CHAPTER NINE
Bless Sophie’s heart, but she’s relentless. Even though she travels for work a lot, we manage to have dinner almost once a week. I sort of drift in and out in between her visits, but over time I begin to feel like myself again. Some days there is this gaping, empty hole in my heart, and I can’t figure out why. Then it hits me. Clay’s gone.
One day, a few months after Sophie first barged in my door, I find myself remembering this crazy, impromptu trip we took to Rhode Island one Labor Day weekend, and I smile. Since we drove there on a whim, on a holiday, it took us hours to find a room. The one we finally found smelled like stale seawater, but we didn’t care.
I unpack some of the photos I’d hidden away after the funeral. Remembering the story behind each one has me in tears.
The buzz of my phone stirs me from my melancholy. I’ve started turning it on again. If I don’t and Sophie can’t reach me, she shows up on my doorstep. Or worse, when she’s out of town, she sends one of our friends or her brother to check on me. As a result, I’ve learned it’s easier to leave the damn thing turned on. When my friend Mara calls, she regales me with stories about her baby, Cora, that make me chuckle in a sad way. Clay and I hadn’t decided if we’d wanted kids yet. He would have been a wonderful father.
Sophie is on the other end of the call. We chat about superficial things for a few minutes before she turns serious.
"I know the one-year anniversary of his death is soon, sweetie."
Closing my eyes, I suck in a deep breath. I’ve been dreading Thursday.
"Yes," I breathe out.
"Let me take you out to dinner. You shouldn’t be alone."
"No."
"Hope—"
Even Sophie isn’t going to strong-arm me into changing my mind. "No. I appreciate it, Sophie, but I need to be alone that day."
Even over the phone, I can tell she’s not happy with my answer. I take a deep breath. "But, why don’t we do happy hour on Friday?" The words come out in a rush before I change my mind.
"Okay! That’s great. Do you want me to come pick you up?"
Although her office is about ten minutes from the bar we normally go to for happy hour, Sophie lives roughly forty-five minutes in the opposite direction. Asking her to drive out to get me and then drive me home seems rather obnoxious.
"Nah, I’ll be okay."
"If you change your mind, let me know."
I do change my mind about fifty times before Friday night. Thursday is cold and dark. Seems fitting for sitting at the cemetery, which is exactly what I do.
I have to circle the block five or six times before I find a parking spot in front of Hamilton’s. This is why I hate hanging out downtown so damn much. I’m flustered when I enter the bar, but as soon as I spot my friends hogging up their usual corner, I feel better. Afraid the greetings will be awkward, I cringe as my friend Ross stands up to give me his seat. But, he simply hugs me.
"It’s good to see you, girl," he whispers against my hair.
"You too."
"Take my chair. I’m gonna chat with Brian."
I sit, and Sophie reaches across the table to squeeze my hand. "I’m glad you made it."
"Me too." And I realize I actually mean it.
Lilly waves at me and gives me a big, warm smile. She’s the only non-lawyer at the table and one of the most fun people I’ve ever met. In small doses. She and Sophie have been friends forever, so I’ve naturally gotten to know Lilly pretty well over the years. Lilly is a knockout and crazy smart. She paid for graduate school by working as a stripper and has no regrets. She’s been on the prowl for a rich husband for as long as I’ve known her and makes no apologies for it. Her love of one-night stands and bad boys keeps getting in the way of her long-term goal to be a trophy wife.
"We are getting pitchers of margaritas, baby!" Lilly shouts. "Mara is still nursing, so she’s DD."
Mara flips Lilly off and leans over to give me a big hug. She looks fantastic, and I glance down at my hastily thrown on jeans and blouse. Since I’ve mostly lived on a diet of air and water this past year, I’ve lost a lot of weight. I didn’t notice until I tried to find something to wear tonight. My hair has also suffered. I haven’t been to a stylist in over a year. My bangs have long grown out, and the rest of it is long, wild, and messy. It seemed like a waste of time to bother with makeup, so I didn’t. Looking at my friends, I kind of wish I had put more effort into my appearance tonight. But, I’m actually here and that was a big step, so I mentally pat myself on the back, push aside my unease and try to join in the conversation.
After my second margarita, I’m hammered. I never had a high tolerance for alcohol to begin with, so the two drinks hit me hard. We order food, and I actually find myself salivating at the thought of a plate of Hamilton’s famous loaded nachos. It’s the first time I’ve cared about food in so long it surprises me. The alcohol has done its job.
The yuppie bar Zero and I are sitting in is exactly the type of place I normally avoid. Young urban professionals surround us with their obnoxious chatter until I want to put my fist through the wall. Z is amused I even stepped in the front door and is enjoying my suffering.
The second I spot Hope walking over the threshold, it’s all worth it, though. She doesn’t notice us up on the second level, but I see her right away. I cringe at how skinny she’s gotten. Her creamy skin is pale, except for the dark rings under her eyes. Her clothes swallow her whole, and her normally lustrous hair hangs lank and messy. She’s still gorgeous, and I still want her so fucking bad I ache.
One of the guys at Sophie’s table stands up and hugs her. Rubs her back, and whispers in her ear while he’s at it. My fists clench under the table seeing this guy all over my woman. But as I watch him go up to the bar and flirt with the bartender, I manage to unclench.
"Your girl’s here now," Z says.
"Yeah, she’s here."
"Gonna go talk to her, or sit there like a stump all night drooling over her tight ass?"
"Not yet." I flick my gaze at him. "And keep your eyes off her ass."
He shrugs and drains his Corona.
Sophie said she’d get Hope tipsy so I’d have an excuse to drive her home, and from what I can see, her plan is working a little too well. Seems my girl can’t hold her liquor worth a damn.
We pay the bill but continue to sit there. Z has taken an interest in one of Hope’s friends, and since we don’t know her name yet, he just keeps referring to her as "Big Tits." Part of me hopes when we go downstairs in a little while, he says it to her face and she knees him in the nuts.
After two margaritas, Hope is staring glassy-eyed out the front window. Sophie lifts her head and gives me a pointed look, and I take that as my cue to haul my ass down there.
"Let’s go."
We amble down the stairs, and I smother a grin at the way people can’t get out of our way fast enough. We’re easily the biggest guys in the bar and certainly the only ones wearing colors. This is the furthest place from a biker bar that I can imagine, and the clientele doesn’t know what to make of us. Since Hope’s back is to me, Sophie waves us over with a wild swing of her arm.
"Hey, Rock!" she shouts. Hope’s not the only one swimming in a tequila haze.
As I get closer to their table, I spot Hope’s reflection in the window she’s facing. Her eyes widen as she sees me coming up behind her. She turns around and stares up at me with her rosy lips slightly parted. It’s a fight not to crush my mouth against hers and carry her out of the bar comic-book-villain style.
For some inexplicable reason, she reaches up and extends her hand to me. Not in a handshake sort of way, but in a lifeline sort of way. The gesture floors me, and I stand there like an idiot for a couple beats before wrapping my fingers around hers.
"What are you doing here?" Her breathy voice ripples over me. I can’t think of one good reason Z and I would ever set foot in this type of place, so I hesitate.
"Just in the area and got hungry. How you doin’, Hope?" Z asks.
Her eyes widen, and she cranes her neck to get a look at Z. I can’t remember if they’ve ever officially met, and I think even in her alcohol daze, Hope realizes that.
"Who are your friends, Hope?" Big Tits asks.
Hope shakes her head and turns toward her friends. "Rock, you've met Sophie, this is Lilly, Mara, and Ross is over at the bar. Guys, this is a former client of mine, Rock, and—"
"Z," he adds helpfully.
Hope’s eyes are glassy, her cheeks are flushed, and she sways slightly in her seat. "How much have you ladies had to drink?" I ask.
Mara curls her lips in a smug smile. "I haven’t had a drop. These bitches are making me drive them all home."
Z snorts. Sophie gives me a not-so-subtle wink. Time to shine.
"Hope, I’m headed out in your direction. I can bring you home."
"No, I can’t leave my car down here."
"Doll, you can’t drive like this. I’ll have someone come get your car."
"Where you headed, sugar?" Z directs the question to Lilly. I’ll admit, I’m mildly annoyed he didn’t use the other nickname for her. She looks like a firecracker.
She cocks her head, and the corners of her mouth twist into a seductive smile. Z’s gonna have his hands full with this one. "You gonna give me a lift all the way up to Lake George?" she asks in a throaty voice.
"Shit, I’m not driving all the way up there—I was gonna drop you off at Sophie’s," Mara grumbles.
"I’ll take the drive," Z answers so fast it’s almost comical.
"Sophie, you can stay in our guest room," Mara offers.
"Yeah, sure," Sophie mutters. She’s busy watching Hope and me.
"Oh, hellooo, gentlemen." The kid from the bar is back and looking Z and me over. Mara grabs his hand and tugs him toward her. "Ross, this is Rock and Z, Hope’s friends."
He nods at us and leans down to whisper something in Mara’s ear, making her giggle.
Time for the reason I came here. "Hope, do you want to head out now, or I can come back and get you…"
"No, I’m ready." She stands up, wobbling until I steady her.
I pull Z to the side. "Before you get your dick wet, call Dex and have him bring a prospect down to grab Hope’s car. Bring it to the clubhouse, and tell him to leave the keys on my desk."
His gaze slides over to Lilly, but he nods like a good little VP. "No problem."
Curving my arm around Hope’s waist, I tug her out the door. No resistance at all. She tucks herself into my side and lets me lead her to my bike.
"Think you’re okay to ride?"
She sways a little and whispers, "I don’t know."
"Feel like you’re going to be sick?"
"No."
"Well, if you do, tap me, okay?"
She nods once. I dig out a helmet and strap her into it. She looks so fucking adorable, I want to kiss her senseless.
When I strap on my own head gear, a faint smile drifts across her lips. "You got another one so we don’t get pulled over again?"
My heart squeezes in my chest. "Yeah, doll, I did."
Somehow the night ends up with me riding on the back of Rock’s bike. How does he just keep showing up out of nowhere? With my brain still swimming in tequila, most of my attention is focused on holding on for dear life and not barfing. Rock promised he’d take care of my car. I trust him—trust mixed with a bit of "so drunk I don’t really care." Rock’s hard body keeps me warm. That and the hooded sweatshirt he slipped over my head before we took off. It’s worn, soft, and saturated with his scent. His firm stomach ripples under my hands as he guides us out of downtown. Uncurling my fists, I flatten my hands over his abs. The soft fabric of his T-shirt halts my exploration. Can I slip my hand under his shirt without being too obvious? Will he crash the bike if I do?
He’s headed toward my house, but it’s the last place I want to go right now. He’ll drop me off. Maybe walk me to my door, and then who knows when I’ll ever see him again?
"Rock?" I shout, hoping he can hear me over the wind.
"You okay, doll? Need me to pull over?"
Jeez, I’m such a pathetic mess. He thinks I need to puke.
"I’m okay. Don’t take me home."
He doesn’t say anything, so I repeat my request. "I don’t want to go home!" I shout over the roar of the bike.
"Where?"
I hug him tighter with my thighs and arms. "Anywhere."
We keep riding, and eventually I rest my chin on his shoulder and close my eyes. I don’t exactly fall asleep, because I don’t want to end up road pizza, but the buzz of the bike lulls me into a contented state.
The bike comes to a stop.
"Hope, you awake?"
He’s backed the bike in against the wall. Across from us is his MC center, clubhouse, whatever. A shiver works its way through my belly. A picture of his bedroom flashes in my head. I don’t think I’m ready for this.
"I couldn’t think of anywhere else to go this late at night," Rock explains.
I loosen my grip around his middle and dismount. Rock kicks the stand down and gets off the bike. The parking lot is jammed with cars and more motorcycles. Throbbing music and happy voices can be heard all the way out here. He leads me inside by placing a hand at the base of my spine. The way he guides me with such confidence makes me feel safe and protected in a way I don’t think I’ve ever felt before. I’ve made such a big deal my entire life of being independent, I’ve never allowed anyone to shelter me.
People shout greetings at Rock when we come in the door. A few guys nod at me. A lot of half-naked girls give me the stink-eye. I instantly feel out of place. For one thing, I’m over-dressed—by a lot. I’m not sure what Rock expects from me tonight. I’m not sure what I expect from myself.
Rock leans down to speak in my ear. "Are you hungry?"
I shake my head. What I am, is bone-weary tired. Rock brushes a strand of hair off my cheek, his fingers lingering. Without thinking, I lean into his touch and close my eyes.
"Can’t hold your liquor, can you?" he asks in a low, teasing tone.
There’s no point denying the obvious. "No."
He takes my hand and tugs me toward the stairs. "Come on, you can sleep it off."
Little butterflies wake and dance in my stomach, and it’s not just the alcohol that woke them up. The noise from downstairs fades as we leave the staircase. New sounds come alive. At least half of the rooms up here are being put to good use. We pass an open door, and I can’t help but stare at the two guys and girl inside. She’s riding one of the guys cowgirl style, while her lips are firmly wrapped around the cock of the man in front of her. Heat streaks through me at the sight. I’ve never seen anything so erotic up close. I’m excited but confused by my reaction. Rock notices I’ve stopped and takes a few steps back.
"Would you fuckers learn to shut the damn door?" He growls, grabbing the knob and closing it for them.
"Sorry, Hope." He takes my hand again, but stops to stare at me. My cheeks heat up even more, and I know my face must be the same color as the inside of a watermelon.
"Did you want to watch them, babe?"
"N…No," I stutter.
"Did you want to join them?"
"Oh my gosh! No."
He chuckles at my girlish response and tugs me down the hall to his room. It’s pretty much the same as I remember, except the sheets are red this time. I push down the memory of why I was here the last time.
Clay’s funeral.
Clay’s funeral.
The words keep rattling around in my head. I can’t shake them loose or make it stop. I press my fingertips to my forehead, wishing for some internal silence. Rock’s voice breaks in.
"Hope? Are you okay? Do you want to use the bathroom?"
Once inside, I splash water on my face. Looking in the mirror is a damn horror show. My hair is ratted and wild. My cheeks are flushed, but the rest of my skin is disgustingly pale. I have deep, dark circles under my eyes. It’s been a long time since I bothered to look in a mirror and really see myself. Rock must think I’m pathetic. With all the beautiful, willing girls trolling around downstairs, why he’s wasting his time on a messy, drunken widow is beyond me. Maybe he’s just hoping I’ll pass out so he can march downstairs and get lucky. Can’t say I blame him.
I almost smack him with the door when I open it. He’s waiting for me and helps me over to the bed. Gravity takes over, and my ass hits the mattress. My body tips over and my head sinks into a fluffy, detergent-scented pillow. Somewhere in my addled brain, my inner neurotic is telling me this is a bad idea and that I’m not being very safe or smart. But, the rest of me knows Rock would never hurt me. I’m already sliding down the well of consciousness when I feel him pick up one foot to slip off my boot and then the other. A warm, soft blanket pulls over me. Don’t go, don’t go, don’t go runs through my brain, but I can’t get my mouth to form the words. I’m so tired of being alone.
Finally the words reach my tongue, and I force them out.
"Don’t go."
Two simple words, but she whispers them with such aching sadness, my feet are nailed to the floor. I had no intention of leaving Hope alone. I’ve waited for this moment since the day I met her. Of course, in my many fantasies she wasn’t passed out drunk. Or still grieving the loss of her husband. But, I’m not a particular guy. I’ll take my girl however I can get her. We can work out the details later.
"I’m here, Hope."
She doesn’t answer. Light snoring tells me she’s out. As quietly as I can, I get ready for bed. She’s on top of the covers, but I pulled a blanket over her. She should be warm enough. Without jostling her around, I slide into the opposite side of the bed and under the covers. I stare up at the ceiling just listening to her breathing beside me. What I really want to do is gather her in my arms, but I’m not sure how that would be received. I mean, in my head she belongs to me, but it’s not like she’s aware of my crazy claim on her.
She whimpers and kicks in her sleep. Thinking she’ll settle down, I wait. When the whimpering turns to crying, I can’t take it. I roll over and pull her against my chest. With the blankets between us, she’s safe from all the lusty things I want to do to her. For now. The whimpering stops, and she goes back to light snoring. Eventually I find a comfortable spot and follow her to oblivion.
Even before I fully come awake, I know where I am. In Rock’s arms. I’m not sure how or when that happened, but I’m not alarmed about it. His familiar, comforting scent wafts over me. My stale clothes cling to me, and my mouth feels like I ate a kiwi, skin and all. I try wriggling out of his embrace, but his arms only band around me tighter. When the drumming in my head settles down, I squirm and wiggle until I’m facing him, and holy shit—am I stunned.
Up close, with his face relaxed from sleep, he’s almost beautiful. My eyes linger on the stubble along his jaw, my hand itching to rub it. Then I realize there’s no reason I can’t. As I tug my arm free to do just that, my hand brushes against his warm stomach. It’s then I realize he’s bare from the waist up, and my tongue begs to dance over his skin. I’ve seen glimpses of his tattoos before, but never have I had such an up-close, unobstructed view, and I certainly had no idea about all the ink decorating his chest.
Without thinking, my hand traces over the words curving just under his collarbone. Strength from Loyalty. My index finger skips down to the pirate ship covering his chest and most of his stomach. It’s large and very detailed down to the billowing sails, wood grain, and skull and crossbones flag. Rock’s warm hand circles my wrist, halting my exploration.
"You’re tickling me, doll," he says in his husky, morning-rough voice.
"Sorry." The very idea of Rock being ticklish makes the corners of my mouth twitch. "I’ve just never seen tattoos like that up close."
He rubs his hand over the hard slab of muscle masquerading as his stomach and glances down. "Your husband didn’t have any ink?"
"God, no." I realize that sounded judgmental, which I didn’t mean.
He cocks an eyebrow. "Do you have any?"
"No."
His lips turn up and his hand lifts, then stops mid-air. "One day I’ll tell you the stories behind each one."
I like that, but I’m also curious right now. "What’s ‘strength from loyalty’?"
"It’s a Lost Kings saying. If you’re loyal to the club, you’re unbreakable."
I mull that over. "So everyone in the club has proved their loyalty in some way?"
"You could say that. We have each other’s backs. I know any one of my brothers would throw down for me, and I’d do the same."
"Throw down?"
"Fuck with one of us, fuck with all of us."
"That sounds dangerous."
"It is," he says simply, and I’m not sure what to make of that.
I let my gaze roam over his arms. His deliciously defined arms.
"You still tired?"
Startled that he caught me gaping at him again, I come up with a lame excuse. "Just checking to see how many women’s names you’ve got tattooed on you."
He snorts at that. "None. My dad had the names of three different bitches inked on him by the time I was fourteen. Told myself I’d never make that mistake."
My jaw drops at the way he says "bitches" but it doesn’t seem to faze him. Huh.
Once I’m free, I roll out of bed and head for the bathroom. Inside, I glance at the shower longingly. How I wish some clean clothes would magically appear. I wash up the best I can. Waking up next to Rock left me feeling uneasy and off-balance. My stomach coils in knots. A little lower, a relentless throbbing makes it difficult to concentrate. It’s been so long, I'm not even sure my girly bits still work. Just like last night, Rock is waiting outside the bathroom door when I emerge.
"I grabbed you some clothes from the lost and found box—they’re clean, don’t worry. Nothing fancy, but I figured you might want to shower or something."
What he hands me appears to be black yoga pants and a skimpy pink tank top. They both smell clean, but I’m not sure I’ll be comfortable parading around in so little. I’ll do it though, because I’m touched by the sweetness of the gesture. "Thanks."
"Take your time."
I hurry through the shower so I can get back to Rock. He doesn’t have a lot in the way of beauty products anyway—some basic manly shower gel and a two-in-one type of shampoo I’d normally never stick in my hair. It doesn’t matter, though. Now that I’m here with him, I don’t want to waste a second, because I’m not sure when our time together will end. Glancing down, I notice my legs are a hairy mess. It’s been awhile since I gave my appearance a second thought. I hesitate. It doesn’t matter. It’s not like I plan to let Rock see my legs. Do I? Locating a razor and some shaving cream, I do a quick sweep. It’s not perfect, but at least should he happen to see my legs for some odd reason, he won’t have to call TMZ and tell them he located sasquatch either.
Hopping out of the shower, I dry off in record time. The thought of putting my panties back on disgusts me, so I brave the tight, stretchy black pants without them. I can’t go without a bra, so I slip that on and then the tank top. The outfit leaves me feeling pretty naked, but since there’s no full-length mirror to tell me otherwise, I pretend I’m not walking around on display. I’ve hidden in here long enough.
Rock’s sitting at the edge of his bed facing the bathroom when I exit. Unfortunately, he’s put on a shirt. I’d kind of been looking forward to exploring all that skin and ink. He just sits there staring, and my skin tingles under his gaze. Even though the room is warm, I shiver and quickly run my hands over my arms.
"Shit, that’s not warm enough for you. You can borrow one of my shirts." He bolts off the bed and opens a dresser drawer. The edges of his frayed denim trail over his bare feet, and I can’t stop thinking that even his feet are sexy.
"Here, doll." He hands me a blue shirt and sits back down on the bed. Ghosted gray lettering spells out LOKI across the front of the T-shirt. On the back is a grayed-out skull wearing a crown.
"What, does your club sell merch?"
He chokes out a laugh. "Yeah, something like that. It’s not always appropriate to wear our colors certain places, but we still want people to know who we are, so—"
"Colors?"
He draws a quick circle in the air over his chest. "The vest with patches," he explains.
"Right. To let people know the whole 'fuck with one, fuck with all' thing?"
He narrows his eyes and doesn’t answer right away. I didn’t intend to insult him, but I think maybe that’s exactly what I did.
"Sorry," I say while slipping into the shirt.
"Don’t be. I keep forgetting how innocent you are."
I snorted a bit of unladylike laughter. "Innocent? You think I’m innocent?"
His face softened. "I mean, you don’t know anything about MC life."
I’m not sure what to say to that, so I blurt out the first thing that comes to mind. "What is this?" I could mean a hundred different things. More detail about his MC’s business, which I am ninety-nine percent sure is made up of illegal activities. Or the this that is the two of us here in his bedroom. Is he going to drop me off at my house later and it will be another year until I see him? Will he ever fucking kiss me again like he did that ridiculous day in his office at the Crystal Ball? Because right this second, I am so ready for another kiss from him. I don’t have to feel guilty about how much I want him anymore. That thought gives me pause. I should feel guilty for wanting another man so soon after my husband’s death. Especially this man who I’d been attracted to even before Clay died. It’s so, so wrong.
"Come here, Hope."
Oh man—hearing him say my name liquefies my insides. I don’t think or hesitate to go to him. Because he’s so big and his bed is pretty high off the ground, we’re almost at eye level when I reach him. His firm hands settle on my hips and pull me between his knees.
"This can be whatever you want it to be."