Chapter Five
Sexteen
“Walmart would have been fine to snag up some cheap gloves.” I addressed this statement of fact to Romeo’s jacket-covered back as he dragged me by the hand out of a glass and chrome elevator to the second floor of one of Chicago’s riverfront shopping malls. “Even grocery stores carry things like that at the checkout counters this time of year. Five bucks and there you go—done deal.”
“Let me guess, that’s where you got your last pair of gloves?”
“I guess. I don’t remember, because gloves aren’t that big of a deal.”
“Says the lady who got frostbite because she didn’t have any.” Slowing down a fraction, Romeo pulled me up alongside him and brought my fingers—now laced with his—up for a close inspection. “These look better since I last saw them. How’re they doing? Back to normal?”
For no reason that I could fathom, my face grew warm. “Mm-hm. All better.”
“Good. I’m going to get you some gloves you’re never going to lose, because the last thing they are is disposable crap that you don’t give a damn about.”
“What on earth are you talking… Oh.” In growing horror I stared at the Harley-Davidson logo over the shop we were heading for. “Romeo, wait. Not there. I hate that shop. Like, seriously hate.”
“Frostbite can leave lingering areas of numbness. I read up on it last night.” He studied my fingers as if he hadn’t heard me, before lifting my hand to brush my fingers with his lips. “You didn’t lose any sensation, did you? Like, can you feel this?”
Oh, man. “Yes. Romeo—”
“What about this?” With his beautiful, sea-colored eyes on mine, he slowly opened his mouth and nipped the tip of my forefinger. “Give me your feedback, Shy. You feeling any of that?”
“Um…” Somehow, we were now inside the ultra-cool, strategically edgy store filled with mood lighting and the masculine scent of leather and danger—a scent that reminded me fiercely of Romeo. Mayday, mayday… “Okay, yeah. I’m feeling that.” In my tingling girlie parts, but whatever.
“Yeah?” He turned and before I knew it, he’d walked me backwards into a space between a display of Harley-Davidson T-shirts and half a motorcycle that looked like it was blasting out of the wall. “One last test, baby. Let me know if this makes you, y’know… feel anything.”
Then he slipped my index finger completely into his mouth to be sucked on and teased by his tongue. I was already a big fan of what that tongue could do. For some reason, though, feeling it caress the pad of my finger made me wish it was stroking along my inner thigh to the channel between my legs, the very same channel that bloomed with an achy wet heat I couldn’t ignore.
“I…” He leaned into me, imprinting the feel of his much bigger body against mine. Despite the winter layers, I swear I felt every bulge and curve of his spectacular frame. “Wow.”
I watched his eyes crinkle with a hint of a wicked smile before he slipped my finger from his mouth. “Wow, what?”
“You made me forget what I was going to say. Something about feeling… something.” I tapered off as he moved on to my middle finger and sucked it into his mouth all the way to where finger met hand. As if we had a sudden mind meld, I knew exactly what he was thinking—that he wanted me in front of him, on my knees and taking his dick into my mouth all the way, until he was down my throat and pumping hard, fucking my face until he blew, and this was his way of getting me to think on that same level.
Neat trick, really. Now I couldn’t think of anything else.
“Hey there, brother, welcome to Harley-Davidson. I know it’s crazy cold out there, but we’ve got the best gear for the road for any kind of weather. You two looking for matching leathers?”
“Gloves,” I managed to croak out, because damn, I was so into the fantasy of taking his cock down my throat I could almost feel it there. “I need gloves.”
“Trying to keep my ol’ lady’s hands warm. Weather like this, a man’s gotta do what a man’s gotta do.” Looking at me for so long I forgot I needed to breathe, he at last glanced at the sales guy who’d been brave enough to approach us. “I’m thinking gauntlets, waterproof, with touchscreen-sensitive pads and sheepskin lining. I’d go for black, but my girl is a goddess in green. Matches those killer bedroom eyes of hers.”
“Or, just knit gloves would be okay,” I offered, trying to take control of the conversation. Then what he said sank in and my gaze jerked to his. “Goddess?”
“Don’t know how else to describe you.” He reached up to close a hand around my hair, then stared at it with a kind of wonder that staggered me. “For weeks I’ve dreamed of getting my hands on this hair, Shy. Taking it down from that tight little bun you always keep it in and letting it flow over me. Caressing me. Feathering across my chest, my stomach, my lap, my—”
“Gloves, seriously. I need gloves.” I turned an over-bright smile on the salesman. Romeo laughed under his breath while heat rolled through me so hard my thighs began to quiver. “Let’s see what you’ve got.”
I thought we could get out of there with a quick glove purchase, but Romeo hadn’t been kidding when he said he wanted to spoil me rotten. I absolutely refused to tell him my sizes on anything, mainly because I hated all things motorcycle world, and that definitely included Harley-Davidson.
That didn’t stop Romeo, though. After a brief discussion, the guy who’d approached us got one of their female employees to come over, who was just about my size and build, and together we did a tour of the store. Without hesitation, Romeo picked out items I would never wear even on a dare—black fishnet tights, a denim skirt no bigger than a placemat, and a skimpy top made out of a bandana, all with the Harley logo stamped somewhere on it.
Holy crap, did people actually wear stuff like this?
At some point I realized my bad attitude wasn’t going to prevent this shopping blitz from happening, and all it did was make me look like an ungrateful jerk. So I allowed myself to relax enough to ask what sort of thing he might want or need from that kind of store. To my surprise, he turned to give me a complex, appraising look that did weird things to my pulse.
“You thinking about me and my needs, Shy girl?”
At first I thought he was talking about sex. After all, he was a man, and an insanely virile man at that. But there was something in his tone that went deeper than sexual innuendo, so I nodded cautiously, unsure of what he was getting at. “Of course. I mean, why wouldn’t I? That’s not weird. Right?”
“Right,” he said faintly, as if his thoughts had already zoomed off a mile down the road from where we now stood. Then his gaze softened before he reached out and touched my cheek, almost like he was testing to see if I was real, before he seemed to force himself to glance at the saleswoman. “We’re hitting the boots next and then the fitting rooms. You can go ahead and take off.”
“Fitting rooms are strictly one person at a time,” she intoned like she’d already said the words a million times before. “She can model the outfits for you out here after she puts everything on. Corporate rules.”
“Rules,” I snorted as the saleswoman vanished back into the heart of the store. “So much for the ‘born to be wild’ way of life. Or maybe I’m wrong and bikers have become meek little rule-slaves since I last checked.”
“When was the last time you checked in on a biker’s way of life?” As he spoke, Romeo led me to the back of the store, where a section of the store had been cut out to display rows of hardcore biker boots in varying heights and steel adornments, but the color was pretty much the same—black leather, as far as the eye could see. “In fact, why do you hate this store?”
“Silly me, I thought you didn’t hear me when I said I hated it.”
“I heard. I just didn’t understand.” As he spoke, we went to the men’s section, where he plucked up a boot that was easily the length of my forearm and knocked on the toe—steel, of course. “Wanna clue me in?”
“Not really.” What was the measurement of my forearm, anyway? Eleven inches? Twelve? And was it true what they said about men and the size of their feet?
Hm.
“That’s not an answer I’m willing to accept, Shy.” Without sitting down, he unlaced the boot he wore and kicked it off, grabbed a box from the shelf and shoved his foot in, then immediately grimaced and kicked it off. “Too small. Grab a size sixteen for me, baby, and then tell me what your deal is with Harley-Davidson. They make good shit that lasts forever. Who doesn’t like that?”
“It’s not the store, or even the brand name. It’s the lifestyle behind HD that I don’t like.”
“Lifestyle? You talking about the biker lifestyle?”
“What other kind of lifestyle is there when it comes to Harley-Davidson?”
He paused to lift a brow at me. “News flash, Shy. I don’t like questions answered with questions. I’m just trying to get to know you, so let me do that, yeah? Let me get to know you.”
Annnd like that, I felt like a churlish jerk. “I just have a problem with the whole over-the-top machismo biker culture, where men are in a never-ending pissing contest, and women should be seen—usually with very little clothes on—but never heard. Women are never thought of as equals. They can’t even become club members or ride their own motorcycles, because apparently all the men’s dicks would fall off if that happened. I know you have a certain affinity for the biker world,” I added, sending him an apologetic glance. “But believe me, there’s nothing glamorous or romantic about it. It’s terrible.”
“Yeah?” He seemed to take his time, putting the rejected boot away. “That sounds like experience talking. Is it?”
I shrugged, suddenly uncomfortable. “I just know what I’m talking about. Not only are actual bikers generally crude and nasty by nature, but the people who are drawn to that lifestyle—and we’re talking about actual, genuine outlaws here—are nothing more than animals who get off on bringing pain to innocent people. I know you’re not like that,” I added quickly when he didn’t respond, “but you have to believe me that it’s not a world that normal people like us would ever want to get a close-up look at.”
“But it sounds like you did get a close-up look at it.”
“I-I did. A long time ago.” I kept my eyes on the shoeboxes so he wouldn’t read the grief and shame in my eyes. “My brother went off to college my senior year in high school and made a friend, who, come to find out, had major ties to one of the most dangerous biker gangs in the country. I didn’t know that, and I know my brother didn’t, because he never would have introduced us otherwise.”
“But he did.”
“Yeah.” I swallowed hard against the old, familiar rise of bile in my throat. “I was eighteen and extremely shy—literally never had a boyfriend and had only gone on a few dates that were painfully awkward. And this guy was so cool and edgy—he rode a motorcycle and had that biker look down, complete with jacket and boots and tattoos. I was such an idiot about boys back then that I thought that sort of thing was swoon-worthy. Stupid, right?”
“Considering the kind of boots I’m here to buy, I don’t think I should answer.”
Ha! “Out of the blue, just after graduation, this guy starts hitting on me hard. Apparently, no longer being a high school student meant that I was grown up to make decisions for myself.”
“Guess he didn’t want to worry about getting a jailbait rap,” he returned, then slid me an appraising look. “Though, I don’t know. You could definitely still pass for jailbait.”
Why did I have the urge to thank him for that? Why? “When he asked me out, I felt so flattered that someone so cool would even look at a wallflower like me. I said yes, and it was the worst mistake of my life.”
He went still and looked at me with such complete focus it was as if the rest of the world had ceased to be for him. “What happened?”
“The worst thing ever.” Ah, there it was. Size sixteen. They did make boots that big after all. “He put me on the back of his bike, which I thought at the time was wildly romantic because I got to hold on to him, and…”
“And?”
I swallowed hard, because this was the most difficult part. Not the torture or the fear, but this moment. The moment when I realized I’d been nothing more than a stupid little lamb who’d voluntarily walked herself right to slaughter. “He took me to this place where his dad worked. Come to find out, the dad worked at the biker’s club, where they were both members. And suddenly, I wasn’t allowed to leave.”
“Shit.” The look on his face startled me, switching from thoughtful to murderous in a blink of an eye. “That should never have happened.”
I thought back to those terrible three days that had ruined so much, and did some quick editing on what had been the worst time in my life. “My point is, it did happen. I was kidnapped by a biker gang, the boy who’d asked me out instigated the whole thing, and it all happened because some higher-up asshole wanted to force my brother into joining them. Ultimately Josh did join them in exchange for my freedom, and that was the last my family and I ever heard from him.”
“What does that even mean? Joining a motorcycle club isn’t like joining the French Foreign Legion, for fuck’s sake. He can call you, see you, whenever he wants.”
“But Josh doesn’t want to see us. He straight-up told me to never contact him again, no doubt because he blames me for ruining his life. Just like my parents blame me for being stupid enough to get kidnapped in the first place.” With a sad sigh, I slid the shoebox off the shelf. “After my dad’s initial explosion over the whole thing, my parents just got all… quiet. Silent condemnation, you know? The kind of silence that screams and screams until you can’t take it anymore. I moved out within days of being returned, and now my parents and I only stay in touch via emails and texts, that sort of thing.”
“Shit, Shy, I’m sorry to hear that.” He seemed to mean it too, as he shook his head and scowled down at the floor. “That never should’ve happened.”
“Well, it did, because that’s what real motorcycle gangs do to innocent, everyday families, Romeo,” I added, offering him a sad little smile. “And that’s why I’m so glad you’re not really a part of that world, because it’s a genuinely bad world to be in. Trust me, you’ve got more than enough bad boy in you to catch my attention. That’s the main reason I tried resisting you for so long. The first moment I laid eyes on you, all I could think was, uh-oh, badass alert. Avoid at all costs.”
“Yeah?” A slow smile bloomed, and I swear he actually flexed, the bastard. “How’d that work out for you?”
“I obviously have a type.” With my gaze bouncing from his face to his pecs I was sure he was still flexing and back again, I couldn’t help but lick my lips. “Anyway, here you go, the boots you wanted in size sexteen. Sixteen.” Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God…
He burst out laughing and reached out. But instead of grabbing the box I held, he grabbed my wrists and pulled me in for a hard, quick kiss. “Jesus, you’re hilarious. I’ve got three guesses what’s on your mind right now, and the first two don’t count.”
“Maybe you’re a mind reader.” And maybe I was an idiot who wanted to see if the myth about the size of a man’s feet was true.
The wildfire that lit his eyes was a beautiful thing to see. “I don’t have to be a mind reader to know when my woman’s in the mood to get her ashes hauled.”
My woman? A breathless laugh escaped me as he bent to put his boot back on, and with a flash of relief I realized my breathlessness came from arousal and anticipation, not fear. “Is that what we’re calling it?”
“I could say you’re in the mood to get fucked while pressed up against the wall in a public space, but I was trying to think of your delicate sensibilities.”
“How sweet of you.” I said it lightly, but I meant every word, because I knew he was telling the truth. Romeo was rough around the edges, no doubt about it, and very much like a biker from that world. But there was a solicitousness about this man that set him apart from those grunting Neanderthals, and I couldn’t get enough of it. As impossible as it seemed, this man cared about me. He liked me, wanted me, and honestly thought about my wellbeing. After being alone for so long with no one giving a damn about whether I lived or died, his desire to pamper me was beyond precious. My heart soaked it up like a sponge, swelling with all that goodness he showered on me until I thought it might explode.
Whether he knew it or not, Romeo was giving me what I really needed on this shopping trip, and it sure as hell wasn’t gloves.
It was everything.
Hugging the clothes he’d picked out for me to my chest, I watched him tuck the big shoebox under his arm before he looped a heavy arm around my shoulders and steered me toward the sign that read FITTING ROOMS.
Don’t freak out, don’t freak out…
But I wasn’t freaking out.
If anything, I was getting seriously turned on.
It was all because of Romeo. This amazing, caring man was so crazy irresistible he even conquered my invisible scars without even trying.
And miracle of miracles, he seemed to want me just as much as I wanted him.
Maybe it’s okay to freak out.
My heart rate quickened as my blood heated, and the intimate folds of my slit began to throb with need. The wet slickness that surged there made it worse, and as the muscles in my lower abdomen clenched in almost frantic anticipation of what was to come, I leaned into his body. Could he feel the tremors of pure, unmitigated lust going through me? I didn’t even recognize myself, wanting someone this badly, but maybe I shouldn’t have been surprised. It had been years since I’d lowered my defenses to even think of getting the hots for anyone, let alone a stunning male specimen like Romeo. Sure, he had a hint of bad-boy biker about him, but since he wasn’t the real deal I could relax my guard and let him in. This felt right, more right than anything had in a long—
“Well, what have we here? Romeo, looking like a civilian and not wearing his colors. Don’t tell me you’ve been excommunicated from that shitty fraudster club already.”
Romeo froze, which made me freeze right along with him. When I started to turn to see who had spoken and caught just a glimpse of a blonde mullet that reminded me of Dog the Bounty Hunter, Romeo’s hand clamped down hard on my head, so my face was practically smashed into the curve of his neck.
“Radar.” The word rumbled from Romeo, and though I couldn’t see the man he addressed, I wouldn’t have been at all surprised if the guy pissed himself just at the sound alone. I’d never heard that tone from Romeo before, a deadly, chilling voice, and I hoped I’d never hear it again. “You fucking perv. I’m not surprised in the least to see you hanging by the fitting rooms. Peeping’s the only way you’d ever get to see any T and A up close and personal.”
A sound that was barely human came from directly behind me, making my skin along my back crawl. “What’s the matter, Romeo? Don’t want to share your latest toy, or are you just hiding behind whatever roadside pussy you’ve picked up like the coward you are?”
It all happened so fast. One second I was clutched against Romeo’s side so hard it was tough to breathe. The next second I was shoved deep into the fitting rooms and into one of the stalls with a gruff “Stay put” order from Romeo before he slammed the door shut on me. Then a hard body landed on the other side of the flimsy, louvred door of the changing room where I’d been thrown.
“Listen to me very carefully, you unbelievable fucking waste of skin.” I clamped a hand over my mouth so I wouldn’t make a shocked sound at the raw violence in the voice that my brain insisted belonged to my sweet and solicitous Romeo. “You’re crossing a line, coming at me out here in the world. You wanna start something with me, fine. I’d fucking love that. But do it like a man, and not like a squeamish little cunt too afraid to roll up on me without civilians around to shield your candy ass.”
“I didn’t roll up on you,” came the teeth-grinding, guttural-sounding reply, the big weight shifting so much against the flimsy door I could easily imagine the louvres breaking under the strain. “You’re not the only one who shops here, dumbass.”
“You’re the dumbass, Radar, because you didn’t think about the consequences of crossing my path when you saw me. I’m thinking that might be the last mistake you ever make.”
The man, Radar, made a strange hissing noise. “Are you threatening me? Brother?”
My skin iced over at the term.
“I’m telling you how life is, chapter and verse. Now, I know you’re a fucking moron that’s taken too many blows to the head, but do yourself a favor and take my advice—don’t make things worse for yourself by pissing me off even more than you already have. Just. Fucking. Go.”
“You goddamn—”
“You guys need to take it outside.” A new voice, one I tagged as the man who’d greeted us when we’d first walked in, suddenly broke in, and it was as loud as a bullhorn. “Security’s on the way to make sure you do.”
“No need for fuckin’ mall cops.” Radar, clearly a charmer, seemed to have growls for everyone. Suddenly the body pressed up against the louvred door was gone, and the atmosphere lightened as if by magic. “I’m out. Be seeing you, Romeo.”
“You’d better hope not.” There was a beat or two before the door separating me from the rest of the world snapped open. Mutely I stared at the store employee and Romeo, whose expression was so tight and filled with such violence I wasn’t sure I recognized him. “Bring that shit up to the cashier, Shy. And I’m grabbing a hoodie for you that you’re going to wear out of here, hood up, because I don’t want you to be seen by anyone who may have eyes on us. We’re done here.”