Devil's Angels Boxed Set: Bikers and Alpha Bad Boy Erotic Romance (2 page)

CHAPTER THREE

Oh, boy, she was in trouble. When Christian Belz turned on the charm, he was something else. Usually men didn’t fluster her in the least, but this one always had. She’d been raised in this club, raised around men rough around the edges, protective of their women and wilder than mountain lions. She’d heard more about sex before the age of ten than most women did their whole lives.

She’d been in three relationships since turning sixteen, two of them long-term. Her very first boyfriend hadn’t affected her the way this man did with one look. It wasn’t just his looks, it was the way he carried himself, confident and cocky. He had a wild streak in him a mile wide. He did what he wanted, when he wanted. Period.

The problem with a man like Christian was that she
really
liked men like Christian.

The problem with liking men like Christian was that her Daddy really disliked men like Christian.
This
one in particular.

She didn’t want to go against her Daddy’s wishes, but she’d been raised in this world, a world where independence and freedom meant everything. A world where family was protected, but never held back. With so many outsiders judging their lifestyle, it was important to be supportive of each other and show the ones passing judgment that they were more than how the media and TV shows portrayed them.

Something more was going on with her Daddy and Christian. It wasn’t just that the younger members had helped vote in someone more like them. It was personal.

While she worked out how to approach the situation to get the information she needed, she got to work on Christian’s art. It had to be awesome. It had to fit him, it had to flow with the contours of his body and look like it was a living, breathing part of him, while incorporating the existing lines.

She stared at the photos she’d printed off of his skin. Studied how the lines moved with different positions of his arm. How the skin looked when he was relaxed, and when his arm was up and the skin was taut.

What did she know about him? He was a damn good mechanic and great at custom paint jobs. Artistic, like her, only in a different medium.

He was good looking, a real ladies man. Didn’t spread himself thin, but close. He was an equal opportunity man, liked both women in the life and Towners. Pecan was full of good-looking women, and she couldn’t blame him for wanting to sample the merchandise. He was a single male in a small town.

Then there was his work with the Blue Mustangs. She’d heard nothing but good about what he’d been trying to do, increasing the fundraising side of their lifestyle to include kids with cancer and organizing rides to escort fallen soldiers to their final resting places in the area. Those were all good things, things that showed you what a man was like on the inside.

That’s when it hit her: she knew exactly what to do with his art. She grabbed a black pencil and started to sketch.

*****

He couldn’t concentrate. He’d been daydreaming instead of rebuilding a carburetor for one of the Towners. He could still feel her fingertips on his skin. The flesh over his ribs warmed every time he thought about her. He was acting like some fifteen year old virgin with his first crush.

He couldn’t wait for closing time so he could see her again.

Attempting to focus on the task at hand, Christian never noticed Atticus coming in through the bay door. “You need a hand with that?”

He started, dropping the screwdriver he’d been holding loose in his hand. “Something I can help you with?”

“Yeah, I heard you hit my kid up for some ink.” Atticus leaned against a support pole, his arms crossed over his chest, jaw tight.

“I did. Saw something she did a couple of years back on Sam. Thought she might could fix an old mistake.” He picked the screwdriver up and attacked the innocent carburetor.

“I thought I warned you to stay away from my daughter. I guess I was just talking to myself.” Pulling away from the pole, Atticus tried to make himself look even bigger than he was already.

Christian stood, letting everything drop to the floor and facing the old man. “You warned me, but you don’t control me. I don’t want to fight you, old man, but you seem to have come here looking for one.”

“She don’t need to get caught up with the likes of you. I know what kind of man you are, seen more than a few young bucks like you in my day. Hell, I might’ve even have been you at one point in my life. I don’t want that for my little girl.” Atticus moved forward threateningly.

Christian stood his ground. He really didn’t want to scrap with the old man. “What do you think you know about me? Rumors? They’re a disease in small towns and in clubs like this one. You don’t like me, I get it, but you aren’t going to tell me what I can or can’t do with my personal life.”

“No, I guess I can’t, but I can sure as hell make sure Sandy doesn’t become another notch on your bedpost.” Atticus spit the words out like they tasted bad.

“Well, that’s up to your daughter, now isn’t it?” Christian knew he was pushing the old man’s buttons, but damn if he wasn’t tired of the way he was being treated. “I don’t force women, and I don’t lie to them.”

“You don’t stick around, either.”

“Not if it’s not right, no.” Christian sat back down on the old milk crate he used as a seat and picked his tool and his part back up, dismissing the old man with his action.

“My daughter, she’s no fool. She’ll see you for what you are. She always does, eventually.” With those parting words, Atticus left.

No, she’s no fool,
Christian thought to himself as he returned his attention to the carburetor in his hand.

*****

It was well after five when Sandy finally stepped back from the paper and looked at the final product. It would be some of her best work, and it would also be expensive to ink. She hadn’t taken cost into consideration when she’d started. That was something she’d have to discuss with Christian.

Cramped up from sitting in one position, she got up and stretched, moaning when her neck popped. She turned and found her Daddy leaning against the door, smiling.

“Haven’t seen you all day. Thought I’d come see if you wanted to get a bite to eat with your old Dad.”

“That sounds perfect. I’m starved.” She put her pencils and pens away, folded up her sketchbook and tucked it into her bag.

“It’s hot in this old room. Maybe I can get a window unit or something put in here to keep you cool.” Atticus put his arm around his daughter’s shoulders and they walked in tandem to the main room, weaving around the dinner crowd already inside.

“That would be awesome. When I’m with someone and the door is shut, it’s like a furnace in there.” She pulled her chair out and sat down, fanning herself with a menu.

Mariah noticed them and came out from the kitchen to sit beside her at the table. “I was beginning to wonder if you’d died in there. Hungry?”

“Famished.” She smiled and kissed the older woman’s cheek. “You know what I want, right?”

“The same thing your Daddy has every Thursday night-- meatloaf, fried potatoes, and a big glass of my special sweet tea.” She got up, kissed Atticus on the top of his head, and went to make their plates.

“Mari sure is happy you’re home.” Atticus said, smiling after the woman who’d saved his life more than once in the past twelve years.

“Are you?” Sandy asked, her eyes serious.

“Don’t be silly, Sandy girl. I’m always happy when you’re home.” Atticus smiled but it was tight, not relaxed like it used to be.

He was lying. She could see it in his eyes. Maybe he could hide it from other people, but never from her. He wasn’t upset she was home, just upset that she’d come home an adult. He wouldn’t be able to influence her the way he had when she was younger. That bothered him.

Mariah returned with their plates but was too busy with the dinner rush to join them. They ate in silence, both of them leaving too much unsaid. Halfway through her meal, her phone beeped at her. The text from Christian, no doubt. Her Daddy looked at her to see what she’d do. Respect had her keeping the phone in her pocket until the meal was done.

The first thing she did when Atticus excused himself to take care of an issue at the bar was to grab her phone. The text was short and to the point. ‘Done yet?’

She texted back, ‘Yep. Come to the club. There’s an entrance on the side.’

Seconds later he sent back, ‘omw, pretty girl’

She hated that she smiled at the words on her phone’s screen. She also hated that she was tempted to go to the restroom to freshen up and comb her hair. She
really
hated it when she gave in to temptation.

CHAPTER FOUR

Still stewing over the confrontation with Atticus, Christian pulled up to the side where Sandy’s little shop was and stared at the door. He probably should have taken some time to cool off before coming here. He was wound tight, and problems at the shop hadn’t helped the situation after the old man had left. His neck and shoulders were tight with tension as he took off his helmet and strapped it in place on the back of his bike.

He pushed open the door without knocking, liking the way Sandy’s breath caught when she saw him. As a bonus, a slight flush of color spread across her cheeks. “I startled you. Sorry.”

Sandy eyed him closely for a moment. “Huh, I don’t think you’re sorry in the least.” She watched as he came in and made himself a spot in her small space.

She’d been raised around tough, stubborn men her whole life. One thing she knew at a glance was a man on the edge. The set of Christian’s shoulders was hard, and he was holding his neck stiffly. Since coming in she’d noticed him clenching his fists repeatedly. He was trying to appear as if nothing were wrong, but something was definitely bugging him.

“Bad day?”

Her quiet question was unexpected. He surprised himself by answering honestly: “Yeah. Gruesome.” He scrubbed his hands over his face, suddenly tired.

“I wanted to talk to you about some things before I show you what I did--” she began, turning to get her sketchbook off the small desk. When she turned back he was standing, towering over her where she sat on the stool.

“Take a ride with me?” he asked, staring right into those gorgeous green eyes of hers.

Immediately her guard went up. “I don’t think that’s such a good idea, Christian.”

He liked the sound of his name on her lips. “Because your Daddy thinks it’s a bad idea, or because
you
think it’s a bad idea?” His smile was a promise of something wild.

That got her back up. “Maybe a little of both. Maybe you’re used to women who are willing to jump on the slut seat after a flash of that smile, but I’m not one of them.” She got up, pacing away from his closeness to stand by the door. “This obviously isn’t the right time to do this.” She put her sketchbook into her satchel, disappointed.

He sat back down, crossing his arms over his wide chest. “I guess that came out all wrong. Look, I need to blow off some steam, but a ride is all I am offering. I can see you’ve been cooped up in here all day, so I thought you might want to come along.”

To her shock, she found herself reconsidering. It had been a long day, and she was on edge as much as he was. Maybe a good long ride where she could just let go for a bit would be good. Her Daddy’s warning came to the front of her mind. He’d be pissed if she went. She wanted to go.

He could see the war raging in her head. She wanted to come, but was it her Daddy’s warning holding her back or something more? “We can head out by Fielder’s Pond. It’s a shorter ride, but cooler around the water.”

Fielder’s Pond was one of her favorite places, and she hadn’t had a chance to go since coming home. The temptation was too much. She grabbed her helmet off the shelf by the door and her satchel with the sketchbook inside. “Let’s go.”