Chapter 4
4
ACE
E ight o'clock the following morning finds me outside Leslie's cottage, debating whether a head's up text might've been the smarter play.But since when do I do smart when it comes to a woman that intrigues me?Last night's kiss, the way she melted against me, and how perfectly she fit in my arms is still burning in my memory.Fake relationship my ass. That kiss was as real as it gets.
I knock before I can talk myself out of it.At first, nothing happens, but then there are footsteps and a muffled curse.The door opens, and every coherent thought in my head disappears.
Because Miss Leslie, who strives to give off prim and proper, is standing there in a scrap of black lace that barely qualifies as a nightgown.Sure, a silk robe is thrown over it, but it does absolutely nothing to hide what's underneath.Her hair's a wild mess of curls, and Christ, I want to bury my hands in it.
"Do you have any idea what time it is?" She clutches the robe tighter, but the damage is done.That image is burned into my brain forever.
"Time for breakfast." I force my eyes back to her face."Get dressed. I'm taking you out."
"Has anyone ever told you you're incredibly bossy?"
"Daily. Usually followed by 'yes sir.'"
She rolls those gorgeous eyes."Well, this isn't your clubhouse, sir, and I had plans today."
"What plans?"
"Sleep. Wine. Avoiding reality."
"Reality's already here, darlin'.Might as well face it with pancakes."
She studies me for a moment, then sighs."Ten minutes."
"Five."
"Seven, and you make coffee while you wait."
I grin. "Deal."
Her kitchen's small but homey.There are pictures on the fridge, and herbs growing in the window.Not what I expected from an Atlanta socialite.Then again, nothing about Leslie is what I expected.A photo catches my eye of Leslie with a group of kids, all covered in paint and wearing huge smiles.This woman's nothing like Lucy.All Lucy ever cared about was her country club memberships and designer everything.
She reappears exactly seven minutes later in jeans that hug every curve and a soft sweater that makes me want to touch her.Her hair's tamed into some kind of messy bun thing that somehow looks deliberate.
"Coffee first," she demands, reaching for the mug I'm holding.
"Still bossy."
"Still one to talk." But she's fighting a smile."Where are we going?"
"My favorite breakfast spot. Then I thought I'd show you around town.Unless you've got better plans?"
"Than being paraded around as the MC president's new girlfriend?" She takes a long sip of coffee."Probably. But since this was my brilliant idea..."
"Pretty sure it was my brilliant idea."
"Pretty sure you blackmailed me into it."
"Protected you," I correct her."Speaking of which--"
"Not before breakfast," she cuts me off."And stop calling me Miss Leslie when we're alone.It's weird."
I step closer, backing her against the counter."What should I call you then?"
Her breath catches, but she holds her ground."Leslie works just fine."
"Leslie," I test it out, watching her pupils dilate."Get your ass in gear. I'm hungry."
She laughs, pushing past me. "There's the bossy man I met and choose to tolerate."
The ride to the diner is interesting.Leslie wraps her arms around my waist like she's done it a hundred times before, and something possessive unfurls in my chest when she presses closer on the turns.
The diner's already packed when we arrive, but nobody keeps the MC president waiting.We're shown to my usual booth, and I notice Leslie scanning exits, checking sight lines.
"You're safe here," I tell her quietly.
"Old habits." She picks up a menu."So what's good?"
"Everything. Mama Rosa's been feeding the club for twenty years."
As if summoned, Rosa appears with coffee and a knowing smile."About time you brought a woman here, mijo.She's prettier than Tank said."
Leslie's cheeks pink up pretty."Tank talks about me?"
"The whole club talks about you, querida.Not every day our Ranch brings a lady to breakfast."
"There's that name again. What's with the nickname?" Leslie's eyebrows shoot up in my direction.
Rosa laughs. "Oh, he hasn't told you that story?Mijo, you hold onto this one.She asks the right questions."
After she leaves with our orders, Leslie leans forward.
"So, Ranch?" Leslie's eyebrows shoot up over her coffee cup. "That's an interesting nickname for an MC president."
"It's not that interesting." But something in the way she's looking at me, with genuine curiosity without the usual judgment, makes me want to tell her anyway.
"Try me." She sets down her cup, giving me her full attention.
I study her for a moment, weighing how much to share."My old man had this ranch outside town.Real working ranch, not some hobby farm.Taught me everything, how to ride, rope cattle, and fix engines.Said a man needs to know how to work with his hands."
"Is that what you wanted to do?Run the ranch?"
"Yeah." The admission comes easier than expected."Dad managed both lives well.He worked the land during the day and ran the club at night.But, somehow still made it to every Little League game I had and every school event.That is what taught me a man's word was all he had."
Leslie's hand slides across the table, covering mine.The gesture's so natural I almost miss it.
"What happened?"
"A rival crew moved in. One of the prospects Dad had allowed into the club got trigger-happy, and killed one of theirs in a bar fight." My jaw clenches at the memory."But Dad... He tried handling it right.He offered them compensation, territory adjustments, even offered to have the prospect make it up to them by compensating the guy's family.But they wanted blood."
"They came to the ranch?"
I nod, the smell of hay and gunpowder suddenly fresh in my memory."Six of them. Found Dad in the barn.I was nineteen, just started prospecting." I sigh."I acted on impulse. I couldn't just stand by and watch them hurt my dad.Dad didn't want me with a gun.So, I grabbed whatever I could find, rope, a shovel, and a pitchfork, and attacked.Managed to take down three before--" My free hand clenches."By the time our guys got there, Dad was bleeding out.Last thing he said was he was proud of me."
Her fingers tighten around mine.No empty words, no pitying looks.Just quiet understanding.
"Tank started calling me Ranch after that.Said anyone who could fight off six guys with nothing but ranch tools earned the name." I attempt a smile that probably comes out more like a grimace."Stuck better than some of the other names they tried."
"Thank you," she says softly.
"For what?"
"For telling me. For trusting me with this." Her thumb traces circles on my palm, surprisingly soothing."I know it's not a story you share often."
"Never shared it like this." The admission slips out before I can stop it."Most people hear 'MC president' and think they know everything they need to know."
"I'm learning there's a lot more to you than that, Ace Hunter."
Something in her voice makes me look up.The way she's watching me, like she's seeing past all the barriers I've built, terrifies me.Yet somehow, it's exactly what I need.
"That goes both ways, Leslie James."
Her answering smile hits me right in the chest.I just told this woman more in ten minutes than I've told anyone in years.And what's even more concerning is that I want to tell her more.
"Your turn." I squeeze her hand gently."What happened with Davidson?"
She tenses but doesn't pull away.Instead, she takes a shaky breath like she's gathering courage.
"My mom got diagnosed with stage four Pancreatic Cancer in my first year of teaching." Her voice trembles."We tried Chemo but it didn't help.Not long-term. Everyone told us it was too far gone to do anything, and we'd started believing it too until I found an experimental treatment claiming to have a real shot at saving my mom.But insurance wouldn't cover it.I was drowning in student loans, barely making rent, and watching my mom die by the minute."
Her free hand wraps around her coffee cup like she needs an anchor.I cover it with mine.
"Ian showed up at a fundraiser we held at school, and played the perfect savior.He had overheard my conversation with a friend about my mom's condition and said he had to intervene as he'd lost his own mother to cancer.Said he understood what I was going through." She laughs, but there's no humor in it."We talked a bit, then he offered to cover the full treatment costs for my mom.Said I could pay him back however I could afford, whenever I could manage.I was so desperate I didn't question why a billionaire would help a random teacher."
"The treatment worked?"
"Mom went into remission. I started making payments.I mean, they were small but regular.Then Ian showed up at my apartment one night." She shivers, and I find myself shifting closer."Suddenly, the only payment he'd accept anymore was my body.Then doubled down when I started refusing, saying it had always been the repayment agreement."
My blood boils, but I keep my voice steady."But you never agreed to that."
"I tried everything to make him see reason, offered loans, payment plans, anything.He said he'd 'invested' in me, and now it was time to collect." Tears gather in her eyes."He left that night telling me he'd let me know when the collection period began.
And for the next week or so, I didn't hear from him, so I dismissed it as a drunken episode.But then he started showing up everywhere, my school, mom's appointments, my favorite coffee shop.Sending gifts I never wanted.Then came the messages about other women who hadn't 'seen things his way."
I nod slowly, understanding settling in mygut."So that's what prompted the restrainingorder?"
"I filed it after he cornered me in the school parking lot." Her voicecracks."A week later, his last 'investment'disappeared.No body, no evidence. Just...gone.When I went public with the restraining order, he told me I'd joined a very exclusive list of women who needed to learn theirplace."
She's shaking now, and something in mesnaps.I slide around to her side of the booth, pulling her againstme.She stiffens for a moment, then melts into mychest.
"Mom died two months later." The words are muffled against myshirt."I couldn't even grieve properly because I was too busy looking over myshoulder.Running."
"Leslie." I tilt her chin up, needing her to see the truth in myeyes."You're not running anymore. You're under my protectionnow."
"You don't understand. His money, hisreach--"
"I understand perfectly." I wipe a tear from hercheek."And I'm telling you, he's never touchingyou.I'll kill himfirst."
"You can't just--"
"I can. I will." I hold hertighter."You're mine now. And I protect what'smine."
Something flashes in hereyes."I'm not actually yours. This is pretend,remember?"
The words hit harder than they should, especially with her still in myarms.
Because nothing about this feels pretendanymore.I don't admit that though, instead I meet hereyes."What do you say we get outtahere?"
Leslie nods, and I guide her to the door making a quick stop to overpay Rosa for the amazing meal, before heading out to theclubhouse.
The clubhouse parking lot is full when we pull in, but Leslie doesn't hesitate.She climbs off my bike with the same grace she showed getting on, and I have to remind myself this is all for show.
"Ready to meet the family?" I guide her toward the door, hand low on her back.
"Are they ready to meet me?"
Before I can answer, Tank throws open the door."Well, well. If it isn't the teacher who's got our prez wrapped around her finger."
"That would imply he listens to me." Leslie's smile is pure sass."So far all I've gotten is ordered around."
Tank roars with laughter. "Oh, I like her.Come on in, darlin'. Meet the crew."
The next hour is... interesting.Leslie handles every introduction perfectly.She's respectful but not intimidated, charming but genuine.She talks bikes with Reaper, swaps teaching stories with Doc's old lady, and somehow gets crusty old Timer to crack a real smile.
"She's something else," Tank says low, joining me at the bar."Nothing like your usual type."
"Don't have a type."
"Bullshit. You got a thing for high-maintenance blondes who treat the club like their personal ATM." He nods toward Leslie, deep in conversation with Maria, the host of the Rusty Nail, about some book."She's different. Real."
"It's not like that."
"No?" Tank grins. "Then why haven't you taken your eyes off her since you walked in?"
Before I can tell him to fuck off, Leslie appears at my side."Reaper, says your daughter's babysitter called.Something about dinner plans?"
Right. Emma. "We should head out."
"Already?" Timer calls from his corner."But Miss Leslie was about to tell us more stories about little Emma in class."
"Another time," Leslie promises, and I don't miss how she's already using we and us like we're really together.
"Bring her back soon," Maria insists, hugging Leslie goodbye."We need more class around here."
In the parking lot, Leslie's quiet."They're not what I expected."
"No?" I ask, intrigued.
"They're... family. Real family."
Something in her voice makes me lookcloser."That surpriseyou?"
"So far, everything about you surprises me." I fight a smile while handing her an helmet, but she clocksit."Don't go smiling yet, 'Prez'.I never said the surprises weregood.
Laughing, I hop on the bike and offer a hand to help her joinme.
Emma's reaction to finding Leslie in our kitchen is purejoy."Miss Leslie! Are you staying fordinner?Can you read me a story? Did you see my newbike?"
"Breathe, princess." But I can't help smiling at herexcitement."How about we let Miss Leslie answer one question at atime?"
"Actually," Leslie kneels to Emma's level, "I was hoping you might help me makedinner.Your daddy tells me you're the best helper in thekitchen."
Emma's whole face lights up. "Can we make mac andcheese?The real kind, not the boxkind?"
"Only if you promise to show me where everythingis.This kitchen's bigger than my wholehouse."
I lean against the doorframe, watching themwork.Emma's perched on a stool, carefully grating cheese while Leslie stirs something on thestove.They move around each other like they've done this a hundred times, talking about everything andnothing.
This is dangerous. This glimpse of what couldbe.
"Daddy!" Emma's voice pulls meback."Can Miss Leslie put me to bedtonight?She does all the voices better thanyou."
The request hits me in thegut.Not because I'm jealous--though part of me is--but because of how right itfeels.
"Please?" Emma adds when I don't answer rightaway.
"'Course, princess. If Miss Leslie doesn'tmind."
"I'd love to." Leslie's voice issoft.Understanding.
Later, I lean in the doorway while Leslie reads, doing voices for each character just like Emmasaid.When she tucks my daughter in, smoothing her hair back just like her own mother used to, something in my chest cracksopen.
"Daddy?" Emma callssleepily."Can Miss Leslie come over againtomorrow?"
Leslie freezes. I step forward, dropping a kiss on Emma'shead."We'll see, princess. Sleeptight."
In the hallway, Leslie won't meet myeyes."I shouldgo."
"Stay." The word comes out rougher thanintended."Please."
She looks up then, and the vulnerability in her eyes matches the ache in mychest.
"Ace..."
"Just a drink." I touch her face, unable to helpmyself."We should talk about tomorrowanyway.Make our storyconvincing."
"Right." She leans into my touch. "Our fake story."
But there's nothing fake about the way she fits against me when I pull herclose.Nothing pretend in how her breath catches when I brush my lips across hertemple.
"One drink," she agreessoftly.
One drink turns into two, into her curled on my couch telling me about her students, into me sharing club stories that make herlaugh.When she finally falls asleep against my shoulder, I know I'm introuble.
Because watching her with Emma, seeing her with my club, hearing her laugh at my stories--it's allreal.Tooreal.
This woman's getting under my skin, into my club, into my daughter's heart.And I'm starting to think I don't want her toleave.
Fuck pretending. I want itall . I’ll pretend to pretend, but over the next month my aim will be to convince her that this thing between us is strong enough to last for real.