Chapter Fourteen
Casey glanced at her phone and swore under her breath. Rags would be here in forty minutes.
“This is fucking crazy,” she muttered, tossing another top onto the bed to join the growing heap. “What the hell is wrong with me? We’re just going out to dinner. No big deal.” She plopped down at the edge of the mattress and focused on slow, steady breaths.
Why were her nerves twisted in knots? It wasn’t like she’d never gone out on a date before. It was just dinner with Rags. So what?
She massaged her temples and closed her eyes, only to have her thoughts ambushed by the memory of his hands on her, the way he held her, touched her, kissed her.
Her eyes snapped open. Get a hold of yourself.
Who cares if he was a good, no, great … no, unbelievably good kisser?
She brushed her fingertips across her lips as a wave of desire rushed through her.
“Get a fucking grip!” she grumbled, digging her nails into the palms of her hands. “It’s only dinner. No biggie. I know exactly how outlaw bikers are.” She pushed herself off the bed. “Anyway, I have to eat dinner. It’s better than staring into the fridge wondering what to cook.”
She walked to the full-length mirror in the corner and inspected her reflection.
“Too much highlighter,” she murmured, blotting under her brows with a tissue.
Satisfied, she went back to the walk-in closet, again, and slid the hangers along the bar in a frantic search for the right top to go with her short leather skirt.
Finally, she settled on a light burgundy thermal lace crop top with long sleeves. She grabbed her favorite black leather ankle boots and hurriedly pulled her outfit together.
“Not bad,” she said, turning in front of the arched mirror, checking to make sure her skirt didn’t reveal too much upper thigh.
The top showed just a hint of skin and emphasized her small waist, complementing her light olive complexion.
She picked up her purple hair pick, fluffed the soft beach waves she’d curled, spritzed some low-hold hair spray, swiped clear gloss over her dusty-rose lips, and grabbed her black bomber leather jacket.
She tucked a mini perfume bottle into her purse and headed out of the bedroom.
Before she had time to question, for the umpteenth time, why she’d agreed to dinner with him, the doorbell rang.
“Okay, let’s do this,” she sighed, walking toward the door.
She checked the peephole, saw Rags, and opened the door.
“Hey,” she said, her eyes sweeping over him.
A small smile tugged at her lips. His dark charcoal pants fit him perfectly, his black button-down shirt hugged his chest, and polished black boots glinted under the porch light.
A silver hoop earring flashed along with the buckles on his leather jacket.
His hair was pulled back in a low ponytail, and he smelled like fall’s dried leaves mixed with musk and leather—everything she associated with wild, reckless men.
Something inside her stilled… then simmered. Damn he’s hot.
“Hey,” he said, rocking back on his heels. His gaze locked on her face, then slid slowly down her body.
Heat pooled in her stomach under the weight of his stare.
“Fuck, woman,” he murmured, meeting her eyes again. “You’re beautiful.”
“Thanks,” she said, unable to stop her smile. “You look pretty good, yourself.”
His looked her over once more, slower this time. “You ready to go?”
She nodded, slipped into her jacket, locked the door, and followed him down the porch steps. As they walked toward the SUV parked on the street, Rags caught her hand, and a shiver raced across her skin.
“Did Owen come around after I left?” he asked, while opening the passenger door.
“No. Was he supposed to?”
“He usually stops by before the store closes.”
“Maybe he came after I left.” She swung her legs inside, and he shut the door.
When he settled into the driver’s seat, he leaned over and brushed his lips across hers. “You smell real good, woman,” he murmured. Then he started the engine and pulled away.
Casey’s lips buzzed where he had touched them. She forced herself to stare out the window, as houses and trees blurred by.
“Are you nervous?” he asked.
She glanced over at him. “No. Are you?”
“No way.”
“I’m just… well, I’m sorry I bit you earlier.”
A wicked grin spread over his face. “Don’t be sorry. I like a woman who plays rough.” He winked.
She groaned inwardly.
A few minutes of awkward silence passed before he asked, “Who’s Simon?” A tinge of steel replaced the teasing warmth of his voice.
Casey swallowed. “The director of the play.”
“Has he got a thing going with Clara?”
“I don’t think so.”
“So… it’s a maybe?”
“No. It’s an I don’t know. I haven’t heard anything, and theatre people love to gossip.” She tried to laugh off the rising tension. “Why are you asking?”
“Clara’s been talking about this dude nonstop. When that happens, something’s going on.”
“Not necessarily. She may just admire him or have a crush. I don’t think it’s anything you need to worry about.”
“I’m not worried. I just wanna know something about him.”
“Then ask Clara.”
“Yeah, right. No worries. I’ll find out what I need to know.”
“I’m sure you will.” She smiled.
“I want to make sure the guy’s decent. Clara can be too trusting.”
“I get it. You’re her big brother, and you’re looking out for her. It’s sweet, but Clara will be madder than hell if she finds you’re snooping.”
“She won’t know unless”—he glanced at her—“you tell her.”
She made an exaggerated “X” over her chest. “My lips are sealed.”
He laughed, breaking the tension.
“Where are we going?” she asked, as he drove toward the outskirts of town.
“I made a reservation at Mountain Ember. It’s a steakhouse. Have you been there?”
Casey’s eyes widened. “No. It just opened a few months ago, right?” And it’s the most expensive place in the county.
“Yeah. They have great food. I hope you’re not vegan or something.”
She laughed. “I love steak, so no worries there.”
He grasped her hand, brought it to his lips, and kissed it. “You’re something, you know that?”
“What brought that on?”
“You. Everything about you.”
“The way I look isn’t all I am.”
“I know that.” He placed her hand on his thigh. “That’s why we’re going out—to get to know each other better. My patch and good looks aren’t all I am either.”
Shaking her head, she lightly punched his arm. “You’re pretty sure of yourself, aren’t you?”
“Sure, why not? You act confident, too.”
“Looks can be deceiving.”
“It’s not just your looks. It’s your sass, your smart mouth, and that ‘I don’t give a damn’ attitude. That shit draws me in. Most chicks fall at my feet, you know.”
“I’m glad I’m here to keep your god-like presence grounded.”
Rags laughed. “That’s what I like, baby.” He stroked her cheek with his fingers.
They arrived at the restaurant, pulling into a very crowded parking lot. After handing the keys to the parking attendant, he clutched her hand, and they walked into the steakhouse.
The Mountain Ember had an upscale, modern, yet warm ambiance, blending classic steakhouse elegance with contemporary design. It featured elements like buttery-soft leather seating, granite, steel, and glass, all centered around a grand and cozy gray-washed fireplace.
As the hostess guided them to their table, Casey marveled at the artful glass and sleek lines, accented by European lighting. The aroma of grilled meat wafted in the air, as a cacophony of cutlery on china plates and chatter filled the establishment.
They slid into a half-circle booth—Casey on one side, Rags across from her. After ordering drinks, a dirty martini for her and a double shot of whiskey for him, Casey settled back and smiled. “Good choice on the restaurant. I love it.”
“I’m glad I didn’t fuck it up.” His lips quirked up.
“I doubt you fuck things up often. You seem like a man who’s in control.”
“Most of the time, but I’ve had my share of screwups.”
“We all have.”
“Ready to order?” the waiter asked.
They gave their order: prime rib, sautéed spinach, and mashed potatoes for her; rib eye steak, sautéed wild mushrooms, and a loaded baked potato for him. The waiter complimented their choices and walked away.
Rags lifted his glass and took a sip, his gaze fixed on her. “How long have you been in Pinewood Springs?”
“A little more than a year and a half.”
“I’m surprised I haven’t run into you before now.”
“I’m a nose-to-the-grindstone kind of person. I tend to be over zealous with work.” She took a sip of her martini.
“So, Blue’s Belly and Ruthie’s were firsts for you?” he asked.
“Blue’s Belly was. Not Ruthie’s. The food’s good there. I love swinging by after a long day and picking up an order.” She took another sip, knowing in her gut he was going to ask about the time he saw her there with Devin.
“Are you dating the dude you were with at Ruthie’s?”
I knew it. She suppressed a smile and shook her head. “We’re just friends.”
“He seemed taken with you.”
“We’re both history buffs. That’s all.”
“I wanted to bash his face in.”
“I’m glad you didn’t. It would’ve ruined my dinner.”
He laughed and drained his whiskey. “I knew nothing was going on. You’re too much woman for a wimp like him. You need a real man.”
She popped an olive in her mouth and chewed slowly, her gaze never leaving his. “I don’t need any man in my life—real or not.”
“I wouldn’t be too sure about that.” He signaled for another round of drinks.
“Clara told me your family is from Pinewood Springs,” she said, shifting the focus.
“Yeah. We go back a few generations. Where are you from?”
“Not too far. Denver.”
“Which part?”
“The northside.” Feeling uncomfortable with the spotlight on her, she said, “So how did you get involved with the Insurgents?”
“I’ll tell you,” he said, “but I wanna know about you first. You got siblings?”
“No.”
“Are your parents still in Denver?”