1
~Lucy~
“You know, little darlin’, you’re not going home with anybody but me tonight. Same as usual. So, let’s get a move on now. I want those thighs of yours wrapped around me ASAP. No more waiting.”
My breath hitched at the sound of that all-too-familiar voice. That deep, sexy rasp, just shy of a full-on growl. Just a hint of the raw masculine power that lay right beneath the surface.
I hated it.
I hated that the mere sound of him speaking churned me up inside and could fire up every nerve ending in my body.
He was so close and if that wasn’t bad enough, his large palm suddenly came down on the wall beside the bathroom door, effectively boxing me in from behind. The shock of his brazen closeness had me losing all function in my fingers and they dropped from the doorknob, as I stood, stock still, simply staring ahead, trapped between him and the door. I could feel the heat from his body burning into my back. His scent was always so infuriatingly intoxicating. Leather, sandalwood and that distinct manly musk of his. Not to mention, that slight whiff of cigarette smoke and cheap booze he always carried with him, the lingering effects of being a member of a motorcycle club and living in their clubhouse.
He shifted closer and I felt the rough denim of the black Levis he always wore chafe against the backs of my bare thighs, exposed in my short, black dress. A few years back, I would’ve melted into a puddle of liquid desire at his feet just from that slight touch, accidental or not. Hell, a look would’ve had me halfway there. Mister-Too-Frigging-Hot-For-His-Harley could do no wrong in my adolescent eyes. All right, my ill-advised crush on him may have lasted a little longer than that. But it had been ill-advised and not just because he was my brother’s best friend and basically family. No, because the bastard had shown his true colors. The friendship we’d once shared had been trampled all over by his dirtied motorcycle boots without a second thought. No warning. No explanation.
I’d made my peace with that. Well, a few irritating, erotically-charged dreams with him claiming the starring role in that forceful way of his notwithstanding.
And then the worst had happened.
My overbearing prick of an older brother, Cole, had taken off out of town, claiming he had some “personal emergency” to deal with—one he hadn’t shared with anyone, not his club brothers and not even me—and he’d called in a brotherly favor that had resulted in his best biker buddy taking on Cole’s ridiculous, infuriating role as my protector. Or, as I liked to call it, my damn stalker.
Of all the people, why him? It was bad enough that, as a grown twenty-three-year-old woman, I had to suffer through being treated like a child by my brother. But now to be shadowed by a man who’d made it clear he hated me? A man who couldn’t be within a few feet of me without lighting the fuse to the mother of all verbal sparring matches? He seemed to derive some sort of sick thrill from it.
I’d been all for stepping into that proverbial ring tonight with the crap he’d pulled. Instead of doing his stalking duty at a distance as he had been for the last couple of days, the bastard had basically been staring me down all night, smirking, sneering at my conversation and doing everything he could to ruin my night. He’d barged right on into Bertolli’s, the restaurant where I’d been having my date! Oh, I’d been ready to do more than verbally spar with him. I’d been ready to kick Mason Cross’s sweet ass!
Until he’d spoken and totally thrown me off my game. Talk about undermining my anger.
“I want those thighs of yours wrapped around me.” Had he actually just said that?
“Wh-what?” I asked, hating the uncertain waver in my voice as I forced myself to turn around and face the music. Urgh. What was I doing, rising to the bait? I should’ve just opened the bathroom door and slammed it closed behind me.
He didn’t step back like any gentleman would have, to allow me room to breathe. No, instead, his hand remained planted firmly on the wall and I was forced to brush right up against him, the flimsy material of my dress and my light black cotton jacket abrading against his well-worn, leather cut. I shifted uncomfortably in my knee-high leather boots, not liking the submissive stance he’d forced me into, and my high-heels caught against his boot, making me stumble just for the briefest second before I was able to right myself. That brief moment was all it took for my left boob to graze against his inked arm and skyrocket the situation from uncomfortable to mortifying in a split second. My entire body tensed at the contact. It had my head jerking up to meet his whiskey-colored pools of intensity. To my surprise that usual look of disdain that always seemed to be permanently burned into his gaze whenever he looked my way was nowhere to be seen.
But the absence was short-lived, as he cleared his throat and said, “Yeah, Luce. Those thighs of yours are gonna be wrapped around me on the back of my bike when I give you a ride home safe. It’s my job to watch out for you right now and it’s been a long day, so I’m asking you to end this date of yours now. No point dragging it out when we both know it’s been a shit show out there. Just drop the act and let’s get out of here.”
Shit show? How dare he? “My date is going just fine, thank you.”
He brought his hand to his jaw, running his hand back and forth through his coarse stubble and shielding the highly amused grin that’d erupted beneath. Jackass.
“Yeah?” he challenged. “That right?”
I folded my arms across my chest, unable to stop the defensive action before I was already making it and looking like a stroppy child, rather than the grown woman I was. “Yeah,” I bit back. “That’s right.”
“The dickhead’s spent the whole night talking about himself. His fancy-ass city condo. His car, a Mazda Miata, a chick’s car, by the way, in case you didn’t know. The prick’s a trust fund brat. Never worked a day in his life. He never once asked about you. What he did do was check out your tits thirty-five times in forty-four minutes. And you fake-laughed at his jokes fourteen times. I also watched him check on his slicked backed hair six times in the cutlery when you were looking my way when you should’ve been paying attention to your “just fine” date.”
I hadn’t had time to put my shields up to deflect his ammo in time. Maybe it wouldn’t have hurt as much if I hadn’t been feeling a little raw and sensitive from the other issues weighing on me lately. Normally, I’d just dish everything right back to Mason with barely a second’s pause between insults. But, yeah, with everything else going on with me, I was off my game, and his nasty summarization of yet another one of my failed dates that he’d witnessed had me stumped for a good few seconds, leaving me standing there, just glaring up at him.
“You hearing me, Luce? Tell Preppy Boy to pay the bill so we can get out of here.”
Did his voice sound a little softer? Gentler? No, I had to be imagining it in my over-sensitive state. Urgh. Get a grip.
And I did. The second I felt his fingers brush my hair, as he tucked a loose, vibrant purple strand behind my ear. The shock of the sudden contact jolted me back to myself.
“Luce, you okay?”
I fixed him with a fierce glare. “Are you okay, Mason?”
“What?”
“Cole asked you to keep an eye on me. Make sure I got home okay. That kind of thing. And yet, here you are now, barging into my date, spending all night sitting up at the bar of this restaurant observing far too much.” I leaned in, my gaze hot on his. “If I didn’t know better, I might accuse you of being jealous. Because, I’ve gotta tell you, your actions tonight definitely seem to go way beyond simple protection detail.”
There. I’d done it. I’d delivered a jarring right hook. See how he liked it.
That arrogant grin of his dissolved and his gaze turned molten.
I swallowed hard, knowing that look well. I’d just thrown down the gauntlet and that was the look Mason got just before he snatched it right back up. No, there was no way. He couldn’t do that in this situation. Could he? I had him, didn’t I? What else could he possibly say? He couldn’t take it the jealous route, because that would open up a can of worms that his hatred for me would never allow. It was something I’d just thrown out there to shut him down. Something so utterly ridiculous that I’d figured it’d have him backing up and losing his intimidating edge.
The whole looming over me thing was a classic tactic that I’d seen all the members of the Steel Titans Motorcycle Club use many times. Particularly my brother over the years to intimidate and scare off various apparently unsuitable men who’d gotten too close to me.
I quickly realized I’d miscalculated somehow with Mason, though, because, in the next second, he was leaning down ever closer and meeting my challenge, our foreheads almost touching as he gritted out, “Jealous?”
His eyes were burning into mine, daring me to take it back, to back down. The hell, I would.
“That’s right,” I rasped, swallowing down the lump that’d formed in my throat. God.
“Pixie,” he said, using that nickname he’d stuck me with when we were kids. What’d once been something that’d held so much affection was now almost an insult, serving more as a reminder that he’d severed our friendship so mercilessly.
Before I could call him on it, he went on, “If I was jealous, it’d mean I’d be wanting to make a claim on you. Believe me, you don’t want me doing that, so be very fucking careful where you’re taking this tantrum of yours tonight.”
“Ooh, I’m shaking in my heels, Mason,” I said, eyeing him steadily, even as his words struck a chord. “You think I don’t know your intimidation tactics? Please. I’ve seen my brother use them on people tons of times over the years.” I made a move to turn back around. “Now, if you don’t mind, I need to use the bathroom and then get back to my date as I’d planned on doing before you followed me down here.”
He snatched my elbow, making me gasp. My movements stilled instantly and the next thing I knew, his mouth was at my ear, his warm breath fanning over my neck as he half-growled, half-whispered, “Not intimidation. I’d never do that with you. But it was a warning. Don’t play with me, cuz I don’t play nice, Pixie. I won’t be like Preppy Boy out there. Lay you down on some fancy-ass sheets, slip inside you slow and easy and take you gently while some cheesy love song plays in the background.”
His fingers tightened on my elbow, his voice dropping dangerously low as he gritted out, “I’d rip your fucking clothes off and eat my fill of your pussy like a goddamn starving man, taking you right to the brink, over and over, never letting you taste that high. Cuz I want you to beg, to beg me for my fucking cock. Want you to say the words, to scream them, all desperate and needy. Then when you give me those dirty words, I’ll wrap your silky thighs around me and pound into your dripping wet pussy with no fucking mercy, stretching you wide for me, while I mark your sweet tits with my teeth. You’ll be thrashing, screaming to high heaven and confused as all hell, cuz you won’t know if you’ll be wanting me to stop, or be begging me for more.”
He pulled back suddenly, making me stumble a little as he released me. “I’m a real dirty, nasty bastard when I fuck, little darlin’. Too much to handle for a good girl like you. And it’s the only way I roll, Pixie. You hear me?”
“I… yes.” I could barely get the words out, my heart was pounding so furiously.
“Good. So, you see exactly why you don’t want me being jealous here.”
Holy hell. I fought to reel in my ragged breathing. God… I was panting!
Mason turned from me and I watched him run his fingers through his dirty-blonde buzz cut. Well, at least it seemed he was as affected as me by his impromptu dirty talk. Sheesh. By the way he was clearly struggling to regain his composure it’d obviously gotten away from him; he hadn’t actually meant to go that far. Strange, considering he was normally so controlled, the epitome of cool and collected. Nothing could knock Mason Cross off kilter. What the hell had gotten into him? I almost felt sorry for him. Almost. Until I remembered what an asshole he’d been about my date tonight.
That was why, even when he turned back to me, his gaze oddly softer, I forced myself to brush right past him, nudging him with my elbow for good measure. It wouldn’t physically hurt him. The guy was a solid wall of muscle. But the insult was there.
“Screw you. I’m gonna enjoy the rest of my date. Oh, and I think I’ll order dessert and coffee. Just to drag it out. It’s gonna be a late night of protection detail, Mason. My bad.” Asshole.
“Yeah? Knock yourself out, Pixie. Word of advice, though? If you won’t take my other advice and kick that guy’s ass to the curb.”
Urgh. “What?” I snapped, wondering why the hell I was even asking and actually stopping to yell over my shoulder at him. So much for using the bathroom. I’d let him totally screw me up. But I couldn’t storm back there. That would mean losing face.
“Stop pretending. Actually show Preppy Boy what he’s getting. Lose the jacket and show him what’s underneath.”
I tensed. He was talking about my tats. “I’m not pretending.”
“Why’ve they been covered then? Not just tonight. Last night tonight too. Your date with that banker.”
“Just a coincidence.”
“Fine. Show him then.”
I didn’t turn around, but I could just imagine some sort of smug smile spreading across Mason’s face. Thinking he’d caught me out. Caught me pretending to be something I wasn’t. Hiding. Was I doing that with the guys I’d been going on dates with lately? They weren’t like the usual townie types. Something I’d deliberately ensured. I’d wanted guys who my brother and his MC had no bearing or influence on. But was I changing or hiding parts of myself in the process?
No, screw Mason. I’d show him. I’d go back into the dining room and prove the asshole wrong.