Silver Biker: The Silver Foxes of Blue Ridge Page 12

  “This place has kind of a Playboy mansion vibe,” she states, taking in the size of the building. From the outside, it looks like a haunted house, perhaps. The brick is a bit run down. A chimney slants. It was once a stately place. “Either that or a bad frat party.”

  “Yeah, it doesn’t get to Playboy status,” I joke. I won’t be sharing how it’s come close, but I’ve never been part of those shenanigans. “The club’s original clubhouse was burned down before my time with them. The club dismantled a bit and regrouped under Justice about fifteen years or so back. This place is his, but he keeps it open to anyone who needs space.”

  “What should I expect in there?” she asks hesitantly, eyeing the two-story Georgian-style house.

  “Seen Sons of Anarchy?”

  “No, but I know of it.” Her voice squeaks.

  “We aren’t like that, and I hate that every riding club is compared to that show.”

  I reach for her hand, and she takes my offer. Entwining our fingers, I take in her appearance again of skinny jeans, heeled boots, and a shirt that’s sheer enough I can see a black bra underneath.

  “I told you to dress your beautiful self, and now I’m regretting that suggestion because I’m gonna spend the whole night fighting off every brother inside.”

  “Was there a compliment in that declaration?” she teases.

  “Definitely a compliment, Peach. Stick with me, okay?” Suddenly, I’m second-guessing bringing her here. I didn’t think we were ready for another one-on-one session, but I still wanted to see her again. The party seemed like a happy medium until I see my beautiful wife and realize she’s so fucking gorgeous I’m going to seriously come to blows with guys this evening.

  My fingers seek her wedding band and engagement ring but find them still missing from her finger. Instead, I twist my fingers around hers, finding the heat of her a skin second best in their absence.

  We enter through the main door, and I ignore the stares. The guys closest to me—Justice, Bear Grady, and Rocket—know who Evie is. I don’t need to explain myself to the others and holding her hand should say it all. She’s with me.

  The club is full tonight. We never have much of an excuse to party other than it being a Saturday night. This antiquated, giant room houses a bar along a wall with a broken mirror behind it. The reflective glass is still intact in some parts against the plaster. Couches and chairs sit haphazardly in the middle of the space, while two pool tables are near the wall opposite the bar. It’s an overgrown man cave of sorts with large windows blacked out by the night sky outside.

  I lead her to the bar, pulling out a barstool for her to take a seat, and order her a gin and tonic. We pour our drinks heavy here, and I should have made her favorite for her. She always said I was the only one to get her G and T just right. While we’re waiting on our drinks, I rub a hand up her back.

  “Want to play pool?” I ask, needing something to do with her, other than stare at how beautiful she is because I’m growing hornier by the minute.

  “It’s been a long time,” she says, shyly looking at me over her shoulder. “But sure, why not?”

  “I’ll be right back,” I say to her, crossing the packed room for a table and setting down quarters to mark that I’m up next.

  When I turn back for the bar, it’s just what I figured might happen. Some jackoff hasn’t gotten the message about Evie and me. Rusty Miller has taken a seat next to her, and I see red. Crusty Rusty, as he’s been called in the past for his dirty ginger hair, is not one of my friends despite the brotherhood of the club. About ten years back, he set his eyes on Dolores Chance, a longtime family friend and once friends with benefits of mine. Rusty used her in ways that made me sick and hardened her heart.

  Their relationship had been an eye-opener for me as I realized how poorly I’d treated my relations with Dolores. How I’d misunderstood her feelings for me and her understanding of where we were at with one another. When I tried to discuss Rusty with Dolores, she told me in no uncertain terms to mind my own business. In her words, she could make up her own mind who to fuck, how and when. She knew he fucked others. She couldn’t have been happy with him, but I’d taken her warning and stepped back. I joined the club a few years after she started messing around with him, and quickly had the power to stipulate Dolores never be his old lady. Not that he’d commit to one woman anyway, but I didn’t want her mixed up with club business or him.

  I realize the hypocrisy as I’ve now brought my wife here, but there’s a difference. Evie is already my old lady in biker terms.

  “Move,” I demand of Rusty as I return to the bar.

  “Seat don’t have your name on it,” he says, winking at Evie. She isn’t smiling, and I notice how tightly she’s gripping her glass.

  “What’s he said to you?” I ask, drawing her attention to me.

  “Just introducing myself,” Rusty says, sneering at me and reaching out to place his hand on Evie’s back. I shove it away, catching his wrist and pinning it behind his back. His face almost hits the bar top as I have him bent over it in less than a second.

  “James,” Evie screeches.

  “Get off, Ranger,” Rusty hisses.

  “Don’t talk to her,” I warn him. “Don’t look at her. Don’t think about her.” I stare at the side of his face exposed to me while I use my other hand to hold his head down.

  “Fuck you,” he snarls.

  “No, thanks. You haven’t had all your shots.” Rusty is a walking STD, and I cringe when I see girls saunter off with him, but it’s not my place to tell a brother how to care for women.

  “James!” Evie shrieks, and I meet her eyes for only a second. With a final shove to Rusty’s head, I release him. Rusty is a sneaky bastard, so I’m prepared for the swing he attempts, thinking he can slip in the punch because I backed down. I sway left as his fist glides past my head. My arm wraps around Rusty’s neck, bending him backward on the countertop, pinning him to the bar again.

  “You always were a damn fool,” I mutter, holding him at the throat.

  “You always think you can get what you want,” he says, gurgling under my hold. I’m not squeezing him hard. It’s the position he’s in that causes his strain.

  “Break it up,” Bear Grady hollers from behind the bar. “Rusty, get your ass out of here.”

  “He started it,” Rusty grunts as I shove at him once more before fisting his shirt and dragging him upward. He shoves me off.

  “You were hitting on his woman,” Bear explains.

  “Every woman’s his,” Rusty states, and a sharp hitch of breath comes from Evie.

  “Peach—” I warn. It isn’t true.

  “You’re always fucking everything that walks in here,” Rusty states, and I’m seeing red again. He’s a goddamn liar, but I don’t need to justify myself to him. Evelyn’s the one with horror on her face before she can school her expression. She turns toward the bar and takes a healthy drink of her too-strong gin and tonic.

  “No one’s in the mood for you tonight, Rust. Get out of here. Find a woman of your own,” Bear demands.

  “Had one, until he got his hooks in her again.” The implication is Dolores Chance, although Rusty didn’t really have her, and again, his words are absolutely false.

  “You fucked that up on your own, asshole. She finally wised up to you.”

  “It’s always something with you, Ranger,” Rusty mutters, straightening his shirt and purposely knocking my shoulder as he passes me.

  “Ignore him,” Bear chuffs, shaking his head as he addresses Evie. “We all think he’s an asshole.” I turn my head enough to watch Rusty disappear before twisting back to Evie.

  “Who are you?” she whispers, staring up at me with wide eyes. Slowly, they narrow to slits. “What’s happened to you?”

  “You already know the answer,” I snap even though it isn’t her fault she’s so damn good looking, and Rusty can push my buttons.

  Evie shakes her head. “You need to stop using Michael as your e
xcuse for everything.”

  “That wasn’t what I meant,” I hiss, swiping a hand over my head.

  “Fire’s going out back. Maybe you two could use some air,” Bear states, and I take his meaning as he stretches his thick arms along the bar. Evie and I need some privacy.

  I hold out a hand for her, but she doesn’t take my offer. Instead, she takes another deep drink of her gin and tonic, and winces after it, puckering her lips. She stands from the stool and crosses before me, heading to an open French door leading to the back.

  “It’s this way, baby,” I say, lowering my voice and catching her arm, tugging her in the proper direction. We exit to an old patio and then down the stone steps to the large lawn behind it. There’s a mix of cars and trucks parked around a large pit a few yards from the house. Some people have camp chairs. It looks like a tailgating party crashed a country club.

  “Pick a car, any car,” I tease, but Evie remains quiet.

  When we near the flames, I lead her to an old Mustang and help her sit on the hood. I stand, leaning my side against it as my eyes watch the fire dance over the stacked wood.

  “That was intense,” she mutters, and I swing my attention to her.

  “I’m sorry about that. Think I lost my head a little with Rusty so close to you.”

  She slowly nods, curling her fingers around the hood’s edge. “Is there any truth to what he said?” Her eyes face the pyre, and her question burns. My lips twist side to side, buying me time on how to answer her.

  “I haven’t been innocent, as I suppose you haven’t either, Peach. But I don’t claim any other women as mine. I haven’t fucked anyone. That’s Rusty just shooting off shit to upset you, which he’s done.”

  “When he mentioned how you ruined his relationship with someone, who did he mean?”

  “Dolores,” I admit. Dolores has always been a tough topic for Evie. I can’t say I’d been involved with Dolores when Evelyn and I met because we had an on-again, off-again friends with benefits kind of relationship. Unfortunately, we were definitely on when I had my night with Evie, and the guilt rests on me. Evie took it hard. She felt bad as though she was somehow the other woman when there wasn’t any first woman in my life. Still, she had trouble facing Dolores and even tried to apologize to her once because that’s just how sweet my Peach can be. Dolores wanted nothing to do with Evie’s guilt, though, and it ate at Evie whenever we went to the diner, which was never her first choice of dining out options.

  “I see,” Evie mutters, but she didn’t.

  “Dolores and I have never, ever been together after you and me, Peach. You know these things. And now, she has a good man in her life. Someone who treats her like a queen. She’s happy.”

  Evie swings her head to me, searching my face for the truth. While she says she doesn’t trust me, she must see something in my expression because she nods once and looks back at the fire.

  “Peach,” I say, pressing off my side on the hood and stepping before her. I force her knees to spread, bringing myself between them so I can get closer to her. “Tell me about him.”

  “What?” She looks up at me, and I only take a second to meet her eyes before looking over her shoulder. I take the fortifying breath I need and ask again.

  “Tell me about this new man.”

  “I am not discussing Dalton with you,” she snaps, gritting his name through her teeth. I want to pick apart his name, but I can’t. I’m too stunned by the reality of him having a name, which of course, he does, but it’s much too real for me.

  “Never mind. I don’t want to hear about him anyway.”

  I lean forward, placing my hands on either side of her hips. “I just want to know if he kisses you like this.” My mouth meets hers, taking her by surprise. I keep it soft, sucking at her lower lip before opening wider. I don’t even force my tongue forward. I just stick to the warmth of her lips pressing against mine at first.

  God, I’ve missed kissing her, and before I know it, my palm is at her throat, cupping under her jaw to hold her steady. I feel her swallow against my hand, wanting her thirsty for only me. We kiss with long pulls and short pecks, and I scoot her closer to me by curling a hand on her ass and tugging her forward.

  “James,” she mutters to my mouth. We continue for a few more seconds, the kissing heating up like the flames at my back. “James. Stop.”

  I still and pull back, afraid of what I’ll see in those eyes. Relief washes over me when I see her dazed and dreamy like she used to be.

  “I’ve just learned you’ve messed around with others. We should not be doing this,” she says, lowering her gaze and reaching out to toy with the edge of my shirt. Her voice holds no conviction, but it does contain concern.

  “Peach, I just told you I haven’t fucked any other women.”

  Her head pops up, and she stares at me. I can’t take that questioning look, so I gaze at her shoulder.

  “I didn’t think it’d be right when I was still married.” My voice drops. Her hand comes to the side of my face, forcing me to look at her, but I can’t hold her eyes.

  “I saw that woman on your lap,” she states, cupping her hand to hold my jaw steady. I risk a quick look at her eyes.

  “I didn’t say I was innocent, just couldn’t have sex with someone else.” Admittedly, the truth might make me sound like a wuss, but I just didn’t feel right sticking my dick in someone who wasn’t mine when I had someone out there who was my forever.

  Evie’s quiet for too long as I drop her gaze again.

  “Your turn, Peach,” I state, feeling my heart hammer, knowing the answer before she even tells me. Still there’s hope, that tricky bastard, holding out that it won’t be true. That she hasn’t slept with him.

  “Ranger,” she whispers, and I hear it in her voice. My eyes close, and I accept I did this. To her. To me. I forced her into someone else’s bed. I want a number. I want to know how many, and how many times, but then again, I don’t.

  Instead, I wrap my hand around the back of her head and crush my lips to her mouth, kissing her hard, hoping to make her forget the others, hoping she’ll remember only us.

  13

  Kissing With Fire

  [Evie]

  James is my husband. He’s kissed me soft. He’s kissed me hard. He’s been slow, fast, long, and brief, but he has never kissed me the way he is kissing me with my ass dangling on the edge of this car hood. I am drunk on this kiss. Light-headed, blurry vision, heart-racing drunk. It was tongue and teeth, messy and wet, and I wanted more. My heels fell from the bumper, and my legs slid forward until I was standing, straddling James between my open thighs. My arms wrapped around his neck at one point, holding him to me as we make out like teens at a field party. I am oblivious to who was around us, who might see or comment.

  It is only James and me. And this kiss.

  “He touch you sweet?” James grumbles against my mouth, bucking his hips so his unmistakably long, hard erection taps against my center.

  “James,” I hiss, not even letting myself think of another man, let alone wanting to explain the particulars of my limited sexual history. My mouth longs to distract him, so I open to kissing him, forcing my tongue to seek his. He groans into me, the sound vibrating to the back of my throat, and I instantly consider putting another part of him in my mouth, dragging him deep and making him groan again. Instead, he distracts me by his fingers wandering my waist and dipping lower. The heat of his palm cups me between my thighs, removing that strong dick out of the way for only a second.

  “I bet you’re wet, aren’t you, Peach? You’re going to forget everyone else but me.” He nips at my jaw, his hand squeezing me. “Only me.”

  I hum as his mouth moves along my jaw and travels to my throat, sipping at my skin while his hand holds between my legs. I grind against his palm, hungry for friction only this man can give me. God, I hate how instantly he can turn me on. I hate how quickly the switch can flip, and he knows he has this power over me. I’ve never been able to re
sist him, and it’s my biggest weakness. I don’t hate him. I love him. Always have. Always will. No matter how he feels about me.

  Like a wanton hussy, I move my hips, forcing my center to skim over that open palm while whimpering that the friction is not enough.

  “Need more, baby?” James mutters below my ear, knowing my body like no one else ever will. “How wet are you, Peach? Let me see.”

  Before my brain can catch up to the overdrive of my body, my jeans are unbuttoned, zipper released, and a large hand slips into my panties.

  “James,” I whine, fighting the struggle between saying stop and begging him to never stop. His fingers dip lower, and we both purr when they reach the trigger point.

  “My girl is so fucking juicy and only for me,” he groans as his fingers search just past the sensitive nub, and two thick digits surge into me. I yelp at the rushed intrusion. My head falls back, and I glance to the right, recalling where we are, where we stand.

  “James. Others will see us,” I whisper, stilling my movements and lowering my hands to his chest. His fingers remain in me, and slowly, he drags them back and forth, unrelenting despite my fear.

  “Do you think I’d ever let someone else watch what only I can do to you?” His stance shows I’m covered as best I can be. His legs shifted at some point to straddle mine, protecting his hand in my jeans. One hand is propped at my side, arm extended to hold him upright as an additional shield to my body. I’m angled toward him in a way others might think they know what he’s doing to me, but they can’t be certain. My hips flinch of their own accord, sliding those fingers deliciously back and forth and drawing out the wetness only he produces.