Silver Biker: The Silver Foxes of Blue Ridge Page 8

  The lake is calm tonight. Not many people boating, if at all this late in the season. The water is cold year-round, which is refreshing near the Fourth of July but not so much in mid-September.

  “Why’d you tell your parents I left you?”

  “Who told you that?” I question.

  “I went to see your mother. She’s upset that I left you in your darkest hour.”

  What the fuck? “Evie, ignore them. I do.” She knows I took my parents in small doses as it was, especially my mother, and I don’t have any contact with them now even if we do live within twenty miles of each other.

  “But why would you let them believe that?”

  “What does it matter?” Does it make a difference whether I asked her to go or she went on her own? We were having a rough time, a private time. No one felt our child’s loss like we did, and even then, I experienced it differently than Evie. I had to because I was present when it happened.

  Evie shrugs, but she clarifies, “They were my family too.”

  We’re quiet a second as I let that sink in. Evie didn’t have great parents as far as I was concerned. They never approved of me, of us.

  “So, Giant’s getting married,” she states, interrupting my recall of the people who nearly cast her aside because of me.

  “Yep.” I squint out at the lake.

  “And Charlie’s married, too.”

  “Yep.”

  I feel her eyes on the side of my face.

  “You said you wanted to chat, but why haven’t you told me these things?”

  My mouth opens to remind her she hadn’t called this year, but Charlie’s wedding had been after Giant’s engagement, and both happened after May.

  “Guess I don’t have much to say about them.” I sit forward, drawing my knees up and wrapping my arms loosely around them. I can’t sit like this for long, but I need to do something with my hands.

  “Because you hate the idea of marriage.”

  “I never said that,” I snap, turning to face her. She’s right next to me, so in this position, my knee sticks above her thigh.

  “Just don’t want to be married to me,” she mutters, looking out at the lake herself. Once upon a time, we had a huge fight where I told her I’d never wanted to get married to anyone. Of course, then I met her, proved myself a liar in that matter, and the rest is our history.

  “I didn’t say that either,” I scoff, wanting to remind her that she’s the one wanting a divorce and not wearing my ring.

  Instead, I stay quiet, and the silence surrounds us another few seconds.

  “Tell me something,” I ask. “You sleeping with him?”

  Her head snaps back to me. “I’m not doing this with you.”

  “Just tell me.” I’d swear I could handle it, but that’d be a goddamn lie.

  “I’m not talking about Dalton with you.”

  “He why you want a divorce?” I ask.

  She glares at me, narrowing her eyes. “It’s time to move on, James.”

  Not happening.

  “And that house needs to go,” she adds.

  “What the fuck is wrong with our house?” I bark, releasing my legs and twisting to the side, leaning closer to her. My hand lands behind her backside. My attention is fully on her face.

  “He isn’t there,” she whispers.

  “You don’t think I don’t know that?” I growl. One leg bends upward, and I balance my elbow on it, scrubbing a hand down my face to calm myself.

  “He’s in your heart, James. He’s in mine. He’s inked on both our skin.” Evie and I have matching tattoos with our son’s twelve-year-old signature, his birthdate, and a few symbols of things he liked imprinted on us. A baseball. A dragonfly. An illustrated mountain range. “The house is just . . . depressing. It’s only a house.”

  “It was our home,” I remind her, my voice still rough.

  “Not anymore.” Evie’s voice remains low as though she’s speaking to a child or a frightened animal. It pisses me off.

  “I’m not leaving the house,” I tell her.

  “We can make a note of that in the divorce.”

  Fuck. I’m not divorcing her unless . . . “Planning to sleep with me,” I mock, leaning closer to her and whispering the words near her ear. She turns her head, her mouth only an inch from mine. Her eyes drift to my lips.

  “I’m undecided.”

  “That’s halfway between a no and a yes,” I hiss the final word, realizing I’ll take this as she’s considering it again, after telling me this morning it was no longer an option. I thought I’d blown my chance. I just want one night with her.

  “Evelyn, are you fucking him?” I keep my voice low, attempting to downplay the strain of asking such a difficult question.

  “Have you really been innocent yourself?” she counters. Her gaze remains at my mouth, and I lick my lips, watching her eyes spark. It’s getting darker, but my sight is adjusting. The warmth of her nearness tickles my lips. Another second of teasing tension passes. “You aren’t answering my question.”

  Her asking is breathless, and her tits heave.

  “You haven’t answered mine.”

  Her lips twist, and she turns her face away from me, attempting to break the energy humming between us. Still leaning toward her, my hand behind her, I reach across us both and cup her jaw, bringing her attention back to me.

  “I’ll still be the last on your lips,” I warn before bringing hers to mine. I don’t rush as I’ve done the last two times. I keep it tender at first, sucking at her mouth and drawing back until each time I pull away, she follows. This is my hint she wants more. That’s when I open. My tongue invades. My fingers slip into her hair and move to the back of her head, tugging her closer to me. She kisses me back, eager and excited. This is my Evie.

  “There’s my Peach,” I mutter at her mouth before kissing her with everything I have. I want her on my lap, straddling me, riding me, but I’ll take her mouth as a start. Her fingertips find their way to my jaw, scratching over the short stubble. Her head tilts, thus deepening the kiss, and our tongues clash.

  Slowly, we shift. Evie’s moving to her knees, and my arm wraps around her hips. With a hand on her ass, I press at her to climb over me. I remain upright, but she spreads her thighs and nestles into the crook near my dick, which strains for more from inside my jeans. Adjusting myself, Evie lands over my length. The heat of her seeps through the seam of her denim. She rocks her hips, sliding that warmth down my firm shaft, and I hiss.

  “You dripping for me, Peach? You ready for me to spread you open? How about I taste you and see how juicy you are for me?”

  “Jesus,” she mutters, against my mouth as my hand at her hip rocks her over me again.

  “Gonna make us both messy, you keep this up, baby,” I warn her, surprised how close I am so quickly. Evie’s hands rest on my shoulders but her gyrating increases. She presses her forehead to mine, grunting as she works that knot at the seam of her jeans, hitting her just right while she coasts over my zipper region. I’m so fucking hard, and it’s tight in my pants. I want her to release me. I want her to fill her hands with me. I want that mouth swallowing me and . . .

  “Fuck,” I groan, squeezing both her hips, forcing her to rock back and forth faster. Her chin tips up. Her throat exposed to me, I lick her skin until I get to the juncture of her neck and shoulder. My teeth scrape over her at the pleasure point I know so well, and she stills, crying out my name. Her head tosses back like a wild animal, howling at the moon as her fingertips dig into my shoulders. She’s clenching her thighs at my hips, and I swear I’ve never seen anything so beautiful as I come in my own jeans.

  We pant.

  We heave.

  Then she’s crying. A giant sob is my warning before her hand covers her mouth. Wide, frightened eyes meet mine for only a second before she squeezes them shut.

  “No, Evie. Baby, no, don’t cry.” I don’t want her to cry about this. I’ve seen enough of her tears. I don’t want to make
her sad anymore.

  She shakes her head, and I sense her retreating before she physically pulls away from me. Wrapping my arms around her back, I keep her on my lap, and she lowers her forehead for my shoulder.

  “Shh, baby. No tears,” I whisper, my heart tearing into strips like a love letter headed for the trash. She cries harder. Her body trembles. I tug her tighter to me, and she finally gives in, wrapping her arms around my neck and holding onto me with equal strength. Wetness coats my skin.

  “That’s it, baby. Hold onto me.” My voice cracks on the phrase, and I fight my own sob. I don’t have any tears left. I only have anger and the ache.

  “Let me be your rock,” I say without thinking, and the promise hits me like a boulder.

  I didn’t keep it with her.

  9

  Truth Not Dare

  [Evie]

  Eventually spent between the unexplained orgasm and the downpour of tears, we ride in silence back to the Lodge. James doesn’t pull into a parking spot but rides up to the main entrance. The engine remains running as I swing myself off his motorcycle. The message is clear. He’s dropping me off.

  I don’t know what I expected to happen. Him to hold me all night? Him to make me more unkept promises?

  After tugging off the helmet, I hold it out to him. He doesn’t take it but catches my wrist.

  “Come to a party with me.” The invitation crosses between a plea and a command.

  “I don’t know . . .” I begin, weighing the decision.

  “Just one night.”

  Is that the night where I’ll end up sleeping with him? Will he give me what I want once I do what he asks? Do I really want to divorce him?

  For a myriad of reasons, I know the answer to the last one, but even then, I’m still questioning my decision, which shouldn’t be questioned.

  “I’ll think about it.”

  “I’ll call you tomorrow.” With that statement, my eyes latch onto his. The promise should feel empty, but it wraps around me like a comforting blanket instead.

  “What are we doing?” I whisper.

  “What you asked.” He revs the engine before I can ask what he means. A final weak smile meets me, and then he’s pulling away from me, while I still hold his helmet in my hands.

  Once I enter my room, I lean against the door, banging my head on the panel. How could I be so stupid as to have an orgasm with my husband? I pause a beat on the question and break into a giggle. My hand covers my lips, swollen and raw from kissing him like I haven’t been kissed in years.

  And then, my phone buzzes in my pocket.

  I fumble for it like an eager teenager, thinking it might be James calling me already. Once removed from my pocket, I breathlessly answer.

  “Hello.”

  “Hey, honey.” Dalton chuckles into the phone, knowing the caller ID should have identified him. I hadn’t looked, too excited to consider it was James.

  “Dalton . . . how are you?” It’s been two days since I spoke to him.

  “Busy. What have you been up to? Hanging with your girls?” Dalton knows I once lived in Blue Ridge. He knows I had a son and lost him. I’ve referred to James as my ex-husband because it just seemed easier. However, the more often Dalton asked me out, the more he wore me down, and the deeper the lie became. He thinks I’ve returned here for business, including a visit to Pearl’s, but I haven’t seen Presley yet.

  “Actually, I haven’t seen my friends yet, but we have plans for this weekend.”

  “You’ll be gone that long? I miss you.”

  “I miss you.” My eyes close as I’m caught in half-truths. I do miss him. Of course, I miss him. He’s amazing, and I don’t deserve him. Guilt washes over me and my predicament. “I’m sorry, but I might be here longer than I expected.”

  “Maybe I should come up there?” he offers. His voice drops, and I recognize the seductive turn. Dalton is a bit reserved in his affection. He’s sweet in private, but it’s rare for him to be touchy or vocal in public.

  “You know I’d love that, but I have plans.” I swallow around more lies, although I plan to rectify this one. I hadn’t told Presley I was coming to Blue Ridge, and I need to get us together. I also hope to hit up an estate sale or two this weekend. Dalton is used to me going off for a day to look for hidden treasures in people’s old stuff.

  “When do you think you’ll be back?” he questions.

  “I don’t know,” I say, biting my lip to tamper my tone and the exasperation I feel over my current situation. Also, I’m put off by his asking even though he’s just making conversation. Somehow, I feel backed into a corner, though.

  “Okay,” he drones.

  “I’m sorry. It’s been . . . a long day.”

  “Are you sure you should be there alone?”

  I haven’t been alone, my heart cries, and guilt suffocates me. I’m not being fair to Dalton, but then again, what I’m doing is so I can be free to be with him. If I can let James go, I’ll be open to another man in my life, right? I need to move on. In so many ways, I already have with the return to Savannah, the investment in my business, and the meeting of new people.

  “I’m fine.” The statement makes me cringe as it’s been said too many times in the past six years. Those were James’s words this morning when I asked how he was feeling, but it’s evident he’s anything but fine. He’s stuck like I mentioned to him.

  “Okay. Maybe have a glass of wine. Take a bath. You work too hard.” Dalton’s voice soothes me, and I weakly smile to myself. He really is good to me. The best part about him is he isn’t pressuring me. He’s spelled out what he wants from me—for us—but he isn’t pushing me to make decisions. However, a man can only be patient for so long.

  Strangely, my next thought includes how James would suggest he get me off as a means to relax. He’d talk dirty to me, use his tongue, and bring me to the point of forgetting even my own name. The tension would be gone. The comparison hits me hard as I don’t want to compare two men so different but good in their own right, and James had been a good man once.

  “Evie?” Dalton’s concerned voice interrupts my thoughts.

  “Yeah, I’m still here, but I should let you go. I’m thinking about that bathtub as you mentioned.”

  “Think of me,” he says, catching me off guard.

  “I am,” I say, feeling like it’s the first truth I’ve told him. I am thinking of him and how I need to be divorced before taking the next step with him. I need to be honest with him, but only once I have what I want from James.

  “Okay, honey. Talk soon. I have court again tomorrow and that dinner meeting with Hartford afterward, but I’ll call you when I get home.”

  “Okay. Bye, baby,” I say, and the air stills. I don’t typically call him an endearment. It slipped out as if I’ve forgotten to whom I’m speaking with.

  “Night, honey.” A smile fills his voice while guilt socks me in the gut.

  “Night.”

  After clicking end on the call, I toss the phone on the bed and knock my head against the door one more time.

  How could I have done what I did with James and then come here and talk to Dalton as if nothing happened? Speaking of James, how can I still react to him as I do after six years of separation? It’s like striking a match and poof, I’m aflame, burning hotter than ever for him. There’s something inside me still attracted to him, or maybe it’s just an ache to fulfill something I can’t explain. Perhaps it’s just that I want closure. I want to seal the door on James and his rejection and open the door to a possible new life with Dalton.

  Something is unsettling about that thought, and I press off the door. The bathtub sounds like a good call after all, but first, I need room service with all the wine.

  + + +

  The next day, I have every intention of making it to Pearl’s and seeing Presley, when I notice the new bookstore, BookEnds, and recall learning somewhere that Roxanne McAllister owns it. I open the door and instantly love the rightness of a place t
hat sells books. It’s a corner store with an angled front door, making it quirky from the start. A counter is just inside to the left with a large table and chairs in the front window to the right, surrounded by shelves of books. From where I stand, additional stacks are evenly matched down a singular aisle leading to the back of the store, but I immediately see Roxanne speaking with a dark-haired woman.

  “Evie?” Roxanne questions, approaching me, and the brunette follows. “Letty, this is James’s wife.” From her arched eyebrow, it’s clear she might have just been speaking about me. The tall woman behind Roxanne steps around her and walks right up to me. She doesn’t offer a hand but goes in for a hug.

  A little baffled, I don’t return the embrace as well as I should.

  “It’s so great to meet you finally. I’m Olivet Pierson, but everyone calls me Letty. And soon, everyone will call me Mrs. Harrington.” Letty gazes over her shoulder and smiles at Roxanne, before turning back to me. “Mrs. Giant Harrington.”

  “Oh. Oh my. Congratulations. I’m so excited for you. For both of you.” I pull her back to me for a better embrace, hoping to emphasize my sincerity. I’m so happy for Giant.

  Letty pulls back and smiles wider at me. She isn’t Southern. Her accent gives it away immediately, and I recall learning from Giant his woman was from Chicago. I hadn’t known they were engaged, though, until my present visit.

  “When is the wedding again?” Elaina hadn’t mentioned a date, but I vaguely remember Roxanne had.

  “Friday of next week. We’re getting married in a clearing near a stream. It’s behind Giant’s cabin, up the ridge three miles.” Letty’s still smiling at me, and I’m working hard to keep a grin plastered on my face.

  The ridge. My heart races. The location slams into me, and I smile through gritted teeth. I can’t find words to speak.

  “Giant and I met there, so to speak, and we thought it’d be romantic to get married there.” Letty’s watching me as she tells me this information, and slowly her smile falters.