Chapter 5
Kit
He was glowering at me. It wasn't hard to see that he was pissed, I just hoped it wasn't all because of the slap from this morning. Guilt pricked at me once more because of how hard I'd hit him. "I'm so sorry for slapping you," I blurted out before he had a chance to say anything.
One dark eyebrow rose as he studied me. "I can take a hit. Though, I'm curious why you slapped me? You didn't seem to mind what we were doing." His voice was deep and smooth, like melted chocolate, and my body heated at the memory of his lips on mine.
"Smoke walked in," I explained with a shrug. "It was instinct."
He nodded in understanding. "I get it. He's your brother and he's protective of you."
"That’s an understatement." Smoke was so good at chasing men away that until Hell had kissed me I had nearly given up hope of feeling a man's touch again. I hadn’t been with anyone since high school.
I sighed as I looked around the bar. It was empty, except for us, and that was probably for the best. "He's not going to be happy about this. "
"About what?"
I looked up into his dark eyes and swallowed back the urge to leap over the bar top and kiss him again. He was watching me with a penetrating look. One that made my insides flutter. "The fact that we kissed. He’s probably going to lay into both of us once he catches up with us," I replied.
"I'll take care of him," he rumbled. "There's no need for you to worry."
Sighing, I leaned forward onto my arms on the bar.
"Hell..." This was hard. Admitting that I liked him put me in a vulnerable position, but I didn't want him to think otherwise.
I was basically in love with the man, though I still refused to admit it out loud.
"I'm not worried for me," I explained. "I don't want to ruin your relationship with my brother.
Or get either of you into trouble with the club," I admitted.
His eyes narrowed. "That's what the slap was about?"
Grimacing, I nodded. "Sorry, again."
He gripped the edge of the bar top, squeezing it.
I wasn't sure if he was imagining strangling me, or just fighting for control of the anger that was flooding over his face.
Either way, I was too busy staring at his forearms as muscles flexed under tanned skin and veins popped out like they were in this month's issue of a nurse's porn catalog.
One of my childhood friends had become a nurse and she was always going off about men's veins and how much they were appreciated when they stood out like Hell’s.
Realizing it was quiet, I looked up and found him watching me.
He still looked pissed, but now it was mixed with resignation and a hint of a smile.
He moved around the bar, coming to a stop near me.
I had to tilt my head back to stare up at him.
I was five-eight but he had nearly a foot on me at six-six. The man was huge.
"You're not going to ruin anything," he told me, voice firm. "I'm not worried about Smokehouse."
"You're not?" I asked, skeptical.
He shook his head and reached over to grasp my chin in one hand. "No. And you shouldn't be either."
My breath caught as his thumb stroked over my bottom lip. His dark eyes followed that movement and I felt the heat of his gaze like a physical touch.
"I've wanted to kiss you for years, Kit," he admitted.
"R-really?" I hated the way my voice broke. "I've wanted that, too," I told him.
The look on his face was nothing short of triumphant.
He leaned forward and kissed me again. One hand gripped the bar top and the other settled on his bicep as I fought to stay upright when my knees went weak.
He was so good at this. So good at everything.
It wasn't fair. How could I possibly compete with all the women who'd come before me? I didn’t know how many there were. His social life was a mystery to me.
He pulled back and studied me for a minute, his expression serious. "I want more than just a kiss from you, Vixen."
That made me blink. "Like what?" I asked, tone suspicious.
He chuckled. "I want everything you have to give. I want you to be my old lady."
My jaw dropped in shock. Just like that, he said the words I'd longed to hear for years. "Your…old lady?" I whispered, afraid he would take it back if the words were said too loudly.
"Yeah." He leaned forward again until our faces were only inches apart. "You want that?" he asked, voice soft as his eyes searched mine.
"Yes," I breathed. "Yes, please."
He grinned at the way I begged. "Good girl," he murmured against my lips before kissing me again.
This time it was a slow kiss. He took his time exploring my mouth.
His tongue slid along mine, teasing and tasting.
It was like he wanted to savor every moment of the kiss and make sure I knew exactly how much he wanted me.
When he finally pulled back, I was breathing heavily and my heart was racing. For such a quiet man, he sure packed a punch in the kissing department. He’d snuck past all my defenses and now I was spinning out of control.
"I'm going to go talk to Smokehouse."
"Hellfire-"
He cut me off with another quick kiss. "Don't worry, Vixen. Everything's going to be fine."
"You’re giving Smokehouse too much credit," I warned him, but he just chuckled and kissed my cheek.
"I'll see you later." He turned and left without another word.
I stared at the door as it swung shut behind him.
My fingers lifted to my lips and I couldn't help but rub them.
"Was that a dream?" I muttered to myself.
It had to be, right? No way the man I'd been pining over for years just walked in here and told me he wanted me to be his old lady.
Then kissed me in a way that nearly had me combusting in his arms. Things like this just didn't happen to me.
It just seemed too easy, like I needed to be extra cautious now.
Hope was surging in my chest, but I needed to be careful.
Life had a way of knocking me on my ass anytime I got my hopes up. And that never felt good.
Staring down at the floor, I considered going back to scrubbing.
Cleaning always had a way of soothing my chaotic thoughts.
Then Hell's angry face flashed through my mind, and I figured I’d better not.
I scooped up my supplies and stowed them all away inside the closet in the back.
Pausing after I shut the door, I thought about our kiss again—well, kisses—and let out a shaky laugh.
Giving in, I pinched my arm, hard, then yelped when the pain hit.
Definitely not dreaming. Shaking my head in bewilderment, I spoke out loud. "What the hell just happened?"
"Kit!"
I jumped as Smokehouse bellowed my name from out in the bar. "Shit," I muttered, stepping out of the back office area. He sounded pissed off. Had he seen Hell leave? Did he know what had just happened?
"Yeah?" I asked cautiously, coming around the end of the bar.
He was standing near one of the pool tables with his arms folded over his chest. His eyes were narrowed and his lips were pressed into a thin line. "We need to talk."
"About what?" I asked, trying for nonchalance.
His brows shot up and he gave me a disbelieving look. "You know damn well what."
"No, actually, I don't."
"Jesus Christ." He raked a hand through his hair. He pinned me with a look. "You're not going to admit it?"
Pursing my lips together, I shrugged, then gave him a cautious smile. "Not sure what you're talking about." Hell said he was going to talk to Smoke. The last thing I wanted was to get in the middle and show Hell I didn't trust him when he said he'd handle it.
"I saw the way you and Hell-"
"Smoke," I interrupted.
He broke off and glared at me. "What?"
"If you want to talk about this, you need to go speak with your friend."
His jaw dropped open. "What?"
"Go talk to Hell. I have work to do." I turned away from him, grabbing the cloth and spray I used to wipe down this place every day.
"You're going to let us work this out between ourselves?" Smoke asked, sounding cautious.
My gut twisted. I was an independent woman.
I ran my own life. It irritated me the way Smoke phrased that, which told me he was trying to get under my skin on purpose.
Shooting him a look over my shoulder, I said, "Yup.
" Turning away from the disbelief etched on his face without mocking him wasn't easy.
He'd never leave if I did that, though, so I focused on removing the liquor bottles from the stand they were sitting on then wiping down the wood.
His chuckle was deep and echoed through the empty bar. He shook his head, sounding bewildered. "Well, shit. Okay."
I waited until I heard the door bang shut behind me before my shoulders sagged.
None of these men could go through a door without yanking it open or slamming it shut.
I've had to tighten the hinges on the bar door more often than I cared to admit.
Setting down the rag and spray bottle, I gave in to the need to analyze my conflicting emotions.
I already told Hellfire yes. I wanted to be his, wanted it more than anything, but the doubts were beginning to creep in.
What was I doing? Hellfire was one of my best friends. I'd always had a thing for him, but he was Smoke's friend first and foremost. He'd always been off limits. Not because of Smoke's overprotective bullshit, but because I always worried about losing that friendship. Losing him.
"Screw this," I muttered. I shoved the bottles back onto the shelf, ignoring the little voice inside that insisted I straighten them until they were spaced equally apart and the labels faced the front. I needed to talk with someone or I was going to lose my mind.