Silver Biker: The Silver Foxes of Blue Ridge Page 4

  “I should go,” I say, unhooking my bag from the back of the barstool. The need for air causes my lungs to ache. I hate the secrecy I sense around me.

  “Don’t leave,” Billy begs, stepping toward me. “How long have you been in town? Where are you staying?”

  “I’m at the Conrad Lodge.” Corabelle Conrad was the nemesis of the neighborhood, according to the Harrington clan. Growing up, she was the youngest girl on their secluded Mountain Spring Lane. The elusive fire road had three large antebellum homes evenly spaced along the gravel drive with a river running behind the properties. The Harringtons own one. Next door lived the Chances. Kip Chance was once the mayor of Blue Ridge and had his house deemed the official mayor’s home. The current mayor is another Harrington named Charlie. On the dead end of the drive, the last home belongs to the Conrads who own the Lodge. Currently, their daughter runs the place. The Conrads were an older couple when they had their miracle baby who they spoiled even in adulthood. When I’d left the area, Cora was in the middle of major renovations to the place her parents had let run down. Now, the lodge was a beautiful resort experience.

  “Hang out a bit,” Billy encourages. “It’s been a long time since we’ve seen you.” He doesn’t have to remind me. The six-year separation feels like my time with James was in another life. Clearly, we’ve all moved on, and my heart hurts with the thought.

  Nothing stays the same.

  “I’m not certain how long I’ll be in town, but I’ll come back. Another night,” I weakly suggest.

  “Mama will want to see you,” Billy says, dropping his voice. His bark-brown eyes hit me hard. It’s the Harrington trademark. James is the only one who doesn’t have them. His eyes are bright blue, making him stand out from the pack. He considered himself an outlier to them.

  “I’d love to see Elaina and George.” James’s parents remind me of my own socialite parents in some ways. Proper. Cultured. Opinionated. Yet in the same respect, they are nothing like my parents. For one, Elaina and George enthusiastically welcomed me into the family while my own parents never accepted James.

  “Tomorrow then,” Billy says.

  “I—”

  “I’ll let Mama know you’ll be stopping by,” Billy adds.

  “William,” Roxie scolds, her eyes on me, sensing my discomfort. Her hand comes to my arm and strokes up and down. “You can call the pub and let us know what works best for you.”

  Billy chuckles and shakes his head beside this woman. He leans in to kiss her temple again, and she slowly grins at me. I recognize the look on her face. I remember the feeling. Such undevoted attention from a Harrington is heady stuff.

  + + +

  When I return to the Lodge, a long bath seems in order to calm my nerves and settle my thoughts. I’ve tried to call Dalton, but he’s out, and I don’t leave a message. He knows I’ve come to this area of Georgia. He thinks I’m here for a little respite. I’m a jewelry designer, and I told him I came to check out the local fare. It feels a bit subterfuge, but I didn’t have the heart to tell him the truth.

  I’m always honest and up front, James once said to me. He never was a liar. In fact, he might have been too blunt at times.

  I can’t look at you anymore.

  The words were more painful than anything he’d ever said. If he told me he didn’t love me, I’d have called him out for being a liar. But not being able to look at me? That was a truth that hurt.

  I’ve just tugged my sweater over my head, exposing the T-shirt I’m wearing underneath when there’s a knock on my door. I didn’t order room service or request anything from the front desk, so I peek through the peephole. Then I yank open the door.

  “Jam—” I haven’t gotten his entire name out when his hand lands on my belly, gently forcing me back into the room until I fall against the wall near the door, and it slams shut with the kick of James’s boot. His lower half pins me in place, and I hate how a thrilling rush ripples up my middle. His hand has moved from my belly to land on the wall over my head with his other palm, and I hate how I miss the touch. I’m entirely caged in by his body, and the scent of him overwhelms me. Spicy. Smoky. Sinful.

  “He been in your mouth?” James asks, his growly tone straining. His breath fans my face, but I don’t catch a hint of alcohol. Mint accosts me instead. His directness hovers over me.

  “What?” I choke, wondering who, what, where, why until my thoughts catch up. “I’m not doing this with you,” I reply. I am not here to discuss Dalton. I’m here for a divorce.

  “I asked you a question, Evelyn,” he says, one hand coming to my throat. His thumb strokes along the column of my neck for a second. Then his hand shifts, the thumb and forefinger expanding as he slips his palm upward, forcing my jaw and chin to lift. He cradles my face in the crook of his fingers. He knows I like his hold on me in this position. I used to cave when he did this, but not anymore.

  I hold his eyes with mine.

  James tilts his hips, his pelvis pressing into me harder. His eyes drop to my lips while his nostrils flare a bit. Then his mouth crashes against mine, his tongue thrusting forward, forcing me to open for him. He sweeps the inside of my mouth, over my teeth, and along my inner cheeks before he sucks at my tongue. He isn’t just dusting me off, but owning me, possessing me.

  Good God, what’s happened to him?

  And what’s happening to me as I groan deep from the back of my throat at the pleasing intrusion.

  He releases me as quickly as he invades me, and my heart races. My chest is heaving like I’ve run a marathon instead of standing still against a narrow wall.

  “Don’t matter,” he says. His blue eyes spark as they stare into mine, seeking answers, undressing my brain. “I’m the last thing to be in that pretty mouth of yours, and you’ll remember it belongs to me.”

  His mouth comes back to mine. His tongue meeting mine instantly. This is more like a kiss than a cleansing but still a claiming. It’s almost the James I remember, yet it’s something more, and I find I ache for him. He sucks and swirls before he draws back, taking my lower lip between his and releasing me too soon.

  I slip down the wall a little at the sudden release and a weakening in my knees.

  “James,” I whisper, stunned by his behavior.

  “Your lips. One name. Mine.”

  He kisses me one more time, more forceful than the second yet less intrusive than the first. I melt into him, my body familiar with his, recognizing and remembering what he can do to me. The way we once blended into one another. His hard strengthened my soft. My tenderness loosened his stiffness.

  He abruptly pulls back again. The effect is a popping sound from the sudden release.

  “I’ll give you the divorce you’re craving, Peach, on one condition.”

  There are more than butterflies in my belly. A flock of birds has taken off in my midsection, and I’m ready to give him almost anything.

  “Sleep with me.”

  5

  Memories

  [James]

  I’ll give her her fucking divorce if she gives me this one concession.

  “I am not sleeping with you,” she stammers, pushing at my chest. She’s not strong enough to physically force me away from her. It’s the slight pressure of her palms that moves me. I don’t want her touching me. I don’t deserve her hands on me. And I don’t need her hands, especially if they’ve been on some other douchebag and his junk.

  “Suit yourself then, baby. Better call your guy and tell him no divorce.”

  I watch her visibly swallow and turn her head away from me. Something unsettling hits me in the gut.

  “He doesn’t know, does he?” I glare at her, gripping her jaw in my hand once more. “He doesn’t know you’re already fucking married . . . to me.”

  + + +

  Nineteen years ago . . .

  “I’m here to see James Harrington, please.” A sweet voice floats into the cabin through the open door. Slowly, I rise from the desk chair as my SAR co-worker, N
ova Greer, stands at the door addressing the visitor.

  “And you are?” Nova questions a bit defensively. I never mix business with pleasure. Well, except maybe once, but that wasn’t recently, and it hasn’t happened in this office. Tons of sexual tension swirls around my partner and me, but I suppress it because this job matters more to me than dipping my dick in my partner.

  Nova’s question is a good one despite the fact I recognize the feminine voice asking for me. Who is the woman I skinny-dipped with in Bolton Lake? Who is the woman I took against the side of a camper, both of us too eager to wait until we were inside? I had her one more time that night before I had to take the early shift for work. When I went back to the lakefront property that evening, the camper was gone. Her full name unknown. Her whereabouts a mystery.

  That was three months ago in July.

  Placing a hand on Nova’s lower back, I nudge her to the side so our inquirer can see me.

  “James.” My name is a breathy relief, and she slowly smiles until she sees something in my expression. Her eyes lower for my hand on Nova’s hip. The grin quickly disappears as I stare down at her from three stairs up.

  “Peach,” I address her, fighting my own relief that she’d returned. There was something about the wild spirit of this woman. The trust she had in me as we swam naked together as virtual strangers. We weren’t strangers for long, at least not with our bodies. I’d memorized every curve and dip of her luscious frame, and dammit, I’d missed the fact I hadn’t had a second evening with her.

  I step around my partner and remove my hand from her waist. “I got this.” Evie’s eyes watch my touch drag against the other woman. Her blue eyes narrow. Her lips purse. I want to make a statement.

  I wait for no woman.

  I clear the three steps in one and walk down the path a bit, giving us space from the open office door because Nova’s listening.

  “What can I do for you? Are you lost again?” I crisply state, crossing my arms when I spin to face her. I’d love to ask how she found me as we hadn’t shared anything personal other than first names and horny bodies. I also want to know where the fuck she’s been.

  “I have something to tell you, and there’s no easy way to say it.” Her hands clasp together before her. I noticed this on our second official meeting. She crosses her arms at her wrists, flattens her palms together, and then entwines her fingers, clenching and unclenching them. This must be a habit when she has something difficult to say. Her eyes lower briefly, and she takes a deep breath. Then she lifts her head high, struggling like its weight is too heavy, but she must look at me for whatever needs to be said.

  My arms remain crossed as a protective stance. The temptation to reach for her has me fighting myself. The position is also meant to intimidate, but something in the air tells me I’m the one who should be afraid.

  “I’m pregnant.”

  Birds stop chirping. Trees stop rustling. I shake my head. I couldn’t have heard her correctly.

  “Excuse me?”

  “I’m pregnant,” she repeats. I stare at her, still not certain what that means or why she’s telling me. However, my heart races inside my chest.

  “Congratulations,” I spit while smirking, concluding she fucked some other guy in the past three months while I’ve been on some strange celibacy path since she disappeared. Great. I find a girl I can’t stop thinking about, and she forgets me so quickly she sleeps with someone else.

  “I’m having a baby,” she restates. She leans toward me as though it’ll help emphasize what she’s already said. Her eyes widen, those blue lakes staring up at me beneath dark lashes. Her fingers have slipped apart and fall against her dress near her thighs, tugging at the loose material.

  “I get it. You’re having a kid. Why you tellin’ me?” Why did she come all the way up this mountain to give me this news? I don’t want kids. The thought isn’t entirely true. Someday. Maybe.

  Those sapphire eyes narrow, and my crossed arms unfold, hands slipping into my pants pockets.

  “Who’s the lucky guy?” I mock, holding her gaze. Her slit eyes sparkle under the sunshine of a fall day. She tilts her head, mocking me in return, with an expression that reads: Do I need to spell this out for you?

  “Wait a minute.” My tongue grows thick, and my mouth dries. The slow curl of her lip tells me I’m finally seeing a light I don’t want turned on.

  “I’m having a baby,” she says again, leaning away from me on this repetition, speaking more slowly as the words sink in.

  “Say it,” I demand. “I want to hear it. Say the words.”

  “We’re having a baby. You’re the father.”

  Both my hands fly to the back of my head, and I exhale a deep breath. I slowly turn my back on her before circling around to face her again. When I look at her, her forehead furrows, and her lower lip quivers.

  “How do you know it’s mine?” I have to ask, but the way her expression falls, it’s like an arrow through my own heart. I’ve hurt her with the question.

  “I told you, I’ve never done what we did before.” Her voice lowers again, and her eyes drop from my face. She had told me that night that she’d never gone skinny-dipping. She’d also never been camping, hiking, or built a fire. The weekend away was meant to give her perspective. That’s when I told her she didn’t have to tell me her life details. We hadn’t used a condom, which was so stupid on my part, but she told me she was on the pill.

  “I thought—” I point to her lower region, not accusing her of tricking me, but I want to understand what happened here.

  “I’m in that two percent, I guess, when it didn’t work.”

  I stare at her, uncertain what she means.

  “I’m not asking you for anything,” she continues. “You don’t need to be involved. I just thought . . . maybe . . . you’d want to know.”

  We’re having a baby.

  You’re the father.

  I’m going to be a dad.

  “I take responsibility for my actions.” I always have. Getting caught with Dolores Chance in my bed at eighteen. Fooling around with girls in the trophy room. Buying a motorcycle against my dad’s wishes. Joining SAR when the family wanted me to work at the brewing company.

  Her head tilts again. “Well, don’t do me any favors. I don’t need you stepping up out of some misplaced obligation. I just thought you should know. That’s it.” Fisted hands pop to her hips, one of which she juts to the side.

  She’s so freaking cute. I can’t help myself. I reach for her face and lower to kiss her. She stills a second before melting under the attention of my lips against hers. I give her a taste of what I hope she’s been missing as much as I have. While we kiss, my hand slips to her throat, curling around the delicate column, and I stroke my thumb along her jaw. She groans against my mouth, but the vibration under my hand is like a shockwave straight to my dick.

  I pull back, keeping my palm on her skin.

  “I’m James Harrington, by the way,” I say. If she found my place of employment, I’m assuming she knows my full name by now, but I want to be clear.

  “Evelyn Sue Fitzpatrick. Nice to meet you.” She chuckles a bit before her eyes well with tears. Her lower lip trembles while I’m still touching her neck. My hand slips upward, cupping her jaw in the curl of my thumb and forefinger.

  “It’s okay, Peach. We’ll figure this out, okay? If we stick together, we can make it through this. Just give me a minute to process everything. You finally standing before me. The news you just dropped.”

  She nods, but a tear leaks from the corner of her eye, rolling slowly down her cheek. With my other hand, I use my finger to brush away the salty liquid.

  “Why’re you cryin’, baby?” I softly question, concerned she hates being pregnant, and by me, no less.

  “I don’t know. I’m an emotional wreck lately. I’m just relieved to finally find you and tell you, and I’m strangely happy.” Her voice lowers on the last sentiment, and her eyes try to drop from mine, but
I slip my hand farther upward, forcing her to lift her chin and return her gaze to me.

  “I’m happy, too,” I tell her, finding I immediately mean what I’ve said. I promised her I’d never lie, and I’m not. “I’m happy you found me, Peach.”

  I lean forward for another kiss, loving how her body leans toward mine, curling into me. Her hands come to my biceps to steady her, and then she slips them up to my neck, slipping her fingertips into the fine hairs at my nape. I release her lips but pull her against me, holding her tightly to my chest. It’s rare I hug a woman—really embrace them like I am her—but Evie feels right in my arms.

  “I’m scared,” she whispers. I nuzzle into her pretty neck and kiss the side of it.

  “I’ll be a rock for both of us.” Holding her in my arms, feeling her relax against me, I believe myself. I’ll be the strength we both need.

  It’s strange, the sudden feelings I have for her. She’s a part of me I hadn’t known I was missing. I’d felt out of sorts since her disappearance, though, and now I felt differently, perhaps better with the rightness of her in my arms. There’s a hammering in my chest. There’s a rush through my body. I’m so grateful she’s standing before me. She returned to me.

  And we’re having a baby.

  And I’m going to be a father.

  And I might be in love with a woman I hardly know.

  + + +

  “Another,” I shout out to Bear Grady. It’s the night after that powerful kiss in her hotel room, and I can’t get the new memories out of my head.

  Divorce. Someone else. Her mouth on mine. Her mouth on his.

  I walked out of the room as soon as I realized she hadn’t told him the truth.

  She was still married to me. She was still my wife.

  I’m at Ridged Edge again, where Bear is playing bartender. This is the lesser of the two evils the club owns. Our clubhouse bar, Devil’s Den, isn’t for the faint of heart. It’s also private property. As Evie witnessed the other night, anything can happen in the open space—and does. Ridged Edge is more a mix of diehard locals, faithful to a classic bar, not that trendy place my brother Billy owns.