Chapter 8
eight
DARCY
My stomach is doing somersaults as I claim a spot in the middle of the parking lot at White Dog’s office. Despite the morning chaos, I’m early. It’s nothing short of a miracle after the way I tossed and turned last night. Waking up half an hour late is not the best start to my working mom era.
At least I don’t feel too guilty leaving Owen at daycare. He’s perfectly content in Eleanor’s arms, large eyes searching around the new room while the big kids run underfoot. The poor kid is probably ready for a break from me after this weekend. I was on edge the entire time, waiting for Seth to materialize, fresh out of the slammer. I didn’t hear a peep from him. Who did I see? Dane of course. As if the memory of our kiss wasn’t already haunting me—the way his eyes looked hooded with lust for me, the touch of his lips against mine, and God, his smell. It’s all man and leather and soap. It’s enough to make a woman want to tear off her clothes and throw herself at a man. I thought of it often as Dane’s texts went from downright blush worthy to commanding, each new message a taunt.
I can still taste you.
Tell me, Sugar, did you play with yourself after that kiss?
Coming to your place for dinner tonight at five. You know what happens when you say no.
There was no question mark in the last one—It was an order, and one I chose not to take. My stomach dropped when right at supper time on Saturday, the knocking started. I hid like a coward, looking down at the porch from the upstairs window.
Just when I half expected him to pick the lock or wait there all night, I was saved by a phone call. Dane pulled out an old flip-style cell from his cut and spoke with someone for a few minutes before roaring off on his Harley. He stopped in the yard and shot a cocky grin at my perch behind the curtain, letting me know he knew I was inside. That was when I saw it, the challenge in his eyes, and I knew with certainty that the thrill of the hunt encouraged his pursuit of me.
Dinner for two appeared at my doorstep not five minutes later, presumptuously ordered in advance by one determined biker.
A girl only has so much willpower. Especially now that I know how good it feels to be held by him.
The taste of his soft lips.
The way his hair brushes against my face as he leans in not just to press his lips to mine, but to possess me. He didn’t steal a kiss, he claimed my entire being head to toe.
And then he walked off like nothing happened while I was left with jelly knees and a head filled with cotton.
There was zero chance I was letting him in my house after that, no matter how much he texted, or how delicious he looked cleaned up for our date . He’d even put his hair up in a man bun, like he knew it would make my ovaries crawl up my body and slap me.
After Saturday, the text messages stopped, the silence almost deafening. I felt like a pawn waiting for the master to decide his next move.
Maybe Linc found out about our kiss and said something to Dane this weekend. Given the expression on his face when he left the porch, I doubt he just gave up on his own.
I’m not used to this type of attention from men. When I wore the frumpy dress mandated by the church, I walked around completely invisible to the opposite sex, never asked out or hit on. Until Seth anyway. I was wearing Lucy’s clothes when I met him. Now, to be wanted by a man as breathtakingly beautiful as Dane? A man who tracks me down to spend time with him? It’s as tempting to me as the apple was to Eve.
The moment I give in, I’ll fall hard, and lose my heart. Not a smart choice when I’m still cleaning up the ashes of my life from the last relationship. I need to stay focused, not become a mess again.
I was heartbroken when Seth repeatedly neglected our relationship. I kept wondering what I had done wrong, why after such a short marriage had he lost interest? I gave up so much to follow him, and was left alone with no life of my own in a new city. Eventually, I became indifferent to him. Time taught me that I deserved better. I no longer cared if he spent the night playing Xbox, or was gone for days at a time.
Dane though? I can’t imagine becoming that apathetic to him. My reaction to his very being is too primitive. It would crush me seeing him at work every day, ignoring me as he walks past while I’m left with sweaty palms and flushed cheeks.
I have a few moments to spare before I have to walk in, so I let the air conditioner hit my face, trying to ground myself. I’ll avoid him as much as possible. Pretend that my draw to him doesn’t exist. Ignore the instinctive needs he brings out deep inside of me.
I’ve got this. I can do this.
Or I can fake it till I make it.
As I open the door and pivot my body to leave the car, a motorcycle engine breaks through the silence. It’s a matte black Harley with a white emblem..three interlaced triangles. There’s a lot of symbolism and patches in the club, but I’ve only ever seen this one on Dane’s bike. I wonder what it means.
The length of Dane’s hair whips around as he rides, tattooed fingers on the handlebars. His eyes are hidden behind a pair of aviator sunglasses, but once he spots me, his hard expression softens into a grin. The bike moves like it’s an extension of his body as he pulls into the lot and parks right at the back door. I wait, hoping he goes inside so I can avoid him, but Dane waits by his bike.
Great.
He runs his fingers through his long hair to brush it out of his face and pulls off his sunglasses, tucking them into his cut. He lifts an eyebrow in my direction wordlessly asking “Are you coming or what?” Crud. I have zero way inside except directly past him. I may as well get it over with. I get out of the car with my belongings thrown over one shoulder, a much lighter load than usual.
As I close the distance between us, I feel like a lamb headed to slaughter. My eyes are bloodshot from lack of sleep, my last nerve frayed into nothingness, and this fucker? He’s sauntering into work like it’s just another day, looking windswept and sunkissed, not a single thing troubling him. I want to work up a nice indignance at the inequity but fail.
It’s fine. As of today, he’s a co-worker. Linc will set him straight. Dane will be reprimanded and decide I’m not worth it.
It’s hard to convince myself of this as we stand only feet apart. There’s so much determination in him. With his looks and rank in the club, he probably doesn’t get told no a lot.
He approaches me with the stride of a victor and I have a pretty good idea of what he thinks the prize is.
My mouth is dry as cotton when I offer Dane a polite “Good morning.” I flounce past him without meeting his eyes. My olfactory system has zero sense of self-preservation when I catch a whiff of his clean manly scent again. He pulls open the door and then says, “Good morning, Sugar. Sleep well?” He’s so content, knowing he’s ruffling every feather. Well I’m not giving him the satisfaction of confirming it in any way.
And then when he lays his palm gently over my back, I practically trip over my own two feet. Before I can even cry out in shock, Dane catches me with a hand on each hip and sets me upright.
I refuse to look back at him, the embarrassment too much when I lie, “I slept quite well, thank you.”
“I can tell. You look refreshed,” he quips.
Presumptuous much? It can easily be Owen keeping me up.
He leads me through the back door of the office building, straight into the breakroom.
At an oval table, a trio of bikers are laughing. When they spot us, their smiles drop, and chairs scrape across the vinyl floor as they each stand with a formality that isn’t like the MC at all. Am I disturbing something?
I give them an awkward wave and a hello, but no one acknowledges my existence. Instead three sets of eyes swing to Dane, as if looking for direction.
Weird.
“Is everything set up?” Dane asks a blond with an eyebrow piercing.
“Yes, we’re waiting on you before we start.”
“Go ahead and I’ll meet you in the garage in a minute,” Dane interrupts.
It’s a relief when Yogi, one of the old timers I knew from before, strolls in, absentmindedly staring at the ground. He is, by far, the hairiest man I’ve ever seen, and I don’t only mean that beard of his. I’m pretty sure no part of his body has ever seen a razor.
A thick coat of fur covers his arms, left exposed by wearing only a t-shirt under his cut. On hot days he works shirtless, showcasing the dark curly hair covering every inch of his back and chest.
As he clumps along to the refrigerator with his lunch box, we give one another a little wave. “Looks like you’ve lost a little bit of weight there,” I remark.
“Well you know it’s almost hot guy summer,” he jokes, posing in bodybuilder form to best flaunt his dad bod. “Besides, Bobbi Jo is all over me to do this keto shit. She tried feeding me chia seed pudding for breakfast yesterday.”
I make a tsking sound of disapproval. “How horrible. I take it you found someone else to smuggle you muffalettas then?”
“A man needs sustenance damn it!” he declares with a full belly chuckle that I find contagious.
A low feral growl comes from Dane, a warning, and when I catch a glimpse of him, I realize it’s directed at Yogi. He’s furious, teeth clenching, fists tight at his side. “Someone else to smuggle you muffalettas? As in she made you food?” he accuses.
Before Yogi can speak I answer, “Well, I guess technically, but I didn’t know Bobbi Jo had him on a diet at the time.” The round sandwich, made thick with cuts of cured Italian meats, is far from healthy for anyone. It's hardly something he should go into a dander over.
“Aren’t you behind on rebuilding the engine for that Ford?” Dane snaps, his narrowed eyed gaze focusing on Yogi.
“Eh, I’ll finish it up by this afternoon. It’s no sweat.”
“Why don’t you go get started on that?” Dane says through gritted teeth.
Gesturing to the empty coffee cup he’s just picked up off the counter, Yogi says in an outraged tone, “I need to fuel up first. Can’t work worth a shit without at least two cups.”
With a low rumble of displeasure, Dane’s intense stare breaks from Yogi. His jaw is tense as he reaches for my hand, and starts dragging me toward the entryway.
“What are you doing?” I squeal.
“Taking you to get started on your orientation,” he snaps.
“I didn’t realize we were in such a rush.”
“We’re way behind getting the office organized,” Dane insists, as if any biker ever has been worried about time management. The only paperwork they care about is payroll.
With a hefty pull on the interior door that leads into the main office, Dane holds it open for me with his large booted foot, gesturing for me to go first with his free hand.
Right before we pass out of his view, Yogi calls out, “Hey, Darcy!”
I plant my feet, determined to not be taken away, ignoring the impatient huff from Dane as I look back toward Yogi and answer, “Yeah?”
“It’s good to have you back, girl,” he answers with such frankness it makes my heart ache.
“It’s good to be back,” I answer honestly. As Dane impatiently shifts his pull from my hand to an arm hooked around my waist, I’m escorted away, and toward the office that I know now belongs to Lucy. The former HR manager had been here for over twenty years. She must have retired.
As Dane drags me past an open area that houses neat rows of desks, I chance a glimpse of the one I once occupied, a relic from the nineteen eighties. My spider plant is gone, a Nate Coleman bobblehead in its place. It’s my fault for leaving it in the first place. The plant and the desk.
Dane stops his march when we’re directly in front of Lucy’s office. “Meet me back here in an hour. If you don’t remember how to order parts, make sure she shows you,” he says impatiently.
The pad of his thumb brushes against my waist and his gaze softens. Leaning in, his lips brush against my ear, “It is nice to have you finally home.”
His hands drop from around my waist and he pulls in a long thoughtful breath before marching back the way he came.
I may have wondered about his choice of words, calling White Dog home, but that’s exactly what it feels like.
My coworkers didn’t blink an eye when I started to come out of my shell. They were the first people that got to know the real Darcy and accepted me for who I was.
From the open doorway, I catch Lucy with her focus on the monitor. Not for the first time, I worry that she hates me for leaving.
I don’t know how to tell her that, at the time, I was terrified my father would bring me back. He proudly admits being one of the men who helped look for Julie Castleman after she ran away from home, having been caught making out with another woman. She was found at a homeless shelter for teens in New Orleans, and sent to one of those Christian conversion therapy centers. That was after she was forced to spend an entire day repenting her sins on the altar, surrounded by the women of the church.
It’s not a fear I have anymore. I’m sure my father wants me, my jailbird husband, and my questions about my missing savings account far, far away. Too bad for him my husband got us run out of Houston and we had nowhere else to go.
Butterflies dance in my stomach as I rap politely and call out, “Hey, Luce.”
Warm hazel eyes immediately swing my way. “About time you showed your face around here!” She pulls out her chair and meets me halfway in the room. “Why didn’t you call to tell me you were leaving like that?”
“It’s good to see you again.” No reason to tell her I ditched my phone without thinking of the contacts…so that my father couldn’t use it to track me.
“Well, you’re here now, and a manager too,” she says bubbly, pulling me into an embrace. It’s good to be touched again with true affection. Seth’s touch was always sexual and never loving. I haven’t had a real hug since Yolanda saw me off for maternity leave. As I break off the embrace, something catches onto my sleeve. As Lucy untangles herself and pulls her hand away, I look down to see what snagged, and find a small diamond sparkling on Lucy’s left finger.
“You got engaged?” I ask, perplexed. When I left town, Lucy was going through a man-hating phase. Time marches on and all that I guess.
“To Eli,” she admits with a sly smile.
I take a long, hard blink. Eli was what she called her “dick date.” Lucy was too bitter to want anything serious. The nature of their situationship? Satisfying sex on a mutually agreed upon schedule. Now they’re engaged?
“You have got to tell me how this happened.”
“After baby pictures,” she insists. “What did you name the baby?”
I’m not surprised she knows I have a son. There are ten thousand ways to find out in this small community. I smile and pull out a picture of Owen taken this morning, his first full day of daycare.
The thing about friends? When life causes neglect, you can slip right back into it as easily as Lucy and I do. Instead of W-2 forms and reviewing company policies, my friend and I catch up for the next hour.
Strangely enough, she doesn’t ask about Seth. When I left, all she knew was that I was seeing him from time to time on the sly. I didn’t tell her more, not wanting to give my father a way to find us.
“Are you invited to the thing Tuesday night?” Lucy asks in a hushed tone.
I scrunch my face in confusion. “I must not be since I don’t know about it,” I finish with an awkward laugh.
Just as I’m leaning over to examine the lace detailing of a wedding dress Lucy likes, I sense eyes on me in the doorway. I know it’s Dane without looking backward.
“You’re late,” he says. His body seems to take up the entire doorway, his arms loose at his side, broad shoulders set with agitation.
“Sorry, we lost track of time,” Lucy apologizes. Glancing at the clock on the computer, I notice that precisely one hour and three minutes have passed. In biker time, that’s ahead of schedule. Suddenly we’re running with military efficiency here?
Dane doesn’t spare her a flicker of his attention. That is solely on me. “Grab your shit. I need to take you to your desk.”
After gathering all my stuff, I pull down the cotton dress I wore to help stay cool on the already warm March day.
Dane glares at the bags I’m carrying and reaches out to grab my pump, slinging it over his shoulder.
We walk side by side out the front door. I reach for my sunglasses from my purse and toss them on my face, wanting to hide as much from him as possible.
“Is Linc okay? It’s not like him to miss a day of work.”
At the edge of the street, his eyes are fixed toward oncoming traffic.
“Linc’s fine,” is his entire answer, not giving away any of the information I was seeking.
Like, when is he coming back?
Why isn’t he here to defend me from his V.P.?
“And your father?” I ask politely. If Dane’s the vice president now, it means Solomon gave up the honor for some reason.
“He was here the other day wolfing down Presh’s cinnamon rolls,” he answers in a disinterested tone.
Such a conversationalist. Unless, of course, I want him to be quiet. Dane rests a hand on the small of my back as he guides me across the street. The second I have two feet on the sidewalk, I sidestep beyond his reach.
Dane’s eyes twinkle with amusement.
“Did Folgers set up my computer yet?”
His smiling eyes quickly dim, “Is there anybody you don’t know?”
“Umm, I didn’t know two of the guys the other night, I haven’t met Gris-Gris.”
His eyebrows are pulled down, nostrils flared. Uh oh. “Where did you even hear his name?”
“One of the prospects joked about sending him after a customer that refused to pay for a tow.”
“Which prospect?” he demands.
“I don’t remember his name,” I answer vaguely. The side of my lips twitch in amusement when I add, “You know, I think it was the one Linc booted out for flirting with the blonde in accounting.” Judging by how quickly Dane’s expression morphs into amusement, it’s safe to say my lightly masked threat doesn’t hit home.
Dane swings open the door, where the new White Dog Auto Supply logo and hours are marked. I used to think the guys look for places to mark with their emblem out of pride. Now I know the white howling Loup-Garou serves as a warning. Beware all who enter here: The proprietors don’t mess around.
I pull off my sunglasses to get a better view, but I barely have a chance to look around before Dane grabs my hand and drags me through the metal door that Band-Aid appeared from the last time I was here.
I’d be more nervous, but we’re not alone. Employees are milling around stocking shelves and assembling peg boards wearing work polos. Civilian employees, like me. A man in a cut I’ve never met before gives Dane a chin lift in greeting. “Where are we going?” I ask in a panicked voice.
“Taking you to see your new office.” His tone is matter-of-fact, but it doesn’t hide the danger under the surface.
“I thought you were going to give me a tour?”
“Office first. There’s urgent business to take care of.”
Dane leads us into a hallway lit by fluorescent lighting. At the first entrance, he wrenches open the door and drags me in. With a flick of the light, two desks appear along opposite walls. One is hopelessly cluttered with paperwork and car parts wrapped in clear plastic packaging. A biker must have been handling my job while they looked for someone. I’ve never seen anyone more opposed to office jobs than the guys in the MC. My heart sputters at being completely alone with Dane. Goosebumps pebble my skin, a primitive warning of impending danger.
I drift over to the other desk, eager to create space between us. After placing my bags on the floor next to it, I pull out the plush office chair that’s tucked under the desk. “Looks like I have a lot of work to do,” I stammer.
The click of the door lock sends my head jerking in that direction. I walked right into the lion's den. Dane prowls toward me, his eyes alight with hunger. I ball my shaking hands at my side to steady them. Whatever pheromones he’s throwing off are supercharged. An unfair advantage, if you ask me.
Panic surges through my veins as he nears. I swallow nervously and turn to face him head-on. His hands wrap around my hips with such practiced movements that it should have been a red flag. But isn’t everything about him a delicious shade of crimson, drawing me to him like a moth to a flickering flame?
Dane makes me too weak at the knees. He makes me imagine things that will never be. He makes me forget, if even for a split second, what I’m risking if I allow myself to give in. I didn’t sleep with Seth until we were married, the one single thing in my background that stuck. None of that is even the slightest bit relevant with Dane's hands on me.
Surrendering doesn’t feel like failure when his touch feels this right. He’s going to destroy me. The worst part? I’m going to enjoy it.