Beauty & The Biker (3 page)

I smile graciously and shove his hands away. He stills behind me, his body pressing into mine, definitely a hard wall of muscle. His mouth curves down in a grimace and he walks toward the door.

“Thank you. I have to go. I’m sorry. I’ll tell my father you wish to speak with him.” I don’t wait for a response. I rush to the office grabbing my bag and the keys to the store. The courtesy of phoning my sisters doesn’t cross my mind. I need to get to my father and make sure he is okay. I can’t lose him too.  I don’t bother turning off the lights I can return later, once I have seen my father, to shut them off.

As I am twisting the key in the lock, I register Tristian standing by his motorcycle down the street watching me. I don’t like it. He makes me feel vulnerable.

My knees shake slightly threatening to buckle as I walk past him, my worry over my Papi is threatening to knock me off my feet.

“Need a lift,” he offers with the hint of a demand in his tone.

I know what kind of man Tristian is, the type that always gets what he wants and if he doesn’t get it right off, he can buy it.

He motions to his motorcycle.

His bike will get me to the hospital a lot quicker than my legs.

I nod unsure of how to get on or how to ride on the thing with him. I’ve never ridden before.

He takes one look at my frail appearance and laughs darkly.

His tattooed face wears a menacing smile. “Never had a little power between your legs.”

I blush, at the double meaning laced in his crude teasing.

“I bet you are as pure as a first snow in winter,” he jokes again at my expense.

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” I snap finding my spine.

“You wouldn’t know what to do with a man like me,” he barks before instructing me how to ride with him on what he calls the bitch seat. The skirt of my dress, hiked over my knees and bunched up offers a thin veil between my purity and his backside. I snuggle into his back for protection from the cool night air. “You’re too pure for me sweetheart, much too fragile for a man like me.” He laughs as he pulls us out onto the street.

Chapter 3

Isabella

After a terrifying ride on the back of Tristian’s Harley, I am rushing through the doors of the emergency room begging for answers.  I didn’t waste time thanking him for the lift. All I can think about is getting to my Papi, and making sure he is okay. The woman behind the information desk is being less than helpful, telling me I will have to take a seat, and she will be with me shortly.

They call and scare the crap out of me to bring me here and then they make me wait. Seriously! I am on the verge of tears when Tristian walks in. He really is breathtaking. My heart skips a beat as he storms through the room, his eyes trained on mine with a hint of worry.  I was expecting him to have drove off already. Even though we don’t know each other something about him being here comforts me. I don’t know what it is. We’ve only just met, he’s rude, he’s crude, and I am finding his frankness entertaining and alluring.

No one has ever been the way he is with me. Everyone treats me like a porcelain doll. He even said himself that I am fragile, but I get the feeling he knows I won’t break so easily.

“Why aren’t you with your father?” He asks taking in my disheveled face.

“They told me to wait. Wouldn’t tell me anything.” He looks pissed now. I wasn’t aware this tattooed biker could look any angrier or scarier, but right now the fire burning behind his eyes has me ready to run and hide. Not because I am afraid of him, but afraid of what he is capable of. I’ve heard stories of the motorcycle club he rides with and they are the kind of monsters you read about or heard stories of as a child. The monsters lurking in closets and hiding under beds kind.

The unhelpful desk clerk’s tune changes fast when Tristian comes to the counter. With venom in his voice, he places his palms calmly on the counter, staring her down. “Do you like your job, Doris?”

“Uh, yes,” she answers her face ashen when she takes notice of who is asking.

“Then I suggest you take, Miss Perez to see her father. Now!” he booms slapping his hands down loudly, this time by her face.

She stops popping her gum, nearly choking, scrambling from her seat quickly to let us through the door.

Tristian grabs my elbow, escorting me down the corridor. I don’t know why he is being so helpful, unless he is just trying to get to my father. He was looking for him to begin with, before I received the call that brought us here. Why else would he be sticking around? Certainly not for me.

I look over at him as he walks next to me, we probably look like such an odd pair. Him being covered in tattoos almost appearing corpse or zombie like and me being normal and pretty. Not that I am conceited but I have always been known as a rare beauty since I was a child. Everyone has talked of it and I am what you might consider exotic in appearance. Long dark hair, flawless olive skin, long lashes and full lips.

But I don’t care much about appearances, they can be deceiving. It’s what’s on the inside that counts.

My ballerina flats are leaving black scuffs on the floor as Tristian’s heavy boots thump against the tile, but something about the sound of his boots next to my quiet steps calms my nerves.

At the end of the hall behind a curtain, my father is sleeping on a gurney. “What’s wrong with him?” His coloring looks off—ashen whereas before he was only pale. I stroke my fingers over the knuckles of his balled hand, his skin feels clammy.

“Heart attack,” Doris says in a clipped tone looking at his chart. “He was brought by an ambulance from the bank. The doctor will be in shortly, to talk to you.”  She puts his chart back in the pocket on the wall leaving us alone.

Feeling exhausted, I collapse in the small chair against the wall. I can still feel the vibration of the motorcycle between my legs. The ride was exhilarating and terrifying for many reasons. One, it felt amazing to feel the wind against my face even if it was whipping me with my hair. Two, when I pressed my face closer to Tristian’s neck for protection, the way he smelled was intoxicating and oddly familiar. Three, my instant attraction to this man scares me. I’ve never felt such a connection—so infatuated by any one person.

Then there was the fear my father would be dead when I walked through the sliding glass doors with ominous red crosses painted on them. I feel emotionally exhausted.

Taking a deep breath, hoping I am able to still smell Tristian I am met with a foul scent. The smell of urine and sanitizer mixed with my nerves is taking its toll, reminding me of why I hate hospitals so much.

It reminds me of losing my Mama. I can see her in my head, puny and dying. The last time I hugged her, the flowery scent that had once perfumed her was replaced with the stink of death.

I look at my father and he seems to be resting peacefully, the sight provides me with small comfort.

Tristian stands next to me in a protective stance with his arms folded across his chest. To most he would appear as a menacing brute, but to me, he looks like a beautiful art sculpture and I want to spend hours studying him.

“Need me to call anyone for you?” He offers.

I shake my head twisting my fingers out of nervous habit.

I don’t see any point in calling my sisters until I speak with the doctor and find out how bad it is.

Looking up, I find Tristian studying me.

“I appreciate the ride and you getting me back here, but you don’t have to stay, I’ll be fine,” I tell him, but a part of me wants him to stay.

“Nah, I’ll wait. Your Pops and me have some business to discuss.”

“Wow, really. Are you joshing me right now?” I shouldn’t be surprised, honestly, but my father just suffered heart failure and he wants to wait to talk business.  And a piece of me wanted him to say he was staying for me, so I’m not alone.

He snorts and he smiles and my heart stops. He has a charismatic grin. “Did you just say joshing?” 

He has the nerve to mock me right now. What a jerk! He laughs louder, holding his stomach. “I bet you have never uttered a dirty word in your life,” he teases further. “I bet you can’t even say asshole.” His grin widens, entertained with his own antics.

“Get out,” I whisper trying not to disturb my resting father. I don’t know what I was thinking wanting him to stay.

Tristian bends down getting in my face, trying to intimidate me with his threatening looks and nasty attitude. “I don’t take orders sweetheart, I give them. You need to get that through your pretty little skull.” He grabs both sides of my face squeezing my jaws hard. Tears prick at the corners of my hazel eyes. “Told you once and I won’t tell you again. I’m going to talk to your father when he wakes up and not you or any damn-body-else will stop me,” he declares with a dangerous air about him.

Swallowing hard once, he lets me go. I nod and twist away from the pressure of his intense glare. I continue to sit while Tristian continues to watch me, keeping me on the edge of my chair. I don’t appreciate the way he commands attention constantly. It’s overwhelming. His presence is disarming and the need to stare back at him confuses me, with how unattractive his attitude comes across. He is so damn moody. Even his eyes have black circles tattooed around them. And yet I long to touch them—him. He confounds and intrigues me.

Trying to avoid his eyes, I study the tattoos on his hands giving his fingers the appearance of a skeleton. His left arm has a flaming skull with the word HELL in fancy scroll inked on it. On the right is a pair of praying hands with the word HEAVEN to match. Seems appropriate. He appears to have a devil on one shoulder with an angel rarely appearing on the other.

The doctor comes in eventually and I ask Tristian to kindly step out while we discuss my father’s prognosis. He doesn’t appear happy about my request but he obliges. The devilish smirk he throws in my direction before he exits doesn’t escape my attention either.

“How serious it?” I cut straight to the point.

“It could be worse but I won’t lie to you. Your father had a close call.” I would hate to think what we would be facing had he not been sitting in a chair at the bank when it happened. He could have been driving. “He will be okay as long as he makes changes to his diet, reduces his stress, and doesn’t overextend himself. I am going to keep him overnight for observation, but I don’t see any reason why he won’t be released in the morning.”

I thank him for taking care of my father and he says, “that’s what I’m here for.” 

As soon as the doctor leaves, Tristian comes back in with a peace offering. A bottled water and a candy bar. 

“Thanks, but I don’t need any more of your charity.”  I don’t need anything from him. But I want to know him, even if he is a big jerk. There has to be so much more to him than his tough exterior.

“Eat,” he grunts the word at me like a Neanderthal, shoving the items into my lap. For a moment, the way his hand lingers, I think he might offer me some comfort, but he tears away from me when our eyes meet.

His hot and cold is unnerving. He is trying hard to mask his compassion, but the faint flicker of caring appeared in his gaze, briefly.

“No,” I sass giving him attitude. He might have everyone one else quaking at the knees and kissing his feet, but he doesn’t own me.  “If you’ve somehow forgotten, I already have a daddy. I don’t need another.” I hook my thumb in the direction of my sleeping father. 

“You keep mouthing off and I’m gonna give you something to shut that pretty mouth of yours,” he threatens, and the meaning of his words are perfectly clear when his hand goes straight to his zipper.  “You’d be wise not to test my patience. I’ll bend you over this fucking chair and spank your ass like the immature little girl you are.”

I swallow hard as I picture exactly what he says. The image painted in my mind is much more erotic than a hospital room. I can see us in his castle, surrounded by candlelight, me bent over his knee and him stroking my bare bottom.

I bite my bottom lip, chewing on it, stealing a glance at him as he towers over me. Tristian doesn’t strike me as a man who offers empty promises. No man has ever spoken to me the way he does and no man has ever made me feel so much, so many emotions are hitting me all at once.

Before I can give him more lip, my father awakens. “Isa,” he whispers hoarsely.

I rush to his bedside. “Papi, God, you gave me a scare!”

“I’m fine Isabella, don’t worry about me.” he strokes the top of my head gently.

I offer him the bottle of water and he accepts it eagerly. As he is taking a drink his eyes land on our unwanted guest.

“Give us a moment,” my father orders me and I obey, but not straying far, so I can eavesdrop.

With my neck craned, I stretch to listen to their conversation.

“You have my money Perez?”

“I’m sorry Tristian. Business has been slow. I need more time.”

“I’ve given you plenty of time and more chances than I have given many others. You disappoint me.  Three days. I’ll be in touch.”

Tristian’s boots thump loudly as he moves to leave.

I hurry around the corner and step around pretending I wasn’t just listening when he steps into the hall.