting himself as he entered the middle of town. The storefront came into focus all too quickly, and he made a circle around the building before finally pulling in, trying to convince himself this was a good idea. It was far more difficult than he’d imagined.

  When he finally parked, his mood was as foul as ever, and he stormed into the place, throwing the door open. Lena sat there in all her flawless glory and arched a freshly manicured brow at him. “Good afternoon, Mr. Logan. I hope we can adjust your mood along with your back and neck,” she quipped.

  Corey wanted to snarl at her, but he couldn’t stop the chuckle that rolled up his throat. “You’re a piece of work.”

  “So I’ve been told a time or two,” she winked back. “Are you ready for your massage?”

  He gave her a short nod, and she stood, clacking her heels as she swayed her hips more than necessary and led him down the hall. She was definitely flirting with him, and if he could have gotten out from under the thought of Regan’s hips swinging the same way, he probably would have taken the bait. At least Lena seemed cool and calculated enough that she wouldn’t want any strings attached, and that was exactly what he needed right now – to throw caution to the wind and get his rocks off.