Marked as His (5 page)

Like hell.
The corner of his lips quirked into a half smile but he didn’t respond. He’d been around enough women to know the difference between a woman who really wanted him and one who fucked every man with a motorcycle. Santana liked both, as far as he could tell. She just wouldn’t admit it to herself.

Yet.

“So what’s your next move? You’re aware that I can get up any time and leave this house.”

She sank her teeth into her lower lip, spiking his lust. “You won’t.”

Lowering his lids, he eyed her. “No?”

“You can’t go back to the club without me. Even if you aren’t handcuffed to my bed, I still have control. What’d they promise you if you completed this mission?” As she cocked her head, her luxurious hair rippled over her tattooed shoulder. He wanted to run his lips over the silken strands and taste her inked flesh.

There was no hiding his state of arousal, especially since it was bulging through his open fly. Ignoring her question, he glanced at his predicament and back up at her. “I don’t suppose you’ll unbutton my jeans and give me a little more room.”

“I’m not touching your fly.”

He tilted his hips upward. “You know you want to, love.”

“I’m not your love. Stop calling me that.”

“You could be.”

“Along with a dozen sweet butts a week. No thank you.”

“You’ve got the biker’s life all figured out, don’t you?”

“I know enough to stay away.” She opened the nightstand drawer and pulled out a bottle of hot pink nail polish. He watched her uncap it.

“You don’t strike me as a hot pink girl.” Visions of other pink places on her body flooded his head.

“I’m not.” She applied the brush to his fingernail. He watched her fill in the whole nail bed with color and move to the next. After four fingers, she said, “Turn your hands over. I need to get at your thumb.”

She was leaning so close, her scent teased him, along with the soft look on her face. He moved his hands to give her access.

“I wonder what the guys at work will think.”

That surprised him. “What?”

“About me leaving with you. I have to be careful not to give any of them an impression that I’m available.”

The hot feeling was back in his chest. “Because they’ll try to jump on the action.”

“Yeah.” She polished his thumb and sat back to survey her work. Then she dipped the brush into the bottle once more and set to work on his other hand.

“This would be easier with my hands uncuffed.”

“Not on your life.”

He sighed. “Tell me what’s next, Santana.”

“Well I was thinking of doing your makeup. I think you’d look lovely with a smoky eye.” Her dark eyes were flecked with gold around the irises. She had one of the softest expressions he’d ever seen on a woman.

“You could be a model,” he said.

She ducked her face to the side, hiding from him. “I’ve done a little. Local stuff—some store ads.”

“I can see why.”

“I’m not thin enough to do more, even if I wanted.”

“Why the hell would you want to be thin like that? You’re gorgeous.”

The crest of her cheek pinkened to the hue of his fingernails but she didn’t respond. While she finished his nails and placed the bottle in the nightstand again, something rolled to the front of the drawer.

“I see you need a big one to satisfy you.”

“And I suppose you’ve got just what I need,” she shot back.

“Climb onto this bed and find out, love.”

“You wish.” She went into the bathroom and didn’t come out for a long time. When he heard the shower start, he collapsed against the pillow and drowned in fantasies of bubbles foaming on her naked body.

•●•

Santana set her makeup kit on the bed next to Paxton’s big thigh. He hadn’t moved from her bed as far as she knew, but she’d given him plenty of opportunity to escape while she showered.

Hell, she wished he would. This game she’d begun exhausted her. When it came down to it, she just wanted to be left in peace. Why wouldn’t her father give it up?

Maybe I should just talk to him.

Then what? Be pulled into more meetings. Coffee at the clubhouse or maybe fixing one of the big meals she remembered from her youth. All the ladies would spend hours in the hot kitchen fixing a meal for the Hell’s Sons to celebrate some ride or maybe a new crime they’d gotten away with. Who knew?

Her mother would pull Santana’s hair if she found out she’d spent time with her father. But that wasn’t what stopped her. She didn’t want to complicate her life.

Paxton twitched his thigh against the side of her makeup kit. “What should I expect next? Waxing?”

Oooh, that was good. The visual of dribbling hot wax all over his manly, hairy body could make a girl smile for days.

Especially after she ripped it off.

“Not a bad idea, but no. You’d probably like the pain too much.”

He chuckled, the sound sending ribbons of warmth into her system. To conceal her reaction, she opened the kit and laid out some smoky shadows and a tube of mascara. As she contemplated his rugged features, she thought of ways to contour his eyes to make them pop.

The idea of making up this rough, stunning man was so ludicrous, she had to bite back a smile.

“You like the thought of me being in pain, don’t you?” The slight note of teasing in his voice brought some new feeling of intimacy. She had to put a stop to that immediately.

“I won’t lie and say no.”

He raised his bound hands and settled them over hers where it lay on the bed. She jerked but he squashed her hand, keeping her from pulling free. Their gazes clashed and she grew achingly aware of how close he was.

“If you don’t come back with me, they’ll hurt me, Santana.”

Worry wove through her. Was this some kind of sick initiation?
Bring back my daughter or die?

“Hurt you how?”

He dropped his gaze and pressed his lips into a flat line that drew her attention. Small dark hairs sprouted around his lips and invited visions of beard burn on every inch of her body.

“I don’t know how they do it. It’s different every time.”

Dammit. She pulled her hand out from under his and rubbed it over her face. “Look, I wish I could help. I’d hate to see you die because of me.”

“You were going to kill me with a dirty needle.”

“It wasn’t dirty. Anyway, I don’t want you to suffer on my account, but I can’t go back, Paxton.” Somehow saying his name compounded that feeling of intimacy. He was in her bed—a big, hard, virile man. And she could almost imagine his hands on her and his weight pressing her into the mattress.

Her skin prickled and her nipples hardened. “Look. Tommy lost his chance. Our family was going through a crisis and he walked away when we needed him most. I’ll never forgive him, no matter what he says.”

Paxton grew very still. She could nearly feel the tension building in him. When a man like him blew, she didn’t want to be close.

“I’m sorry to hear that, Santana.”

The fact he didn’t know the whole story didn’t surprise her. It was the way criminals operated—they told partial truths to get what they wanted.

She picked up the makeup brush.

“I think I’d rather have the ink than my eyes done.” His heavy stare rooted her in place. Her pussy squeezed, wetting her panties with the essence of a desire she didn’t welcome.

“Ink it is.” She found the needle and dipped it into the dye.

“I’m ready.” He extended his arm.

She stared at his muscle. The lines of each tattoo told of his artistry. “You ink for the club?”

“Resident tattoo artist, yeah. But I have other skills.” His eyes gleamed.

“I’m sure the sweet butts love you.” She hovered with the needle over his skin but didn’t jab him like she wanted to. Dammit, she was getting soft. If one of the welders spoke to her this way, he’d find himself blinded by pepper spray. The worst she’d done to Paxton was give him a manicure.

He’ll be in trouble when he doesn’t take me to the club, though.

He trailed his index finger over her upper arm, startling her. The pin jabbed deep enough to draw blood and he hissed.

She yanked her arm away as if protecting it from his scorching touch, pleased she’d caused him a little pain.

“I’m bleeding.”

“A big man like you can’t take a little blood?” And little it was too. Barely a speck welled between ink and hairs.

Without warning he wrapped his fingers around her thigh. In a blink he’d moved to the side of the bed close enough to grab her. Even restrained
,
he was dangerous. Her breathing came in short bursts as his leather/man scent filled her head.

“You’re torturing me, Santana.” His voice pitched low, a caress she felt to depths she didn’t want to think about. As he moved in, she rethought her decision of uncuffing him from her bed. Then again, she didn’t want it broken more.

“That little pinprick is torture? What will you say to the waterboarding I have planned for later?”

He chuckled, the puff of breath smelling like beer across her face. Her body moved on its own, turning her into a position where he could lower his face and claim her lips.

“You do make me laugh. That’s hard to do,” he said.

“You won’t be laughing for long.”

“Why? You’re going to do my colors next? I think I’m an autumn.”

The laugh burst out. As she let the tension flow out through the sound, she became aware of Paxton moving.

In a blink he’d flipped her onto the mattress. She reared up and their heads connected. The smack of skull against skull sent stars spinning before her eyes.

His big body pinned her from shoulder to foot. She sank under his weight, nerve endings singing.

“Get off me,” she gasped for air.

“I just want to see these tattoos on your arm up close.”

“You could have asked.”

“What fun would that be?” He lowered his mouth and brushed a scalding kiss over her tattoo. The coals of need banked in her groin exploded into a raging inferno. Hot lava of lust overflowed. As he trickled feather-soft kisses over her roses and leaves to her elbow, she couldn’t do anything but quiver.

Once he’d kissed the length twice, he lifted his head. His intense gaze seemed directly knotted to her pussy. Her body tightened to a painful ache. “Do you have more tattoos?”

“Y-yes,” she said raggedly. What was she doing? He was her captive. She wasn’t going to have power over him if she allowed her body to think.

God, he really was a dirty boy in all the right ways. Rough jaw, rougher hands. Leather and musk and hard muscle.

He’d been right when he’d said she was caught between worlds. What she wanted and said she wanted were quite different. She hadn’t quite figured out how to be the person she wanted to be when she was born Tommy’s daughter.

Paxton’s stare held her prisoner as much as his body. “I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.”

She managed to wedge her arms between them and push. He budged a hair’s width but granted her enough room to breathe. She dragged in a deep breath and wished she hadn’t.

“I’ve got a lot more skin to ink. Wanna see?”

He wasn’t only talking about tattoos.

She turned on her charm. “Let me up. I need to take off my clothes to show you mine.”

He raised a thick brow. “Nice try, beautiful.”

“No really. The rest of my tattoo is on my side.”

Their gazes held for a long, throbbing heartbeat. “Show me,” he said raggedly and rolled off.

She leaped off the bed, eyes on the weapon and bullets. This wasn’t going the way she’d planned at all.
That’s the trouble—I didn’t plan.
She was winging it, flying by the seat of her pants, and she had no idea where to go from here.

Eventually the Hell’s Sons would show up looking for Paxton and she wouldn’t have a prayer against them if they tried to take her by force. Even if they didn’t arrive today or tomorrow, she couldn’t keep Paxton prisoner.

He was more dangerous than several bikers—he could break down her resistance.

His cock bulged through his open fly and she swore she could follow a vein beneath the tight fabric of his underwear. Hormones raged and she fisted her hands.