Chapter 1
GraCe
I should have left when I had polished off that first drink.
That had been my initial plan, but the Doobie Brothers “Eyes of Silver” was playing on the jukebox, and that really deserved another drink for old time’s sake. Not for the sake of the future, though. Isn’t that why I’d stopped here in the first place? I was just over an hour outside of Rapid City, but I wanted to put off harsh reality a little while longer.
Just one more drink.
I gestured at the bartender with my empty glass. He winked at me.
My motel room across the highway was most certainly not a fabulous destination, and I just couldn’t face another night watching bad reality TV or the usual sitcoms as I had done the night before at the motel in Montana. Tonight was different. No, I couldn’t sit still tonight. The walls of the room seemed to stretch to hold me in. Dead Ringer’s Roadhouse was a much, much better alternative.
It hadn’t changed much in the sixteen years I’d been away. License plates from each one of the fifty states still covered the walls, but that original poster for a Doors concert in California was thankfully now secured in a thick brass frame. A dramatic spotlight glowed over it for all those who came regularly to pay their respects. I suppose the owners finally realized its worth. A vintage photograph, it too now solidly framed, of an old locomotive stuck in over twelve feet of snow during the infamous blizzard of 1949, took pride in its place on the opposite wall. Gentrification had arrived in this little corner of South Dakota. The same beer-soaked smell filled my nostrils, though.
Three pool tables stood on a raised section of the room where several older pot-bellied bikers played a game. The dart boards still dotted one wall as did the myriad of hunting trophies peering down at us from overhead—an eccentric variety of antlers, furry, glassy-eyed heads, and even a few stuffed fish, all mute, somber witnesses to the whirligig of flesh and alcohol below.
Hey up there, remember me?
I took in a deep breath and leaned back against the extremely long bar. In the center of the spacious Roadhouse was a sunken dance area, its long stretch of wooden floor polished and worn from years of use. Glass mason jars glowing with the light of votive candles spotlit each of the crowded tables surrounding the dance floor. I lowered myself back on my barstool and waited for my refill. The lights lowered a notch as the couple to my right laughed uproariously at a joke the waitress had told them.
I rubbed the back of my neck. I definitely needed to have a laugh and relax before I got into town tomorrow and faced the music. I was too wound up to sleep tonight. All my belongings, and there weren’t many, were packed in my Toyota Land Cruiser. It’s good to be mobile at a moment’s notice, like I was when my sister called me a little over a week ago.
“Grace, I need you, honey.”
She wouldn’t have asked me to come home if it wasn’t serious. I think both of us had been in denial over just how serious it was. I quit my job that day, packed my essentials, and came back to South Dakota.
Anything for Ruby. Anything.
But I wasn’t going to think about all that right now. Right now, I was going to try to enjoy myself. Well, at least have a laugh or two. Or something. That’s why coming to Dead Ringer’s had seemed like such a good idea after I had checked in to the motel earlier. My home town was located almost two hours away on the other side of Rapid City, so there wasn’t too much of a chance of anyone recognizing me here tonight.
After I had checked in at the motel, I’d taken a long hot shower, scrubbed the grime of the road off me, and eased the ache in my lower back from driving most of the day. I’d put on my black jeans and my favorite charcoal-gray T-shirt dotted with studs and tiny rhinestones along the wing design, shoved on my oldest pair of engineer boots, then set off for Dead Ringer’s. My legs always felt solidly weighted into the ground with these treasured puppies on, which was always a good thing, especially now. They were definitely a nice change from the high-tops I had been wearing to stay comfortable as I drove.
I raised my chin and inspected my appearance in the huge, cracked antique mirror that hung behind the bar next to the Roadhouse’s famous antique photograph of a nineteenth century gold prospector in the Black Hills. My grape lip-gloss had faded, of course, but my thick brown hair that I had highlighted off and on over the years had, as usual, achieved full volume all on its own. I had kept it bound in a ponytail all through my days of driving to keep it out of my face and off my neck. I combed my fingers through the layered waves that cascaded to my shoulders.
“There you go, hon.” The bartender blocked my view, breaking my girlish reverie. He slid a whiskey neat towards me on a small white napkin.
I shot him a smile. “Thank you.”
I drew deep on the amber liquid, and that delicious warmth flowed through me once more and settled in my blood. A Miranda Lambert song flared up, and suddenly a rumble echoed over the old wood floors as a good number of eager couples, both young and old, scrambled to the dance floor. Laughter and whoops swirled through the room. I took another swallow of my whiskey and savored its richness in my mouth.
This was good, comfortable. I tugged a strand of hair from one of my long silver earrings.
Was I really an upgraded version of the Grace Quillen who ran away from Meager, South Dakota sixteen years ago?
Ran away, absconded, escaped…
“Are you really drinking that without ice?” a deep male voice vibrated through me.
My eyes snapped up to my left, and I had to raise them up a bit higher to see the face behind that firm, almost purposeful tone. My fingers slid down my glass.
I drank in the large, almost black eyes lined with thick dark lashes that were pinned on me. His face was full of planes, angles and high cheekbones. He sported a long nose that must have been broken at some point, because it had an odd bump to it and a small scar on its side that travelled down his cheek. Those flaws may have blunted any overt handsomeness he might have been blessed with, yet they gave him an unforgiving, grim quality. My gaze settled on his full mouth. His smooth skin was a light bronze hue. He definitely had Native American blood in him.
He had to be over six feet tall with pronounced shoulders and a closely cropped head of dark hair peppered with just a bit of gray. There were faint traces of stubble on his face, and a small silver hoop hung from his right earlobe. His long arms and broad chest filled out his black hoodie that was zipped up most of the way. Faded and frayed blue jeans hung low and loose just below his waist and extended down a long pair of legs, which ended in heavily scuffed black leather boots. A worn-out road warrior.
He leaned against the bar, one feathery dark eyebrow quirked higher than the other at my glass of whiskey. “Never met a chick who liked it straight,” he said.
I choked on the swirl of liquor at the back of my throat. He swallowed his drink, his solemn eyes on me as he waited for a response to his ridiculous remark. With my eyes locked on his, I put down my glass.
I smirked. “Well, well. Lucky you.”
He shifted his weight and leaned in closer. “I meant the drink, not …” I could swear his irises had silver threads in them at this angle. His full lips tightened. He didn’t break into chuckles or a flirty pose. He really wanted an answer to his question.
“Yeah, I got it,” I said with a slight smile. “Ice only dilutes the flavor. Why order a great whiskey if you’re going to insult it with water or sugary soda?”
He studied me for a moment, perfectly still, then he nodded once and drank from his ice-filled glass, his dark eyes never leaving mine. “Very true. Insult—that’s perfect.”
I turned back to my drink. He moved in closer. “It’s just that most women order everything with a diet, you know?”
“Women or was that ‘chicks’?”
He let out a laugh. His face seemed almost boyish, then in an instant the relaxed look was gone and the somber returned.
“I hate soda,” I said.
His dark, languid eyes riveted on me once more, and I swallowed hard. I could soak in those soothing pools of darkness.
“Guess you’re not most women.” His voice was warm, almost gravelly, and his eyes glinted at me as he drank. The chunks of ice in his glass clinked together, the sound filling the thick air between us.
“No, I’m not.”
His teeth crunched on ice as he studied me. “I’ll bet you don’t like much diluted or watered down, huh?”
I tore my gaze away from those dark eyes of his and cleared my throat. “What are you drinking?”
“Vodka. Thought I’d change it up from beer tonight.”
“Good idea,” I murmured. “Change is always good.”
“Keeps the blood flowing, right?”
I glanced up at him again. He was trying to make conversation with me. Being friendly to strangers is good for one’s karma, isn’t it? And I needed all the help I could get in the karma department. Why not indulge in conversation with the attractive Mr. Vodka On The Rocks?
“Ever tried it with a slice of lemon?” I asked.
A hint of amusement passed over his eyes, and I grinned. “The drink, I mean.”
He shook his head and sighed. “No.”
“You should.”
My gaze swept over him once more. A tattoo crept across the base of his neck from his shoulder. Was it a feather? I tried not to stare at it too long. He looked to be around my age. There were lines around his eyes and mouth to match my own budding crow’s feet. His face was a bit weathered. A wise, dry humor flashed from the crooked angle of his brief smile, which I liked. No, he wasn’t some young’un hoping to score a cougar. My eyes rested on the bulky silver ring of a sculpted eagle’s head he wore on the hand that was wrapped around his glass. I frowned.
He leaned over the bar and plucked a thick slice of lemon from the tray of condiments and dropped it into his glass. He swirled the vodka around the ice and the lemon and took a swig. His attractive lips puckered.
“It adds a little something without overwhelming it. I like it.”
“I’m Grace, by the way.”
His eyebrows lifted slightly. “Pretty name. Nice to meet you, Grace.” He tipped his glass in my direction. “I’m Miller.”
“Hi, Miller.”
He signaled the bartender for another round for both of us.
“You don’t have to do that.” My hand darted out to his long arm. The wiry muscles under the plush softness of his hoodie tightened, and I snapped my hand back right away as if I had been burned.
“Why not?” His eyes scrunched together. He leaned in closer, his one elbow grazed mine on the bar top, his warm breath fanned my neck. “I usually don’t do this sort of thing, but tonight, for a woman like you, I’m going to splurge.”
“Oh, a woman like me?” I smirked into my empty glass. What did that mean? Mature? Older? “And why does a woman like me get the formal treatment?”
His eyes gleamed. “Because I admire your respect for that whiskey,” he said in a smooth, honeyed voice that melted right over me.
I straightened my back as I absorbed his dark gaze. A buzz zipped through my veins. I knew I was already in trouble here, but this was ... fun. Isn’t this why I came here tonight? To unwind, distract myself before the hell of tomorrow? What’s a little flirting? It had been so long since I had actually felt attracted to a man.
Really attracted.
“I appreciate your appreciating it,” I said. He grinned, and my mouth abruptly went dry.
The bartender slid our new drinks in front of us and took our empties away. My gaze shot up at Miller. His eyes were softer this time, like dark pools of full-flavored coffee. There was something calming to me about his gaze, like the calm that suddenly comes after a violent storm. Or was that before the storm?
He held up his glass and clinked it against mine. It might as well have been an alarm bell heralding our move into new territory. We had shifted gears, and we both knew it. “To appreciation, then,” he murmured.
His eyebrows bunched up for a second, and he let out a laugh at the banal sentiment. I liked that small, unfettered laugh of his. He immediately segued into serious once more, and we swallowed our liquor, our eyes fastened on each other.
Danger, Will Robinson.
My face heated, and I quickly diverted my gaze to scan the increasing number of patrons lining the bar. All I really wanted to do was look into those rich eyes again. I held my breath and tamped down the urge. Blake Shelton’s “Ten Times Crazier” blared loudly through the Roadhouse.
Miller’s glass slammed on the bar. “Come on, Grace. Let’s dance.” My head jerked back to him. He seized my hand and tugged me off my bar stool, his long calloused fingers pressing into my flesh.
“Dance?” My eyes widened, yet all the while I enjoyed the firm heat of his hand over mine. He led me through the crowd to the dance floor.
“I’ve got you, no worries,” he whispered in my ear.
His arms slid around me and pulled me close to his solid frame. I tried to ignore the shiver that zipped across my skin, but it was useless. His very masculine scent of leather and musk intoxicated me immediately. My stomach fluttered as we moved easily to the music across the floor, his hand pressing against my back. He tucked me in closer, and our hips swayed against each other.
I blinked up at him. Miller was tall. I was five foot seven and considered myself average. But there was nothing average about me dancing with this gladiator. His large, hot hand at my lower back singed my skin through the thin cotton of my T-shirt. His face had softened, and his dark eyes seemed to shimmer over me. It was as if he were a different person from the somewhat brooding figure at the bar.
My long silver earrings prickled the suddenly sensitive skin of my neck as we danced to two more songs. Miller teased me about the two old cowboys at a table near the dance floor who had been allegedly ogling my ass, and we laughed over the melodramatic lyrics of the current song. My breathing began to return to normal.
Well, a more intense level of normal.
I liked being held in the long, lean arms of this man, a man who sent that glorious buzz humming through me. It had been years, hundreds of years, since I had been rendered nearly speechless by that rush.
I’m usually a sensible girl. Maybe I should have made some excuse and headed out the door, but I didn’t. I liked the way he kept me close. I liked how his solid body moved against mine and led me through the music. His warm, heady fragrance ignited my insides as Kenny Chesney crooned softly about all the potential damage that could be done. It was nice to pretend I was just an ordinary woman dancing to “You and Tequila” with a sexy somebody at a bar off an interstate in South Dakota.
But I knew better.
I used to let go and have fun. Now, not so much. Sixteen years ago I had stopped harboring expectations for too much more than pleasantness in my life. I had learned the bitter lesson that low expectations were the best way to go.
Miller’s hand slid up my back. He led us off the dance floor and back to the bar where our drinks waited for us. The place was crowded now and much noisier. We leaned against the bar and stood closer together than before out of necessity. His one hand slid over my left hip and secured me close to him in the pressing crowd.
“How did you like Ohio?” he asked.
I still chewed on the sensation of his hand gripping me. Crap, what did he just say?
“Excuse me?”
“Your Harley tee.” Miller gestured to my back. “It’s from Ohio. That where you’re from?”
My lips curled into a slight smile. He didn’t suspect I was a native. “I worked at the store in Dayton for a couple of years a while back.”
I had been the general manager, actually, at that store and several others.
“No shit?” His eyes widened. “Careful, you’re turning into my dream girl, babe. You know everything about bikes?” He took a drink.
Dream girl? Wouldn’t that be swell? At the age of forty-two, I had enough baggage to charter my own cargo plane.
I laughed, and he gave me a quizzical look. “Not everything,” I said, “but let’s see.” My eyes slid down his long legs slowly and obviously before resting on his boots. He grinned as he swallowed his vodka, enjoying the stroke of my deliberate attention. “I know your boots aren’t the real deal.” I took in another mouthful of whiskey.”
He nodded. “Not this pair, but I’ve got several others at home came straight from the source.”
I let out a laugh. “Going casual tonight then?”
“Hmm.” He crunched on another ice cube, his gaze locked on mine. “Now I wish I had put them on, to suit the occasion.”
“What occasion is that?”
“Meeting you, Grace.”
The firm, crisp way he said my name made my insides tighten. His eyes remained on me as he polished off his vodka then licked the excess off his lips. I wondered what those full lips would feel like pressed against mine. The need to know suddenly overwhelmed me.
“So are you from around here, ‘cause I know I haven’t seen you before?” he asked.
“You’d remember me?”
“Absolutely.” The edges of his lips curled into a slow grin that made my stomach dip.
“I’m from. . .around.” I made a twirling gesture with my fingers. “Plenty of around.”
“Like where?”
“Ohio, Wisconsin, Texas, Colorado, Washington State.”
“That’s plenty of around, Grace. You like to keep moving? Or maybe you need to?”
I turned to face the dance floor in order to escape his penetrating gaze. “Change keeps the blood flowing, didn’t you say? It’s good for the soul, too.”
If I had any of my soul left anymore.
His eyes tightened. Here come the goddamn twenty questions now.
“You got any family?”
Bingo.
“A sister.”
“Husband, kids?”
I smirked. “She does, yes.”
“Not your sister, Grace. You.”
“Me? No,” I replied a bit too sharply. “No husband. No boyfriend either, if that’s going to be your next question.”
He lowered his head. “You off to somewhere new?”
I shrugged my shoulders at him.
“Not telling, huh?” He turned back around and settled his elbows on the bar. “Guess we all have our dark secrets,” he muttered and polished off his vodka.
My ears pounded with the booming vibe of a Florida Georgia Line song. I cleared my throat. “I guess it’s country music night tonight?”
“Almost every night,” he said, an eyebrow lifting. “You in the mood for something else?”
I grinned. “A little Santana would be a good thing.”
He grinned back at me. “Great band.”
“One of the best.”
Oh, I liked his grin. It was hard won, I suspected, yet worth it.
He gestured to my not quite empty glass. “You want another?”
“No thanks. I’m good.”
“Mind if I try?”
“Go ahead.” I pushed the glass towards him.
The sight of his generous lips clinging to my glass, and the movement of his long throat as he drank in my whiskey held me spellbound. I might as well have been witnessing some sort of supernatural phenomenon.
“Single malt?” he asked, his eyes on me. His lips puckered for a moment as he set it down.
“Yes. Only way to go.”
On some sort of insane reflex, my fingers reached out to wipe a glistening amber drop that clung to the corner of his beautiful mouth. His hand caught mine and held it fast to the side of his face while his other hand wrapped around my neck and pulled me close.
“Only way,” he breathed.
Any trace of oxygen was sucked right out of me as his warm lips touched mine and gently explored. Suddenly his tongue swept over my lower lip, and I tasted Suddenly his tongue swept over my lower lip, and I tasted my beloved whiskey on his slickness. A groan choked in the back of my throat. The heat of his hand around my neck made my insides pulsate almost painfully.
I desperately wanted this kiss from him.
I opened my lips to welcome him in. The next moment our mouths assaulted each other, and our tongues devoured deeply. Somehow I didn’t care that I was in a public bar where a herd of people pushed around us, music boomed, laughter and chatter droned in my ear.
All I thought or cared about was this demanding, hungry kiss.
My hands gripped his biceps, and his hard muscles flexed under the soft material of his hoodie. He pulled me into his chest, and his scent flooded my senses once more. This time I wanted to drink it in; let it entwine around me and hug me close. My nipples hardened against the thin satin of my bra.
Miller’s teeth nipped my lower lip, and he hissed in air. . .or was that me?
I dug my fingers into his shoulders and crashed back down to earth. “I’m hot.”
“He kissed the edge of my jaw, while his finger traced my collarbone. “Yeah, you certainly are.”
Waves of dizziness surged through me. “No, no, Miller, I mean, I’m hot, I can’t brea . . .”
His eyes narrowed over me. His hand wrapped around my neck and his thumb stroked my cheek. “Let me get you some water.” Miller turned to find the bartender and smirked. “I tend to have that effect on women.”
“Oh, shut up!” I pinched his arm. He laughed, then his hand went to my waist and squeezed.
That particular heat flooded my female parts, those parts I thought I had put out of commission some time ago. Years of underwhelming responses to a variety of underwhelming men had dulled me. . .or so I thought. I was finally experiencing again what it feels like to be really turned on, wasn’t I? My eyelids sank, and I lifted my heavy hair off my neck. There were different grades of turned on weren’t there? Amused, aroused, pleasantly excited? Not this. This was more.
This was key jammed in the ignition and motor revving.
My lungs constricted as icy wetness slicked across my collarbone and down my chest. “What the . . .?” I gasped and let go of my hair. Miller smoothed ice cubes from his glass over my hot skin, letting one slip down my cleavage. “Oh, God,” I moaned.
“That hit the spot?” He gently tugged on the wide V of my T-shirt to look for the errant cube. It had nestled between my breasts and was melting against my hot skin. I drew in a breath as his finger traced the satiny edge of my black bra and seared my flesh. He chuckled softly.
I let out a sigh. “Leave it, it feels great right there.”
Miller took another cube from his glass and rubbed it around my neck then let it slide down my back. My pulse hurtled out of control.
“Holy crap!” I let out a laugh and arched my back as the ice cube slid down my heated skin and landed at my waist where my jeans gapped open. My lips parted as his long fingers found the cube, slid it in circles around my lower back then tucked it into the waistband of my panties where it melted down my rear.
I shook my head at him, pressed my lips together, and suppressed a laugh. Another cube followed down the base of my throat, slipped down my chest, and landed in my bra. Miller’s cold, wet fingertips traced a line on the side of my neck.
“Feel better?” he asked. His lips brushed my forehead. He handed me a glass of water.
I nodded at him and drank. My inner buzzing continued recklessly like a car careening at top speed on a rainy highway.
He was good.
This was bad.
Miller’s lips nuzzled the underside of my jaw, his fingers pressed in at my sides right at the swell of my breasts. A landslide of sensation careened through me, and only the word YES surged through my brain. My arms flew around his neck. He pulled me deep into his arms against his solid chest and the soft bulkiness of his hoodie. Our tongues tangled, my back arched into his embrace.
He tasted of cool freshness and golden warmth all at the same time. His hand slid up the side of my breast then quickly went down my back to the curve of my ass and squeezed. A shudder went through me.
“Grace,” he whispered in my ear. “You got somewhere we can go? We can always go out back, I’ve got my truck with me tonight.” His tongue licked at the shell of my ear.
Ah, the old quickie in the parking lot. No, I didn’t want a slam-bam. I wanted more, a lot more. In fact, I had all night to indulge in this insanity. I tore my mouth away from his neck and stared at him.
“You’re disappointing me, Miller. We’re grown-ups, aren’t we?”
“I don’t feel like a grown-up right now, Grace. I don’t think I can wait to even get you in my truck, you’re driving me that insane,” he breathed. He let out a small groan. “Jesus, you smell good. What the hell is that? Watermelon with roses?” His thumb stroked my nipple over my shirt, and my breath hitched in the back of my throat.
I was certainly pleased to hear my recent impulse buy of expensive perfume had been worth it. Both of his hands rubbed my ass and pulled me into his urgent hardness. The sudden intensity of the rush only made me ravenous for more. Geez, I was the one behaving like a teenager, or at least my hormones were.
Wait a second—that was actually refreshing news.
I released my hold on Miller in order to get a hold on myself. We were in a public bar, after all. I gulped down the rest of the cold water. Miller’s large hands stroked up and down my back.
I didn’t want to say no to this...to him. The need to touch him again overtook me with a sudden desperation. My hands slid around his waist and grazed over a thick leather and metal belt looped through his jeans. My fingers travelled up over the sleek, firm muscles of his torso. His breath caught, and heat rushed straight through me at the sound.
Yes, I wanted him badly.
But I didn’t want to do this in a truck, a back alley or a parking lot for God’s sake.
Just say it. Say it. Say it. Say it.
“I have a room at the motel across the way,” I whispered in his ear. My fingers traced the line of his jaw. His arms squeezed me.
I was breathless at the prospect of this sort of anonymous, midnight fling. I hadn’t had a one-night stand in a very long time. Such nameless, faceless, raw experiences had lost their luster for me early on in my widowhood. They had left me feeling even more hollow than I’d already felt. I had begun to prefer friendly and affectionate casual dating instead. The going out, the laughs, the meals, the sleeping together were enjoyable, pleasant, nice. But I had nothing to give these men I had chosen, and so they had never lasted. And that was fine.
I shut my brain down, and my eyes riveted on Miller. Austerely attractive, brooding, tall, great lips, amazing tongue. . .
Once this was over that would be it, right? It would be done. I was just passing through anyhow. He obviously didn’t live around here either or he’d be dragging me to his place, wouldn’t he?
Oh crap, maybe he’s married or he’s got a girlfriend? Seriously, why wouldn’t he be taken?
“I forgot about that motel,” he said. “Perfect.”
He planted a firm kiss on my mouth and ended it with a leisurely swipe of his delicious tongue. I pulled back from him, my hands against his chest.
“Wait a sec. . .how about you?”
Miller’s gaze darkened, the silver threads all but disappeared, and his eyes burned straight through mine as he tilted my face towards his. “How about me what?”
“You have a wife or a girlfriend?”
“No, I don’t.”
A flutter went off in my insides, and I bit my lip. This would be a candy bar, that’s all this was. Chew, savor, and throw out the wrapper on your way out. End of story.
I grinned at Miller.
He slid two twenty-dollar bills out from his wallet and brandished them at the bartender, who hustled down to us. The bartender handed him his change. Miller left him a generous tip.
I managed to finally unlock the door to my room on the third try. Miller jerked the key from the lock, tossed it on the table, and slammed the door behind us. The room was engulfed in streaky darkness. He tore off his hoodie and whatever else he had on underneath, and I yanked off my shirt.
Our rapid, short breaths filled the room. His jeans along with his heavy belt hit the floor with a clang and thud. I fell back on the edge of the bed with an oomph to do away with my boots and socks as quickly as humanly possible.
He lunged at me, and his powerful hands undid my jeans and jerked them down my hips. I tumbled off the bed onto the floor, and we laughed. I felt the weight of him on me and reveled in it. My fingers raced across the lean muscles of his shoulders and back. I groaned in satisfaction as he unhooked my bra and freed my swollen breasts into his greedy hands.
Miller kneaded and licked them, and I gasped at the unexpected burning sensations rippling through me. He sucked hard on each nipple in turn, and I bucked against his hips, rubbing myself up and down on his erection like an animal in heat. I was an animal in heat; there was no help for it, though. If I stopped to think about it, I would stop myself. So I didn’t think. I kept going.
His hand slid over my inner thigh and grazed the lace edge of my panties, and I let out a tiny gasp.
“I want you good and wet,” Miller breathed in my ear as two of his fingers thrust past the damp fabric.
“His knuckles swirled against my clit. I tugged my panties down my hips, but he took over, yanking them down my legs and flinging them to the side. Two of his fingers sank deep. I let out a low moan as they churned inside me. He groaned and muttered something under his heavy breaths. Bunched nerve endings detonated all over my body.
Shit, he knew what he was doing. What a relief.
He whispered over me. I raised my hips up and circled them in the rhythm that he worked me. “Yeah, Grace.” The raw tone in his voice radiated its heat right through me. He moved down my body licking as he went. His tongue lashed across my clit, and I exploded right there and then.
“Yes!” I cried out, and Miller growled somewhere above me. Intense, almost unbearable waves of sensation rolled through my body.
As I floated in my own little stratosphere, the rustle and rip of a foil packet snapped me to my senses. I tore the questionable quilt off the mattress, scrambled up on the bed and squirmed on the cool sheets. I ached with the need to feel his smooth body rub against mine, filling me. All I wanted right this very moment was to consume and be consumed.
Miller sat between my legs and ran his ringed finger over my wet sex. He rubbed the cold bulky silver eagle in small circles over my clit, and my hips jerked.
“Miller—”
His eyes glittered over me in the muted light from the street signs outside. He brought the ring to his mouth and licked it. My hands wrapped around his powerful thighs to steady myself in a desperate attempt to prevent shattering into a thousand pieces.
He leaned over me, one hand planted in the mattress. “You ready for me, Grace?” he breathed. I tilted up my chin.
I was beyond ready.
He positioned himself and drove inside me. My body arched off the bed. My hands gripped his arms as I struggled to adjust to his thickness filling me, stretching me. I raised my hips to take him in further.
I wanted all of this, all of him, needed him like oxygen, like water.
“Shit, you feel good.” Miller let out a groan and hooked one of my legs around his hip. He rocked deeper inside me, and my eyes flew open. My fingers rubbed into the base of his skull as we moved together and against each other quicker and harder. The glorious wave actually built inside me again.
“Grace—you got it?” he asked. “I’m not going to last much longer. You’re making me fucking crazy.”
How considerate of him to communicate.
I had learned how to be self-sufficient. There hadn’t been much real communication with the men I had slept with over the years, just a lot of show on their part. I ground up into Miller and chased my peak. I tightened my inner muscles around him and circled my hips. His mouth hung open, his forehead furrowed with the strain. Then his gaze darted down my body. His hand dug into my hip, his teeth sank into my shoulder.
Miller stroked faster, over and over. The only thing left was to succumb to that rolling storm of sensation. It finally burst and crashed over me. My fingers dug into his back, and I released myself into that sweet, crazy haze. His grip on me tightened, his body suddenly stiffened. I held my breath as he jolted into me. He buried his face in my neck where he muffled a string of curses. Our bodies were veiled in a sheen of sweat. He raised his head, his eyes were fierce. His mouth crushed mine, and I hooked both my legs around his, my fingers raking through his short hair.
Miller’s hand slid down my damp skin, stopping at my hip. “Babe, you are some kind of hungry,” he said, his breathing shallow.
“Oh?” My nerve endings still vibrated with electricity. “You were pretty enthusiastic yourself.”
“You fired me up.” His fingers teased one of my nipples. “Has it been a while?”
Was I that obvious?
“Yes.”
“How long is a while?” His voice was gentle.
“Does it matter?” I closed my eyes against the tingles his fingers created.
“Tell me.” He pressed his pelvis against mine. I squirmed at the sweet pressure. My hands slid over his smooth contoured chest barely visible in the glow of light. Disappointment crept over me that I couldn’t see that tattoo. “Grace?”
“A year. . . or so.”
“Or so?” His eyes flashed through the shadows, his lips brushed mine.
“Hmm.” My body shifted underneath his, but he didn’t unpin his formidable weight from me.
“Why, babe? You’re beautiful, you’re. . .”
I put my fingers to his lips. “Needed a vacation from the bullshit, that’s all.” I didn’t want to continue in this line of conversation. His lips sucked my fingertips into his mouth, and my defensiveness melted into a puddle at his feet.
“There is plenty of bullshit out there.” He let out a sigh. “Plenty.” His tongue traced a wet trail around my nipple as his fingers caressed my other breast.
“It’s just not worth it most of the time,” I whispered. My gaze was riveted on his mouth taking in my aching breast and sucking on it. My body tightened and released to him all in one wave.
“But you took a chance on me?” The edges of his lips curled against my delicate skin.
“Yeah.” My fingers burrowed into his crop of very short hair.
“Was I worth it?” Miller rubbed my wet, aching nipple between his thumb and forefinger, then pinched it. I gasped, and my foot dug into his rear. “Did I make up for what you’ve been missing?”
I lightly kicked at the firm muscles of his sublime ass and smirked. “You made a dent.”
His eyes narrowed over me as his thumb grazed my swollen lips. He didn’t laugh, smirk back at me, or return with a clever comeback. He didn’t take the bait. My ribbing, my jokes to distract and deflect from any kind of serious inquiry into me didn’t seem to work with Mr. Miller, like it always had with other men. He remained still and studied my face, his warm fingers stretched out over my throat and around my neck, my heart thrumming at his touch. We studied each other in silence, our shallow breaths mingling.
“I’m honored,” he whispered.
I believed him.
He pulled out of me slowly and leaned over me. His mouth hovered over mine for a second, his breath warm on my skin while my fingers lingered on the side of his face. His lips nuzzled mine gently, then he tilted his head the other way and kissed me again, very slowly. His mouth pulled away just a bit, then descended once more, even softer, relishing every part of my lips. His tongue finally found mine, but then he trapped my bottom lip in his teeth.
“Oh—”
“You good for another go?”
“Hmm.” I rubbed the back of one of his long legs with my foot and savored the sensation of his body pressed against mine.
“That a yes or a no?” His warm mouth nuzzled my throat, his tongue flicked at my skin.
“Yes, yes,” I said, and he only chuckled. The sound of his subdued laughter deep in his chest only turned me on more without a trace of shame.
“Let me get rid of this condom first.” Miller pushed himself up off the bed. I sighed and stretched out. He licked my navel, and I laughed. He peeled the used rubber off himself and tossed it in the wastebasket between the bed and the table and quickly found another packet ripping it open. A very motivating sound in my current state.
“Let me do it,” I said. I suddenly needed to touch his hardness, to feel it, to feel him. I sat up. Miller’s face was partly visible in the shadows. He pressed the condom into my unsteady hand.
My fingers skimmed over his tense abs and wrapped around his cock. It was thick, warm, and slick with his release. My fingers stroked its hard length, and I bent over and licked around the smooth crown. I took his thickness in my mouth and sucked slowly from base to tip. Miller’s fingers dug through my hair, and he raised his hips higher, hissing in air. My body jerked at the illicit sound.
“Babe. . . oh, shit. . . wait,” he murmured. “I want to fuck you now, want to come inside you.” His fingers found a nipple and squeezed, then released it just as quickly, a blaze of heat spiking through me. I slid the condom over his shaft and smoothed it firmly down his length.
His hand squeezed my shoulder, then he pushed me back against the mattress and my eyes lifted to his searing gaze. There was hunger in those dark orbs and a steely ruthlessness. No mercy. His mouth sank between my legs, and I let out a deep moan.
He took his sweet time.
“Miller!”
My back arched off the bed. He immediately flipped me onto my knees, raising my hips, and rubbed his hard length between my ass cheeks. His cock slid down, teasing my needy, grateful center. My breath snagged, my pulse jammed.
“Hold on, Grace.”
My fingers curled into the tangle of sheets, and he drove inside me.
My eyes came unglued in the haze of a pale halo of light around the dark curtains of the single window in the room. I was pinned to the bed by an enormous weight, and the tingling in my limbs prickled. My insides were sore, and my skin smelled of sweat and musk. And sex.
Now it came back to me. Lots of sex.
I moved in small increments, and a still-asleep Miller finally rolled off me with a slight moan and settled on his back. I blinked at the sight of a large tattoo of a great eagle in profile. The eagle’s wings were spread across Miller’s shoulder and down his chest. I raised myself up on my elbow to get a better look. I never got to see it last night as we never turned on the lights. My fingers traced the outline of the majestic creature emblazoned across his tawny skin. One large wing pointed down, the other wing pointed up, and its end reached around the back of his neck. The image was rather elegant, dignified.
Miller’s hand fluttered across his chest in response to my tickling touch. I bit my lower lip to suppress the giggle that rose in my throat. He let out a heavy sigh and twisted onto his stomach.
And then I saw it.
Ripples of pain tore through my gut.
It had to be an illusion. A cosmic joke.
But it wasn’t.
My throat constricted. That ancient, wild thing inside me shifted and cut loose. That primitive beast that had taken me years to leash and constrain shimmered before me again in all its hideous glory.
No. No. NO.
Tattooed on Miller’s back was the logo that had been forever burned into my brain, branded on my heart, and scorched onto my soul from a very young age. I struggled for air. My bleary eyes took in the familiar lines of the skull with one eye socket enlarged, and a great star glowing its fiendish light from its blackened hollow. The leering skull was framed by that indelible name.
The One-Eyed Jacks MC
Meager, SD
My stomach caved in as if I had been punched, my mouth went dry, and icy darts shot down my spine.
“Holy shit,” my voice broke. I clenched my jaw to stem the sour tide that rose in my throat.
“Get gone!”
My eyes widened as a voice from my past, from inside the deepest recesses of my soul, resounded in my brain and pummeled through my chest.
“Get gone now, sweetheart!”
I squeezed my eyes shut for a moment. “‘Miller,’ my ass,” I whispered to myself.
We’d even had the goddamn Harley conversation, and he didn’t mention he rode, or that he had a bike. He didn’t even use it to get down my pants. Now that was impressive, Mr. Miller, or whatever your road name was. I sure was easy, wasn’t I?
I gritted my teeth. Of course, this was all my fault. As if I hadn’t known when I first laid eyes on him: Here was biker material, here was rough, rugged American man. This was the kind of man I hadn’t let myself get close to in years. Was the attraction so overwhelming that I kicked all my logic out the door at the sight of him? Was I so much in denial about what made me tick? Obviously, the answer to those questions was a resounding yes.
My eyes fell on the eagle ring on his finger. I knew I’d seen that very same ring before on someone else in the good old days. My instinct had warned me last night, but I had brushed it off in the name of hot sex. Such an idiot. I had plummeted headlong into the very thing I had wanted above all else to avoid.
I had to get out of here. I had to get away from him. I eased up off the mattress and twisted my hair into a messy knot securing it with a band.
There had been a sign at the entrance of the bar that declared “No Colors.” Any bikers who entered had to cover or remove their colors, the leather vests they always wore with their club patches, or not wear jackets that were marked with the same identifying patches. Dead Ringer’s Roadhouse was a decades old landmark on this stretch of the highway. Plenty of riders passed through here, and the owner wanted to avoid any trouble. Therefore Miller had himself covered up. But he was driving a cage—a vehicle, not a bike. He must have been making a delivery or a pickup somewhere under the radar. If you were in a cage you weren’t supposed to wear your colors, mandatory gear on your bike.
Miller had probably stopped at the bar to take a leak and get a drink on his way home or on his way out. No, if he had time to spare to get laid he must have been on his way home to Meager. He had even pointed out his truck to me last night as we crossed through the parking lot on the way to the motel. I had actually smiled at the sight of his black GMC.
“Get gone now.”
I stuffed my duffel bag with the makeup, face cleanser, body lotion, deodorant, and perfume that I had scattered on the small bathroom counter. I dashed to my jeans that lay twisted on the floor and yanked them up my legs, not even bothering to look for my missing panties. My bra poked out from under Miller’s jeans, and I snatched it up and hooked it on. . .that I couldn’t do without. I nabbed my socks and boots and shoved them on. My crumpled T-shirt reeked of last night’s indulgences. I shoved it in my bag and plucked a fresh one, stretching it over my head and through my arms.
The heel of my boot stepped on something unusually thick, and my gaze darted down. A black leather vest with the club’s logo on it and a variety of patches was stuffed inside his black hoodie.
I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. Part of a silver and black patch glared at me. I could barely make out the words “Road Captain.”
He had most definitely been under the radar last night. If he had only unzipped that hoodie in the bar, if I had seen even a hint of his colors, I would have run like hell on the spot. But no, I had to kiss him back, I had to suck on his beautiful tongue, I had to push my tits into his chest.
Stupid.
I bit down on my trembling lip as I slowly zipped my duffel bag closed. I nabbed my car keys, the room key, slipped on my old leather jacket, and swung my large studded suede handbag over my shoulder. My fingers gripped the doorframe as I turned to take one last look at Miller. The incognito biker’s magnificent naked body lay face down on our snarled sheets. His sleek tattooed back rose with every deep and even breath of sleep. The hard angle of his lean jaw jutted forward on the smashed pillow, the lines of his intriguing face slack, his fingers curled around the edges of the pillowcase. The silver eagle ring glimmered in the soft pink glow of dawn sifting through the drapes.
That gorgeous hard ass my hands couldn’t get enough of last night mocked me now. The sleek, powerful body that had held me, moved inside me, and gave me so much pleasure for hours was now only an ominous presence and left me numb. I slumped against the doorjamb, my eyelids sank.
“Get gone,” I whispered.
I carefully turned the knob and pulled open the door, stepping out of the room into the cold cloudiness of a day that I had dreaded dawning for a long, long time.
Now it was here, and I had even more reasons to dread it.
***
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