But everything else was my survival. It was my daughter. It was my future. And I could not let that be dictated by a man. Even one as hot as Swiss. Especially one as hot as Swiss.
“You can’t just turn up at my motel,” I told him, a bite in my voice.
“Why not?” he asked, folding his arms across his chest casually.
I tried and failed not to look at the way his muscles bulged when he did that.
“Because…” I said, trying to find the reason why he could not just turn up at my motel.
“Didn’t have your number,” he said, filling my pause. “And you snuck out before I woke up.” His eyes narrowed at me. “Which I’m not happy about, by the way. So I was left with no other choice but to turn up at your motel.”
“Why would you be unhappy about me leaving?” I asked with real confusion. “Isn’t that what you wanted?”
“What I wanted?” he repeated. “Fuck no, sweetheart. What I wanted was to wake up and taste your pussy first thing in the mornin’.”
My face flamed. “You can’t speak like that,” I hissed, looking around.
The motel parking lot was absolutely deserted, the only person around being a woman lounging by the pool with headphones on.
Swiss was grinning now. “Why can’t I?”
My eyes zoomed back to him. “Because it’s crass,” I answered lamely, sounding everything like the uppity suburban housewife I was.
Rather than being offended by my judgment, Swiss’s grin widened. “By the way, your nipples are getting hard in that shirt. You like my being crass,” he shot back.
Crap.
He was right.
I moved my arms to cover the aforementioned nipples, but the damage was already done. “We were just a one-night stand,” I hissed. “There is no need for you to come here. In fact, it was a wasted trip. I’m leaving town. Tonight.”
This decision was made on the fly, made out of fear, and it immediately felt wrong. Where else did I have to go? Another small town, most likely without the kickass coffee shop and offer of a job, with a roadside motel that wasn’t as clean, comfortable or as affordable as this.
Swiss was no longer smiling.
“You’re comin’ to the club with me,” he declared.
I tilted my head. “Didn’t you hear me?” I asked. “I’m leaving town.”
“Heard you well and good, Countess,” he replied.
“Countess?” I repeated, momentarily distracted.
His eyes were twinkling again. “Even in jeans, baby, you make it clear you come from money. You got manners, the way you carry yourself, the way you speak…” he trailed off, brushing my bottom lip with his thumb.
My breathing was so shallow it was almost non-existent. He was wrong. I did not come from money. I came from lower-middle class with a gold digger for a mother. My husband came from money, and I was just well trained.
I didn’t say any of this. I didn’t speak at all, actually.
“You’re fancy, Kate,” he murmured. “And it was my great fucking pleasure to fuck all that fancy outta you. Not that I want it gone completely. It’s sexy as fuck.” His hand flexed at my hip.
“So you’re gonna get on the back of my bike, we’re gonna go to the clubhouse, and I’m gonna spend some time fuckin’ the fancy right out of you again,” he said.
I blinked at him, digesting all of the words. They went down smooth. Like chocolate. Like an aged whisky.
What else could a girl do?
I got on the back of his bike.