Read on for an excerpt from the next book by
BEYOND THE CUT
Coming soon from St. Martin’s Paperbacks
Dawn bolted awake when someone banged on her door.
Heart pounding, she reached under her bed for the .22 Arianne had given her as a birthday present. Trust Arianne to give her a gun. Although she had often talked about living in the civilian world, Arianne was a biker through and through. And no American biker would ever leave his or her house unarmed.
Well, Dawn wasn’t a biker. And the two weeks of lessons at the shooting range with Arianne hadn’t changed her mind. Still, it was a comfort to know that she’d be able to defend herself from the crazy person trying to break down her door at three in the morning. Or, at least threaten them. She never loaded the gun because she wasn’t prepared to kill anyone.
Weapon in hand, she raced through the living room and stood on tip-toe to peer through the peep hole.
At first she didn’t recognize the man standing in front of her door, his face all swollen and bloody, his shirt in tatters but it was his hair, golden strands matted with blood, glinting in the semi-darkness, that made her look again.
Her breath caught. She undid the dead bolt and threw the door open.
“Oh God, Cade. What happened?”
“Jesus, Dawn. Put the gun away.” He pushed her aside and stalked into her tiny apartment, his clothes rank with blood and covered in dirt. “What the fuck were you doing with a piece of shit like him?”
Stunned, Dawn could only stare. “You almost break down my door at three in the morning, looking like you need to get to a hospital, to ask me that?”
“Yeah.”
“If we knew each other better,” she said, her voice tight. “If we were friends, or actually seeing each other, maybe I wouldn’t be so pissed off at being pulled out of bed and ordered to explain my life choices. But we’re not. We’ve slept together twice. We’ve never had a conversation that lasted more than five minutes, four minutes of which consisted of deciding where we were going to have sex next. So you don’t have the right to ask me that question, and unless you’re in dire need of medical attention, I suggest you leave.”
By way of answer, Cade took a step forward, staggered to the side and grabbed the back of her sofa for support. “Damn. Gimme a minute.”
With a sigh, Dawn closed and locked the door, then put the gun in her purse. “I see you’ve chosen door number three, ‘dire need of medical assistance.’ You want me to call the Sinners’s doctor or take you to the local hospital?”
“No hospital.”
Dawn snorted. “Right. I forgot. Too manly for the hospital. You got a number for the club doctor?”
Cade shook his head. “No doctor. Just … water … bandages … maybe some whiskey. I’ll be fine.”
Hmmm. Fine was obviously a relative word. To her nonmedical eye, he certainly didn’t look fine. In fact, he looked like he was about to collapse, and from the way he was holding himself, he was clearly injured far beyond the cuts and bruises she could see on his face. But that was always the way with biker beatings. Why go for the small target when you could go for the big one?
“Kitchen. Now.” Dawn gestured to the small kitchen area visible through the open breakfast bar behind the couch. Living on her own, the cozy space suited her fine although the pastel décor and white rattan furniture was not really to her taste. But the rent was cheap for a two bedroom bungalow, so she really couldn’t complain, and there was an extra bedroom if … No … when the girls came home.
Cade followed her to the small kitchen, decorated in country chic pink and mint green tiles, and pulled out a white wicker chair from the breakfast nook. As he lowered himself to sit, Dawn grabbed a tea towel and threw it over the seat.
“Lotta blood on you,” she said by way of explanation. “Not sure how much is fresh.”
“None of it since I was fighting a buncha deadbeats.” Cade grimaced. “Six of them to one of me. They’d tied my hands, but your Mad Dog is quite the talker and while he was yammering on I managed to get free and suss out the weaklings in the group. Used the advantage of surprise to take them down, then went after the better fighters. When they were all moaning on the ground, I grabbed a weapon, and took off in their van. He placed a niclel-plated .38 on the table and Dawn laughed. “Barbecue gun.”
“You know your guns?”
“Just the basics, cowboy, shooters, and some of the big, scary ones. Where’s the van?”
“Parked it out front.”
“Excellent. Now the sherriff will know where to find you.” Dawn pulled out her first aid kit and washed her hands in the sink. Even though he was battered and bruised, his eyes full of questions she would never answer, his presence soothed the nervous flutter that was always in her stomach.
There was just something about him beyond his obvious physical strength … Maybe it ws the way he filled a room with his sheer, papable presence. Or maybe it was the way he looked at her: Like there was no one else in the room. Like she was his and woe betide any man who dared hurt her. Or maybe it was all in her imagination.
She eyed his bloody clothing and grabbed a plastic bag from the cupboard. “You’d better strip. I’ll throw your clothes in the wash. Looks like you get to spend the night in your undies on my couch.”
A smile tugged the corner of Cade’s battered mouth as he undid his belt. “Will I be alone?”
“Condition you’re in, you will most definitely be alone.” She eased herself between his parted legs to help him take off his T-shirt, freezing when he winced at her touch. “Well, that just settles it.” She carefully pulled the shirt up his body. “I’m not about to take advantage of an injured man.”
“I’m not injured everywhere.” The deep rumble of his voice made her skin tingle.
“Christ, Cade.” Dawn swallowed hard as her hands followed the shirt up his torso, her fingers brushing over heated skin and hard muscle. God, he was magnificent, all taut pecs and rippling abs. Even the bruises couldn’t mar the perfection of his body. “How can you be thinking of sex at a time like this?”
His voice dropped, husky and low. “‘cause you’re standin’ between my legs wearing a tiny pair of shorts that only cover your ass cheeks, and a damn tight top that doesn’t hide what you’re thinkin.” He leaned forward in the chair, so close she could feel his breath on her skin.
“And nothing underneath.”
Dawn’s breath caught in her throat and her blood heated, thundered through her veins. Until this moment, focused on Cade’s injuries, her attire had been totally irrelevant. “How do you know I have nothing underneath?”
Cade traced lazy circles up the sensitive skin of her inner thigh, pausing at edge of her cotton PJ shorts. Dawn stilled, her breaths coming in quick shallow pants as her brain clouded with desire. It was always this way with Cade. A chemistry so potent she was surprised they didn’t combust.
“Let’s see.” He slid his finger inside her shorts and stroked along the sensitive crease at the top of her thigh, sending a zing of electricity straight to her core.
“Hmmm. Can’t tell. Spread for me, babe. Let me in.”
Her face flushed. God, the things he said did all the wrong things to the right parts of her body. “Cade … this isn’t the time. You’re hurt. Let me look after you.”
He grabbed her hips, pulling her close she could feel the heat of his breath through her clothes. Dawn breathed in his scent of blood and grass, mixed with the heady aroma of leather and manly musk, and a delicious shiver ran up her spine.
“You are taking care of me,” he said. “Man gets in a fight. Hurts all over. He wants to feel good. He wants something to make him forget the pain. And you–all soft and sexy and smellin’ like flowers–will do the trick.”
“I thought you came here for help.” Dawn made a token effort at resistance and raised an eyebrow. “I didn’t realize it was a booty call.”
Cade slid a hand down her hip, and then his finger was inside her shorts, stroking over the bare skin of her folds. Moisture flooded her sex and her nipples tightened beneath her thin cotton tank. Had she really thought things would be different from every other time they’d been together when he walked in the door?
“Naughty girl,” he whispered. “You go to bed without your panties and someone might take advantage.”
“Cade.” She pulled back just enough to dislodge his questing finger, at once disconcerted and aroused. “Why did you come here?”
His shoulders slumped and he leaned back in the chair, his easy capitulation more disturbing than his injuries. “The minute I got outta there, I called Jagger. Told him what had happened. The Wolverines are planning to patch over to the Jacks. You know what that means.”
“They’ll destroy the Sinners.” She pulled the shirt over his head, biting her lip when she saw the extent of his injuries. Not an inch of his torso had been spared, his skin a mass of swelling and bruises, with a few surface knife slashes across his abdomen, below the fabulous tat of blue wings and twin pistons across his chest. And were those boot prints on his side?
Dawn steeled herself to calm. She couldn’t help him if she panicked. And she’d seen worse injuries when she’d been with the Wolverines. Hell, Jimmy had given her worse injuries, and she survived. “What did Jagger say?”
Cade stiffened when she reached for his belt. “He called a church meeting for eight o’clock tomorrow morning.”
“I’m not surprised.” Biker “church” meetings were usually held once a week in most MCs, or in extraordinary situations. Attendance of all full-patch brothers was mandatory. Anyone without a patch wasn’t allowed in the door.
Cade pushed himself to standing and unzipped his fly, but when he tried to push off his jeans he winced. Dawn gently moved his hands off his hips, giving him a moment to collect himself, before she said, “Let me.”
Licking her dry lips, she eased his jeans over his narrow hips, dropping to her knees in front of him to slide them over his powerful thighs and muscular calves.
Without taking his gaze off her, Cade stepped out of his jeans, seemingly unconcerned to be standing in her kitchen, wearing only black boxers and sporting a sizeable erection.
For the briefest, most inexplicable moment, Dawn wanted nothing more than to pull off his boxers and take him in her mouth. He’d never let her take him that way when they’d been together. She’d held him, marveling at the feel of silky smooth skin over hard steel, and teased the tip of his cock with her tongue, but when she tried to go further, he had pulled away, saying he had a better idea. And he always did.
“Dawn…” Cade’s voice cracked, even as his gaze burned into her, focused, intent.
She should get up. Kneeling in front of him like this was sending all the wrong messages. He was hurt. Badly. His injuries needed tending and he needed to rest. And she didn’t want this. Didn’t want to open this door again. Especially not now, with Jimmy on a tear. And yet she couldn’t pull herself away.
“You still haven’t told me why you came here,” she said.
Cade sifted his hand through her hair, his touch more soothing than erotic. “I needed to tell you something … Fucking bastard’s gonna make you choose between going back to him or losing your kids. And it’s all my fault.”
“Your fault?” Dawn looked up and frowned. “It has nothing to do with you. It’s because of me. I knew the risks, but I couldn’t help myself. Three hours a week just isn’t enough. I miss them so much I ache inside every minute of every day.” Her throat tightened and she looked away. “But thanks for coming to tell me.”
His hand stroked down her hair. “That wasn’t the only reason I came here.”
“Oh?” A sliver of anxiety wound its way through her heart but she forced herself to meet his gaze.
“I wanted to see you.”