Their Ex's Redrock Dawn (Texas Alpha Biker) (2 page)

He’d known in the year after he’d married her, to basically get her away from her abusive stepfather, that she was like a feather in the wind, bouncing from one thing to the next. She’d never really seemed to take to settling down to be a wife, and he’d worried about her managing while he went overseas. He was even bothered enough to set up an accountant to handle money and just give Tula a monthly allowance.

One minute he’d think he should have known, and the next he’d be pissed for taking all the blame because she
had
married him. That implied she’d wanted a husband, kids, family life, and she wanted to try to be a wife.

“Yeah, bastards,” Carly said, more delicately, but with as much venom as he’d had.

Zeb was immediately bothered by the fact Carly’s husband had come back—she’d said, “To reconcile,” while at the same time screwing around with Tula. Those two actions did not match up. His thumb slid along the smoothness of Carly’s cheek and jaw, and he felt a telltale tear wetting his thumb.

“Why’d your asshole come back, if he’s sticking it in her?” Zeb jerked his chin back in the direction of the offenders.

Carly’s gaze turned up to him with pain on her face, but also confusion. “I don’t know,” she whispered.

Carly watched Zeb’s rugged features, which were sun-browned, as if he’d been riding his bike a long time, tense more as he uttered, “Not good.”

It isn’t good at all,
she thought. She couldn’t figure out why Rick would do that. Maybe that was why she got distracted by the feel of big badass biker Zeb Andersen’s broad hand holding her nape, while an inner shiver proceeded to melt through her. Her eyes widened in surprise of the feeling.

She was crazy betrayed, off balance, bitter, and angry ... so why would Zeb’s touch affect her?

No way was he her type—he was
too
“male.” A man like him would eat her up and spit her out, which made her wonder about his wife. She had to be some kind of woman to get badass, virile Zeb
and
Rick both wound up in her.

Carly had hated her. With that thought, she
really
hated her.

She finally moved from the comfort of Zeb’s hand, and she stood, saying, “Okay, I’m going to confront his ass.” She swung toward the park when Zeb’s hand once again melted onto the indent of her waist.

“Nope,” he clipped.

Just as she was saying, “It was good to meet you, even the damn circumstances.” Then she realized what he’d said as he hauled her back to the seat of his big motorcycle. “What did you say?”

She might have glared at him, and his hand did not leave her waist, where it burned right through the little airy sundress she had on.

“Nope,” he repeated, as if that were enough, while she watched his intense blue eyes scanning the area.

“I need more than just nope, Zeb,” she advised him.

“We’re not confronting them,” his very deep voice informed her.

She grabbed his tee shirt, tugging until he looked at her. “I am,” she stated.

“No.”

“Yes,” she said. Then she added, “He’s not getting away with this.”

“Get on the back of my bike,” he ordered.

Carly couldn’t believe it. “Are you crazy? No.” Then she tried to move up, but he was so close she landed against him. Like
full
breast contact. That startled her so much, she forgot to let go of the side of his tee shirt, and his hand ended up back on her nape. What the heck?

“Bike. Now,” he ordered, and he had her chin in his grip, making her look up at him.

Damn, if her nipples weren’t hard. He had to feel that. A hot blush exploded on her face. Maybe it was her total confusion, but she turned her gaze and body toward his motorcycle. Whew, nipple contact averted. Maybe she could think.

But then Zeb’s hands spanned her waist from both sides. He had big hands, and she could feel them from the top of her thong to where the back of her bra should be. Well hell, she hadn’t expected any guy to be handling her to feel any of that.

“On,” he ordered, his voice now growling, his hands pressing her to do it.

“I’m in a dress,” she exclaimed. “It will blow everywhere.”

“I won’t mind.”

Her gaze darted over her shoulder with an all-out stare into his gaze. Had he just said that? His brilliant blue eyes told her he had said it and he meant it.

Then Carly heard an exclaimed laugh that startled her, along with another voice she knew, calling with playful sexual overtones, “Slicky chicky come to Daddy.”

Carly gasped at hearing Rick’s voice, but she was hauled up against Zeb as he turned her until his back was to his motorcycle, and then the next second Zeb’s mouth was over hers.

Instant, rolling, and amazing heat exploded through Carly’s senses. Then a flash explosion of desire followed like a freight train—the desire of something
really
freaking amazing that she could
not
ignore. No matter how inappropriate. She couldn’t seem to care.

Her cheating husband? Who cared?

Him calling his skank “slicky.” Her calling him “Daddy.” Who cared?

Them being behind Zeb’s back as the smoking kiss from heaven went on. Who cared!

She lurched into Zeb, trying to get closer as her arms latched over his big shoulders. He seemed to hunch over her, surrounding her, and his hands grabbing her ass lifted her even tighter into his big, hard body, while his lips moved hotly over her mouth.

“Daddy’s chicky needs that hard cock.”

Carly jerked against Zeb, with a whining wail probably rushing down his throat, but his thick, muscular arms tightened around her and his lips grew stiff, but kept kissing her mouth even more roughly. Carly had some sense of movement, then more laughter from the unfaithful couple as they passed by. Zeb kept moving her, keeping his back to them as they passed—how close, Carly couldn’t tell.

“Daddy’s got you, slick baby—”

Carly moaned, nearly collapsing, but Zeb held her up, and through her open lips his tongue swept deep and she forgot about the tears streaming down her cheeks.

Zeb was in a war zone. His cheating witch of a wife was so close he could strangle her, but at the same moment he had his hands full of the sweetest ass he’d ever felt. That was because Carly had a thong on underneath her gauzy dress. He also had the heat of her mound attached to his erection, which was having a fucking heart attack being that close to sweet pussy, after the damn twenty-one-month celibate graveyard it’d been in, with only his married hand trying to ease it. And his mouth was kissing the best mouth he’d ever tasted, attached to the largest breasts he’d ever felt pillowed into his muscle.

Why not top all that off with the dickwad doing his wife calling her slicky, her calling him fucking daddy ... them being so close he could spit on them. While he tried to keep his head enough, with the hellfire of passion burning over him, to keep the cheaters from seeing Carly or making him.

He fucking did not want them to know he and Carly were onto them.

For Carly’s sake.

Somehow he knew she needed his back.

––––––––

C
arly’s hand connected with Zeb’s cheek, knocking his chin back a notch with the blow. He heard the slap she’d delivered to his jaw ringing in his ears as his gaze sharpened on her very well kissed lips. Christ, he hadn’t been the only one kissing ... or full-body rubbing.

“
That
was—” she hissed at him with fury blazing her gray eyes into a charcoal color.

He’d let her lips go and he still had her pinned against his hog. But evidently with enough room to slap him, he thought with a sneer.

“
Not
fucking cool,” she finished on a raised scowl, while her healthy chest heaved and her gaze scratched over his face.

He thought pretty little Miss Carly Oliver probably didn’t use words like “fuck” much. And something inside him he hadn’t felt in years rose up to her feminine challenge, when he should be trying to explain.

So outta his mouth came: “You damn well attacked my mouth the minute my lips touched yours, sassy ass,” he grated at her. Then over the sound of her indignation, he added, “Hard nipples right the fuck here.” He banged his chest, leaned forward, until his nose was an inch from hers. “Not saying what you were rubbing my cock with.”

Her sucked-in breath nearly stole his breath it was so big. “I did not rub m-my—” she sputtered. “On your-r—”

Yeah she did, and he wanted her to do it again. “My
cock
,” he provided for her. He might be flying on the edge of fury, and then lust just swooped in behind it, but it felt good.

“Oh!” she expelled with a little feminine screech, then she tried to turn away from him and get to the side of him. But he had hold of her before her turn, with his hands gripping her full hips that felt like got-to-have in his hands.

“I didn’t fucking tongue you without a reason, Carly,” he growled at her.

She wiggled those full-figured hips in his hands, obviously trying to get loose and not realizing how much more it made him like it. Damn she felt fine. Her gaze sent daggers into his brain.

“So
why
did you?” she asked with a furious hiss. She threw her hand past his chin. “We could have caught them right there in front of us!” she exclaimed, with her hand returning to palm his chest. “And not listen to that horrible crap they were—” Her voice stumbled to a whispered halt.

Yeah, it was a damn hard thing to hear. That was probably half the reason he was holding the voluptuous babe in his arms like he was.

“I know you’re riled and not thinking. But we have to
know
why the hell he came back, while doing her,” Zeb snapped back at her.

Her lush lips opened, as if she were set to ream him again, but then she deflated and her clear irises grew liquid. “You did that for me?” she asked, sounding confused.

Aw hell, that was sweetness coming out. He’d glimpsed it earlier in her, and many other things he might ignore, like how good her curvy figure felt, how her mouth hinted at naughty things, or the fact he was still married—to a cheater, but still married nevertheless. But sweetness ... that sweetness could slay him.

Zeb made certain Carly was steady, then he unlatched his hands from her hips and he stepped back, like he should have done much earlier.

“Yeah,” he answered, with one hand gripping the back of his neck; the other he shoved into his pocket so he wouldn’t touch her again.

“So they’d not see us?” she asked, as if trying to understand why a complete stranger would lock lips with her.

All that fury and lust were still raging through him, but he had to get a grip, so he turned from looking at her, as he muttered, “Yeah.” 

The crowd was getting bigger at the festival as it got darker. “I should thank you,” she said softly behind him. “You are right, I wasn’t thinking.”

Zeb didn’t answer, he just dropped his hand from his neck, watching a sweet ride rumble past. It was a chromed-out chopper, but the tanks were plain and really needed some style to do the rest of the bike justice. He chin-nodded the biker as he passed, with his old lady on the back dressed in a leather halter and jean shorts.

Things he’d missed overseas were naturally being with his wife, and that wife in bed with him. But he’d missed other things, like a woman on the back of his bike or song lyrics coming smooth in his thoughts. Problem was, he’d only heard the rhyming and rhythm of a song a couple times in the last four years he’d been in the Rangers. Now something was playing deep in his thoughts, trying to rise.

Sweet lying love.

He nearly hummed a couple cords, but he felt a soft hand on his bicep. “We should talk, you want a drink?”

Carly eyed the big motorcycle gleaming in the overhead parking-lot lights. “Hog,” Zeb had called it when he’d said, “Get on back, ride my hog.”

Her flowing dress would be blown up by the wind and everything she had would be seen, but boy did her thighs quiver to feel that motorcycle moving down the road. She’d never been on one. Thoughts of Rick destroying what little was left of their marriage had her almost there, but she hesitated.

Zeb was astride the big bike, and twisted back to look at her, with his wide hand curled over her hip.

“Never been on one?” he asked. Carly shook her head. “It’s good to gauge a man, sweetness. Not good to just get on the back of a bike with anyone. Me, I’d rather kiss five miles of pavement, you on top, than ever see a woman harmed on my bike.”

Carly understood about half of what he was saying, and she was very impressed; the other half scrunched up her nose.

“I’ll go slow and easy,” he finally said. “Put your leg over.”

So she did.

Zeb couldn’t believe how good he felt: gorgeous babe, showing lots of skin on the back of his bike. He felt like roaring, “Bite this, Tula!”

He shouldn’t feel so good; he should be destroyed, hunkered down and licking his wounds. But nothing seemed to get his mind from the shapely bare legs hugging his hips, or the feel of Carly’s hands holding tight on his abdomen. He drove slow because she wasn’t dressed for a serious ride, and she pointed directions over his shoulder. He had no clue where she was taking him after the declared need for a drink.

It was a damn bikers’ bar.

He didn’t believe it of her, surprised the hell out of him, and it was busy with some serious street cred parked out front. He counted ten custom-painted choppers.

But he pulled to the side of the building by a very well lit area and slowed his hog to a rumble, turning his neck to speak to Carly. “You ever been here, Carly?”

She shook her head. “No, Zeb,” she said over the growl of his bike. “Biker likes biker bar.” She was still holding him tight.

“Too rough for those heels,” he told her. “You got a liquor store and river we can drink by?”

She nodded against his shoulder. Where she took him had grass and a small pier, and it was a ways out of town so a person had to know where they were going.

When he swung his leg off his bike and stood, turning to take Carly’s hand to help her off, he got a nice eyeful of creamy thigh in the moonlight. Damn. He wanted her. He scraped a hand over the bristles of his skull cut.