Hidden Heat (Brothers of Mayhem #1) Page 2

  Guessing she would learn the hard way, he kissed her. Admittedly, he’d wanted to do that since the first time his gaze ate her up. All round curves in the right places, she looked like a sex doll come to life. He’d tried to stay away from her, but this opportunity was too good to pass up.

  For a split second, she pushed against his chest and then her arms slid around his neck. He cupped her full breasts and pinched her nipples. She groaned in his mouth. Without wasting time, he pulled at her tee, twisting it slightly, and pressed her back against the wall. His hand ran across her stomach, flipping the snap open on her jeans with his thumb. She smelled so good, a mixture of healthy woman and a hint of flowers. Her mussed hair from earlier was no match for his fingers running through the soft strands again. She groaned and arched into him. Damn, she was deliciously responsive.

  His willpower neared the breaking point and he let her go. He walked stiff legged to the door and peeked out. All clear. One deep intake of musty air, he braced for what he’d see. Rumpled and dazed, she appeared well fucked. He bit the inside of his mouth to stop from groaning in regret. What he’d give for it to be true.

  “Come on.” He held out his hand. “Better leave now or I’ll finish what I started.”

  She shook her head and hid her hands behind her back.

  “Why are you helping me?”

  “The hell I know,” he snapped. That was a lie. Anything he said would only lead to more questions he couldn’t answer.

  Another shake of her head. She appeared stuck to the floor. Was she trying to clear her head or protest his option? Before she decided to cause more trouble, he clasped her arm. She winced, and he eased off a little.

  Damn, last thing I need to do is leave bruises.

  Tugging her out of the door, he headed toward the barroom. When she placed her hand over his and looked into his eyes, he loosened his grip a little more. Then she matched his stride.

  Everyone stared. Two old men playing cards near the door chuckled and returned to their game.

  Showtime. He hoped she’d play along.

  “Next time, call me.” He lightly slapped her ass. “I’ll tell you when I can visit and help with your problem,” he said, loud enough for everyone to hear.

  She blinked and glanced around before nodding.

  Slightly amused by the lost-little-girl look on her face, he lifted her chin with a finger and kissed her again. He sank into it wholeheartedly without any other motive but to enjoy her taste. Her lips parted without hesitation. Her tongue darted into his mouth, and he almost came in his jeans. Damn. Why hadn’t he shoved her out the door faster?

  The room burst out in applause, wolf whistles, and several obscene suggestions.

  Regaining control, he ended the kiss and propelled her toward the door. “See you later, sweet cheeks.” His hand smacked her ass one last time. It felt so good.

  He watched her move like a zombie down the sidewalk to the parked cars. She looked back. He grinned at her angry, confused look. She jerked around and sashayed to her old beat-up sedan. That livened her up.

  He liked that he stirred her up in every direction, from hormones to indignation. She needed something else to think about besides the whereabouts of a rebellious brother. That would likely get her into trouble.

  As she stalked by, several Brothers hanging near the front porch checked her out and then glanced back to where he stood. One burly fellow gave a thumbs-up.

  Curses filled the air. She struggled with opening the car door, and it opened with a loud metal squeak. The joints definitely needed oiling.

  How did that piece of shit hold together? She needed a better ride, something safe.

  Who was he to worry about that?

  He turned back to the barroom and caught the expression on Stonewall’s face.

  Well, hell. Thorn didn’t like that smile one bit. Meant nothing but trouble.

  What in the hell had he gotten them into? How was he going to protect her and himself?

  Chapter 2

  What the hell just happened? Not only had the bartender kissed her, but she let him rub, pinch, slap, and turn her on. He’d taken advantage of her confusion. Everyone believed they’d hooked up.

  She grimaced.

  No way would she be a biker’s plaything again. They treated their women like possessions and lived a life of self-absorbed destruction. Oh, yes, she knew all about it. How could she not, between her parents and her own stupidity at sixteen? Yet, she’d worked hard the last five years at doing the right things. Good girls do not hang around motorcycle-gang members.

  When she was a kid, her dad had not only been a Brother, but the Skull and president, like Stonewall. She remembered how her mother’s life hadn’t been easy. The old man called her names and beat her when he’d been drinking or high on meth. That was most of the time. One night, at thirteen, Cassidy had covered her ears trying to block out their screaming match as it escalated. Then she’d heard a thump in the bedroom next to hers and Storm’s, and all grew quiet. When daylight came around, she’d been told her mom had run away with a biker from another club.

  No. She refused to be anyone’s punching bag or whore.

  Cassidy glared at the closed bar door.

  It didn’t matter how much she wanted the tall bartender.

  She swallowed and tears welled up again. What was the matter with her? Getting all emotional over the stupidest stuff. She needed Storm home; that was all. She didn’t care about the Brother with the kind eyes.

  Her trembling fingers scrambled for the keys in her backpack purse. She turned the key in the ignition.

  Rat-a-tat-tat.

  No. No. No!

  Even with a prayer on her lips, the grinding continued. She slammed her hands down on the steering wheel. The very last thing she needed. She’d walk home before going back inside to ask to borrow a phone. Hers sat on the nightstand in her bedroom, without any minutes left. How could she even fix her car, for that matter? Her next paycheck from the little convenience store that employed her as a cashier wasn’t due for another week. She depended on her brother to keep the old Buick running. He had a talent for fixing all things mechanical.

  Leaning her forehead on the wheel, she closed her eyes. Maybe an idea would come to her if she relaxed and waited.

  Several minutes passed before she straightened up. The hot, humid air clung to her skin, and had her reaching for the window button. The glass didn’t move. She rubbed her eyes. She needed to find a way to roll it down. Early May in the South was usually not too warm, but the sun radiating through the glass had heated the interior of the car.

  Her gaze moved over the hood of the car and the surrounding area. Her eyes widened and her heart skipped a beat when she saw the man leaning against the bar’s outside wall. He inhaled on a cigarette and continued to watch her. Thorn. That was what Stonewall called him.

  His eyes squinted against the bright sun. Showing no sign of embarrassment at being caught staring, he remained there, one foot flat against the brick and a thumb hooked on a belt loop as he took another long draw. Silver rings on long fingers glistened in the sun. How long had he been there?

  With a flick of his finger, the cigarette stub sailed over the hood to the asphalt parking lot.

  Please go away.

  She looked away, dread filling her. She really didn’t want to see pity in his eyes. He’d acted all helpful earlier, but she sensed he felt sorry for her. A knock on the glass next to her ear caused her to jump. How did she miss seeing him move? Goodness, she was tired.

  He made a twirling motion with his hand. Biting off a groan, she opened the door.

  Voice deep and underlined with humor, he said, “I wanted to make sure you’re okay.” One hand on the door and the other on the top, he ducked his head into the opening. “Got a problem?”

  The cooling wind rushed in, bringing the smell of cigarette smoke and warm leather and male. Her breath caught, savoring the scent she remembered from earlier.

  Confu
sed by her reaction to his nearness—he was a biker after all—she lifted her chin.

  Really, did he have to crowd her space? Refusing to back away, she held her ground. “I’m fine. Just getting my thoughts together before going home.” Why was she acting so silly? Tell him. The man could help.

  They stared at each other for a moment.

  He mumbled.

  “What?” She saw his mouth move, but there was something about him that deadened her brain.

  “Pop the hood. Pull the handle to open it,” he said in a resigned tone.

  “Umm.” She looked around the dash, having no idea where it was. Storm always handled it. When he had time.

  “Don’t start that with me again.” He grinned, his killer smile saying he thought she was joking, pretending to not know the latch’s location. He walked around to the front and waited.

  Her face flushed in embarrassment.

  He crossed his arms and lifted his eyebrows. Giving up, she searched farther down and found a familiar small drawing imprinted on a lever. She pulled. The hood clicked and popped open an inch. He unhooked it and pushed it up.

  She could see his hands in the space below the hood. He wiggled the cables on the battery and then he drew out the oil stick. She heard a chuckle.

  “Turn the ignition!” He slapped the fender of the car to get her attention.

  Hoping whatever he’d done would work, she did it without hesitation. The grinding noise turned to clicking. Her face grew hotter than it had from the warm interior. Why letting him know about her car troubles bothered her so much she wasn’t sure. She only knew she’d rather not owe this man more than she did. First, he saved her from whatever Stonewall would’ve done, and now he wanted to help her with her car. Who knew what he would expect in return. All Brothers of Mayhem expected to be paid for any kindness they performed.

  He closed the hood and came back to the open door.

  “You need a battery and an oil change. Badly.” His dark eyes glowered at her.

  Ignoring his condemnation, she asked, “How much does a battery cost?”

  He gave her a range, and she felt her stomach drop. “That much?”

  “Lock up your car. I’ll take you to the store.”

  Why had her heartbeat picked up with that thought?

  “Don’t bother. I can walk,” she said, short of breath.

  At this rate, she would owe him her firstborn. Looking down at her lap, she crossed her eyes in frustration. Who was she kidding? He could so easily sway her into experimenting on that deal. She better get away, quick.

  “Not a problem. Lock it up and come on.” He strolled over to a beautiful Harley parked near the back fence. She wondered how many stolen parts were on the bike.

  Sure, he was being nice. Sure, she wanted to go along with anything he said. He did ooze danger and sex. Sure, she could become involved with a club member and feel miserable the rest of her life like her mother. Oh, hell no!

  “Hey! Are you okay?” He flashed a grin. “Are you afraid of riding a motorcycle?”

  “Very funny,” she muttered. She’d ridden her first bike at two. “No. I’m coming.”

  Her shoulders slumped. When had she decided to give in?

  She slung her small backpack-style purse over her shoulders and shrugged on the straps, closed and locked the door. It seemed pointless. Who would want to steal the piece of junk?

  When she reached the bike, he handed her a full helmet. The one he wore advertised that he belonged to the Brothers of Mayhem. How did he know he’d need another one? Before she asked, he patted the seat behind him. It was so not enough room, unless she squeezed up to his hips and draped herself across his back.

  “Really?” She looked at him from beneath her eyelashes. Biting on her broken fingernail, she didn’t budge.

  “I thought you said you’re not afraid.”

  “I’m not.” She nodded to the seat. “I’ll fall off the back.” Only wrapping her arms around him would prevent that and she sure didn’t want to touch him. At least that was what she kept telling herself.

  “Trust me, you won’t.” The little devilish grin he gave her almost sent her running.

  The man’s charm was lethal. Bracing herself for a second, she took a deep breath and swung her leg over. No need for her to try to grip the edge of the seat in a feeble effort not to touch him. She would have to hold on to the belt loops on his jeans to keep her balance and keep the bike steady, especially on sharp curves. One thing was for sure. Alabama had a lot of curves.

  Bad enough her thighs spread wide enough for her crotch to cup his ass. She knew once they started moving, every bump and jar on the road would bring its own hell.

  One hand gripped a loop on the side of his hips. Her other hand rested on his upper bicep for a few seconds as she scooted closer, hating how his heat seeped between her legs. The hard muscles beneath her fingers shifted. Oh, my, he felt wonderful.

  Her hand moved to the other loop. She swallowed and closed her eyes for a moment, trying to regain her composure.

  Good thing she hadn’t even contemplated wrapping her arms around his waist. She’d be doomed.

  But it was so tempting. Too long since she’d gotten laid, that was her problem. She needed to remedy that. Just not with a member of the Brothers.

  He started the engine and didn’t move.

  “What are you waiting for?” She knew the answer. Scrunching her nose, she prayed she was wrong.

  “We’re not moving until you place your arms around me.” That deep voice brooked no argument.

  “I’ll be fine holding on to the loops.”

  “You’re not strong enough to hold on that way. Hell, you might tear my jeans off that way. It’s safer for you to lean against me and clasp your hands over my stomach,” he said, without any hint of duplicity.

  She struggled not to imagine them riding down the road with him only in his underwear. If he wore any.

  She took a few deep breaths to steel herself for what she would have to do. Without a doubt, she was going to regret it. Yet the best way to hurry and get back and start looking for her brother again was to get that battery.

  “Okay. First take me by my foster parents’ house.” She looked at how his leather vest stretched across broad shoulders and her mouth became dry. “I don’t get paid until the end of the next week, and I need to borrow some money.”

  “I’ll pay for it.”

  “No!” Panic swept in with the thought of owing him money on top of everything else. Why must he be so nice? He hadn’t acted that way in the bar, except for the kissing and comforting her when she cried. Maybe he was nice, but what did he want? She rolled her eyes at that thought. Like she didn’t know. In his dreams.

  He twisted to face her. His eyes narrowed as he sucked in his lower lip and studied her for a moment. Damn, that was hot! With a nod he said, “Then let me know where they live.”

  It was a strange feeling to have a Mayhem Brother not argue with her. They weren’t known for their generosity.

  Sex. Remember, he was only being nice for sex.

  “They live a few miles across I-65, before you enter Marytown.” She gave him the address and tightened the helmet beneath her chin as he checked out the location on his phone. No sooner had she placed her hands around his waist and clutched them over his chest, than he clasped her knees and pulled her tighter to his hips and moved her hold to his stomach. Oh, my God. He felt perfect there. His muscles moved as he arranged his seating and prepared the bike to go. Unable to resist the temptation, she pressed her breasts hard to his warm back. Mercy!

  She must’ve made a sound as he chuckled and started the motor. Then they were on their way.

  As the bar became smaller behind her, it dawned on her: How was she going to explain the biker to Janet?

  Or worse, to Mitch?

  —

  With a subtle maneuver, Thorn shifted his semi-hard dick to one side.

  Fire scorched his back. Her breasts pressed b
elow his shoulder blades and her thighs clasped his hips. When he pushed her hands down to his stomach, he almost embarrassed himself. He definitely loved punishing himself.

  A sharp curve on the road had him slowing down. He was about to shout for her to lean with him, but she followed his lead without a word. A few more turns and they moved together as if they were dancing to the sound of the wind and the rumble of his bike.

  Less than ten minutes later, he pulled up to her foster parents’ house. Not a moment too soon. Jesus! He ached with a bad case of blue balls.

  “You were going to walk this far?” Did she not have any idea how dangerous it would be to cross the interstate on foot?

  He pulled off his helmet and took hers, hooking them on the handlebars, trying his best to wait before moving more than needed.

  “No. This is my foster parents’ house. I live a couple miles behind the bar and planned to ask a neighbor for a ride.” She shook her head as she dismounted. “No need to walk me to the door.”

  “They might not be at home.” He frowned when she didn’t move forward. “I said I would help you get a battery.” When she turned away, he trailed behind her. She stopped, and he sidestepped, barely preventing a collision. His condition had improved considerably, but he worried if he touched her, he’d be in the same state pretty damn quick.

  “Stay here.” Her forehead wrinkled in annoyance.

  “What? Are you ashamed of me?” Hands spread out, he grinned. The funny expression that appeared on her face took him aback. “You are,” he said bemused, eyebrows raised. For some reason, the way she handled herself in the bar and on the bike, he didn’t expect her to be a snob.

  “No. You don’t understand.” She nervously looked over her shoulder and sighed.

  “Hey, sweetheart. Who do you have there?” An older woman, thin as a pool stick, stood in the middle of the short driveway.

  The two women hugged, and Cassidy whispered into the older woman’s ear. Then she let go and turned. “Thorn, this is my foster mom, Janet.”

  “Janet, nice to meet you.” Thorn nodded her way.

  The older woman eyed him with undisguised interest. What had Cassidy whispered in the older woman’s ear? When she eyed his club colors—his vest—her back stiffened, though the smile remained. She probably wondered what straight-as-an-arrow Cassidy was doing with a Brothers of Mayhem member. No way could he hide it, as the patches on his leather vest proclaimed loud and clear his part in the notorious MC.