Steel My Heart (Motorcycle Club Romance) (Sons of Steel Motorcycle Club Book 1) (7 page)

If he noticed my touch, he didn't comment.  He didn't call attention to it.  He just accepted my comfort with grace. 

"A man should stand on his own two feet," he muttered, and I wasn't sure if he meant for me to hear.

Just then Rosie plopped down two full shot glasses and a huge platter of fries in front of us.  J. handed me a glass and held his aloft.  "What would you like to toast?"

I thought for a moment.  "To the start of something new," I decided.

His huge grin as he took the shot made me instantly sputter.  "I mean, your graduation and all.  A new start."  Once more the lie sounded so plausible that I decided to believe myself.

"Gotcha," J. agreed without protest. 

I knocked back my shot to hide my embarrassment.  I didn't want to lead him on.  I had a boyfriend.  No wait, he was my fiancé.  The man I was going to marry.  I shouldn't be doing shots with a biker, no matter how captivating his eyes were.  Or how smooth his skin was.  Or how delicious his dimples looked.  The whiskey didn't burn me nearly as badly this time.  The fire in my belly was caused by something else. 

"Are you going to eat?" I interrupted my thoughts before they gave me away.

"You go first, Em."

The fries were smothered in a lake of bright orange cheese.  Wafts of fragrant steam hit my face and my mouth immediately watered.  "Holy shit, that smells good."

"Be my guest," J. gestured, pushing the plate towards me.

I paused.  This would blow my diet to hell and back again.  It was greasy and nutritionally void.  And it definitely wasn't organic.  If Robert knew, he would never speak to me again.

I slid a fry out from the side of the plate and nibbled giddily.  "Wow."

J. was watching me quizzically.  "Have you never had a French fry before?"

I grabbed three more and shoved them into my mouth.  The scorching hot cheese seared the roof of my mouth, but I didn't care. 

"It's been a long while," I explained, blowing out my cheeks to cool my mouth.  I closed my eyes, tasting the grease.  I waited for the guilt to hit me.  This was undoing all my hard work all these months.  But for some reason, J. made me feel like it was okay.  Like there was nothing wrong with just enjoying myself.

I opened my eyes to see him watching me.  His lips were curved into the most beautiful, openhearted smile I had ever seen.  I felt a rush of something inside of me, something that couldn't be denied.  The whiskey and beer made me bolder that I had ever felt before.  I leaned towards him, drawn closer by instinct.  He made no moves, but let me slide off my stool in a trance. 

I lifted my lips towards his.  He bent his head slightly, and his lips brushed mine as if by accident.  It was a soft as the flutter of moth wings, and yet it sent a jolt of pure electricity down my spine.  I pressed into him and he folded me into his strong arms.  As he kissed me, I could feel the bulge begin to rise in his jeans.  The feeling inflamed me. 

He wanted me. 

I could feel it.  He wanted me as much as I wanted him.  I parted my lips, letting him taste my tongue with his.  His lips were soft, but the stubble of his cheeks rasped against mine.  His breath quickened and the bulge in his jeans pressed into my stomach.  Dazed, I lifted my arms and pulled him closer.  I was definitely drunk, both on whiskey and on him.  I felt a dull, persistent throbbing inside of me. 

He ran his fingers through the length of my hair, letting the strands flow through his hands like water.  Then he smoothed it back, exposing my neck.  I gasped to feel his lips press into the sensitive flesh there.

"Sorry," he murmured without pulling away.  "I've wanted to do that since I saw you walk in."

"You wanted to kiss my neck?"

He brushed his lips upward, his hot breath in my ear.  "No, I wanted to get my fingers in your hair, then kiss your neck."

I heard myself make a sound, soft and small like a wounded animal.  It was halfway between a gasp and a sob.  Need rushed in to fill the hollow place inside of me.

"J.," I whispered from somewhere outside of myself.  "J. can we go somewhere?  Can we go somewhere, right now?"

Chapter 11

J.

It took everything in J.'s power not to throw her onto the bar and have her right then and there. 

Her lips were just as soft as he had hoped.  He pressed himself into her, the blood rushing painfully to his groin.  Letting his tongue circle hers, he pushed that kiss deeper and she responded with a soft, kittenish noise that inflamed him.  He tasted the soft cream of her skin and it was a sweet as he'd hoped it would be.

Then she asked him to do the only thing he wanted to do.

J. pulled back from the kiss, ready to move.  Rosie had a back room.  Or they could go to the clubhouse.  Or fuck, they could do it right here on the bar.  He didn't give a shit, he needed to have this woman right now.

Her eyes fluttered at him, unfocused and dazed.  She pitched forward, stumbling into his lap. 

"Oh shit, Emmy? You okay?"

Her head lolled as she looked up at him.  She raised her arms sleepily.  "Come back," she slurred, eyelids half-closed.

J. punched himself in the thigh, hard enough to bring tears to his eyes.  She was drunk.  He wanted her, but not like this.  "Hey Emmy, you need to eat some more.  Can you eat some more?"

"Noooo," she pouted, but opened her mouth obediently to allow him to feed her a few more fries. 

Doctor D. was suddenly at his side.  "How much did she have?" the older man asked.  You could hear the medical training rushing back to him.

J. racked his brain.  "I don't think that much.  Two shots and a beer maybe?"

"That'd be enough for someone who doesn't drink much."  Doctor D. looked at him with his sharp eyes.  "She needs to go home, J.  You okay to ride?"

J. stood up from his stool, testing.  He slid his arms under Emmy, catching her before she slid to the floor.  "Yeah I think so.  Emmy?"

"Hmmm?"  She smiled sleepily up at him.

"Can you tell me where you live?"

She pouted.  "You're taking me back to him?"

"Him?  Your roommate?"

"Not...roommate.  Fiancé."

J. felt his heart sink. 
Fuck.
  Of course she was engaged.  If he had met her earlier he would have snapped her up too.  He punched himself in the thigh again, willing his desire to cool, but her soft, yielding body against his was not helping.

Doctor D. picked up her pocketbook and pulled out her leather wallet.  "Damn, her ID says she live on Rittenhouse."

J. looked down sharply.  She was engaged and she was rich.  He felt like a complete fool.  Angrily he hauled her to her feet.  "Let's go Emilia.  You need to hold on to me, okay?"

"Mmmm," she hummed, but followed him out the door.  He deposited her on the back of his bike without a word, then screeched into traffic without checking his mirrors.

He was a fool.  A damned fool.  She was a spoiled little princess who just wanted an adventure.  All those feeling he had had while they talked, that connection, it had all been in his head.  She just wanted to come down out of her palace and slum it for a while.

His anger made him ride faster.  But when he felt her grip loosen, he willed himself to slow down.  He was angry, but he didn't want to kill her.

But when he turned onto Walnut St. he had no choice but to come to a screeching halt.  Traffic was still snarled in spite of the late hour. Posh customers were still pouring out of the clubs and high-end restaurants. They milled about on the sidewalks and spilled into the crosswalks.  J. could feel their eyes on him and saw himself through their frightened eyes.  Big black biker with a slumped over drunk white girl draped on his seat.  It was his first day as a free man and yet he felt like a criminal all over again. He revved his engine at some gawkers in anger and three of them jumped back in terror.  He was debating just pulling up onto the sidewalk and plowing through them when the light finally changed.

Emmy's building was right on the square, overlooking the leafy expanse of Rittenhouse Park.  J. had grown up in Philadelphia, but this was not his Philadelphia.  This was a paradise made only for the rich. 

It hurt more than it should have to know Emmy was one of them.

"Okay girl, this is your stop, time to get off."  Emmy was slumped against his back.  He could feel her soft breasts pressing against his back but was too keyed up to enjoy it.  "Emilia, wake the fuck up," he growled. 

She moaned a little, but stayed plastered against him.

"For fuck's sake."  J. turned around.  Grasping her around the waist, he half wrestled, half carried her across the wide sidewalk in front of her building. 

"Outta the way," he growled at a startled looking old man who nearly walked into them. 

The lobby doors slid smoothly open and he felt the blast of air conditioning hit him in the face.  "Who are you? Is that Miss Hawthorne?" a voice boomed across the marble hallway.

J. saw the badge first, then the pistol second.  "Stay right there and put your hands up!" the guard called. He was aiming at J.'s head.

"If I put my hands up, I'm gonna drop the girl." J. knew he needed to keep calm.  

The guard seemed befuddled for a moment.  "Then move slowly."

"Where do you expect me to go?" J. saw the guard wasn't moving to call the cops, so he relaxed slightly.  "Hey look man, I'm not looking for trouble.  This girl's ID says she lives here.  You recognize her?"

"Of course I do," the guard spat, but lowered his gun slightly.

"You know where she lives?"

"Yes of course."

"Then why don't you come over here and help me make sure she gets home okay.  Sound good?"

The guard looked at him suspiciously.  Then he sighed and holstered his gun. "What happened to her?" he asked, with some concern.

"Had a bit too much to drink."

"She was drinking with...you?"

J. bristled.  "Look asshole, I got her home in one piece, didn't I?"

The guard stepped back and looked him up and down.  "Sons of Steel, huh?  I remember you guys from back when I was on the force.  How the fuck did Miss Hawthorne end up with one of
you
?"

J. had had enough.  "Guess you'll have to ask her that, won't you." He dragged Emmy over to the bank of elevators.  "Get her up to her place.  I'm done here."

"Yeah, I think you'd better be."  The guard took Emmy into his arms and pressed the button.  "Get out of my building and stay out."

"Not a fucking problem," J. spat. 

He felt the guard's eyes on him through the door and all the way out to where he had parked his bike on the sidewalk.

"Fuck all of you," he growled to the people crowded around it. 

Kicking the bike to life, he roared away from their stares.  He didn't need this shit.  This was the exact opposite of keeping his head down.  Causing a scene with a former Philly police officer was something he'd have to tell Teach about.  It would probably earn him some lumps.  He would ask for one knock to the head.

Maybe that would knock loose the memory of her lips on his.

Chapter 12

Emmy

The first sound I was aware of was a crash from the kitchen.  The echoing clatter pierced my eardrums and I clapped my hands over my ears. 

I was in my own bed, under the sheets.  Rolling over in confusion caused a sudden pain to knife through my head.  "Oh my god, fuck," I moaned out loud.  The words were thick and muffled.  I was parched and nauseous at the same time. 

Why was I hungover?

I tried rolling over again, and this time was successful in making it on to my side.  I rested for a moment, waiting for the spinning to stop before I opened my eyes.  Tentatively, I peeked through one slitted eye.

My box was upturned and the contents spread across the floor on my side of the bed.  I sat up in alarm, the memory of last night flooding me with panic.  Robert hadn't come home and I had gone crazy.  I had gotten drunk and kissed a biker.  And somehow I had ended up back in my bed.

And Robert knew.  Robert knew everything.

Another crash from the kitchen shattered my composure.  It was followed by another echoing boom, then a clatter as if all the silverware had been dropped at once.  Through the pounding in my head I realized dully that Robert was punishing me.

I lay carefully back down and slid my head under the pillow to block out the light.  Robert had opened all the shades, and the dawn light was pouring in through our tinted windows.  I had never hated our twenty-story view more than I did right now.

But I hated myself more. 

"Goddammit Emmy," I groaned to myself. 

The effort of speaking hurt my throat.  I remembered the taste of the cheap whiskey on my tongue, how it had burned my throat raw. 

How could I have been so stupid?  The one cardinal rule in my life was never to rock the boat.  Fighting back only caused problems and made things worse.  Why hadn't I remembered that?  What had possessed me to think I could get away with openly defying Robert?  I was in for a world of hurt now.

I gripped the sheets tightly as I wracked my throbbing brain.  I had no idea what to do next.  The idea of going down to apologize made me sick.  Robert would assault me with questions.  He would cross-examine every minute action, twisting my words around into greater and greater betrayal until I was no longer able to hold on to my own thoughts.  I would give up trying to explain, and just let him tell the story of how I had failed him.  My story would become his, and I would be punished for what he said I had done. 

Maybe it would be a week's worth of silent treatment.  I had gone through that before, tiptoeing along the edge of rooms, wondering when he would acknowledge me again.  Maybe it would be the food thing again, it had been a while since he denied me anything to eat without his permission.  Maybe I would have all my clothes taken away again. 

At least this time it was summer and it wouldn't be so cold and drafty by the windows.

The fear of anticipation rippled through me, but in the back of all of it was the dimmest memory.  A memory of a moment, one single moment from last night.  How J. had just let me be.  We had sat together, talking without agenda.  He had listened without appearing to wait for his turn to speak.  He didn't dismiss what I said with a scoff and a sarcastic remark.   With him it had felt...easy. 

I smacked myself in the head quickly, pushing out the disloyal thoughts.  Bright lights flashed behind my eyelids on impact and I moaned again in spite of myself.  I needed water.

Moving slowly and deliberately, I pushed myself up in the bed and swung my feet to the floor.  I waited, balling up the sheets in my fists, until the nausea passed and I could stand without falling.  Using the bed for leverage, I made my way around towards the master bath.   When I ran out of bed to lean on, I lunged for the wall, hitting myself in the shoulder and jarring my tender head.  I heard a sharp exhale behind me.

He was in the room, watching me as I made my labored way to the bathroom.  I didn't turn.  I didn't need to see him to know how his eyes blazed with fury and disappointment.  I didn't want to see.

His voice in my head told me everything I needed to know about how terrible I was. 
What the hell did you think you were doing?  Are you some sort of cheap slut?  What gives you the right to just throw my love away like that?  What is wrong with you?

With the unsaid words clanging in my shattered skull like a bell, I stumbled the last two steps into the bathroom.  He made no move to help me, but I knew he was still there watching.  I ran the tap and filled the water glass to the brim. 

The cold water hit my stomach like a rock.  I glugged until my belly was taut and sloshing.  I could feel the cells in my body come back to life as soon as the water hit them.

Feeling marginally better, I opened the medicine cabinet to look for the Advil I always kept on the third shelf.

It was gone.  I stared dully at the space where it had been yesterday.  The Advil was gone, the Tylenol was gone, the Aleve, even the baby aspirin Robert took for his heart was gone. 

He had taken every painkiller and hidden them from me. 

Now I would have to ask him to let me have some.

My stomach roiled, rejecting the water I had guzzled.  I bent over the sink and heaved and spat.  But nothing came up.  I wasn't going to be sick.  I was just terrified.

"Robert?"  My voice was small and beseeching.  I caught my cringing reflection in the mirror and hated myself. 

He didn't come, but I could hear his tread on the floorboards as he stepped closer to me.  He was ready to hear my apologies.  He was ready to mete out whatever justice he saw fit to give.  

The anger that had propelled me out of our building and hurled me into the arms of an honest to god biker came roaring back like a freight train.  The blood pulsed in my ears, deafening me to the sound of anything but my own thoughts. 

Fuck you, you asshole.

I saw myself in the mirror and I cringed again, certain he could hear me.  But the heat of my rage burned through the hangover and I found I could stand upright.  I swished another glass of water in my mouth and turned to the door.  Without crossing the threshold, I peeked out at him.

He wasn't looking towards me.  His patrician profile was turned towards the windows, the early morning light casting him in high relief.  I could see the muscle at his temple working as he ground his teeth furiously.  That I had expected.  His eyes were what startled me.

They were afraid.

He glanced towards the bathroom and saw me looking at him.  I saw a flicker of doubt cross his face, then a sudden rage at being caught in his vulnerability

Then those flickers were gone, replaced with a bland smile.  "You sick, Emilia?"

I stepped back.  My box was strewn across the floor.  The painkillers had been hidden.  He deliberately woke me as painfully as possible.

He knew exactly why I wasn't feeling well.

He moved towards me and I stepped back again.  This wasn't how it was supposed to go.  I wasn't ready for him to be kind.  That was the worst thing he could do.

I stepped back again, catching the heel of my foot against the base of the toilet.  I sat down with a thud and looked up at him in confusion.  Should I ignore what he said and make my apologies?  Or should I follow his lead and pretend?

He stood over me, looming, and looked down with bland concern.  "You don't look well.  Why don't you lie down and I'll bring you something for your head?"

"Um, okay."  He waited.  "Thank you, honey."

He nodded and turned away. I sat on the toilet in a daze until he reappeared at the doorway with a huge tumbler of water and a fistful of Advil. 

"You should be lying down," he admonished me.  "Since your head hurts and all."

"How do you know my head hurts?" I managed to squeak.

"Don't you know I know everything about you, Emilia?"  He set the glass and medicine down, then crouched down in front of me, hitching up his work pants beforehand so they wouldn't crease.

"I can tell what you're thinking.  I know you better than you know yourself."  He took my wrists in his hands, circling them with his fingers.  "That's why we work together so well.  We know each other.  We know what to expect from each other.  And we know what would happen if we were ever separated."

"What would happen?" I whispered.

He stood up and kissed me on the forehead.  "I don't even want to think about it," he said airily. 

He took my hand and led me back to bed.  I crawled in dutifully and closed my eyes, but he didn't leave.  I slowed my breathing, forcing myself to relax, but he still stood over me.  Trying harder, I willed myself into an even rhythm, but I was sure the thudding of my heart in my throat gave me away.

I was deeply, deeply afraid.