Silver Biker: The Silver Foxes of Blue Ridge Page 11

  “Evie?” The expression on his face shows his matching surprise. “Thought you were at the Pub with James.”

  I stare at him, uncertain of how to respond. “I was supposed to be there for drinks with some girlfriends. James happened to be there.”

  Justice nods and then tilts his head. “You doing okay?”

  My lips quiver at the concern in his tone and bite them hard, preventing the embarrassment of tears before a man I don’t know. “It’s been a rough night, but I’ve been through worse.”

  “Yeah,” Justice drones as he must know a thing or two about my worse. “Wanna get a drink?” He tips his head, signaling the lounge behind me.

  “I was thinking of heading to bed. It’s been a long couple of days.”

  “One drink,” he says, stepping forward and placing a large hand on my arm. I spin without thinking, leading him toward the front of the Lodge. As we walk, I sense him look over his shoulder just once, but no one else enters the hallway. For a second, I wonder if James does this kind of thing often—takes women to a nice hotel to have sex with them for an hour or so. Then I dismiss the thought.

  Justice guides me to a high-top table in the corner of the Lounge. With two fingers in the air, he signals the bartender, who gives a chin dip in our direction. The biker Santa before me looks a little out of place in the dimly lit, jazz-infused lounge. Tiny candles in miniature glassware decorate the tables while the low lights give the space an intimate atmosphere. It feels clandestine to be here with him, but I’m not doing anything wrong. It’s only a drink.

  Two whiskeys suddenly appear before us, and Justice takes his glass in hand. Tapping on the edge of mine, he lifts his higher in salute and throws back the drink without a word.

  “What are you doing here, Evie?” he asks me, and I softly chuckle.

  “I could be asking you the same thing. You live in this town. Why would you need a room at a local hotel?” I tip a brow, hoping he senses I’m teasing him to avoid his question. His business really isn’t my concern.

  “For privacy,” he states, answering me. “Now answer me.”

  “I’m here for a divorce,” I state, sitting straighter on the barstool.

  “That what you really want?” he questions, although he doesn’t know me.

  “Yes.” The word isn’t as convincing as it should be, but it is the truth. I’m here for a divorce. Justice nods as though he understands.

  “That’s too bad,” he mutters, looking down at his empty glass, rolling it side to side on its base.

  “Why’s that?”

  Justice’s eyes shoot up to mine. “Because your husband is in love with you.”

  I snort, loud and deep. “Um, no, he’s not.”

  “He is. Why else do you think he hasn’t asked you for one?”

  “Because he’s waiting for me to make a move.” I exhale loud and frustrated. “He told me to leave.”

  “Self-preservation,” Justice says as if I’m to understand, but I don’t. “And sacrifice. He did it to save you.”

  “Save me?” I huff. He shattered me, but I’m not telling this stranger my water-logged emotions. How the pain was so deep it cut out my heart. How numb I felt inside at the loss of not one but two boys in my life.

  “He knew he was going down a rabbit hole he could not get himself out of, and he didn’t want to bring you down with him. He’d already lost one of his family members.”

  “So he threw away the other?” I glare at this stranger, who has obviously become a friend to my husband. “What do you know about what happened?”

  “Enough to know a man took responsibility for what no man can predict might have happened, and he’s never going to forgive himself. He’s come a long way, but it’s not been for fighting, that’s for damn certain. Never seen a man with more of a death wish. Saved his ass more than once from himself. Something in him keeps him alive, and I believe that something is you. He hasn’t completely lost hope in you. He’s just lost faith in himself.”

  I stare at Justice, not knowing anything about what he’s sharing. “What do you mean, ‘death wish’?”

  “Base jumping, wingsuits, rock climbing, sky diving. He’s been doing it all in hopes something will naturally happen to him, but it hasn’t.” Justice levels me with a stare, and my hand comes to my mouth.

  “Why?” I whisper, although I know the reason. I don’t like the reason, but I understand it.

  I should have gone with him. I should have followed him.

  “He blames himself,” I state the obvious, answering my own question, and Justice nods. “How do you know all this?”

  “A drunk man confesses everything, including his love for his wife.”

  “He stepped out on me,” I say even though I haven’t exactly been faithful either. Dalton’s the only man in six years I’ve let get close to me, and even then, I’m not certain how comfortable I really am with the idea. It’s only been once, and that’s when I knew I had to let James go, or I’d never be able to move forward.

  “Felt just as guilty about that,” Justice admits.

  “Why doesn’t James tell me any of this?” I question, my earlier anger slowly returning. Why hasn’t he told me about the community center and Michael’s name for the dedication? Why hasn’t he opened up about these risk-taking adventures? Why isn’t he telling me he still loves me, if he does? Why? Why?

  “Private man, I guess.”

  “Does his privacy include renting rooms at this resort, too?” The question hits below the belt, but I’m aggravated.

  “Not my business to share.”

  “You just shared plenty with me,” I remind him, lifting a brow.

  “I like you, Evie.” Justice softly chuckles. “You’d be good for him.”

  “I was good to him,” I clarify, emphasizing the past tense. “Now, he doesn’t need me to be good.”

  “Oh, he needs you, alright. He’s just still clouded under that guilt, a guilt only you can help him release.”

  “I don’t think he’ll ever forgive himself. It’s like an addiction. I can’t help him. He needs to want to help himself.”

  “You’re not wrong, but he needs a push to get there, Evelyn. He needs the love of a good woman to set him straight.”

  “I’m not that person anymore,” I say, finally lifting my tumbler and letting the short pour of whiskey burn down my throat. I choke on the intake of such sharp alcohol.

  “Maybe not,” Justice says, eyeing me with disappointment, especially as it’s obvious I can’t handle the liquor I just tried to swallow in one gulp. “Too bad ’bout that.”

  “Yeah, too bad,” I mutter, feeling my own sense of guilt mixing in with the loss I’d felt years ago and thought I’d finally be able to let go of with my husband.

  “Coming to the house tomorrow for a party?” he questions.

  “I’ve been invited, but I don’t think it’s my scene.”

  “Maybe you should come and see before you judge.”

  “How did you and James become friends?” I ask, suddenly wondering about this new friendship that didn’t exist when I was here.

  “I think I’ll leave the particulars to James to tell.”

  “Funny, he’s not much of an explainer,” I mock.

  “For the right woman, I’m sure he’ll open up.” Justice slowly smiles.

  “Too bad, that woman ain’t me,” I retort, lowering my vocabulary.

  “We’ll see,” Justice says before rapping his knuckles on the table and slipping off the stool. “Don’t behave, Evelyn. If there’s something you want, go after it.”

  I stare at his retreating back, covered in leather, wondering what exactly he means.

  + + +

  To my surprise, James called me again.

  “Wanted to make sure you made it back to the Lodge okay.” His voice is quiet in the message he leaves. The four previous missed calls don’t contain a message.

  I send him a responding text with a thumbs-up emoji as I don’t wan
t to talk anymore today.

  However, the next morning, I receive another call, and this one I answer with a groggy sleep-filled voice.

  “Hello?”

  “I’m picking you up at eight,” he says before I’ve even finished my hello.

  “For what?” I croak.

  “The party.”

  I hadn’t decided on the party, but I guess I’m going.

  “I don’t know how to dress,” I admit. I’m not certain what a party with a bunch of bikers entails.

  “Just be your beautiful self.” I hate how his voice softens, and I imagine a smile I can’t see. It’s dangerous to assume things.

  “Okay,” I whisper, hoarse in tone.

  “Damn, I forgot how sexy your voice is in the morning.” The softening of his holds a hint of rough and tumbled itself, and a ripple rushes down the center of me. I try not to think about what happened the other night, as I sat on his lap, grinding on him like a teen, but the sensation of him between my legs returns.

  “Yeah,” I whisper, breathless and hot.

  “Fuck,” he mutters as if he can hear my thoughts. I want to touch myself. I want him to touch me. I was having this dream, and he was the star. And I shouldn’t have been having the dream, but my thoughts are not my own lately.

  “Eight, Peach,” he says and then hangs up before I can decline his invitation.

  At a few minutes before eight that evening, I’m outside the front entrance of the resort, considering James might stand me up.

  “Waiting on someone?” The rich Georgian sound of Corabelle Conrad hits my ears as I pace back and forth. Corabelle owns the Lodge outright with the passing of both her parents some time back. I also know she’s been divorced in the time I was gone.

  “I am. How are you, Cora?” We weren’t exactly friends during my life in Blue Ridge. Cora was considered the pesky neighbor of the Lane—a tattletale as a child, a know-it-all as an adult—but there was something different about her.

  “I’ve never been better,” she says, giving me a warm smile. Cora’s one of those Southern belles like I would have been had I married Emmett Shaw from Savannah before James. She was prim and proper, judgmental and fierce. I never wanted to be on her bad side, but I also wasn’t eager to be her friend. I haven’t seen much of Cora although she runs the resort.

  “That’s a glowing statement,” I tease. How often do people speak such a line?

  Cora looks around the entrance. “There have been many changes since you left here, Evelyn. For one, I’m divorced, and it’s the greatest thing to happen to me.” Ah, maybe that’s it. Divorce becomes her. Her hair isn’t quite so coiffed but loosely tucked up at the nape of her neck. She’s wearing jeans, and perhaps that’s what’s thrown me off as well because I’ve never seen her in pants of any type before.

  “Congratulations. Is that the correct sentiment?” Will people say the same to me when I tell them I’m newly divorced? Then again, most people I know now think I already am divorced. “Looks like the Lodge is thriving,” I add.

  “It is. Business is good, and I’ve become more involved in community affairs.” She coyly smiles as if there’s more to her participation in Blue Ridge business than seeking gossip and spreading rumors. “I had a tough spell for a bit, but us mountain girls know how to climb out of a pit.”

  My brows rise at her words. I don’t think Cora’s had to climb anything in her life except a staircase. However, I am sorry she’s divorced. There were rumors before I left that her husband, the athletic director at the high school, was having an affair with someone.

  “How are Jane and Silas?” Cora’s daughter and son are only a few years older than Michael would have been.

  “Jane’s doing wonderful. She runs the bakery near town, and business has never been better for Apple Jane.” Cora winks at me. She pushed her daughter to be a beauty queen and then be the spokesmodel for her own apple baked products. “Silas, on the other hand, he’s joined the Rebel’s Edge.”

  “The bikers?” I question, choking on the club name James is a member of. I’m only familiar with Sons of Anarchy, having never seen an episode. Either way, I fear that both men might be involved in illegal dealings, risky business, and a multitude of debauchery. However, James told me the club isn’t involved in anything that could set him in jail. All businesses are legitimate, and some members have jobs not affiliated directly with the club, which is how James maintains his firefighter position. However, I don’t think this makes him innocent.

  “Yes.” Cora looks away from me a second. She takes a breath and lifts her head. “I’m not proud that my son had to seek others for the family he wanted. I’m working to rectify that relationship.” Guilt riddles her expression as if she knows she’s fortunate her son is still alive, and she’s squandered their mother-son connection. This is one reason I didn’t want to come back to Blue Ridge. I don’t want people giving me this look. I don’t want people to be afraid to admit their blessings or their mistakes. I wasn’t a perfect parent. Neither was James. We just did what we could and loved our child no matter what.

  “James is part of that club,” I admit, uncertain if my statement helps her feel better as Cora has known James her entire life or makes it worse. In some ways, James has done the same thing—sought the club for the family he no longer believed he deserved.

  “I have a . . . friend . . . who looks out for Silas for me.” She weakly smiles.

  “That’s good,” I say, hoping she finds small comfort in someone watching over her boy. I always liked to think Michael had guardian angels whenever James and I couldn’t be present. Perhaps it was an angel who took him back to heaven. These are the things I’d tell myself when I couldn’t sleep at night, and I prayed to understand why his death happened to us.

  A motorcycle rolls into the parking lot, turning both our heads. The engine rips into the quiet, mountain night air, and Cora steps forward. A smile breaks out on her face, and she runs a hand over her hair. I still, questioning her motions. As the bike nears, Cora halts. Her expression of pleasant surprise shifts to brow-pinching disappointment. She turns her attention to me.

  “I see your ride is here.” She falsely grins and steps back, drifting to the front entrance doors. “Have fun tonight.”

  It’s a strange sentiment, but I don’t have time to consider it as Cora re-enters the Lodge, and James pulls up before the entrance.

  Only the corner of his lip curls upward at seeing me. His blue eyes sparkle under the low lights of the entryway. He tips his head for me to come to him, and I realize as I watch his fine body straddle the powerful bike under him that I’m in over my head.

  12

  Mystery Mansion

  [James]

  When I see Evie standing under the dim lights, waiting on me, I can’t breathe for a second. I take in the glow of her blond hair down in loose waves around her shoulders. Her clothes are fitted once again, outlining her perfect body. When I near her, I stop my bike and see her eyes. Her lashes look longer tonight. Her makeup is a bit darker. Those sapphires gems gleam at me, and my heart skips a beat.

  Damn.

  I’m ready to skip the party and beg her to take me up to her hotel room. I’ll give into that divorce if she gives in to me. My dick is already hard. Knowing her thighs are about to press against the outside of mine adds to the pent-up pressure. I should have jerked off before I picked her up, but it’d been a long day. I worried I’d whack off and need a nap, and I wouldn’t miss this night.

  For some reason, I was excited to bring Evie to a club party. I wanted her to see we weren’t all a bunch of hooligans, fucking everything with two legs and breaking the law with every opportunity. There were plenty of clubs with order and hierarchy, and in our case, a bit of philanthropy.

  “Hi,” Evie says, stepping up to the bike as I sit back and hold out a hand to help her hitch over the seat. My dick pulses anticipating her nearness, but it’s my heart that’s thumping double time. My abs flinch again when her hands cove
r them. I’ve always worked out, keeping my body in shape, first because of search and rescue and then for the fire department. At times, I’d pushed myself even harder to be strong. I never wanted to feel weak again. Never.

  Still, Evie’s hands on my firm belly burn through my cotton tee. I wonder what it’d be like to have her palms on my skin again. Seeing as I can hardly handle her touch as we sit on my bike, I’m certain I’d implode if our skin met. Then again, I haven’t been able to stop thinking about Evie giving into our crazy lakeside orgasm the other night, forcing me to come in my jeans, which I haven’t done since I was a teen.

  “All set,” I say, once she’s settled in behind me. Thighs on the outside of mine. Hands at my waist. Breasts against my back. I imagine the sharp peaks through layers of clothing, missing her naked back hugs once again. “Hang on.”

  I kick up my feet, and Evie squeals in my ear as I take off a bit faster than necessary. I’d like to hit the road and keep riding with her in this position, but I’m also just as eager to get her to the party. There isn’t a man at the club who doesn’t have a secret or made a bad decision, and reasons for doing either. It’s why I fit with them and consider them family more than the good one I once had.

  Evie and I enjoy the ride in silence, weaving deeper into the woods to the clubhouse. It’s more of a deserted mansion in the forest, but it has a legitimate owner. The other night, I don’t know how she found me here. She’d been talking to Justice when I entered the main room, but he swore he hadn’t told her our location. As we pull through the open gate and sidle up to the side of the house, I kill the engine and take a deep breath. Evie slips off the seat behind me and hands me the helmet.

  “You forgot this the other night.”

  “I hadn’t forgotten,” I say. I’d driven off, purposely leaving it behind, as it would be an excuse to see her again if she didn’t attend the party with me. Taking the helmet from her, I don’t look up, but when I do, her eyes have softened to a blue sky on a sun-filled day. I used to get lost in those eyes. The looks she’d give me when I was over her, thrusting into her. The tenderness when she told me she loved me. The spark of desire before we touched. Now, I struggle to look directly into those eyes. Quickly, I turn away, and Evie clears her throat, stepping back as I swing my long leg over the bike.