"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."
CHAPTER TEN
I’m lying, of course.
What’s between us can only be one thing.
Hope is mine.
Permanently.
Christ, it hit me like a fucking Mack truck when she came out of the bathroom, dressed in the skimpy pants that clung to her in a way that made it clear she wasn’t wearing any underwear. I’d been a bit of a dick bringing up that outfit, but I had no idea what size she wore, so I figured the stretchy pants should work no matter what. The tank top was the true dick move because I could have easily given her one of my shirts from the get-go. But, I was dying to see more of her. It’s stupid too, because the thing that amped me up more than anything was seeing her in my T-shirt, with my club’s logo in living color across her breasts.
She nibbles on her bottom lip, then sets her hand on my shoulder. "This is nuts. We barely know each other, but somehow everything makes sense when you’re around." Her voice isn’t much more than a whisper, but every word pierces my soul. I can’t even express how good it feels to hear her say that, although I’m not deaf to the anxiety in her words either.
Pulling her hand to my mouth, I press a kiss into her palm, then meet her eyes. "It doesn't matter how long we've known each other. I know you. I want you. Just be here with me. If that’s what you want."
"What will people think? It's been barely a year," she says in a rush.