Soul Ties (Club Ties #4) (7 page)

What a hell of a childhood. “Your sister, where’s she?” The sister seemed neutral ground.

“Uh…” Her hand shook as she brushed a lock of warm brown hair off her brow. “Cassidy’s in Florida, going to college and living with her boyfriend.”

“So she’s not in the club.”

“No,” she said quietly, staring at her fingers as she pleated a napkin over and over. When she got to the edge, she smoothed it flat on the table and started over. “Ever asked me if I’m going to visit my sister. Well, actually she asked if I was going to live with her.”

He lifted a brow. It wasn’t a bad idea. A change of scenery could do her a lot of good. But having her exit his life before he figured out what the hell intrigued him about her seemed extreme. “But you don’t want to go.”

“How’d you know?” She turned to shredding the napkin into little strips, which she wadded and placed in a line on the table.

“Just your voice. You don’t sound eager to go. I think you’d miss the club too much.”

“I… You’re right.”

He nodded. “You think of the Sons as your real family.”

Her throat clicked as she swallowed and she dropped her gaze to her busy fingers. “You guessed all that from the twelve words I’ve said all night?”

“No, but I’m good at reading people.”

She sat back, abandoning her paper balls. He reached out and flicked one, sending it sailing toward her face. She batted it aside, and he grinned. “Good reflexes.”

“Thanks, Doc.” A ghost of a smile might have hovered around her lips, but it was so fleeting, he couldn’t be sure. “Your turn.”

Ah hell. He hated talking about himself unless it was his work credentials. He was pretty sure she didn’t want a list of his accomplishments or all the excellent hospitals he’d worked at during his career. The other things he didn’t want to tell her.

When he didn’t speak, she looked at him over the rim of her mug. She sipped, wrinkled her nose and added a creamer and two sugar packets.

“Bad?”

“Really bad,” she breathed with what sounded like amusement.

“What can I say? I’m new in town. I don’t know the best places yet.”

“The Wayside is on the corner of 19
th
and Hill. They have excellent—”

“Cheesesteaks,” they said together.

Redness climbed her cheekbones again. The more he looked at her, the more extraordinarily pretty she was. Separate, her features might be overlooked. But all together, her dainty nose, stubborn chin, and round hazel eyes were something to behold.

“Yep, the best cheesesteaks.” He bobbed his head, and for a heart-throbbing moment, he thought she might try to hide her gaze. But she stared at him—past all his bullshit and straight to his soul.

Their platters of food arrived, and he plucked a toothpick from his sandwich. “Your French toast looks amazing.”

“So does your sandwich.”

“Trade? I’ll give you a bite if you give me a bite.”

A few more heartbeats while she contemplated his offer. She compressed her lower lip with her teeth. Then released it, leaving him to stare at the bead of wetness. His jeans grew tight in the fly, and he fought the need to adjust himself.

He lifted a sandwich stacked high with meat, cheese, lettuce, and tomato and held it out to her. “C’mon. Or maybe it’s too big. You can’t fit that much in your mouth.”

She snorted a laugh and pushed her plate toward him. He forked a slice of French toast onto his platter. She took the sandwich and bit into it.

“So you
can
fit it in your mouth.”

“Funny guy. If I didn’t know you were kidding, you’d end up sitting here by yourself.” She talked around the bite, which was insanely charming.

He dumped maple syrup on the toast and cut off a big piece.

“Good thing. I hate eating alone.”

“Me too. I’ve always had company. It’s an MC kid thing. You know, when I was little, I thought MC meant Mickey’s Club. Like Mickey Mouse?”

He laughed, picturing her as a naïve little squirt running freely in a place where family was everything. “When did you discover it meant motorcycle club?”

“Not until I told someone I was in Mickey’s Club and my dad heard me. He was really sweet about correcting me. He didn’t even laugh.” She narrowed her eyes at Connall. “I guess you’re going to laugh, though, right?”

He flashed a grin, unable to stop it. “Nope.”

She ate half the piece of sandwich before drowning her French toast in enough syrup to fill ten people. Then she scooped her bite of toast in the reservoir and brought it dripping to her lips.

When she lowered the bite rather than tasting it, he realized he was staring. “Tell me more about the club,” he said.

“It’s probably not much different from your other charter. Besides, you know more than I do. I just cook and clean.”

“You keep telling me that as if I’m going to think less of you for it. Do you think I’m going to ask why you don’t have bigger ambitions?” He removed the straw from his sweet tea and brought the cold glass to his mouth. The tea was perfectly brewed but a little on the sweet side.

She lifted a shoulder in a shrug. “I guess I feel a little intimidated by you.”

“Why?” He shoved the rest of the toast into his mouth.

“You’re obviously smart.”

“How do you know? It must be the tattoos. Because it’s a proven fact that people who have an education have fewer misspelled tattoos.” He flexed, and her gaze traveled over his arm.

She snorted again, but this time the noise was closer to the giggle he craved. “Is that a fact or did you get it from some stupid internet meme?”

“Take a look at my body. I dare you to find a misspelling.”

Her lashes lowered over her smoldering eyes, and his gut clenched. In five seconds flat he could have her jeans off and her knees around his ears, the club sandwich and French toast on the floor.

He captured her gaze. Held it until she squirmed and looked anywhere but at him.

With the ghost of O’Dovey at bay, Connall started talking about one of his patients, an older man with a hernia he’d claimed to have gotten while fucking.

At this, Sarah’s laugh bubbled up. He smiled in response and polished off another portion of his sandwich. “You can’t be serious,” she protested.

He held up three fingers. “Boy Scout law.”

“You’re lying about being a Boy Scout.” When she narrowed her eyes that way, he anticipated her mistrust.

“I’ve got the patches, don’t I?”

Her gaze dropped to his cut and the patches sewn there. Patches to a club they both loved so much they’d hidden an accidental murder from their own.

Heaviness crashed over them, and she set aside her food. The waitress returned and brought the check, which was good. It was definitely time to go.

He threw some bills on the table and closed his hand over Sarah’s. Her gaze was too hot and bright. Tears were close.

“Time to fly.”

“Where?”

“My place.”

When she didn’t protest, he couldn’t help but feel a rise of hope. Even though he’d probably end up holding her while she cried, at least he’d have her company.

Minutes later, he pulled into his driveway and cut the engine. He sat there, staring at the front door, wondering if this was really what Sarah needed. She was vulnerable, at a breaking point. What she didn’t deserve was a complicated relationship with him—and there wasn’t anything but complications when it came to being with him.

Her sigh brushed his shoulder, spreading goose bumps down his arm. He clenched his fist around the handlebar, holding in the sensation.

Decision made, he urged her off his bike, but she felt so good there—with her thighs spread and her extreme heat teasing his back. He caught her hand on the way to the blue front door. Her fingers were dainty and cool in his.

Once he had her inside, he moved to flip on the light. He glanced down at her and stopped dead. Standing in the fading daylight streaming through the door, she slayed his heart.

He leaned over her.

And she stood on tiptoe to meet him.

When their mouths connected, he pulled in a deep breath of her scent, which swirled in his head like the finest whiskey. She curled her fingers into his shirt, eyes pinched shut, trembling.

From fear? Excitement?

A groan left him, and he scooped her against his body. Letting her feel every inch of his hardness while he gently probed her sultry lips with his tongue. The instant she opened to him, he lost his fucking mind.

She gripped his shirt front harder and hooked a hand around his nape. He swayed her against his erection, and a shudder racked her.

Tentatively, he made a swipe of the inside her mouth, gathering the flavors of maple and tears. Maybe he should slow things down.

He tried to break the kiss, but she held him tighter. God, she was so beautiful and sexy and how could he resist?

He cupped her jaw, threaded his fingers into her hair. Hell, he wanted to fill his hands with the thick locks and yank them while driving into her hot, tight body.

She moaned, a soft sound of pure witchcraft. With a sensual grind against him, she opened her eyes and met his gaze. Their lips were a breath away. “Please, Connall. I need you to make me forget his touch. To put me back together.”

His chest heaved. “You don’t know what you’re saying, Sweetheart. You need cared for, not wild, hot, possibly angry sex.”

“Angry?” She tilted a brow.

He skimmed a fingertip between her luscious breasts. “Anger directed at myself. I’m not ready for a relationship, babe.”

“I’m not asking.” She stood on tiptoe and bit his lip. A growl left him, and without a hint of control, he gripped her ass. Kneading it, he hitched her flush against him. Christ, she felt hot and ready. He ached to drill into her. Hard. Fast. Just fuck her like an animal and make her forget the blood and shovelfuls of dirt that had brought them together in the first place.

Her clutch on his shirt never loosened, and he couldn’t take it anymore.

Lifting her, he turned for his bedroom. Tongues tangled, groans shared. She wrapped her arms and legs around him as he kicked open the door and fell to his rumpled bed. Vaguely he wished he’d taken the time to neaten his room this morning, but then she reached between his legs and clasped his cock through his jeans and he forgot everything.

Passion flowed. She angled her head to deepen the kiss, and he took the invitation, sucking her tongue until small squeaks erupted from her. Then he dragged his teeth across her lower lip.

“More,” she demanded.

He swooped in for another nip. The points of her nails dug into his shoulders and she came at him with a bite on his earlobe. Little vixen deserved a spanking for her insolence. Fuck, he loved it.

Hovering, he did a slow push-up, drawing his length over her pussy. She gasped and tore at his cut. He didn’t even care that the leather he prized landed on the floor. Or that threads popped when she pulled his shirt over his head.

“God, you’re beautiful,” she murmured. Her gaze licked over his chest and arms. Her soft fingers traced the words on the banner over the rose tattoo—
First do no harm.

His need compounded. He struggled with the buttons on her top but her bra was no match for a surgeon’s fingers. Finally, he was able to kiss her throat and taste her ripe cherry nipples.

Filling his palm with her rounded breast while sucking the other would fuel his solo fantasies for a long-ass time. Under his touch, she purred like the best engine. He skated his tongue around the tip of her breast, watching her face contort with pleasure.

She didn’t have a mark on her. Not a scar, tattoo, or even a freckle. Her skin was porcelain—though she bore O’Dovey’s fingerprints.

Licking a path to her other breast, Connall held her gaze. Seeing her eyes darken as he sucked her straining bud into his mouth had him aching. His jeans were too confining, but he couldn’t take them off. Not yet. He needed the barrier to remain in control.

“Your hands are shaking,” she said, then arched as he drew harder on her nipple.

“Because I fucking want you.”

Her perfect lips tipped up. Lips made for kissing. And for pursing around his cock as he held her head and guided her.

He placed a chain of kisses down her cleavage to her ribs. She wriggled, and he raised his head with a grin. “Ticklish?”

“It’s good,” she panted.

Lowering his mouth again, he sucked a spot on her side. Her hips lifted off the bed, and he slipped his hand between them to cup her pussy. When she cried out and pushed into his hand, his cock lengthened another inch. God, had he ever been so hard?

Lapping down to her navel, he caught her hands and pinned them to the bed. For long moment he learned every contour of her torso from collarbones to her tiny waist. Her grip tightened, and she rocked her hips.

“What do you want, Sweetheart? This?” He released her hand and cradled her pussy again.

“God, yes.”

“Are you wet for me?”

“Yes.” Her voice was so breathy, he could hear nothing else. Any noise from the highway faded, and even the barking of the neighbor’s dog that had kept him up for days vanished.

Nuzzling her waist, he one-handedly unbuttoned her jeans. Slid down the zipper. And drowned in visions of pink polka dot panties. They were sheer enough he could see a little patch of hair—an arrow leading to exactly what he wanted. As if he needed direction.

Pushing back, he removed her boots and socks. Then tugged off jeans and panties. “I still haven’t found ink on you. How does a club kid not have ink?”

A strange look passed over her face, and her fists were clenched in his sheets.

He gave a crooked grin. “It’s on your back?”

“Yes.”

“I’ll save the surprise for later then. Right now, I have this to play with.” Using one fingertip, he stroked the strip of slightly curly hair down, down to the juices glistening on her seam. She panted and squeezed her eyes shut.

“Look at me while I touch your pussy. I want to see what you like.”

Her eyes popped open and she met his stare. A dark shiver ran through his groin, making his balls clench. As he painted her wetness up and down her seam, he watched her pupils dilate. When he reached her knot of nerves at the top, she sank her teeth into her lip.