Burning Ember (29 page)

“Well, you already know my vote, sweetheart. This place needs ya. Anything I can do to sway ya, you just let me know, yeah?” He pulls me into his side and squeezes his arm around me once then lets go.

“When are the old ladies coming? Um, so I can make myself scarce?” I ask.

Dozer leans back on his stool and pats his stomach. “Around five.”

Someone lets out a high-pitched whistle, like a catcall. Probably Bodie because he follows it up by saying, “Whew’weee, check out Mr. College Boy.”

I lean forward to get a glimpse of what they’re looking at, but I think deep down I already know.

Luce.

He’s exiting his office carrying an oversized briefcase in one hand, and a round cardboard tube under his arm. As I take in this new version of him, the rhythm of my heart wavers and low in my belly a small bird flutters its wings. He no longer looks like a bad-boy biker. If anything, he looks like the devil in red. Enticing and dripping with magnetism.

His crimson button up shirt is ironed to perfection. The color pops next to his tan skin and inky black hair. He’s also wearing black slacks, and expensive-looking shoes. And he’s shaved. Yes . . .
shaved!

Maybe he’s trying to cause a massive epidemic of brain and heart failure.

I can’t help but lust and loathe simultaneously after him, although I know I need to find a way to shut off the attraction I feel.

As he gets closer, I see bruises marring his beautiful jaw, and his left eye. And it gives me some kind of sick satisfaction to think I’m not the only one who got abused last night. But the sad fact is, even banged up Mav’s still the hottest guy I’ve ever seen. More so now because his chiseled features are on full display for public consumption.

Closing my gaping mouth, I clench my teeth together then spin around and put my back to him. I need to tamp down my awkward heart palpitations caused by his appearance, and attempt to turn this river of warmth flowing through me into a cold wall I can put between us.

The staring. The attraction. The small bit of hope that I may have found more than a temporary pit stop. That’s all done with now. If I stay, I stay for the money and that’s it.

I pour a glass of juice. Very. Very. Slowly. Hoping he’ll be out of the room by the time I turn around.

No such luck.

I feel warmth at my back. It travels up my spine and the air in my little bubble charges. Heady cologne, both carnal and spicy, invades my senses and my legs feel unstable underneath me. My body starts to sing as his proximity sends bolts of heat and need coiling through me. He clears his throat and it’s as if he’s throwing static because the hairs rise on my arms and stand on end. And it pisses me off that I have absolutely no control over my reaction to him.

None.

I don’t understand it. The red flags and warning signs, telling me to stay clear of him are all there. But I’ll be damned if I can get my body to comply.

“We need to talk,” he breathes against my neck, his accent thicker than ever.

Um . . . no . . . no . . .
We definitely do not need to talk. Talking is not staying away. Talking is face to face. In close quarters. Which is something my body and mind can’t handle right now. Not when my emotions are all over the place like this.

“No,” I say under my breath. “It’s fine. I’m fine. Don’t worry about it.”

“Doll?” he sighs. That name sends both irritation and shivers tumbling south.

I keep my head down so I don’t have to meet his gaze in the mirror. The mirror that was shattered sometime in the night.

“There’s nothing to talk about,” I tell him.

“Last night—”

“Last night you were drunk.”

“Yeah I was, but. . . .”

“You were drunk and you thought I brought drugs into the clubhouse. Even though I
told
you I’m not a druggie. And I
promised
never to break your rules. But I can see how the red hair makes me a
liar
, and
untrustworth
y. So no worries, I completely understand.” I sound like a bitter bitch, venom spewing out of my mouth as if I’m the girl on the exorcist. Just blaaaaah all over the place.

He exhales. “Jesus.” And out of my peripheral vision, I see him lifting his arm, probably to scrub his hand over his head, a habit of his. He’s quiet for a moment. When he reaches forward to touch me, I draw back. But it doesn’t deter him. He moves strands of my hair and lays them behind my shoulder so he can have a clear view of my neck. Then, with his thumb, he moves my chin up and away.

“This.” He strokes his thumb over the edge of the bandage sending an electric current straight to my core. “Won’t happen again.”

Ignoring my racing heart, I pull away and huff, “You’re right. It won’t.” I pull my hair back over my shoulder. “Because I’m not staying. I’m leaving later today. I’m just sticking around to see the doctor.”

Well, I guess I’ve made my decision.

I don’t know what he thinks of my little declaration, because I can’t see his face. And he’s silent. But a minute later, he grabs my elbow. “What about our deal?”

Stunned, I finally look up at him in the mirror. His head is less than an inch away from mine, and his eyes are so lit up they’re molten.

“You should be happy. This is what you wanted, right? Me gone,” I say sharply. “Well congratulations. You’re going to get your wish.”

He glares back at me, or at least multiple broken pieces of him do.

A stool screeches across the floor. Mav’s head snaps toward the bar. He barks out, “Sit the fuck down, and stop eyeballin’ me. We’re just workin’ shit out.”

He turns back and burns me up with the way he’s looking at me. I see lust and loathing there too. Does he see the same in my eyes?

“Yeah? And where the fuck you gonna stay?”

“I’ll find somewhere. And you can find someone else for Edge. Someone better. Someone not so plain. You were right, I don’t belong here.”

“Fuck . . . I didn’t . . .” He sucks in a deep breath. “We had a deal. You stick around until the party, and I’ll make sure you’re set. You need the money and I . . .” He’s fingers tighten on my arm. “Three more days. That’s it. You stay, and I swear I won’t give you any more shit. I won’t lay a hand on you. No one will.”

I glance down to the death grip he has on my arm. I quip, “Yeah, call me crazy, but I don’t believe you.”

He lets go of me and rubs a hand slowly down his face. Halfway down he pauses. His hand falls. “Two thousand dollars.”

My eyes widen. “Excuse me?”

“You stay. You follow through with the deal. I’ll give you two thousand dollars.”

Two thousand dollars . . .

I mentally calculate how far that will get me. That’s food, shelter, clothing, and time to look for a decent job. For a second, I let the moral guilt hit me. Sleeping with a man for money makes me a whore. That’s what Mav’s asking me to do. Be his whore. But I’m a desperate girl who needs options. A desperate girl who doesn’t have the luxury of turning down an offer like this.

I’ve tried to live up to society’s laws and standards for years. But my life doesn’t fit in that mold anymore. If I do this, the guilt will be mine and mine alone. For enough money to start a new life, I think I can bear it.

Purely out of spite, I bite out, “I don’t know. I’ll have to think about it.”

The corners of his mouth twitch as if he’s fighting a smile. “Yeah. You do that. I need to get to work, but we’ll talk later.”

With that said, he stalks off.

I watch him cross the room in the shattered mirror. He stops once to whisper heatedly to Taz and then he’s gone, out the front door. Probably to go do whatever seedy job it is he does for the club. Maybe run a sex slavery ring or the club’s brothel. Something I know motorcycle clubs are famous for.

Later, after most of the guys have left for work, my curiosity gets the best of me, and I ask Griz, “Why is he dressed like that? He’s a pimp, right? Please tell me he’s a pimp.” I want to hate him so I’m hoping Griz will give me something.

Griz lets out a loud barking laugh that quickly turns into a cough. I get worried and pat his back for a second until he waves me off. When he finally recovers and can breathe normally again, he says with humor in his tone, “Nah. He’s doesn’t work for the club. The boy went to college and he’s a savvy businessman now. He designs houses mainly. But commercial buildings too. He owns Parson’s and Gunn Construction.”

I remember Mav being bent over drawing something when I first met him, when Dozer and I walked into his office that day.

“Our man’s the money and the design of the biz. His partner handles the sales and build work.”

He laughs when I scowl at him for his word choice.
Our man.
I try to wrap my head around this new information. Dammit. I wanted it to be something that didn’t appeal to me. But no. Instead, I find out he’s smart, educated, and talented.

What in the hell is he doing here? Why is he a member of a club? Why would he choose this kind of life if he has so many other options?

Stop it . . .

Done. Remember. He’s a safety hazard.

I stand and start cleaning up. After gathering all the dirty glasses, I head into the kitchen to wash them. Taz follows me. He doesn’t say anything but leans back on the counter, arms folded.

In a voice laced with suspicion, I ask, “What are you doing?”

He shrugs. “Standin’ here. That a crime?”

“Why?” I draw out the word.

“Makin’ sure you don’t leave. Mav gave strict orders to keep you here.”

I put down the dishes before I drop them. “He can’t do that.”

Taz reaches into his pocket and pulls out a toothpick, which he pops into his mouth. “Actually, he can do whatever the fuck he likes.”

“And if I try to leave?”

The side of his mouth lifts. “You can try. But I’ve been given permission to tie you up if you do.” He uncrosses his arms and grabs his belt buckle. He also gets this crazy look in his eyes like he’s imagining it. “Just say the word and we’ll make some memories, little stray.”

A shudder travels down my spine. Mav is definitely evil. He knew this would get to me. He’s pulling my strings. Bit by bit he’s controlling everything I do. It’s as if I’m traveling down the slippery little slope with Warner all over again.

I’m so mad I feel like I’m going to explode.
“God, Luce. You’re such an asshole. I’m not your doll. You can’t just make me do whatever you like.”

The energy I lacked this morning is now surging through me. I clomp around the kitchen, slamming cupboards, hissing under my breath, and bake like a mad woman. Because that’s exactly what I am. A. Mad. Woman. What
he’s
turned me into. I’m losing control. I’m losing my freedom. And I don’t know how to put a stop to it. The only thing I can do is leave and now I can’t even do that.

MAVERICK

My secretary’s chin hits the floor when I walked in to the office this morning. She said she couldn’t remember the last time I came in to work all dressed up like
a boss
—her words, not mine.

It’s been months since I came to the office. Maybe a year or more since I last cared enough to look professional while doing so.

Tim, my business partner, nearly fell out of his chair when he looked up to see me standing in his doorway. He gave me some shit for slipping on my end of the work, and not returning his calls, but not one to dwell on the negative, he quickly moved on, shook my hand, and welcomed me back. For the next few hours, he updated me on what I’d missed, and what we currently had in our pipeline. I gave him the go ahead on the large Sandia project I’d been putting the brakes on. And after calling the bank to wire the money he’d need to purchase the lots, we set a deadline for two months. By then I’d get him the designs for the brochures and the blue prints for the model home.

For the rest of the day, I work in my office, drawing. Even after all these years, it never gets old. Taking something as simple as an idea and making it a reality is what hooked me on art at a young age.

I felt a kinship to the God my parents taught me to worship. I had created something from nothing and made it beautiful.

The hidden story behind a building, the history within its walls, is what attracted me to architecture. But I wanted to be the one who set the stage, crafted the walls, and designed the foreground from the very beginning. It was a rush and still is today.

There’s nothing like building someone’s dream and handing over the keys so they can begin making it happen.

Maybe that’s why I settled for Dana. I lacked patience. I wanted to start my own story. I had plans and I was sick of waiting for the right woman to come along. So I found one I was attracted too and tried to make her what I needed.

My mother often told me my lack of patience would be my undoing. I doubt this is what she meant, but it’s true all the same.

When I’m done for the day, I leave my office with a sense of rightness flowing through me.

I’d forgotten this feeling. The satisfaction one gets from finishing an honest day’s work.

I know I have in no way fixed the chaotic mess that is my life, but it feels like maybe I’ve shoveled one pile of shit off my shoulders. I still have a lot more wrongs to right. Starting with Doll. And Edge. And fixing my standing with the club. But I’ll have to take it one day at a time. One shovelful at a time.