Dark Curves (Dangerous Curves Book 6) (9 page)

Her face flushed, and her nipples hardened under the denim. Shay crossed her arms, but not before he saw the proof of her arousal. His grin got more predatory, more intense, and she shifted a bit. The movement pushed her lower lips against the porcelain of the tub, and she felt the hardness through the thin material of her panties. It felt
good
, to have something hard down there, rubbing and pressing on her swollen clit, and she flushed even more.

“So.” He stuck his hands in his jeans pockets, all casual in the face of her helpless desire. “You need anything else?”

Shay bit back the urge to say, “just you, inside me’. Instead, she managed to mutter, “There is one thing…”

“Name it.”

“Where are my clothes?”

“Ah, yes. Clothes.” He tilted his head at her, gave her a sexy, dirty smile. “You don’t actually have any.”

“I – what?”

“Yeah. No. Your jeans were ripped to shreds by a mountain lion, as you may well recall, and your sweater was soaked through when you were sweating out the fever. You can wash it, if you want, but it’ll take hours to dry.” He paused. “And really, do you want to wear a sweaty sweater? Like, ever again?”

“So… so I really have no clothes?”

“You really don’t. I have to say, though, that this is a blessing in disguise, in my humble opinion.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“Hell, yeah.” He stared down at her, his eyes roaming over her entire body, over her miles of long leg, loving the sleek curves. “First, because I like seeing you in nothing more than my shirt, baby. It looks damn good on you.”

Shay flushed purple. Warren laughed at her, the sound gentle and teasing.

“Second,” he carried on. “Those clothes were hands-down the least-flattering things that you could have
ever
put on your body. I mean – what were you
thinking
?”

“Uh…” she faltered. “I was thinking that I should be comfortable?”

“Yeah, well,
I’m
thinking that we should toss those rags straight in to the fire.”

She giggled. “But then what would I wear? Besides your shirt?”

He sighed dramatically. “Who says that you’d need to wear
anything
besides my shirt?”

“You’d like me to wear nothing besides your shirt?”

“I’d like you to wear nothing at all – not
even
my shirt.”

At his guttural growl, she froze, all joking forgotten. Oh, God, was this really happening between them?
How
was this happening between them? He was exactly the kind of man that she’d run screaming from all those years ago, and sworn to never even glance at again.

Shay had spent years doing everything humanly possible to get away, and then stay away, from the outlaw MC life. She hated it, and she hated everything that it stood for. She hated the philosophy – such as it was – and she hated the bullshit sexist mentality, and the ownership of women, and the casual sex with a healthy dose of coercion and slut-shaming thrown in for good measure.

Most of all, she hated the men in the life. Hated how they hurt people just because they could. Hated how they wore their criminal activities like badges of honor, and how they lived and breathed violence. Hell, most of them actively went
looking
for brutal, murderous situations, just so they could pull out their guns and be big men. These assholes delighted in living outside of the law, and wreaking havoc, and spreading fear and hatred.

What was to like or admire about
any
of that? What was there to build a future on, with any of that? Nothing, that’s what.

But here was Warren Kane, patched-in member of the Fallen Angels, standing in front of her with his blue eyes so damn hot with pent-up want for her… and she was responding with everything that she had. She wanted him. She wanted him in her bed, in her arms. In her body. In her heart.

This was the most terrifying thing that she’d ever thought, and she knew that her fear was all over her face. He saw it, and he took a step back. Gave her some space.

“What’s wrong?” he said softly. “Too much, too soon?”

“It’s just… I don’t know you, Warren.” She stared up at him, trying to find the right words. “I mean, I know some things. I don’t know you personally, and I don’t know your club specifically, but thanks to my brother, I know more about the outlaw biker life than I’ve ever wanted to, believe me. I know your MC side like the back of my hand.”

He leaned back against the wall, gazing at her, his expression guarded. “What do you know about me, Shay?”

“I know that you’re a fully patched-in member, so I know that you’ve hurt people to get that status. Probably even killed people.”

He swallowed, the faces of those two men flashing up in front of him. They haunted him, those faces. Knowing that his own face had been the last earthly thing that they saw was a wound that never, ever healed. He’d never stop asking for forgiveness for what he'd done – and he knew that it would never be granted. Mostly because he’d never forgive himself.

“I know that your club does all kinds of illegal shit.” Shay’s voice was resigned. “The usual suspects are drugs, guns and prostitution, of course, and I know that the Fallen Angels will be in to
at least
one of them, if not all three. Maybe other odds-and-ends kinds of outsourcing jobs for Kirk Jensen. Kidnapping, smuggling, debt-collection, money-laundering, intimidation.” She shrugged, trying to stay calm. “Murder-for-hire.”

He forced himself to hold her amazing eyes, to give nothing away with his own. The truth was that the Fallen Angels were in to all of the above – and a fuck-ton more. And that was just what Warren knew about. He suspected that Ace and Nails kept lots of things under wraps and just between them.

“I know what goes on at your clubhouse,” Shay continued. “I know what it looks like, and I know what it smells like. I know about the women – the hellions, or sweet butts, or pass-arounds, or whatever the hell you boys call them in your club – and I know that their sole purpose is to offer up pussy on demand.”

For the first time, Warren flinched. Hearing the word ‘pussy’ come out of that sweet mouth was a shock. She wasn’t finished, though.

“I know that your loyalty is to your club and to your brothers, and you’d die to protect any one of them. I know that you’re holding me hostage because that’s what your President told you to do, and you do what you’re told, no matter what it is. But…” Her voice trailed off.

Warren felt a tiny pinprick of hope. “But what?”

“But I feel like… like all of that isn’t
you
. Not really. I tried to tell myself that it was, but I couldn’t make myself believe it. Not after what you’ve done for me. No hardened, heartless MC member would have done
any
of what you did. He’d have found me to save his own ass, then treated me like dirt as punishment for running. Made me pay, over and over, preferably on my back and against my will.” She gazed up at him, her face so soft and open. “I know it’s stupid, since I don’t know the first damn thing about you, and I’ve spent all of our time together either plotting to get the hell away from you, or totally out of it. But it’s how I feel. I feel like… like the man that you showed to Ace isn’t
at all
the same man that you show to me. That your hardness and coldness is an act, or a mask.” She hesitated. “Or maybe it’s protection, but I don’t know against what.”

Warren took a deep breath. “We need to talk, Shay. I mean
really
talk, no bullshit or games. No acts, no masks. OK?”

“OK.”

“For now, can you believe me when I say that the MC side of me that you described is what I do, and it’s my life, right enough – but it’s not me?” He heard the pleading in his own words. “It’s not
me
, baby. I promise you that.”

She studied him, saw sincerity shining bright in his eyes. “You’ll tell me who you really are?”

“I swear that I will.”

“I suppose it’s too much to hope that you’re a cop infiltrating the MC from within?” she asked. “That you’re deep undercover and your assignment is almost over?”

Despite himself, Warren laughed. “Sorry, honey.”

“Damn.”

“But I’m not really an MC member, either. Not in all the ways that really matter.”

“Alright, then.” She gave him a shaky smile. “I’ll clean up, and we can eat. And you’ll tell me everything.”

“Deal.” He pushed himself off the wall. “You relax for a bit and I’ll get dinner ready. You a vegetarian?”

“Ha.
So
not.”

“That’ll make things easier.” He grinned at her, and her heart jumped. “Some of the boys stocked the fridge and you won’t be shocked, I’m sure, to hear that MC members are big on bacon and beer, and not so much on lettuce and mineral water.”

“Huh. Who’d have thunk it?”

“Right?” He moved towards the door. “Take your time, OK? I’ll need at least an hour.”

“One more thing before you go…”

He spun back to look at her. “Anything.”

“Could you please find me a toothbrush? I
really
think that something crawled in to my mouth and died there while I was passed out.”

Warren laughed again, more easily this time. “You gonna be kissing someone later?”

“We’ll see. Maybe. It depends.”

“On what?”

“On who you are, Warren. Who you are in all the ways that really matter.”

Chapter Eight

Curtis Manning glanced around Dangerous Curves, checking out the general vibe. It was packed and heaving, but it seemed cool. Everyone was having a good time, and even that group of super-smashed frat boys over in the corner weren’t signaling any bad intentions. Curtis was sure of this because his girlfriend Tessa Mahoney was serving that table, and she hadn’t shown even one flicker of stress or discomfort.

He assumed his usual bouncing position: arms crossed, leaning back against the wall, all deceptively casual, ferocious scowl firmly in place. But the whole time, he was looking at Tessa and he was smiling wide inside.

Good Christ, that woman made him happy. And – something incredible to Curtis –
he
made
her
happy. In the whole of his life, he’d never had a woman look at him the way that Tessa did. He hadn’t even known that it was
possible
for him to be on the receiving end of such sweet, heated looks. But every single time those green-gold eyes gazed at him, Curtis was a goner. Forget that he was ex-military and an ex-boxer; forget that he was a massive, brutal, surly guy. One glance from Tessa, and he crumbled at her feet.

And he
loved
it.

As if she could hear his thoughts, she looked across the room, met his intense stare. Her smile was loaded with secrets and sweetness, and he felt his cock rear up helplessly in response. He shifted, trying to ease the strain against his zipper, and she dropped her gaze to below his waist, knowing full well what was happening.

He jerked his head at her, in a silent command to
come here
. Her smile broadened, and she came to him now, slowly. He watched her approach, holding her eyes the whole time, and then there she was, standing in front of him, all blonde curls and lush curves.

“Hi,” she said, low and sexy. “You want something, babe?”

“Yeah,” he grated out. “You.”

“Now, now,” she teased. “You know we leave in less than two hours.”

“Too long. Can’t wait.”

She cocked her head at him. “No?”

“
Hell
, no.”

“So, maybe you need a small kiss? Just to tide you over ’til we get home?”

Without another word, Curtis grabbed her roughly, hauled her to him. Totally uncaring that they were in the middle of a busy bar and surrounded by questionable types, he planted his one hand on her hip, curled the other in her hair, and he kissed her like he meant business.

Right away, she sagged against him. All her sass and snark forgotten, Tessa just threw up the white flags and surrendered. Utterly, completely, and no goddamn apologies. She
loved
it; she
loved
when he took total command of her like this. Nothing in her life had ever made her feel so feminine and desirable, and she found herself clinging to Curtis’ t-shirt like a life line.

Time stopped, all sound faded to a distant hum, the busy room melted away, and it was just them. Hands and lips, soft curves pressed up against rock-hard muscle, wildly-beating hearts, and rising heat. When Curtis finally let her go, it was the last thing that she wanted, and he grinned down at her, loving the hungry look in her eyes.

“So.” Gently, he dropped a kiss on the top of her head. “Two hours still no big deal, sweetness?”

“Argh. It’s
forever
,” she whimpered. “I
hate
work.”

They shared a smile, and Curtis ran his large hands over her body, so slow and careful. He was fucking thrilled that she’d put on a bit more weight, and it was more than just a hunch: that night, she’d told him that her one skirt was too tight to do up comfortably, and so she’d add it to the pile of clothes that she’d donate to charity.

He’d gone on to high-alert at this news, since Tessa’s weight gain was still a source of stress for her sometimes. She was doing well overall, eating healthily but not obsessing over every calorie, and her weight had been creeping up maybe a pound or two a week since Christmas. She’d come to a place of serenity and acceptance about it, and in her mind, she’d set her target weight at one hundred and forty-three pounds.

She’d hit that weight the day before, and Curtis had watched her, worried that she might panic, or feel out of control. Instead, she’d stepped off the scale and joined him in the shower, and he’d taken her up against the wall, hard and deep. Twice.

She looked up at him now, met his blue eyes. They were usually so cold, but when he looked at her, they were nothing but tender and loving. The thought that this man could handle her like a piece of porcelain continued to amaze her; the fact that he loved her did nothing but astound her.

“I love you,” he whispered. “And in two hours and six minutes, I’m gonna show you just how much.”

She shivered, aroused beyond belief. “I can’t wait.”

“Me too.” He kissed her again. “You’re gonna beg me to let you come, baby. I promise you.”

“Hey, you two.” The voice came from behind them, lazy and amused. “You on break and heading to one of the back rooms, or what?”

“Shut it, Carter,” Curtis responded amiably. “Like you don’t put your hands all over
your
woman every chance you get.”

Aidan Carter grinned, his golden eyes sparkling. “Yeah, yeah, OK. You got me.”

“Uh-huh.” Gabi popped up out of nowhere, balancing an overflowing tray of drinks. “If you’re going to stand around and do nothing but be mouthy, take this to table nine for me. Oh, and don’t flirt with the ladies, and watch out for their hands. They’re pretty damn aggressive, I can tell you. Jax has already retreated to the other side of the bar, for his own safety.” She handed Aidan the heavy tray. “I’ll grab the other round. Luke’s done pouring the shots.”

“OK, angel,” Aidan said obediently, and Curtis and Tessa chuckled at him. “Your wish is my command.”

“Good boy,” Curtis muttered as Gabi headed over to the bar. “She’s got you trained, I see.”

“Like you’re not?” Aidan shot back.

“Oh, I am. I just don’t deny it or fight it.”

“Yeah, well. I don’t either, really.” Aidan turned to go to table nine. “The truth is, I kinda like it.”

“Yeah?” Tessa teased him. “Gabi’s got you where she wants you, huh?”

“Oh, totally.”

They watched him wander over to the table, watched as the women observed his approach. Sure enough, they went in to full-on flirting mode with Aidan, and really, who could blame them? With his blond hair and golden eyes, his strapping frame and sexy-as-all-hell Texan accent, what woman in her right mind
wouldn’t
vie for a bit of his warm, honeyed attention?

“OK, so… back to work,” Curtis said to Tessa, mock-severe. “You’ve got drunk customers to ply with more booze.”

Tessa giggled, and he felt his face crack open in a smile.
God
, he loved to see her happy. For a long while there, he’d been convinced that he’d lost her – first to her eating disorder, then to her rage at him forcing her to go to the hospital and get some help – but she was here with him now.

And he wasn’t letting her go anywhere. She was his, and she was staying.

“Yessir.” She gave him a salute, and he rolled his eyes at how fucking adorable she was when she was being a smart-ass. “Back to work, sir.”

“Good,” he growled. “Double-time, baby.”

She ran her fingers through his short, dark-blond hair, and he almost purred at her touch. Then she walked off, and he watched her gorgeous ass in those tight jeans. Yeah, some women looked great slim and streamlined, but his girl wasn’t one of them. Tessa was all about the curves, and she looked better with more pounds, not fewer. She was perfect to him, and that was all there was to it.

Just then, the bar door opened, and he automatically looked over, ready to assess a potential threat. It wasn’t anybody terrifying – though he suspected that some people might disagree with him on
that
point – since it was Dillon Saunders, his fellow badass, kick-ass bouncer.

Dillon nodded in greeting, Curtis returned it. Dillon stalked over to the staffroom, shedding his heavy leather jacket as he went, returned a minute later. He looked around the room, checking things with his practiced eye, then headed over to Curtis.

“OK night?” Dillon said in his husky voice, without preamble or small-talk, as per usual. “Trouble?”

“None,” Curtis replied.

“Tables to watch?”

Curtis gestured at one near the pool tables. “The Road Devils are here tonight.”

“Ah.” Dillon turned to take a look. “Wolf’s here?”

“Yep.”

“Good. If the MC Prez is with them, they’re always way better behaved.”

“True, that. He’s really kicked their asses in to shape, huh?”

“Mmm-hmmm.” Dillon ran a hand through his dark hair, his cool mint-green eyes not missing a thing happening around them. “I didn’t
believe
it when Wolf said he was taking those boys legit, but damned if he hasn’t done it.”

“Maria’s still working as a nanny for Wolf’s friend, right?”

“Yep. Just another few months, though, and then Maria’s back at Open Skies Ranch.”

“You going to rent that house?” Curtis said. “The one mid-way between here and the ranch?”

“Yeah.” Dillon flashed him a grin. “We sign the lease next week.”

“Hey, congrats, man.” Curtis punched him on his broad shoulder. “You gonna have a housewarming thing?”

“Maria wants to, so yeah.”

Curtis laughed, thinking about the conversation with Aidan a minute earlier. “She’s got you right where she wants you, huh?”

“You
know
it, Manning.”

“Yeah.” Curtis looked over at Tessa again, saw Aidan with his arm around Gabi. “We’re all the same.”

“Who are?”

“Us badass fuckers who can take down most anyone with our baby finger – but if our women ask us for anything, we melt like butter.”

Dillon laughed. “You got it in one, man.”

“I know.”

“Speaking of our fellow melted butter guys, where’s Jax?” Dillon glanced around again. “In his office?”

“Probably. Gabi said that he’s hiding from table nine.”

Dillon looked at the table. “Oh yeah. Them. Those ladies are
big
in to Jax and King.” He shot another look around the bar. “Speaking of which – King around tonight?”

“Nope. He’s at Mac and Mirrie’s place.”

Something in Curtis’ voice caught Dillon’s attention, and not in a good way. He looked at the other man sharply.

“What’s goin’ on?” Dillon demanded.

“Dunno.” Curtis shrugged his massive shoulders. “But
something
is.”

“Kirk Jensen?”

“Quite probably.”

“Jesus Christ,” Dillon said, disgusted and immediately in a bad mood. “Why is something
always
going on with him lately? Can’t we just have
one week
where that asshole isn’t up to something sinister, and trying to kill one or all of us?”

“It’d be nice,” Curtis said heavily. “But it’s wishful thinking, Saunders.”

“Ain’t
that
the truth,” Dillon said grimly, remembering how he and his girlfriend Maria Torres – Gabi's half-sister – had been inches away from being gunned down up at Open Skies. Jensen had sent the men to execute them, and a second group had simultaneously launched an attack here in Denver on Aidan and Gabi. To say that Dillon wasn’t a fan of Jensen was to
seriously
fucking understate things. “That prick is
never
gonna stop, Curtis. Not until someone stops him.”

“I think King’s working on it.”

“Thank God for that.” Dillon’s voice was rough, unforgiving. “‘Cause if anyone can stop that fucker once and for all? It’s Matt Kingston.”

**

King accepted a cup of coffee from Miranda Kane, noted that her hands were shaking badly. He touched her wrist briefly, the lightest, gentlest touch possible with his huge hands, and she gave him a small, tremulous smile.

He didn’t blame her for being worried, not in the slightest. He’d told her that he had news about her cousin, Warren, but he hadn’t wanted to say much more than that over the phone. So she’d had about an hour to fuss and fret, and tie herself in knots, and he was sorry about that… but some things just had to be done face-to-face.

“OK, man.” Doctor Shane ‘Mac’ MacIntyre sat down across from King, nailed him with those intelligent blue eyes. He reached out, took Mirrie’s hand. “Let’s have it.”

“Alright.” King took a breath. “Warren’s babysitting for Kirk Jensen right now, up in the mountains.”

“Babysitting who?” Mirrie asked, her voice hushed.

“A woman named Shay Alcott.”

“Who is she?” she asked him.

“Her brother Crusher runs an MC over in Utah, and those boys are heavily involved in Jensen’s drug corridor in to Nevada.”

“OK.”

“Something’s going on between Crusher and Jensen, and the sister is collateral damage while they sort things out between them. She has nothing to do with the MC, so she’s been dragged in to this totally blind.”

“Shit,” Mac said. “She’s OK?”

“Ace says she was when he dropped her off four days ago, and we all know that Warren ain’t going to beat a woman up for kicks. So we can work on the assumption that she’s fine.”

“For how long?” Mirrie said, her tone listless.

Both men gave her their full attention.

“How long what, babe?” Mac asked gently.

“How long will Shay Alcott be fine,” Mirrie said. “I mean – will Warren be asked to kill her if the brother and Jensen can’t sort whatever it is out?”

King paused, caught Mac’s eye. Mirrie was no fucking delicate little flower, and she wasn’t a woman who needed shielding from the truth. In fact, she’d strenuously objected once to Mac keeping crucial information from her – she’d objected so strongly that she’d dumped his overprotective ass without a second of thought. Lying to her wasn’t an option; withholding what she needed to know was equally unthinkable. So King launched in to it.

“It’s a possibility. A good one.”

“And would he do it?” Mirrie said. “Would he kill an innocent woman, just because he was told to?”

King hesitated. The truth was that he and King’s Men had been watching Warren for just over six months – ever since they’d returned him to the Fallen Angels after weeks of them holding him for leverage. Despite the fact that he’d been their prisoner, held quiet and captive in one of the team’s safe houses, and despite the fact that the team was made up of hardened ex-special-ops types, Warren had won them all over.