EIGHTEEN
Curtis Nash, AKA Taco, couldn’t ride fast enough. It wasn’t that he was trying to get away from his brothers. No, he was trying to get to something. Or rather, someone.
Country had been way too up in his business, prying eyes and words grating his nerves. Taco was normally an open book…but not about this.
The brothers—Country, especially—just wouldn’t understand. And he wasn’t in the mood for explaining. Right now, he just wanted to live his life as peacefully as possible for as long as possible.
He wasn’t stupid. Taco knew that the brothers would find out what he was up to eventually, but today wasn’t that day. He was going to do his level best to keep shit under wraps as long as he could. He’d deal with the fallout later but now was his time. He wanted to enjoy himself, get lost for a while in something of his own making.
Would it come at a price? Likely, yes.
Was he willing to pay it? Right now, definitely.
Would it be worth it? That, he wasn’t sure of. But he’d find out, wouldn’t he?
Being on the road, even if it was just winding, curving city streets was a balm for his soul. Every one of Taco’s frayed nerves smoothed like bird’s feathers when that wind hit him, caressing and buffeting against him like the sweetest of lovers.
If he thought he could close his eyes without ending up in a ditch, he’d never open them again. Riding was the single most therapeutic activity he’d ever experienced.
People didn’t understand why bikers loved riding so much, why they chose the life they did. Those people had never experienced true freedom then. If they had, they’d have a whole different tune to sing.
When Taco spotted his turnoff up ahead—a valley of sun-bleached concrete lined with cars—he felt a mixture of apprehension and anticipation. His eyes darted around, scanning for familiar faces and motorcycles as he pulled into the parking lot and drove around back.
It sucked having to hide like this, but again, the brothers just wouldn’t understand. Once they marked a person for the trash, they didn’t often change their mind. And by often, he meant never.
In all his years with the Spartans, Taco had yet to see someone who’d gotten a black mark ever come back from it. Once you were out, you were out. Period.
So, this little rendezvous? It was probably going to come back and bite him in the ass.
So be it.
Ultimately, it was all about the pleasure he got from it. And aside from the brotherhood, Taco’s sole purpose in life was seeking out and achieving what pleased him.
Shutting down the engine, he pulled off his helmet and dropped the kickstand. He hadn’t had a chance to dismount before the apartment door swung open. Looking up, Taco felt a smile spread across his face.
Yeah, it was worth it.
***
“You better think again if you believe I’m going to let you fuck me on my countertop,” Ginger said as Garrick slammed the front door shut, flipped the lock, and set the chain. “Or anywhere, for that matter.”
He turned and gave her a look that said he’d sooner see pigs fly. Honestly, he was right. Despite the words coming out of her mouth, Ginger was feeling all kinds of giddy, tingly, and downright horny.
If he came at her now, she’d fold faster than a deck of cards.
She’d warmed to him despite her determination not to, and now she was struggling to hold onto her resolve. One swift breeze; that’s all it would take.
But Garrick didn’t rush her like she’d expected. Instead, he strode around the apartment, straightening the mess the brothers had left behind. “You don’t want to fuck? That’s fine. I won’t push you, Red. You’ll change your mind eventually. In the meantime, we’ll just hang out and enjoy each other’s company.”
Ginger’s eyes about popped out of her head. He was…relenting?
A quick glance out the window behind her told her that the sky was, indeed, not falling.
“You…want to…hang out,” she stammered.
“That’s what I said.” Kicking back on the sofa in front of the television, he propped his feet up on the coffee table and spread his arms across the back of the couch. “Now who’s hard of hearing?”
“And you’re cracking jokes,” she muttered. “Now I know hell has frozen over.”
Pursing his lips, Garrick tilted his head to the side, a motion for her to come to him. “Get over here, babe. Let’s chill out for a bit, eh?”
It took a second for her mind to catch up and her feet to get moving. With a jerk, Ginger walked into the living room. “Who are you and what have you done with Garrick?” she teased.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Picking up the remote, he started channel surfing.
Ginger sat down next to him because he’d already predetermined where she would be with a pat of his hand on the cushion—and yeah, okay, also because she wanted to be close to him—and said, “You’re being unusually…sweet today.”
“What are you going on about? I’m always sweet.”
Ginger snorted. “You’re moody, cranky, and run around scaring the piss out of everyone. That’s hardly sweet.”
“No, that’s just good planning. People don’t bother you if they’re afraid of you. Besides,” he said, turning those luminous blue eyes on her, “you’re not afraid of me, are you.” It wasn’t a question.
Ginger answered truthfully. “Not at all.”
“Good. That’s all that matters.” He turned back to the TV, settling on, of all things, Walker Texas Ranger reruns.
Ginger pushed aside her protest and snuggled deeper into his side. Garrick’s arm draped over her shoulder and pulled her in closer. So, she went a step further and rested her head on his chest. Then she got lost in the steady thrum of his heart beneath her ear.
Ginger opened her eyes to the feel of Garrick’s fingertips lightly stroking the side of her face and realized she’d fallen asleep.
Breathing deep, she sat back, wincing at the pinch in her spine. “How long was I out?” she asked groggily as she touched her fingers to her hot, damp cheek—the one that’d been pressed against his chest.
“About an hour.” Garrick plucked his shirt, grimacing. “You drool.”
“I do not!” Ginger flushed, feeling fifty shades of embarrassed. Because sometimes she did drool. But she was not about to admit that.
“Tell that to my shirt.” He looked over at her and smirked. “No worries, babe. Your secret is safe with me. Besides, it’s nice to know you have at least one flaw.”
Ginger scowled, then frowned as his words registered. “You thought I was, what, perfect?”
“The thought had occurred to me.” Standing, Garrick crossed his arms over one another, grabbed the hem of his shirt, and stripped it over his head.
Ginger could only stare at the perfection he presented. Even for an older man, he had an incredible body. It was obvious from the thick, defined muscle that he took care of himself. And that dusting of salt and pepper hair that ran in an upside-down V from his chest to his waistband got her panties all in a twist.
He was so masculine and sexy, it hurt to look at him.
Licking her lips, Ginger remembered their conversation. “Well, I’m not perfect. I’m just me. You though…wow.”
Oh man, had she just said that out loud? Garrick’s gaze captured hers, and yeah, she definitely had. And it was clearly going to his head.
And not the one in his pants.
“Like what you see?”
Well, she’d already stuck her foot in it. No sense in beating around the bush now. “You know I do.” They’d had sex before, and she’d let him go down on her last night. Considering how wet she’d been then, it should be obvious.
“Then maybe,” Garrick said, his gruff voice full of seduction as he leaned down over her, bracing his hands on the back of the couch, so she had to tilt her head all the way back to meet his eyes, “you should act on it.”
Ginger pressed her lips together. Her fingers itched to touch him, to explore the body that’d felt so good on hers so long ago. She wanted to get properly reacquainted. But should she? She’d already messed up and let him do things she never should have allowed. If she took this step, if she let him have her completely…he’d have her completely.
And he knew it.
She was dancing a line she never intended to cross, yet it felt almost inevitable. To Garrick, belonging to him was a foregone conclusion. He’d all but stamped ol’ lady on her forehead. She, on the other hand, was fighting what felt like a losing battle.
Maybe it was already lost?
Would it be so bad to belong to him? To tie herself to him? Garrick was a good man; she’d already known that. Knew he’d never hurt her. He could give her things she’d only dreamed of. He’d take care of her.
As well as a man like him could, anyway.
But what happened when the new car smell was gone? What happened when he got tired of coming home to the same woman every night and reality set in? Would he step out on her? Would he shove her aside and leave her to live parallel to him, alone but bound for life?
As Garrick leaned down to kiss her, Ginger ducked under his arm and stood up.
She just couldn’t take the chance that she’d end up some used up, forgotten about, discarded toy. Coming from Garrick, it’d be the final straw—he’d be the one to finally break her.
The cost was just too high.
“What’s wrong?” he asked, his brows drawing down tight over his eyes.
Staring at the floor, Ginger hugged herself tight. “You need to go. I need you to go.”
“Why?” He stepped toward her, and like a frightened animal, she stepped back. “What happened here?” Garrick asked, puzzled and worried by her sudden change in behavior.
“I just…can’t do this. You have to leave.”
Garrick’s jaw clenched, the only outward indication that he was upset. “Not until you explain to me why.”
She couldn’t do that. He would just try to talk her out of it, and everything he would say would sound perfectly reasonable. She’d fold, and he’d get what he wanted, and she’d end up paying for it later.
“Then sleep on the couch for all I care,” she snapped. Spinning on her heel, Ginger rushed around the couch, putting distance between them as quickly as possible—her goal: the bedroom. There was a lock on the door so she could hide in there.
Garrick went the opposite way around the couch, intending to cut her off. “Babe. Red. Ginger, hold up a damn minute!” he barked as she nearly broke into a run to get past him. He reached out for her, but he was too slow, and his fingertips only managed to graze her arm.
Cursing, he tore off after her, but Ginger reached her room, and before he could stop her, she slammed and locked the door.
Her breath heaving from her, Ginger pressed her forehead against the door, questioning everything as she listened to Garrick plead with her from the opposite side to open and talk to her.
She wanted to…but she wouldn’t. Couldn’t. At that moment, she just needed space to clear her head. Time alone. She needed to breathe. Collect herself.
Blocking him out, Ginger turned away from the door and climbed into bed, curling onto her side into the fetal position and squeezing her eyes shut.
She just needed a little bit of peace and quiet. She needed things to go back to the way they were before Garrick got the crazy idea in his head that they should be together.
She needed him to go away.