Chapter Eight #2
“Do you always stare at a woman like you’re about to start a fire?”
The corner of his mouth ticked upward. He slid his gaze from her lips to the hollow of her throat, pausing there just long enough to make her shift in her seat.
Then lower. A slow trail that made heat coil low in her belly.
When his eyes returned to hers, they smoldered, making her breath catch, traitorously loud in her own ears.
She hated how easily he got under her skin, hated the way her body betrayed her, when every rational thought told her to push back and tell him to go to hell.
“Only the ones who want me to,” he said, voice low, rough like velvet wrapped in gravel.
She felt the flush in her cheeks but held his stare, even as the weight of it pulled at her, unraveled her. Around them the music played, the bartenders poured drinks, Zoe laughed, and some people hollered over a pool game, but it all felt distant.
“Dude, are you in for the next game?” someone called across the room.
Not looking away, he shook his head, while his stare stayed locked on her, a heat pinning her in place.
“If you’re good at pool, your friends might not appreciate you sitting out,” she said, trying to summon enough edge in her voice to cover the hammering of her pulse.
A smile tugged at his lips. He leaned in, close enough for her to feel the warmth of his body, his lips just a breath from hers. “I’d rather be here with a sexy, good-looking woman.”
Then he kissed her. Slow, confident, tasting faintly of mint and whiskey. His mouth claimed her with unhurried dominance: It wasn’t frantic or over eager but controlled and steady, like he had all the time in the world to wreck her.
Around her, the noise of the bar blurred into nothing. The only thing she was aware of was the steady press of his mouth and the easy roll of his tongue against hers.
Casey grabbed the front of his T-shirt, pulling him closer even as her mind screamed for control. He deepened the kiss, and the world narrowed to the heat between them: the faint scrape of stubble, his hand threading in her hair, his scent of cedar and leather wrapping around her.
When he finally pulled back, his lips still brushed hers, “Fuck, baby, you know how to kiss.”
Casey straightened, breath uneven. “You’re trouble.”
“The good kind or the bad?” He reached out and brushed his thumb along her jaw.
“All bad. I’m not looking for that.”
“You could’ve fooled me.”
She pushed her chair back. “It’s the martinis and, well … I was just shocked that you were so forward, that’s all.”
He stood up, bent close, his voice low against her ear. “It didn’t feel like shock or too much booze to me.”
His nearness was distracting, so she pushed her chair back farther. “You’re impossible.”
“Yeah? And you’re still here talking with me,” he said, eyes flicking to her lips.
“You’re at my table, remember?”
“Saving your sweet ass from that wimp.” He grinned. “I loved the way you thanked me, baby.” He winked and turned around.
Casey refused to look as he walked off, knowing full well he was swaggering. How could I let myself kiss him, of all people? What’s wrong with me?
“Who was that?” Zoe slurred.
“Just a moment of weakness.”
“I’m pretty sure he’s in that motorcycle thing I was telling you about.” Zoe hiccupped, then looked at the preppy guy. “Do you know the name of the club thing-y?”
“The Insurgents?”
“That’s it. I bet he’s one of those guys. I thought you didn’t like to live on the wild side.” Another hiccup.
“I don’t, and I’m positive he’s an outlaw.” She shook her head. “The drinks here are too strong.”
“But they’re tasty as hell.” Zoe giggled.
“What’s your name?” Casey asked, turning to the preppy guy.
“Ryan. Yours?”
“Casey. Are you from here?”
“Born and raised, like Zoe.” He wrapped an arm around Zoe and pulled her close to him. “What about you?”
“No. I’m from Denver, but lived the last six years in Boise, Idaho.”
“What brought you here?”
“Work, wanting a new start, and all the usual reasons people move to a new place.” She felt Chase’s stare but refused to look.
“Are you new in town?” Ryan said.
“No. We’ve been friends for over a year, right, Casey?” Zoe said.
“Yeah. I’ve been here almost a year and a half. So far so good.” Except for that outlaw who makes me feel things I haven’t felt in long time. Casey waved the waitress over and asked for the bill.
“It’s been taken care of,” the blonde-haired server said.
Casey frowned at Zoe. “I told you it was on me tonight.”
“Rags paid.” The barmaid picked up the glasses and put them on a tray.
“Rags? Who’s that?”
“What kind of name is that?” Ryan asked.
The blonde glanced over at Ryan, rolled her eyes then turned to Casey. “The guy who was sitting with you just a minute ago.”
“And the one who’s now staring a hole through you.” Zoe laughed.
Ignoring her friend, Casey shook her head. “No, I don’t want him to pay. Tell me how much it is.” She pulled out a credit card.
“Look, I got a ton of people wanting drinks. Rags paid your bill. If you want to fight with him about it, go ahead, but my part is done unless you want something more to drink.” She turned around and scurried away.
“That was nice of him,” Zoe said. “You should thank him. What was his name again?”
Ryan brushed the side of Zoe’s face with his finger. “You’re cute. As stupid as it sounds, his name is Rags.”
Zoe busted out laughing and he joined in.
Casey’s tone sharpened. “It’s his road name. They earn them. It’s a big deal. Not something to make fun of. If an outlaw hears you disrespecting their road name, you’ll spend some time in the ER … if you’re lucky.”
Both Zoe and Ryan stared at her.
Casey sighed and looked at her phone. “It’s late. I’ve got work tomorrow. Are you ready to go, Zoe?”
“I’ll take her home,” Ryan said.
“Are you sure about that, Zoe?”
“Yeah, he went to the same high school I did.”
“Promise you’ll call me when you get home, okay?”
Zoe nodded, already half lost in the glow of her new crush.
Casey pushed back from the table and went over to the waitress as she placed a tray of empty glasses on the bar.
“Hey, do you know that guy my friend’s with?” she asked, tipping her head toward their table.
The server glanced over. “Ryan? Yeah, he comes in once or twice a month. He seems okay. Why?”
“I just wanted to make sure my friend is with someone decent since he’s offered to drive her home,” Casey said.
“I totally get it.” The barmaid leaned in slightly. “Ryan Peterson. He’s harmless.”
“Thanks.”
“Sure thing. It’s cool the way you watch out for your friend.”
Casey nodded. It was the best she could do, but she’d still worry until she received the phone call from Zoe. Slinging her purse strap on her shoulder, Casey headed for the door.
She stepped into the cold night, and the noise of the bar faded behind her, replaced by the soft wind rustling the leaves of the trees.
As Casey approached her car, the night wrapped around her in cold silence. The lot was mostly dark, broken only by the weak flickering from a single streetlight. Her heels clicked against the pavement, too loud, echoing off the concrete. She gripped her purse tighter, nerves strung tight as wire.
Then she heard it, footsteps. Slow, steady, matching her pace.
Her chest tightened. She quickened her stride and hit the key fob; her headlights flared, cutting through the shadows. The sound came closer. Stifling a scream, she spun around, her shoulder strap twisted around her hand, her purse a weapon.
Rags stood a few feet away, hands raised slightly, his expression unreadable.
“You scared the hell out of me!” she said, pressing a hand to her chest.
“That’s exactly why you shouldn’t be walking out here alone,” he said, his voice low, gravelly. “Haven’t you heard there’s a psycho on the loose?”
The words hit her like a shiver. Images of the murdered women flashed through her mind: the news reports, the locks she’d installed afterward.
“I know, so why are you sneaking up on me like that? What kind of sick joke is that supposed to be?”
“Hey, calm down. I wasn’t trying to scare you.” He stepped closer, the scent of crisp air and cedar curling around her. “I just wanted to make sure you got to your car safe.”
“Who made you my body guard?”
He didn’t answer but moved closer still, his heat cutting though the cold.
“Maybe I just worry about you.”
“You shouldn’t. You don’t even know me.”
“Maybe I want to.” His voice softened, but it still had that edge—rough, intimate, dangerous. His gaze dropped to her mouth then back to her eyes. “You keep pretending you don’t feel this,”—he waved his hand from her to him—“but I see it every time you look at me.”
“Don’t flatter yourself.”
He chuckled under his breath, then came closer, his arm wrapping around her waist. His lips brushed over hers, barely a touch.
She tipped her head back. “And another thing, you shouldn’t have paid my tab. I can pay my own damn bills.”
“I know that.” He shrugged. “I just wanted to. It’s no big deal.”
“I bet. There’s always strings attached with men like you.”
He pulled back slightly, his eyes narrowing. “Fuck, babe. Who burned you so bad you can’t tell the difference between a favor and owing someone?”
“Let me go, Rags. I want to go home.”
But he didn’t move. His jaw flexed; the air between them pulsed.
Then he kissed her hard and hungry, nothing unhurried or soft about it.
The taste of him was whiskey and heat, rough and consuming.
Her body betrayed her, leaning in when every rational thought screamed to pull away.
She twined her arms around his neck and kissed him back fervently, his heartbeat thudding against hers.
Then reason clawed its way through the haze. She tore her mouth from his, breathing hard, cold air burning her lungs.
“Baby, you’re on fire. Let’s go somewhere more private,” he rasped, peppering the side of her neck with soft nips.
The chill pressed in, sharp and cold, and with it came clarity, a reminder of the line she couldn’t cross.
Her body hummed, reckless and wanting, every nerve alive with him.
She could still taste him, feel the heat rolling off his body.
For a heartbeat, she wanted to let it happen, to lose herself in him and deal with the consequences later.
But reason sliced through the fog. She shoved him gently but firmly, stepping back as the cold nipped her cheeks.
“I … I can’t,” she whispered, turning toward the open car door.
He caught her arm and leaned into her, the hard line of his body pressing against hers.
“Don’t do this,” he whispered against her ear, his breath hot and uneven.
Her pulse throbbed in her throat. For a split second she almost gave in again, then the image of her ex—his hands on another woman, the humiliation, the sharp burn of it—flashed behind her eyes, cutting through the heat pulsing low in her belly.
She drew a ragged breath and shoved him back, the cold biting into her as she stepped away. “I have to go now,” she muttered.
“Come on, baby. You know we both want this … need this.”
Her heart kicked hard. For a moment she almost melted into him again—almost—but the flash of betrayal still burned at the edges of her thoughts.
She shook her head, her voice unsteady. “I have to go. Thanks for the drinks.”
He stared at her, chest rising and falling, eyes darkening. “You’re gonna leave me like this? Fuck, that’s cruel.”
A shaky laugh broke through her. “I’m sure you’ll live.”
“I didn’t take you for a tease.”
“I’m not. You’re the one who followed me, remember? Look, you’re a nice guy. I’m sure—”
“Save it, sweetheart.” His voice hardened, the heat replaced with steel. “Guess I had you figured right, you’re nothing but a bitch.”
The word hit like a slap. For a second, she just stared at him, stunned. Then fury flooded her veins.
“Fuck you!”
Casey slid into the driver’s seat, slammed the door, and started the engine. Gravel crunched beneath her tires as she peeled out of the lot, headlights slicing through the darkness. In the rearview mirror, he stood there, motionless, the night swallowing him up whole.
Her chest tightened, the ache of longing gnawing at what was left of her resolve. She gripped the steering wheel, eyes blurring as tears spilled down her cheeks.
* * *
Rags stood there long after her tail lights disappeared, the cold biting at his skin but not enough to burn off the heat still coiling through him. Her taste lingered on his tongue: sweet, defiant, impossible to forget.
“Damn woman,” he muttered, dragging a hand through his hair.
He’d gone too far, let his temper take the reins when what he really felt was something he didn’t want to look too close at.
She’d rattled him, and that pissed him off most of all.
What is it about this one? He shouldn’t give a damn whether she drove away angry or not.
He wanted to understand her, to figure out why she threw him so far off balance, but wanting that only made it worse. He wasn’t going to chase her. He wasn’t going to apologize. Hell, he didn’t owe her a thing.
“I don’t need this shit,” he muttered under his breath.
Still, he couldn’t shake the feel of her: her soft tits pressed against him, the warmth of her breath against his neck, the faint vanilla-caramel scent that clung to his jacket like a memory he didn’t ask for. It stuck with him, tightening his chest, burning his throat.
He exhaled hard, shoving his hands into his jacket pockets. The air felt heavier now, thick with cold and the muffled pulse of noise spilling from the bar’s half-open door.
Rags opened it and stepped inside. The noise—music, laughter, the crack of pool balls—surged around him. Tank held up a pool stick, waving him over. Rags gave a chin lift, shrugged off his jacket, and made his way to the table.