Bounty: Fury Riders MC (35 page)

Chapter 12

Christina

I know we shouldn’t have. But I’m so glad we did.

I’ve never felt like this before. I didn’t think I was capable of feeling so much pleasure. There were times when I didn’t think I could handle any more, but I’m glad he pushed me further. I feel sorry for any man who comes into my life after tonight. They’ll never measure up.

We stay in bed together for a little while. I sense hesitation on his part at first, but there’s no way I’m going back to that solitary bed and sleeping alone after what just happened. I’m feeling vulnerable, more so than I ever have, and I need a little contact right now. I’m guessing this isn’t his usual routine.

It doesn’t take long for him to warm up, though. I’m dozing gently, sort of in and out of consciousness, in that beautiful place between sleep and wakefulness. My head is on his shoulder, and I can hear the way his heart beats slow and strong in his chest. Everything about him is strong.

I hear his breathing change, too. It slows, deepens. I glance up at his face without moving my head, wanting to avoid disturbing him. He’s so beautiful, if a man can be beautiful. The moonlight against the snow fills the room with an almost supernatural white glow, lighting his face. He’s angelic, just like the ink across his chest. Though I don’t think he was in an angelic mood when he got that done. I bite my lip to stifle a giggle.

Then I remember something.

“Oh, shit!” He stirs at my voice. “The fire! You lit the fire!”

“Good call.” He hurries out of bed, not bothering to put on his boxers, and heads downstairs. I hear him putting out the flames, speaking to Blue in low, soothing tones. Poor dog. We probably scared the hell out of him.

I giggle again, remembering how wild it was. He’s officially ruined me for all other men. How can I go back to plain, boring sex again after what just happened? Nothing else will come close, I’m sure.

I look around the room, really seeing it for the first time. The dresser and bed are antiques, I can tell, the curtains that same pretty lacy fabric as the ones in the guest room. I wonder why he still has everything decorated this way. It doesn’t seem to suit his personality at all. He’s so masculine, hardly able to roll out a basic dough on the counter earlier tonight. This whole “farmhouse shabby chic” aesthetic clashes with what I know about him.

I don’t think I would change a thing, though. Maybe get a nicer TV with a better picture. Maybe switch out his old computer with my newer one. The stove and oven are amazing, but the fridge is a little small. Maybe a second one in the garage?

Wait a minute. What the hell am I thinking? I’m going through this in my head as though I plan to move in. This is exactly the sort of complication I don’t need in my life right now, damn it. I can’t go from one fucked up relationship to another, no matter how good the sex is. And the sex was very, very good.

Besides, Jax doesn’t exactly seem like the type who would want to settle down with me. He strikes me as a loner, through and through. I can only imagine the way he’d react if I showed up one day, bags in hand. He might act like he didn’t know me, or regret ever finding me in the snow.

The idea is entirely too screwed up to consider.

And yet…

When he’s not being an ass, and I’m not flying off the handle at him, he’s sweet. Thoughtful. Tender. I’ll never forget how he took care of me when I was half-frozen. There’s a good heart in there, even if he doesn’t want to admit to it.

Can I see us continuing this way on a permanent basis? I’m surprised to realize that the idea appeals to me. I wouldn’t mind staying here with him for longer than tonight. As long as he wants me, and I want him. Why not? Many successful relationships have been based on little more than great sex, right?

Besides, there is more between us, as much as I didn’t want to admit it at first. There’s much more. The fact that he triggers me only means we’re alike. We’re too alike in some ways. And our differences, well, they make for some explosive fun, that’s for sure. I could live with sex even half as good as this for the rest of my life.

I don’t even know anything about him. He could be a murderer, a deviant. I’ve been here for less than two days.

We could get to know each other. Does any couple know everything about each other when they first get together? Of course not. It comes in time.

Just like I didn’t know everything about Tommy. I shiver now. I can’t stop taking chances, no matter how terrible things were with him. I’ll be smarter this time. If I see warning signs, I won’t ignore them this time. Not like I did for years with that bastard.

My eyes fall on the dresser, specifically on a framed picture on top of the dresser. It’s of a woman, petite, blonde. Pretty. She’s laughing. I wonder who she is. Not a sister, not with that tiny frame or blonde hair. Jax is dark, almost swarthy, and huge. A girlfriend? Shit. Does he have a girlfriend? I wouldn’t know, would I? I slap my forehead.

He returns just as I do. “You okay?” he asks, hesitating.

I just nod and smile, my eyes unable to leave his body. He’s impressive, no doubt about it.

He gets back into bed with me, his back against the headboard. I don’t cuddle up to him as quickly this time, now wary.

“I hope it’s okay for me to stay here, I mean, in bed with you.”

“Oh, yeah. No problem.”

I roll onto my side, facing him. “How long have you lived in this house?”

He shrugs, staring at the ceiling as he thinks. “It’s been, oh, maybe seven years? Eight?”

“It’s so cozy. Perfect at this time of year, too. Makes me feel all warm inside.”

He smiles, and I know he feels exactly the same way. I know there’s a good, sweet man in there. I wouldn’t care so much if there wasn’t.

“Did you grow up around here? What made you move into this house specifically?”

He shrugs again, the smile disappearing now. “I grew up not far from here, outside of town. Close enough to almost feel like a part of things, but I never really was. There was always a wall between me and the people who live there.”

“How come?”

“Ask them. I always guessed it was because I was sort of, well, white trash. Poor. You know those people, you see them. I bet they come in every Sunday after church, don’t they?” I nod. “Of course they do. But they’re the least Christian bunch of hypocrites in the world. Unaccepting of anybody not just like them.”

He looks at me, his eyes narrowing. “You probably don’t see it, because you’re the sort of person they like. Sweet, pretty, friendly. You fit in…except you’re a good person. When I walked into your shop, you didn’t judge me or turn me away. You treated me like a person. Tattoos, dirty work clothes and all.”

“Well, I have to admit you were a little intimidating. But you’re a big guy, too.”

“True enough. But I wasn’t always. Not when I was a kid.”

I mull this over. Maybe this is why he’s so cut off, because he feels rejected. I don’t blame him. My heart goes out to him now. He’s so wounded. I want to end that loneliness for him.

Damn. One good round of sex and I’m feeling all types of things. What the hell happened to me?

“Can I ask you another question?”

He hesitates. I can tell he already feels like he’s revealed too much. He can’t be used to talking about himself like this. He shifts beneath the blankets, his lips pursed.

“Sure. Go ahead.”

I point to the dresser, indicating the framed photo. “Who’s that?”

His face drops. I’ve seen that look before, I realize. It’s the same look he had on his face when I referenced the way he lives alone. Shit. What did I just step in? I wish I could take it back.

I especially wish it when he replies, “That’s my wife. My late wife.”

Chapter 13

Jax

I knew it couldn’t last, the whole “let’s not ask personal questions” stage. Now that we’ve had sex, the floodgates are open. She doesn’t know there’s no future for us.

I watch her now, as she sleeps. I know she wants more. It’s always obvious when a woman wants more. They start asking questions. How long have you lived here? Where did you grow up? Who’s that woman in the picture you haven’t been able to take off your dresser in the two years since she died?

I shut down after telling Christina that the picture was of Marissa. I didn’t even give her the name, leaving it at “late wife.” I felt sorry for her; I still do. She was upset, I guess because she didn’t mean to pry. I hadn’t given her any idea that I used to be married. It’s not her fault. It was an honest question.

After that, I sort of shut down. I didn’t want her to keep asking questions, which I knew would grow progressively painful and awkward. If she had, and if I’d answered honestly, Christina wouldn’t be asleep right now. She’d be out in the snow, running away from me. Even freezing to death would seem like a better fate.

I didn’t tell her how Marissa died.

And I didn’t tell her that the whole town thinks I did it. Or at least that I’m responsible for it.

They’re right, of course. I’m responsible. She died thanks to me and my fucked up life.

I joined the club when I was a kid, too stupid to realize what it was really all about. I remember how good it felt, the idea of having a family. A circle of brothers, people I could count on. They’d have my back. I’d spent my whole miserable childhood on the fringe. My parents a couple of alcoholics, Dad in and out of jail. No brothers or sisters at home, all of them only half-siblings anyway. There were four different fathers among the six of us, and I was the youngest. I was always alone.

The club was going to save me, give me a new life. I’d always loved motorcycles, and when I saw the Angels of Chaos ride through town on their bikes, my imagination would race. They were the coolest thing I’d ever seen. The gossip about them, the way folks would wrinkle their noses and turn away, all of that just egged me on. They already felt that way about my white trash family and me, anyway.

So I joined up. I met Marissa through them. She was one of the hangers-on, so to speak, always at the parties. Serving beer, sitting on members’ laps. But she wasn’t like the others. She was smart, and she wouldn’t do everything she was asked. A lot of the girls were so broken they’d suck any dick waved in front of their face as long as it meant they got to hang around. Marissa was different. She wouldn’t stand for any of it. I knew she was the one for me.

I don’t even remember how things went downhill, but they did. I was so busy with the club I didn’t notice the way we were falling apart until it was much, much too late.

I stepped away after she died. I couldn’t be a part of it anymore. I didn’t need the club to survive either. I’d managed to stay away from any serious charges during my time in the club, so it wasn’t impossible for me to get a job. I started landscaping, needing the air and sun. Something good, something fresh. All I’d ever known was darkness and rot and stink.

Now here’s this girl. She wants me. I can’t deny wanting her. She’s a pain in the ass, a sarcastic brat. She’s perfect right down to the freckles on her nose and arms. But I can’t bring her into all my shit. I’m too fucked up; I’ve done and seen too many things. I’m dirty, and I’ll never be clean. She deserves so much better than me. She’s a good woman. She has a future. I don’t.

I always hurt people in the end. It was unfair of me to bring her closer, to give into the need I felt for her. She’s not the type to screw ’em and lose ’em. She’s the real deal. She has a good heart. Now, we’re more connected than before, and it’s going to be even more painful for her once she realizes who I am and what I’ve done.

Because she will of course. She hasn’t been here long enough to hear the rumors. Or maybe she has, but she hasn’t put two and two together yet. She doesn’t know about Marissa, how she died. How I killed her. Once she finds out, it’ll break her heart.

But how can I push her away when I want her so badly still? Even after fucking the hell out of her, I want her again. And I want to fight with her and watch her yell at me. I want to watch her cook, since that’s where she’s in her element. I don’t want to let go of her now that I’ve had her.

And I don’t want to leave her open to that son of a bitch Tommy. She needs to be protected from him. I’ve seen what guys like him can do to a girl like her. My chest tightens at the thought of her being hurt that way. She’s mine now. I won’t let anyone hurt her.

But what happens when I’m the one who winds up doing the hurting?

Chapter 14

Christina

I know I should continue to my parents’ house, but I can’t. I don’t want to leave him.

What the hell is wrong with me? When did I become a fawning fangirl? Maybe right around the time I had a screaming orgasm. Or the second time. Or the third time. I don’t remember. All I know is I’m hooked.

It’s not just the sex. I remind myself of this while we’re tangled up together. He’s asleep, snoring slightly. I’m surfing the sweet spot between asleep and awake, everything hazy and comfortable. My head is on his chest, his heartbeat lulling me back to sleep.

No, screw it all. I ought to get out of bed and roll on. I can’t stay here forever. The feeling of having somewhere else to be is putting a damper on the time we’re together, anyway. It was one thing while the snow was falling, another while waiting for the world to dig out. Now? I’m afraid of overstaying my welcome, no matter how good a cook I happen to be.

Or how good a lay. Was I good? My eyes open, startled by this thought. I was thrilled by Jax’s prowess, shocked at the number of times he made me climax. I hardly ever did with my ex. Now I’m worried that I wasn’t good. All Tommy ever required was my presence in bed. I didn’t need to do anything, didn’t even get the chance to. Jeez, did I screw it up?

I couldn’t have been too bad. Jax seemed to enjoy himself well enough. I remember the way he grunted and shouted, the way he twitched in my mouth. I get a little wet thinking about it, the sounds that came out of his mouth when I was sucking him. I must have done something right.

Then he’d been weird. He’d been so weird. I’d asked the wrong question. I could kick myself now for it. Was that what good sex did to a person? Turn them into a total idiot?

No, damn it. I won’t do this to myself. I had every right to ask. It was a totally innocent question. I did that all the time when I was with Tommy. All the nights I spent in bed, cowering in the dark, wondering what I’d done this time to upset him. I shouldn’t have made that remark, shouldn’t have looked at him that way. I should have known better than to set him off. It’s become a reflex, I guess, blaming myself for another person’s actions.

Besides, it wasn’t as if Jax kicked me out of the house for it. He didn’t even ask me to go back to the spare bedroom. We spent the night right here, with me in his arms. It was bliss. The best sleep I’ve had in years, and I almost never liked sleeping close to Tommy. I was never comfortable.

I’m wide awake now, thoughts of my miserable past driving sleep far away. I look at Jax’s body. God, he’s beautiful. An underwear model on a billboard is the first thing that comes to mind, every muscle fully defined. Yet he’s not some preening, prissy boy, obsessed with his looks. There isn’t even a mirror anywhere in this room. He’s a man, truly and fully. Rugged, take charge. His body is the result of hard work, not hard workouts.

That being said, there’s a certain part of him that is not the result of workouts. I glance up at his face, still peaceful in sleep. I still hear his snores. I take the opportunity to get a peek under the sheets, currently around his hips. Damn. The boy is blessed. I remember the way he felt inside me. So big. So thick. Filling me up. It’s all I can do to keep myself from jumping him right this minute.

It’s best to let him sleep. He seems to be happy when he’s asleep, his face falling into much softer lines. Normally, he looks like he’s got a chip on his shoulder, like he’s always waiting for the other shoe to drop. His brow is almost permanently creased in thought. I wonder what happened to make him look that way.

He’s had a lot of pain. I knew it the first time I watched him staring at the fire when I insulted him over living alone the way he does. There are demons aplenty in this man’s life. I wish I could help him, just as much as I wish I could stop myself from wanting to help him. It’s not my job. He’s not my responsibility. I don’t have to take care of anybody but myself.

I can’t help the desire, though. Damn it.

Am I falling for him?

It’s like he hears my thoughts, stirring. One eye opens ever so slightly, then closes immediately.

“So bright.”

I giggle. “Yeah, that’s usually what happens in the morning.”

“What time is it? I’m usually up when it’s still dark.”

I roll over, checking my phone on the nightstand. “It’s after eight o’clock.”

“Are you serious? I have to go down to let Blue out. I’m surprised he hasn’t been whining at the door yet.” I give him room to sit up, drinking in the sight of him, the way every muscle plays beneath his skin like a symphony. I hate myself for even thinking something so corny, but it’s true.

Then he stands, and that magnificent ass is on display. Only for a moment, though, as he pulls on a pair of jeans. He’s so sexy.

“You want some breakfast?” He looks back, smiling.

“Yeah, sure. You want to cook?”

“I’m not completely clueless. I did eat just fine when you weren’t here.”

I decide to leave it there and not challenge him on cooking being “girly.”

A short time later I join him in the kitchen, my heart in my throat. I found an oversize sweatshirt of his in the closet and decided to wear it instead of my three-day-old sweater.

He looks me up and down, not saying a word before turning back to the stove.

“I hope you don’t mind. I just couldn’t bear the idea of putting that same sweater on again.”

A moment’s hesitation. “No, no, I get it. I don’t mind at all.”

Hmm. “Are you sure? I can take it off.”

He looks back to where I’ve sat at the kitchen table, a grin on his face. “You can definitely take it off if you want to. I wouldn’t say no.” I scowl, making him laugh before he turns back to the stove. “I was just thinking how cute you look in it.”

I smile, like a complete goon, from ear to ear. “Really?”

“Really. You should wear my clothes more often.”

I blush, wondering if he’s thinking along the same lines as I am. Wouldn’t that be something? A story we could tell our grandkids. How Grandpop rescued Grandmom from a blizzard, and they fell in love.

Ugh
. Again, so corny. What’s come over me?

“How do you like your eggs?”

“Oh, um, whatever’s easiest for you. Usually scrambled, but I like overeasy and sunny side, too.”

“You’re in luck. Scrambled eggs are my specialty.”

I watch as he cooks, not giving a damn about what’s on the stove. He’s still in just his jeans, looking more delicious than anything he could serve up. There’s something about the sight of a man in the kitchen, especially when he’s drop-dead gorgeous.

“There’s fresh coffee over here, by the way.” I’m desperate for caffeine. I rush for the pot.

“Is there anything I can do to help you?”

“Please. I think you’ve done enough this weekend.” He chuckles softly.

“I cooked a little bit. Big deal. It’s not enough.”

“Enough?”

“To make up for what you did for me. It’ll never be enough.”

He turns, seeing the dead-serious look on my face. “Hey.” He comes over to me. “I don’t need a payback, so don’t worry about it. I was in the right place at the right time. I’m just glad I was able to reach you before it was too late.” He strokes my cheek with his thumb. I’m mesmerized. “I’m glad I got to know you.”

I feel like my heart is exploding into a million rays of light. “Me, too.”

He leans in, just about to kiss me, before his eyes fly open. “The food. I’ll take a raincheck.”

I laugh, then tingle all over at the thought of a raincheck. I wonder what that’s going to involve.

Breakfast is delicious. Eggs, bacon, toast. Simple but filling.

“You know, not everybody can get eggs right. Or bacon, for that matter. You have good instincts.”

“What’s so hard about bacon?”

“It’s easy to burn. There’s nothing so sad as burned bacon.” We toast to this, touching our coffee cups in mid-air. “Seriously, though. I think you’d make a good cook.”

He laughs. “Cooking was never something the people in my life considered something a boy should be doing.” He winces, and laughs again.

“They were stupid. No offense.”

“None taken, because they were.” He shakes his head, remembering. “If they knew I was a landscaper now, they’d laugh their asses off at me.”

“Why?”

“Because I plant flowers and bushes. Trees. I mow grass and lay down mulch. It’s tough fucking work.”

“I can imagine!”

“But to them I’d be…a sissy. To put it nicely. They wouldn’t use the word ‘sissy.’”

“I get it.”

“I always loved it, though, when I was a kid. Being outside, watching things grow. It was like magic. Sometimes I’d ride my bike through the nicer neighborhoods just to see the way people with money would have their landscaping done. It sounds stupid.” He ducks his head.

“Not stupid at all. Really.”

“I guess, growing up the way I did, there wasn’t much… I don’t know…beauty. The closest my mom came to a garden was plastic flowers and a pink flamingo. Otherwise, I lived in a trailer on cinder blocks.”

I nod sympathetically, getting a much clearer picture of the man in front of me. No wonder he has so many walls built up in front of him. He was taught from an early age that cooking and enjoying nature were girly. I think about that kid, picturing him in my head. I wish I could give him a hug, the poor thing.

“For the record, a man who cooks is just about the sexiest thing in the world.”

“I’ve heard that. It’s really true?”

I stand, sliding my panties to the floor. Then I take his hand, placing it between my legs. His eyes widen before his fingers begin moving through my wetness.

“You tell me,” I breathe.