Chapter Five
Wyatt sat astride his Harley, puffing on a smoke. Rambo, the compound dog, had settled in the shade next to him and was panting, his big pink tongue lolling and his ears pricked. Rambo appeared to be anticipating the arrival of someone. It was as if he’d sensed Wyatt’s apprehension.
Wyatt hoped to hell Belle would show soon. If not, he’d be up there banging on the door. Hell, he’d throw her over his shoulder and drag her to the beach if necessary. Belle needed to stop mooning over the jerk who’d broken her heart and start living again. Books full of dirty dukes and kinky maids were okay for a while, but she needed reality.
And Wyatt was the one to give her reality, in every way he knew how.
He glanced at Carter’s legs sticking out from underneath the van. He’d agreed to finish up the repair job ready for the trip to Mexico. Wyatt wasn’t looking forward to it. The Mexicans were bound to throw a spanner in the works at the last minute. Taff was good to have at his side, though, much as he was a dick after a couple of beers. When sober, he was a sound presence and a damn sharp shooter.
Wyatt glanced up at his apartment once more. The door was still closed. A memory of the night before rushed back to him. She’d shut the door in his face, almost bumping his nose. He’d stared at the wood and pushed down a rising sense of defeat.
It wasn’t an emotion he was used to, and he’d had no intention of letting it stick around. Which luckily it hadn’t, because she’d pulled the door open again and had grasped his cut, letting him know with a hard, determined yank exactly what she’d wanted.
He’d never forget her face at that moment. So damn sexy. So much pure, raw lust. Her pupils were wide, cheeks flushed, her pretty mouth parted as if ready for his kiss.
Which he’d given, and more.
Their fuck had been wild, desperate, and nothing else had mattered until he’d sunk deep and made her come hard. It was as if she’d consumed him, and his needs had taken second place, not that he hadn’t been wholly satisfied—he had. His desire to give her what she’d needed had just taken first place. It was his main goal.
“Where the fuck is she?” he muttered as several club brothers headed from the workshop toward Nina’s. Time was ticking on. It was well past midday.
“What’s up?” Jayden called.
“Nothing.” Wyatt shrugged and flicked his spent cigarette to the concrete.
“Only you look like a dog with a dog.” He nodded at Rambo at Wyatt’s side.
“Fuck off.” Wyatt dug into his cut for another smoke.
Jayden chuckled and carried on walking.
It was then Belle emerged. He slid his pack of Marlboros away and gripped the handlebars as a shot of something hot and vibrant burst into his bloodstream.
Damn, the woman was sex on legs. And what legs she had. Long, shapely, and tan. She had on what seemed to be her trademark—tiny denim shorts, which showed off her ass to perfection. Today, she wore only a bikini top with the shorts, and it was black and dotted with bright red love hearts. Her silken hair was pulled up in a ponytail that sat high on the crown of her head.
She didn’t acknowledge him as she came down the steps with a soft black bag pulled over her shoulder and mirror-effect shades reflecting the light of the sun.
He shifted on the seat. Chances were he’d have to get used to sporting a boner for the day. If he got lucky, though, he’d be able to sort himself out—with her. Sort her out too. Yeah. Make it damn worth her long trip from Phoenix.
She strutted over the lot, her heels clacking as she chewed gum.
When she got close, he whistled. “Hot damn, you know how to dress for the beach.”
“I know how to do lots of things.”
“I just bet you do.” He grinned. “Hop on. Let’s get outta here.”
She swung her leg over the seat and settled behind him. “Go. Before my brother spots us.”
A bristle of irritation poked at Wyatt. The protective-older-brother thing was already getting old. But even so, he revved the engine, just once, then pulled up to the gate. He nodded at the camera, knowing Razor would spot him. He waited for the gate to open.
Belle slid her arms around his waist and knotted her fingers. She could have used the chrome handle but had chosen not to. He wasn’t going to complain. Physical contact with her had quickly become his new favorite thing.
“Won’t take long to get there,” he said as the gate clanked and began to slide. “And I got a buddy who runs the Jet Ski rental down there. We’ll go out.”
“What?”
“We’ll go out.” He chuckled. “You ridden a ski?”