Chapter 5
Chapter Five
Kevlar
“Your bags are sitting at the foot of my bed. Towels are in the hall closet. Should be plenty of hot water.”
“Thank you.”
“Don’t mention it.”
Lacey brushes past me, her breasts grazing my arm. “Sorry,” she whispers, a blush staining her freckle-peppered cheeks.
Once the bathroom door shuts and the water is on, I grab a pillow and a light blanket from the hall closet. I’ll take the couch and give her the bed.
I take a minute to tidy up. Tossing old food and junk mail into the trash. I’m not used to having anyone crash at my place. On the rare occasion, some of my crew from my shop will crash on my couch, but that’s different. They’re all like family.
This is uncharted territory.
I’ve invited a woman into my place who doesn’t even know her own name.
The club is known for violence and getting rid of complications. Laundering money and illegal shit. None of that sets a man up for how to handle discovering a woman washed up on the beach wearing a wedding gown with blood in her hair and dripping from her head.
Nothing prepared me for the need to protect her that would pour over me the second she looked at me like she was seeing her own personal sun. Like I was some kind of hero.
I pull out the sleeper sofa and kill the lights.
She’s been in the shower a while now. Thinking of her in there naked all soaped up with water spraying down her sets my blood on fire.
There’s no denying I find her attractive, but I don’t trust her.
Not fully. Prez is right. I know shit all about her.
And yet the stubborn streak that lives inside me vows to keep her safe.
To protect her from the world and maybe even from herself.
I can’t deny that gut instinct.
I have two sisters. I was raised to take care of the women in my life.
It’s why I won’t send Avery packing every time she fucks up, which is more often than not lately.
I flop down on the pullout, trying to get comfortable as I flip through movie suggestions, looking for something to put my mind at ease. Nothing is capturing my attention. My brain is more focused on worrying about Lacey and what Buford may or may not find out about her.
She merges from the bathroom wearing one of my Harley tees that swallows her frame. Dark, damp curls dust her shoulders. Her steps are small and tentative as if she’s still learning how to move in her own skin.
I stop scrolling and put the remote on the floor. “You find everything okay?”
“I did. Thanks.”
“Can I get you anything? I don’t have much in the fridge but can order delivery if there’s something you want.”
“I’m okay. You don’t have to give up your bed for me. I can take the couch bed.”
“All good, sweetness.”
She smiles at that and my cock twitches. I know I shouldn’t be thinking about her mouth. Wondering how good her lips will taste but I all I want right now is to wrap my fist in her hair. Pull her down on this bed with me and claim her.
That’s not what she needs, but I want her nonetheless.
“There’s not a TV in the bedroom, but you’re welcome to join me here.” I pat the empty space next to me, knowing I’m playing with fire inviting her to be so damn close. “I promise to keep my hands to myself.”
“I’m not worried.” She walks around to the other side and plops down next to me smelling like the ripest of cherries. Sweet. Tempting.
She draws her knees up, tucking her feet under one thigh. Her eyes do a sweep of the room—studying the ceiling fan’s lazy rotation, the dim city glow leaking around my blinds, before settling on the tv.
She picks at the hem of the tee absentmindedly, pretending to be absorbed in the action flick I turned on.
Eventually her gaze moves back to me, and I realize I have been staring at her this entire time.
I run a hand over my head. “Sorry.”
“For what?”
“Putting you under a microscope.”
“I don’t mind. I’m grateful for you.”
“Just doing what anyone would.”
“No, you’re not. Most people don’t care about anyone, or they are too afraid to get involved.”
“Sounds like you know from experience.”
“I don’t know. Maybe.”
My fingers itch to reach over and touch her.
She glances back at the tv then says, “Can I ask you something?”
“Shoot.”
“What was your first tattoo?”
A low chuckle erupts from deep within my chest. It’s unexpected but welcome.
“That’s easy. I was marking myself up with ink pens and shit before I was even sixteen.
Drove my mother crazy. She’d yell at me I was going to get ink poisoning.
She bought me my first tattoo gun for my eighteenth birthday.
Made me promise her I’d practice on melons first.”
“Did you?”
“Nah.” I hike my shorts up a little on my left thigh. “This was the first.” I point to the skull and crossbones on my upper leg.
“Does it hold any special meaning?”
“Nope. I just wanted something badass.”
Lacey laughs, letting out a yawn. She must be exhausted after the days she’s had.
I pull the cover up over both of us. “Get some sleep,” my voice comes out huskier than I intend.
She’s already falling sideways towards me. Her dark lashes are heavy as they flutter. I direct her head to my shoulder.
She mumbles a quiet “thanks.”
I watch the muscles of her face relax.
I’m not getting any sleep soon. Not with the warmth of her pressing against me, smelling like her cherry body wash and my laundry detergent. I try to resist the urge to bring my mouth down on hers, but fuck if I don’t want to.
“You’re staring,” she mutters.
“Can’t help it. You’re beautiful and I wonder what’s running through your mind right now.”
“Nothing.” She lets out a dry laugh. “It’s strange. Like waking up in a room you swear you’ve lived in, but nothing is yours. I can make decisions. Tell you what I want to eat, but as far as people and places…there’s nothing there. But you. You’re there now.”
She glances up at me through her long lashes with pouty lips. I want to fill that empty space for her. Give her good thoughts to replace whatever is missing.
I pinch her chin between my fingers, holding her gaze. Her minty breath fans against my skin. Fuck, I want to taste her. “You need anything at all, wake me up.”
She responds with a nod, and I don’t miss the disappointment before she closes her eyes.
I lay next to her for what feels like hours as she slumbers next to me. The urge to touch her is nearly painful. Like holding my hand to fire.
Eventually, I pass out, and the next morning the space next to me is empty.
Panic fills my chest. My heart leaps to my damn throat, but then I hear the sizzle of bacon frying in a pan and I relax.
I rub the sleep from my eyes and pad across the room to the kitchen, the scent of food and coffee luring me to where she stands with a spatula in hand, looking too damn good in my shirt.
“Thought I’d make you breakfast. Hope you don’t mind. I helped myself to some coffee.”
“You can help yourself to anything in this kitchen,” I tell her, a low rumble in my chest that sounds rougher than I intend.
I can’t help but picture her like this every morning, making herself useful, bringingA sweet smile, awake and a little sly, curls across her face. “It’s mostly yogurt and beer.”
I open the fridge and snap up a container, wagging it at her.
“That’s what a real man eats for breakfast.”She plunks a few eggs in the pan, and damn if it doesn’t do something primal in me, watching her so at home.
Like she’s always been here. Like she belongs here.
“I see you’re a fan of the bodybuilder diet. ”
“Every day is leg day. Gotta keep up.”
Her laughter floats through the air, soft and bright, and it makes me want to do something reckless. Like pin her against the counter and slide my hands up the backs of her thighs. I clear my throat. “So, what should we do today?”
“You tell me. Do you have to work?”
“They can manage without me.”
“You sure? I don’t want to interrupt your life.”
“Yeah. How about I take you for a ride on my bike?”
Her face pales.
“What’s wrong?”
“I’ve never been on a motorcycle. At least I don’t think I have.”
“It’s easy, sweetness. I’ll take good care of you. All you have to do is hold on tight. Wrap your arms around me and lean into the turns. You don’t have to do anything else.”
She’s gripping the spatula a little too hard, and I see how my suggestion rattled her.“What if I fall off? Or what if I cause you to wreck?”
“Not gonna let you fall. There’s nothing to worry about. Promise.”
She finishes the eggs, puts everything on two plates, and joins me at the kitchen counter. I eat most of the bacon before she’s even sat down. She pushes some eggs around with her fork, then finally asks, “Was it scary for you the first time?”
“Damn skippy, it was. My old man got me on a dirt bike before I could even ride a bicycle without the training wheels. Launched myself into a ditch. Busted my teeth and split my chin open. My mother screamed and cried. You’d think I’d died.”
“I’m not sure that’s helping plead your case.”
“Babe.” I take a sip of coffee and watch her dip her toast in the egg yolk. “Going to get dressed.”
I leave her to finish eating and change clothes. I grab a spare helmet out of my closet and a jacket for her that is probably way too big. Lacey looks to be about the same size as my sister Candyce. She’s probably got plenty of shit she doesn’t wear. We can swing by her place.