Crash (The Brazen Bulls MC Book 1) Page 6

  “Can we try again?”

  “Try what, darlin’?”

  He was going to make her work for this.

  Fine, then. She reached out and slid her fingers into his hand—oh, it was callused and hard, warm and dry. Its texture like fine sandpaper tickled her skin, and she felt that quiver all the way from her fingertips to her clit.

  “I like that you kissed me.” Her heart skittered and fluttered as she said the words, but she kept her eyes steady on his.

  His grin lost some of its wary irony but none of its humor. “That what you want to try again?” He closed his hand around hers and took the step that brought their bodies close, but he didn’t lean down until she nodded.

  When she did, his other hand swept around her neck, into her hair, and clamped around the back of her head. This kiss was nothing like the soft press of his lips last night—this time, he shoved his tongue into her mouth as soon as their lips came together, and his body forced hers to arch backward.

  With his mouth and his hands, he dominated her at once, and she had a vivid, visceral sense of the strength and power coiled in his solid body. She could hardly keep up—but she did, wrapping her arm over his shoulders, hooking her elbow over the back of his neck, pressing her body against his until she could feel that he was hard, fully hard, and his chest heaved into hers as he fought for breath.

  He wanted her, too. God, this man was hot.

  Again, it was he who pulled back, but this time, he didn’t go far. With his lips a scant inch above hers, his harsh breath brushing over her face, he rumbled, “You like that better?”

  Oh, hell yeah. She smiled and tugged on the stub of his ponytail. “I want to try to get to know each other.”

  He stood straight but didn’t let her go. After studying her for several weighty seconds, he said, “You sure about that?”

  She nodded.

  “I’m no knight in shinin’ armor. But if you got trouble, you got to tell me about it. I don’t like surprises.”

  She dropped her arm from him, and he let her head go. “I’m not going to stand out here behind a gas station and tell you my life story. And I’m not looking for someone to take over and solve my problems for me. But yes, I will tell you—if you’ll tell me about you, too. That’s part of what I meant by trying again. To talk and get to know each other.”

  “Part of it?”

  Yeah, part of it. The rest of it was that she wanted to try again just in general. To fill out her life. To stop waiting for Jesse to tear it down. To find someone to trust. To open up again. But that was part of the longer story, so now, she simply smiled. “Are you free tonight? I could make you dinner. I’m a decent cook—country cook, anyway.”

  A leery shadow passed through his eyes, and Willa wondered what thought had chased it through. Then it was gone, supplanted by a grin. “I’m not one to turn down home cookin’, but I don’t want you standin’ at the stove on that leg—I’m concerned, you see—so how ‘bout I bring over some takeout instead. Fried chicken sound good?”

  “You’re going to carry takeout on your bike?”

  “In a pinch, I could, but I got a truck, too. I’ll drive. You in?”

  Damn, she hoped she was right about this guy. Because everything about him made her mind sing and her body dance. She wanted it not to be stupid to open up to him.

  All she was missing for Tulsa to become her home and her life was someone to share it with.

  “I’m in.”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  What the fuck was he doing?

  Rad sat in his truck, parked on the street in front of Willa’s house, a bucket of Original Recipe and a sack full of sides on the seat beside him, and asked himself that question for about the hundredth time.

  And again: What the fuck was he doing? Going into that house without an answer seemed dangerous business. That tough little cookie had her finger hooked around some part of him, and getting comfortable in her home—her lair—was going to fuck him up.

  He loved women. He loved flirting, fucking, being sweet, being rough. He loved the way they smelled, the way they felt. Everything about them was soft, when everything about him and his life was hard.

  Dahlia had been all that softness and beauty wrapped up in a package of sweet at first. He’d loved the hell out of her, and for a while, he’d had all he wanted in life. But damn, had that turned into a mountain of shit.

  He’d been flying solo now for near three years, and it was working. Rarely did he spend a full night alone, because he was most at ease with a soft body tucked to his. He didn’t go to them, and he didn’t let them stay with him, but he got all the play he wanted, and he had his regulars, who knew the score, and he was content.

  The woman in the house he was parked in front of, she wasn’t the kind of woman who became somebody’s regular fuck. And she obviously had some complications in her life. But he was interested. She’d been bopping around in his head since he’d seen her riding next to him. Now that she’d been in his arms, now that he knew the feel and taste of her mouth—well, he’d had trouble thinking about anything else since.

  She was in his head, and that was a problem—it should have been, anyway. If his marriage had taught him anything, he’d learned that when he got invested, he gave too much and expected too much back. After Dahlia, that was probably worse. He’d been a possessive bastard before he’d found out his wife was mounting half of Tulsa. Now, he’d probably be fucking psycho with the jealousy.

  Yeah, he knew he would. He’d wanted to put Apollo’s perfect fucking teeth down his throat at the station today, just for smiling at her in that way he had. This morning. When there was hardly anything between him and Willa to fuss about.

  If he went up there, went in, sat down with her and had a meal, got to know her, Rad knew damn well that they’d start something up. She was giving off bright, shiny signals that she was just as interested. But was she the kind of woman who’d deal with a man like him, a life like his?

  How could she be? Did such a woman exist?

  So what the fuck was he doing?

  Whatever it was, the chicken was going to get cold if he didn’t get off his ass. He’d told her he’d come over with dinner, and he wasn’t such a pussy he’d turn tail and stand her up. So, okay. What he was doing was having a meal with a good-looking woman. Leave it at that for now.

  Not remotely convinced he could leave it at that, Rad got out of his truck and carried dinner up to Willa’s house.

  As he stepped onto her porch, the door opened, and Ollie was there, butt wiggling. He hopped from the threshold and stuck his nose on the bottom of the bucket, taking a big noisy whiff of the chicken scent.

  “You like chicken, boy?” Rad freed up a hand to give the dog a pat, but Ollie barely noticed; he was much more interested in food than love.

  “Ollie, off,” Willa said, standing at the door. The dog obeyed and backed off to sit, crestfallen. Rad was impressed at his training. She hadn’t even used a particularly firm tone.

  “Hey, darlin’.”

  “Hi,” she answered with a smile. “Come on in.” She stepped back, and Rad followed the dog inside.

  At the station today, she’d been dressed in jeans and a beater, with a plaid flannel open over it. Now, she looked liked she’d dressed up a little for him—her hair was tousled like she’d done it like that on purpose, and she was wearing one of those little flowered dresses women were wearing these days, with buttons up the front and a fluttery skirt that stopped about halfway down her thighs. Her legs and feet were bare, and her hurt knee was wrapped up in an elastic bandage.

  Damn, that leg looked rough. Her arm, too. She was going to carry those bruises for weeks.

  That should slow them down some. Not a bad thing. Because those bare legs and that soft, flouncy dress meant easy access to what lay beneath, and his cock had not missed that fact.

  “You look good.” The sentence got hoarse at the end, and Rad resisted the urge to clear his throat.


  Her answer was a shy, pleased smile as she turned and closed the door.

  He watched her key all those fucking locks on her door. He had to talk to her about that. If the place caught fire, she and the dog were fucked.

  But not yet. He sensed that her security choices were part of a more complicated discussion, one they shouldn’t have while he was standing there with his arms full of fried chicken and mashed potatoes.

  She finished and turned back to him, palming her keys. “I thought we’d eat out back, since it’s still pretty warm out. That okay?”

  “Sure. Lead the way.”

  She put her keys in the box on the sideboard, then led him into a pretty little kitchen, with greyish-blue cupboards under butcher-block countertops and shelves above instead of more cupboards. Her dishes, glasses, and cookware were all arranged for display, but the cookware was obviously used regularly. A row of little clay pots sat on the windowsill over the sink, full of aromatic greenery—herbs, Rad guessed. He’d noticed potted plants in the living room and dining room, too. She seemed to have herself a green thumb.

  He set the bucket and sack on the counter. “This is a nice place.”

  Another pleased grin. “Thanks. I really like it. It was a great house when I bought it, and I’ve spent most of my free time fixing it up to my taste.”

  “Well, you’ve got good taste. It’s comfortable. Not fussy.”

  She pulled a couple of white plates down from a plate rack, and as she reached, her little dress hiked up her thighs just enough to show where they began to flare subtly toward her hips. She had nice tone. Rad imagined sliding his hand up the inside of her thigh, finding something velvety and wet, and he clutched the edge of the counter in his fist and rode out the wave of lust that went through him. Shit.

  While he mastered his more bestial impulses, Willa collected the plates and pulled a couple of beers out of her fridge, then went to the back door. “This way,” she said and stiff-legged her way down a set of steps into her yard.

  Rolling his eyes at himself, Rad adjusted his cock in his jeans, picked up the food, and followed her out.

  “Damn,” he said as he hit the threshold.

  The yard, in early April, was already a riot of flowers and greenery. Her patio was brick, and she had a little white iron table and chairs as well as a chaise lounge with a bright yellow pad. Cute, but nothing special. Beyond that, however, she’d cultivated a fairy land in every shade of purple. Rad could only imagine what it would look—and smell—like deeper in the summer.

  She’d set the table with a couple of placemats, matching napkins, silverware, and a little candle in a jar, its flame flickering.

  Jesus. This wasn’t dinner. This was a goddamn date.

  “Didn’t have to go to trouble.”

  A blush pinked her cheeks. “No trouble. I like to eat out here.”

  “I can see why. You do all this?” He set the food on the table and pulled the side containers from the sack.

  Her hand on her hips, she surveyed her garden. “The lilacs and rosebushes were here. And that hydrangea by the garage. I cleaned them up a little and planted the rest. I want to lay flagstones over the paths this summer.”

  “Ollie don’t tear it up?” The dog was currently lying on the patio near the chaise, giving them a pitiful look. Still scamming for chicken.

  “Nope. He’s got a nice grassy patch over there, and he knows he can run the paths, but he leaves the plantings alone. He’s a good boy.” She smiled at her dog and pulled out a chair, sitting with minimal awkwardness as she kept her right leg straight. Once she was seated, she bent it, slowly.

  Rad sat, too. “Don’t usually eat so fancy, gotta say.”

  She set a chicken breast on her plate and smirked at him. “Fried chicken in the back yard is fancy? Where do you usually eat? A cave?”

  “Cloth napkins, china plates—I eat most of my meals standin’ up. Out of a sack.”

  She flicked a finger at the sack that had held the sides.

  He gave her a grin and a shrug. “Okay. But still fancier than I’m used to.”

  They didn’t speak more while they filled their plates. He grabbed himself a couple of pieces of chicken and slopped some potatoes and coleslaw next to them, then twisted the cap off his beer and took a long drink. Before he dug in, he decided to get the ball rolling on what he wanted to talk about.

  “I want to talk about your front door.”

  She’d been swallowing a bite of biscuit, and she choked a little. “That’s where you want to start?”

  He nodded. “Seems like the right place. It’s not a safe as you think it is. You’re lockin’ yourself in. If you need to get out in a hurry, you can’t. Thumb-turn locks are better. What that door does is pretend to keep you safe.”

  “If somebody breaks the glass, though, they can just turn a thumb-turn.”

  “Then put in a door without glass.”

  “I’m not dumb, Rad. I would have. But that door is original to the house, and it’s not a standard size. I’d have to have it custom made, and I can’t afford it.”

  He had some contacts that could help with that, but he decided now wasn’t quite the time to make that offer. “What about the windows?”

  She set her fork down and leaned back in her chair. “I guess you didn’t notice in your obviously careful inspection of my house, but the windows are reinforced. The decorative diamonds aren’t leaded glass—there’s a metal guard between the panes.”

  “But you can still open them?”

  “Yes. They can only be opened from inside.” She sighed. “Rad, why is this your business?”

  “I see a problem, I fix it. That’s who I am. You want to get to know me, you should know that first. I don’t stand by. I see that you think you need a lot of security—and I’m gonna need to know why—but I see that you’re makin’ new problems tryin’ to solve your first one. So I’m gonna help you fix things so you’re as safe as can be.”

  She shook her head.

  “Yeah, darlin’. That’s how I work.”

  “I told you I didn’t want someone to come in and solve my problems for me.”

  “And I just told you I don’t stand by when I see trouble.” He pushed his plate away. “We at an impasse already?”

  She picked at her biscuit. Rad chewed on his lip, watching her fingers break off crumbles. He didn’t want to go, but he would. If they were going to butt heads already, best they stop now, before anything got started.

  Except that he felt like something already had started.

  “I don’t want to be with somebody who’s going to take me over. Been there, done that. If I want anything, it’s a partner.” She hadn’t looked up from her demo work on the biscuit, and her voice had been low.

  He reached over and set his hand on her arm. “I’m not looking to run your life, darlin’. But if we do this, see where this goes, I don’t sit on the sidelines. I’m gonna say my piece, and you’re gonna listen.”

  “Do I get my say, too? Do you listen, too?”

  He grinned. “I won’t say that’s easy for me. You might have to pop my nose to get my attention when I get fired up. But I try.”

  “So you are an asshole.”

  That made him take his hand back. “I guess maybe it’s true. My ex sure says so. But I’m not tryin’ to be. I’m tryin’ to take care. And if I’m wrong, I’ll see it in time and back off. About your door, I am not wrong, and I think you know it.”

  She picked up her biscuit and took a bite. Around the mouthful, she said, “When I can afford a new door, I’ll change it. For now, the risk of a fire is the lesser risk.”

  He’d been about to offer to help with the door, but her second sentence shifted his interest. “Okay. Talk to me about this bad ex who’s got us fightin’ already.”

  “This is the least romantic first date in the history of the world.” She dropped the biscuit to her plate and pushed it away.

  He laughed. “Romantic is not somethin’ I am. I’m f
orty years old, Willa, and my life ain’t been easy. I don’t have time for all that matin’ dance bullshit. I don’t fuck around. There’s somethin’ to say, I say it. There’s somethin’ to do, I do it. It’s not gonna occur to me to buy flowers, and maybe I’ll forget a birthday or two. Maybe I’m the kinda guy who’s better off bangin’ the sweetbutts at the clubhouse and not tryin’ for more. But if we get close, things get serious, then I will stand in fire to take care of you. If you need me, I will be there. I like you. I want to get to know you. I want to get close. Even now, when you’re scowlin’ at me like my fourth-grade teacher when I put the cherry bomb in the boys’ room toilet, I want to stay and finish this cold chicken and soupy slaw. Maybe it was the wreck shakin’ us up last night, but somethin’ caught between us, and I think you feel it, too. When I kissed you, I know you felt it.”