Chapter
9
~Hammer~
Day one with my personal torturer, otherwise known as Desirae the physical therapist, starts off on a bad note. She doesn’t seem to appreciate it when I tell her to fuck off after she greets me good morning. It’s not my fault. Hasn’t anyone ever told the woman not to talk to people before they have their morning cup of coffee?
I am sort of grateful when she gives me the silent treatment afterward, but now, as she pushes me to do another set of exercises, working my core with the exercise ball, I have realized my mistake. She’s one of those broads you don’t want to be silent, because when she’s silent, she is plotting. And as the sweat rolls down my face and my abdomen burns from my workout, I know, without a doubt, I don’t want to piss her off again before another one of my workouts.
What’s even worse than her pushing me to the limits of my physical endurance on our very first session is that her touch is driving me insane! Every time she uses her hands to guide me into a position, it’s like a zap of electricity to my system. The feel of her soft skin gliding across my own hits me right where it counts—my dick. I have no idea what it is about this woman that sets my body on fire, but whatever it is, I need to hurry up and get the hell over it. It doesn’t matter how much I might want her; she would never want a busted-ass used-to-be biker like me.
She snaps her fingers in front of my face, jerking me out of my thoughts. “Hey, Mr. Grumpy Pants! I don’t know where your head is, but you need to get it back in the game. Now give me another ten reps. After that, we’re gonna move on.”
I will never underestimate this woman again.
~Desirae~
“Is all this shit really fucking necessary?” Hammer barks as I move through his personal space, making sure the equipment is installed properly.
“Well, since it is my understanding you are hell-bent on being Mr. Independent, I want to make sure you don’t injure yourself,” I snap back.
He reaches out, grabbing my hand, causing fire to zip through me. Day two together and I have never had a reaction to someone the way I do him.
Oh, hell, I have a feeling I’m in more trouble than I bargained for. This man does things to me I shouldn’t want to happen and should stop at every turn. A touch lighting me up is not what one would call professional.
“There are some things you should know.” He releases me and holds up his pointer finger. “First, my brothers installed everything and got all of the equipment. I trust them completely, so the shit is good.” He holds up a second finger. “Second, don’t ever fucking doubt my club or my brothers. As long as you’re with the Regulators, you are safe and will have the best of everything.” He holds up three fingers now. “Third—and I want to be very clear on this—I’m a man, Desirae. I may be knocked down, but I damn sure ain’t knocked out, so yes, I’m gonna do for myself. Deal with it.” His tone is sharp, making it clear there will be no arguing.
I cock my hip out and put my hand on it. “Hammer, you should know that I get the biker life, and I wouldn’t be here if my Hellions family didn’t trust your boys. I have a job to do, and baby, I damn sure do it well. I’m gonna go over everything regardless if the inventors themselves came to personally install it.” I reach out and touch my finger to his nose to tease him. “And I want to be very clear on this. I know you’re a man. No need to pound on your chest and scream, ‘me, Tarzan,’ okay?” I add the last part with a sassy smile before I turn around and go back to my tasks.
~Hammer~
It’s the morning of day three with Desirae. I roll my wheelchair out of my bedroom and down the hall to the kitchen and living room. Just like yesterday, there is a folded up blanket at the end of the couch. She doesn’t think I have realized she’s sleeping on my couch instead of my guest bedroom, but I have. The only question I have now is, why?
I would accuse her of thinking she’s too good for my guest bedroom, but it’s not like my couch is that much of an upgrade. Therefore, there has to be some other reason she spends her nights on a leather sofa that barely fits her instead of a comfortable bed.
Hearing the beep of the coffee pot, I look over to see her in a pair of pajama shorts with hearts all over them and a red T-shirt. Her hair is mussed from sleep still, and her face has this soft look that reminds me of my mom. She’s holding a spatula, and it smells like she’s cooking eggs. At least she has learned to turn on the coffee pot before poking the bear. This is a step in the right direction for us.
Looking over at me with a cautious smile, she points at the coffee cup she has put out on the counter. “That’s for you. I’m making us omelets. Do you like ham and cheese?”
She’s cooking for me? I blink at her in surprise. I can’t remember the last time someone cooked me breakfast. Granted, I’m not usually around anyone in the mornings, but still. This is weird … and sort of nice.
Clearing the sleep from my voice, I mumble back, “Yeah.”
She keeps staring at me, as if waiting for something. One of her eyebrows rises slowly, and now I’m racking my brain, trying to figure out what I forgot. She offered me breakfast, and I said yes. I don’t get it.
Question asked, question answered. That just about covers everything, right?
“Unless she expects to be thanked for her nice gesture, Ethan McCoy.” My mother’s voice rings in the back of my head, scolding me just as she did when I was a boy. Shit. Is that what she’s waiting for? There’s only one way to find out.
“Thanks?” I throw out, hoping she stops staring at me.
She gives me a big smile that lights up her entire face, and like some fumbling teenager who has never had his hands up a girl’s shirt, my heart skips a beat.
I would give her a thousand thank yous if she kept smiling at me like that.
Wait … What? Did I just really think that? Fuck, I need some coffee.
~Desirae~
Oh, my God, please tell me this man has a mixing bowl. I can skip the beaters—a spoon will do just fucking fine—but if I don’t get my hands on a big enough bowl, I may scream.
“Woman!” he roars as he wheels out of his room without a shirt on, wearing just sweat pants. “Must you be so fucking loud?”
“I need a bowl,” I say, not hiding my frustration.
“In the cabinet over the fridge.”
“Are you serious? That’s the liquor cabinet.”
“No, the liquor goes beside the fridge for easy access.”
I shake my head as I drag a chair over and climb up to get the bowl. I hear him groan as I can’t help twisting, trying to reach for it. When the air hits my ass cheeks, I realize my shorts are a little too short to be climbing on things in front of him.
I want to climb on him, I immediately think.
Dammit! I tell myself to cut this shit out. I have only been here four days, and even though he is a surly asshole sometimes, he is a damn hot, surly asshole. My need for brownies right this instant is entirely his fault, too!
I shimmy a little before climbing down. Take that, Hammer! If I have to see him rolling around with no shirt and those blue eyes I get lost in every time he looks at me, then he can deal with a hard-on from my ass.
“Wanna tell me what the hell you’re doing?”
“Brownies,” I answer, slamming the bowl down before going right to work, mixing batter.
He laughs. “I figured we would be living on salads and vegetables having you here. Brownies are a surprise.”
I mix with a spoon before I lean over and set the oven to preheat. Taking down a coffee mug, I pour some of the batter into it for later before putting the rest in the pan to bake. Then I lick the spoon, moaning my appreciation.
“Seriously?” he asks. “It can’t be that good.”
“Look here, Macho Man, real women eat chocolate. I don’t care if you are a body builder and it’s cut day. Chocolate is the exception to every rule in the women’s handbook. I want brownies—no, I need them, so just wheel away while I have them, and later on, we can discuss salads.” I dip my spoon in the mug for more batter.
“Raw eggs can’t be healthy,” he says with a half-grin.
“Hammer, unless you want to be pushed to the point you’re begging for brownies, I suggest you back off. You want your coffee, and as a woman, it is my duty to indulge in chocolate.”
“Oh, baby, you’re all woman; that’s for sure.” He holds up his hands in surrender. “I promise to never question the need for chocolate or impede on your ability to have said chocolate again.”
I smile at him. “Now we’re getting somewhere.”
If only that somewhere would relieve the lust I feel and if only the brownies could promise to fix that … Alas, they don’t, but they damn sure help me get through today a little more easily.
~Hammer~
“Stop hogging the remote, woman, and give it to me!”
It’s been five days since Desirae moved in, and things have mellowed between us. She taught me the hard way through my training sessions that she knows how to give as good as she takes. To top it off, there is something about her that has melted my icy resolve to be an asshole around her.
There is never a moment with her when I feel as if she is only being nice to me because she feels like she has to or because she pities me. Over the years, I have developed a pretty damn good bullshit meter, but she never trips it. Her words are always genuine when she asks me how I’m really feeling, and honestly, she’s the best roommate I have ever had, not to mention the sexiest.
This is a problem because I know I should keep my hands off her. She isn’t just here to help me get back on my feet; she is hiding out to save her life. It wouldn’t be right to take advantage of the situation … but damn if I don’t want to.
A knock sounds on my door, and we both look over at it. Desirae then looks back at me sitting comfortably on the couch instead of my wheelchair. “Want me to get it?”
“Hold on a second, babe.” Whipping out my cell phone, I pull up the feed to the security camera that is trained on my front door.
You better believe, the moment Screech signed on to our team, I put his ass to work setting up security systems at all the brothers’ places. You can’t live the kind of life all of us have—first in the military and now crossing over the legal line—without pissing a few people off.
It’s not hard to figure out who is at my door, because the screen fills with the image of Coal from the back. Between his bald head, six-foot plus gigantic frame, and his Regulators’ cut, there is no mistaking him.
Nodding my head to the door, I tell Des, “You can answer it.”
She cocks an eyebrow at me yet doesn’t say a word. Going to the door, she opens it and gives Coal a big grin.
“Why hello there, Mr. Clean! It’s nice to see you, but I’ve already cleaned the place with Pine-Sol. Sorry!”
I try to smother my laugh but am completely unsuccessful, which is why Coal flips me the bird as he walks through the door.
“Thought I’d stop by and see if you two need anything before I head home.”
Desirae doesn’t miss a beat. “Yes, I’d like a large, stuffed-crust pepperoni pizza with a two-liter diet soda.”
My club brother shoots my sassy roommate a glare that makes most men cower in their fucking boots. Not Des. She just stands there with a big, innocent grin on her face.
“I’m not your fucking pizza delivery boy.”
“Then what are you?”
“The only thing between you and the motherfuckers who want to make you quit breathing.”
Desirae’s face goes pale, and a haze of red covers my vision.
“Yo!” I shout in Coal’s direction.
He turns his head toward me, and I can immediately tell from the look in his eye that he knows he went too far, not that he will apologize to Des. He’s too proud, which is one of his fucking problems.
“It was good of you to stop by, man, but we’re good here.” That’s my nice way of telling him to get the fuck out. He has the best of intentions, but in usual Coal style, he saw two legs attached to a pussy and decided he should act like a dick. One of these days, I’m going to find out exactly what his fucking problem with women is.
Coal doesn’t say a word. With a dismissive wave, he walks out the front door, slamming it behind him.
Desirae is still standing in the same spot, looking like she has seen a ghost. Ironically, in a way, she has. Coal is only a ghost of the man he could have been.
I motion her over to me. “Come here, Drill Sergeant. I’ve got this big, ol’ couch to myself, and I’m cold. Warm me up, woman.”
My order snaps her out of whatever head space she was in, and she cocks a disbelieving eyebrow at me. “You want me to cuddle with you?”
Sighing in mock frustration, I groan, “Why do women insist on saying the C-word? I said I want you to warm me up. If that involves you being tucked into my side to do that, why can’t we just leave it at that?”
She crosses her arms over her chest. “You’re just trying to make me feel better after Coal was an epic shithead.”
“Nope. Really, I’m cold,” I retort without batting an eye. “And you should know Coal is an epic shithead to every female he comes across. It’s not just you. Now stop your yapping and come warm me up. The faster you get over here, the faster we can watch television and chill the hell out.”
She stands there, contemplating me as if I’m a snake that might bite. “No funny business?”
Shrugging, I tell her, “I won’t push you away if you insist on feeling me up.”
Desirae snorts. “Right. Don’t hold your breath, waiting for that, buddy. You’ll run out of air.”
When she starts walking back over to the other couch, I think she’s going to pass up my offer of cuddling, but she scoops up the television remote in her hand, instead. Then she heads over to me and sits on the cushion next to me, tucking her feet up until she is curled into a ball.
Taking a chance, I throw my arm over the back of the couch behind her. It will give her the option to move closer if she wants. She starts flicking the channels absently.
“What are we going to watch?” I ask, as if some idiotic part of me isn’t putting myself out there with a woman who probably won’t give me the time of day.
She stops channel surfing, and I hear the roar of car engines and fast music on the screen. Looking at it, I see one of my favorite action movies is on. I smile then give into temptation and grab her by the shoulder to pull her into my side.
Sighing in exaggerated satisfaction, I say, “I swear you’re the perfect woman.”
I feel her shaking with laughter, and something in me lightens. It feels good to make this woman laugh. I wonder what it would be like to be able to do it all the time.
~Desirae~
Tank and the Hellions always say I get off on causing them pain. Well, Hammer gets off on getting me wound up and knowing damn well we won’t finish the job.
Okay, well, he doesn’t exactly know he has me ready to blow from a simple touch. First, the man is sexy as hell. His body is a machine, and he takes damn good care of it. More than that, his scars tell a story of a man who has fought and overcome many things. His eyes draw me in and keep me locked tight with every stare. Then, when he speaks, my insides quiver.
I want to slap myself for reading too many romance novels. I don’t know if he’s really this damn good or if my mind just wants him to be.
In the time since I got here, I have learned not only is Hammer sexy as sin, but the man is not a morning person. He is the definition of coffee first, and I think it’s funny, but I have learned to only push so far.
He enters my space, and my whole body comes to attention. My skin tingles at every touch. I even have to try to find new exercises we can do where there is less contact between us.
Every breath, I inhale his scent and want to breathe deeper just to have more. He’s masculine, and he doesn’t back down.
“Researching an escape already?” he challenges.
“You can’t get rid of me that easily, Hammer.”
“I’m just getting started,” he says, taking off his shirt before wheeling himself into the open space of the living room where we have been exercising.
I feel my heart rate pick up and fight to keep my breathing under control. Then he looks up at me and gives me his half-grin, and I want to smack him and ravage him at the same damn time.
I love a challenge. However, Hammer is one I’m not sure I can win. Then again, I’m not sure losing would be the worst thing ever, but I have never crossed the line of professionalism before.