“Fuck,” I hiss.
“Hell, sugar, anyone ever tell you that you’ve got a foul mouth?” he mutters angrily.
I pull in a lungful of air and exhale slowly. Clenching my fingers into my palms, I turn to face Biker Boy, aka Echo, and force my lips into a sardonic smile. “Look, Echo, thanks for stopping, but it looks like I’m stuck here until tomorrow. I’d lined up a free ride to California if I could get to El Paso today, but it appears that won’t be happening now, and I’m pretty fucking pissed off.” Taking a breath, I lace my voice with sarcasm. “I’m so sorry if my language is offending you, but my quota for polite conversation’s been used for the day.”
Echo’s face darkens, and I step back instinctively. “Sugar, you need to watch your tone or I’m gonna find something better to do with that mouth of yours,” he growls.
I shudder. The low rumble of his voice vibrates straight to my clit. He steps towards me, closing the gap between us. His eyes narrow, and pulling back his broad shoulders, he towers over me. His body language screams dominant, alpha male, and I should be intimidated. Shouldn’t I?
My mouth waters. I lick my lips and stare at him. I can’t move. Frozen in the heat of his gaze, my mind floods with erotic images. I imagine taking that final step to him, until we’re touching chest to chest. I sink to my knees at his feet and look up, watching the excitement dance in his eyes. His fingers stroke my cheek lovingly before his thick cock slides into my mouth.
“Olivia.” At the sound of his voice, I close my eyes, and the filthy daydream evaporates like mist. I feel the heat of embarrassment bloom in my cheeks. “Come on, sugar, let me buy you a drink, and we’ll see if we can sort you a way to El Paso tonight,” Echo says, amusement lacing his voice.
I force my eyes open. Alpha Echo is gone, and his taut shoulders are relaxed. He lazily steps forward and drops his arm around me, pulling me close against his firm body.
I shouldn’t be touching him. I move as he moves, hypnotized. My hands find their way to his chest, his leather waistcoat warm under my fingertips as he steers me towards his bike. Bright Texas sunlight bounces off the shiny paintwork. I freeze to the spot. “I’m not getting on that thing with you.”
Echo throws his leg over the huge black motorcycle and chuckles to himself. His gaze burns a path along my skin, taking in every detail of my body before he glances at the leather seat behind him. “That’s a real shame, sugar.”
The motorcycle roars to life, the muscles in his arms bulging as he twists the throttle. A wry smile spreads across his face, and he winks at me before he rides away.
I watch him until he rounds a bend and disappears. A wave of disappointment and an overwhelming sense of loss rips through me. I turn, grab my bag, and start to trudge back up the street. Each lonely step taunted by Biker Boy’s absence.
“Here, give me your bag, sugar.” His voice rumbles from behind me.
I freeze midstep. Butterflies leap to attention in my stomach, and I spin around, searching for him. His confident stride eats up the distance as he jogs towards me. He lifts the bag from my back like it’s weightless and flings it over his shoulder.
I try to act nonchalant but fail miserably. I pull my bottom lip between my teeth and lift my eyes to his face. He flashes me a cocky grin. “Miss me already, sugar?” My lips twitch. A smile spreads across my face, and I playfully roll my eyes at him.
Echo reaches out, takes my hand, and pulls me towards him. The weight of his arm draped across my shoulders feels natural, like he’s done it a thousand times before. He towers over my five-foot-eight frame, and I feel dwarfed against his huge, firm chest. He’s a total stranger, but my attraction to him is instinctive, and I can’t fight it. I don’t want to.
He tows me up the street and pushes open a door, guiding me into a dimly lit room. A neon sign spelling out Strikers buzzes above a worn wooden bar. A blonde waitress is busy serving customers, but when she spots Echo, she raises a hand in greeting and smiles broadly. He pulls out a barstool for me to sit on, and the blonde falters, watching us quizzically.
Echo pushes a strand of loose hair behind my ear, and I stare at him for a moment. His touch is intimate, the action of a lover, not a virtual stranger.
“What you drinking, sweetheart?” Echo asks.
“Beer, please.”
Echo’s watchful eyes reluctantly turn to the bar. “Brandi, two beers, please.”
The waitress grabs the drinks and passes them to Echo before resting her hip against the bar. “Hi, I’m Brandi.”
Reaching over, I shake her outstretched hand. “Olivia,” I reply.
Turning to Echo, she raises her eyebrows expectantly. He exhales dramatically and rolls his eyes before responding. “Olivia’s bus left without her. She’s looking for a way to El Paso by tonight.”
Her eyes immediately flash back to me and soften sympathetically. “Oh, hon, that’s too bad, but there’s no buses out of town until later on tomorrow.”
I let my head fall into my hands and groan in frustration. Strong fingers wrap around the back of my neck, and a shudder of desire runs down my spine. Echo leans down, his breath warming my skin. “I’m real sorry, sugar.”
His fingertips stroke feather-light caresses down my neck to the curve of my shoulder. I slowly lift my head, and he cradles my face with his hands. He leans towards me and his warm, minty breath heats a tingling path across my skin. The sound of the bar fades, and the only noise I hear is the loud beat of my own heart.
I stare into Echo’s eyes and watch them darken and fill with smouldering desire. In this moment, all I see is him, all I feel is him. All I want and need is him. We’re detached from reality, connected and so consumed with each other that we’re oblivious to the world happening around us.
Bloody hell, I want him to rip my clothes off and fuck me till I’ve forgotten my own name, and then do it every day for the rest of my life. I don’t know what the hell this is between us, but it definitely feels like more than just lust.
“There’s a bus tomorrow, hon. Can you get that one?” Brandi’s voice shatters my connection to Echo, and the hustle and bustle of the bar returns in a rush, flooding my senses.
Echo’s hands reluctantly release me, but his eyes stay locked on mine. The pull to stay connected to him is intense, but I force myself to turn to Brandi. “Nope, tomorrow’s too late. I had a free ride lined up, but only if I got there today. A friend of a friend said I could jump on his band’s bus and hitch a free ride to California, but they’re leaving tonight. I really can’t afford to pay for buses all the way across the country to try and catch up with them.”
“Oh my God. This. Is. Perfect,” Brandi squeals.
Startled, I jump, almost spitting out the beer I’d just swallowed. I cough, my eyes watering as the beer tries to come back up.
“You ever worked in a bar?” she questions excitedly.
I nod cautiously. “Erm, yeah, I worked in my local pub years ago. Why?”
A huge smile lights up her face and she claps enthusiastically. “Problem solved then. You can work here.”
I sit up and reply. “I can’t work here.”
“Why not?” Brandi questions.
Echo’s attention moves from Brandi and slowly turns to me. “Yeah, why not, sugar?”
“I’m here on a tourist visa. I can’t work, unfortunately. Well, at least not legally, and jail is so not part of the great American adventure.”
Echo reaches out and his fingertips gently pinch my chin, tilting my face up to his. “You wanna work here, sugar?”
His touch is distracting, but I force myself to focus and shrug dismissively. “I’d love to work here. God, the money would be amazing, but like I said, tourist visa.”
His touch leaves my skin and his perfect face breaks into a breathtaking smile. “Okay, you’re hired.”
Bereft from the loss of his touch, I snap, “Echo, you can’t just say I’m hired. It’s against the law. I could be arrested. You could be arrested. Plus, you can’t just give me a job; I’m fairly sure whoever owns the bar might have something to say about that.”
Echo leans against the bar, relaxed. “Fuck, sugar, take a breath. The club owns the bar, so if you want the job, it’s yours.”
“What club?”
A dimple pops in his cheek, and I stare at it. What would he do if I licked it?
“The Doomsday Sinners MC.”
I laugh loudly. It takes me a second to realise he’s frowning.
“What’s so fucking funny, Olivia?”
“Are you seriously trying to tell me that this bar’s owned by a biker club?” I ask incredulously.
Echo’s beautiful face falls into a scowl. “Careful, sugar. Yes, the club owns the bar.”
I try to swallow past the lump in my throat. “What, like Sons of Anarchy?”
Echo nods once, muttering quietly, “Fucking bullshit TV show.”
Saliva lodges in my throat. When I finally find my voice, it’s small and unsure. “So an actual, real motorcycle club?”
Annoyance is clear on his face, and his gruff voice turns serious. “The Sinners are very fucking real, sugar.”
“And you’re a member?”
He barks out the one word response. “Yes.”
“Well, fuck.”