Throttle's Seduction: Insurgents Motorcycle Club (Insurgents MC Romance Book 7) (11 page)

“I never do seconds with citizens. I’m glad you’re not the clinging type. A one-night fuck suits me just fine.” His curt voice lashed at her.

She swallowed the small lump forming in her throat and placed two pieces of bread on a stoneware plate. “I made you some toast.” She handed it to him.

“I don’t eat toast.” His icy voice chilled her. “I’m outta here.” Without a good-bye, he marched out of her house and slammed her screen door. She rushed over and watched him through the mesh as he sped away on his Harley. The prickly heat filtered in through the screen door and she closed it.

Don’t you dare cry. This is what you wanted.
They’d shared an incredible night together, satisfying the lust they’d harbored since they met. It was finished, and it was time to get back on track. Everything turned out the way she wanted it to, but why was she so miserable right then? Her phone alarm rang and she realized she was going to be late for class. Rushing to the kitchen, she poured his untouched orange juice down the sink and threw away the toast. She wiped down the counters, grabbed her books and keys, and made her way to her afternoon classes.

As fast as she rode, she still ended up being ten minutes late to her business class. Professor Redman stopped mid-sentence and pressed his lips into a white slash when she came in. Red stained her cheeks, and she shuffled over to a seat in the back of the classroom. Opening her laptop, she hid her face behind the screen. After a few seconds, the professor continued where he left off.

Kimber was lucky to have been able to be in Professor Redman’s course. He was head of the business department at the college and was an esteemed academic. He’d written numerous books on a gamut of business-related subjects, and he was an in-demand national lecturer. The prof was by far the best teacher she’d ever had, and his class was one of her favorites.

While she typed copious notes, her phone vibrated. She glanced at it and saw she’d received a text message. For one brief second, she held her breath, hoping it was Throttle; then she remembered he didn’t ask for her phone number, and disappointment set in. She looked at the sender—Riley. There was no way she was going to open it with Professor Redman already annoyed at her for being late. Slipping her phone in her backpack, she focused on the rest of the lecture.

After class, she sat at a table in the student center and opened Riley’s text.

Riley:
It’s been too long. U wanna go for dinner?

Ever since she and Throttle had kissed at the shop, she’d pushed Riley away. It wasn’t like they had anything going between them. He seemed nice enough, but he wasn’t her type. She didn’t feel anything even remotely like the electric charge that sizzled between her and Throttle whenever they saw each other. She supposed she was hopeless, destined to be mistreated by the bad boys instead of cherished by the good ones.

Kimber:
Been busy. Tonight won’t work. Don’t want to lead u on, but too busy for anything other than studying and working right now.

Riley:
U gotta eat. Right?

Kimber:
Too busy for that too. Frozen or takeout while I study.

Riley:
So u don’t want to go out with me?

Kimber:
Not looking for anything with a man right now. U’re nice. U can find another girl.

Riley:
I want u. I always get what I want.

Kimber reread the text a couple times.
Wow, he’s starting to sound kind of creepy. Time to sign off.

Kimber:
Gotta go to class.

Maybe Riley wasn’t such a nice guy. The guy did give off weird vibes. When they’d gone on their second and last date, he kept asking her what she was wearing under her clothes. It was like he wanted her to engage in some kinky talk by describing her underwear, and they were only on their second date. Although, she’d fucked herself to exhaustion the previous night with Throttle and they hadn’t even gone out on a date. She groaned.
That’s it. I’m done with
all
men until I’m out of school and have my own business.
But damn, she couldn’t deny the pull that connected her and Throttle; it was something she’d never felt with any man before.

Later that night, she closed her laptop, rubbing her sore eyes. She’d studied too much and her mind was foggy; it was time to call it quits. Grabbing an ice-cold root beer, she popped the top and took a long, refreshing drink. The TV blinked on and she channel surfed for a while as she tried to quell the restlessness growing inside her. Even though she hated to admit it, she wished Throttle were with her, but he was probably fucking some slut at the club. She knew bikers, and
everything
for them was for the moment: the booze, the ride, and the women. Throttle was no different than any of the others. Maybe he wouldn’t smack her around like her old man had done, but she knew he’d carouse and cherish his brothers more than he would any woman. It wasn’t for her. Not at all. When she decided to get involved with a man, she’d want someone she could trust and respect. Having her old man cheat on her and seeing the brothers fool around with the club women behind their old ladies’ backs had disgusted her. She wasn’t a glutton for punishment.

Kimber finished her root beer and stared at the TV screen, not really seeing it. A big grin danced across her face when snippets of the previous night flashed in her mind.
Damn, the man could fuck!
Content to relive the best banging she’d ever had in her mind, she propped her legs up on the coffee table, leaned her head back on the cushion, and closed her eyes. She could survive on the memories of his touch, his kisses, his thrusting dick and forget him if he would just stay the hell out of the shop. And if she didn’t make excuses to see him.

Yeah. Fat chance.

T
he stench of
the weed killer permeated Throttle’s nose as it soaked through his shirt. Flinging the stainless steel tank off his back, he whipped off his shirt, his back glistening from the chemicals. “Fuck!” He kicked the tank with his boot, grabbed the sledgehammer lying on the grass, and struck the leaking tank over and over, his face red and contorted.

“What the fuck, bro?” Rags said as he came over to his partner. “You’re gonna destroy the tank, and they’re fucking expensive to replace.”

Through his panting, Throttle said, “I don’t give a shit. We just got this fucker fixed a week ago and it’s leaking again. It got all over my shirt and jeans. I’m bathing in weed killer. Fuck!” The tank had dents all over it as Throttle continued to assault it.

When he was finished, he wiped his sweaty face and neck with his bandana, went over to the cooler in the bed of the truck, took out a gallon jug of water, and poured it over his head. Grabbing another jug, he chugged some of it down and poured the rest on him.

“You cooled off now?” Rags asked.

“Not really, but it felt good to beat the shit outta the metal fucker.”

Squinting, Rags leaned against the truck. “We gotta buy a new one since we’re down to one and we have the big job at the Landley Estate next week.”

“Then we’ll get another one. Quit acting like a whiny pussy about it.” He grabbed a bottle of iced tea from the cooler. “You want one?”

Rags shook his head. “You gonna tell me what the fuck’s going on with you?”

“I don’t like taking chemical baths. Nothing more.” His jaw hardened.

“You been ripping everyone’s head off for the last few days. You even got in a customer’s face yesterday when he told us we planted the tree in the wrong place.” Rags held up his hand as if to silence Throttle. “I know, he told us one place and he changed his mind, but the point is you’ve never flipped out on a customer like you did yesterday. Again, what the fuck’s with you?”

“It’s just been damn hot, and all these people are getting on my nerves big time. It’s nothing more.”

“Really, ‘cause I’ve never seen you like this. I’ve seen you pissed, but it’s usually been warranted. You’ve been a royal pain in the ass to be around.”

Throttle gave Rags a hard, cold stare. “Enough. I said nothing’s wrong, so leave it alone.”

Rags held his hands up in front of him. “All right, but if you don’t snap out of it, we’re gonna lose a couple of our good guys.”

Throttle grunted, then picked up the electric trimmer and turned it on. He wanted to drown out Rags because he was afraid he’d lose it and beat the shit out of his brother if he didn’t shut the hell up. Throttle knew he was starting fights with the brothers over nothing; Banger and Hawk had already talked to him about it, but he didn’t give a shit. Now his anger had spilled over to the workplace, and he was beyond pissed at himself for letting Kimber get to him. How dare she tell him she didn’t want seconds. That was
his
line. And why the hell didn’t she? Further, why the fuck did he
want
it again? The woman made him feel and want things that he’d sworn a long time ago he’d never go for again.

Kimber messed with his world and turned it upside down. Her pushing him away was supposed to be his part, and he was acting just like a fucking chick, moping about, wanting to see her again, and flying off the handle at anyone who looked at him.
Damn. I don’t know why I even want to go near her pussy, but I do.
It was probably nothing more than male pride. After all, she loved to argue with him, threw the women’s lib shit in his face all the time, and acted like she didn’t need a man to take care of her.
But the sexy noises she made when I kissed and touched her turn me way the hell on.
So she didn’t want anything with a man at the moment. So fine.
If I find out she’s even looked at that cowboy, he’s getting my fist in his face.

All of a sudden it was quiet, and it confused him. Looking at the trimmer in his hands, he noticed the blades weren’t moving.
Now this piece of shit is acting up too?
Ready to throw it on the ground, he stopped when Rags pulled it from his hands. “You’ve trimmed the bush too much. It looks like shit, man.”

Throttle looked at the shrub whose fullness was cut away, making it look like a deflated balloon.
Now I gotta buy another shrub to replace this. Shit, this woman is in my head too fuckin’ much.

“Why don’t you call it a day? Roy and I can finish up the work. Chill for a while. Tomorrow we got a busy day.”

He blew out a long breath as he nodded. He pulled off his gloves and stuffed them in his back pocket. “You gonna need the truck?”

“Nah. Roy has his.”

He turned around and walked to the truck, swinging into the driver’s seat and taking off. Rags was right; he
did
need to chill. He decided to go back to the club and get his bike. He needed a good, hard ride. Riding was the only thing that chased away the bitterness, the regret, and the recriminations.

*     *     *

Heat pricked at
his skin like coiled barbed wire; it bounced off the road and caused an illusion of wavering images. On the side of the road, the trees stood mute in the summer air. Throttle had ridden over the small roads, climbing up to Jasper Peak to admire the endless wave of craggy mountaintops for miles. This was his favorite place, and he loved the way the sheer strength and beauty of the rock walls made everything seem small. When he looked out over the overlapping mountains, the limitless evergreens, and the quilt of summer colors on the grassy canyon below, he felt as though he were the only person on the planet. It was like
this
was the real world and nothing else mattered. For him, the mountain was where time stopped.

He’d thought for one bright, shining moment that he’d share his oasis with Kimber, but she’d quashed any chance of that. It was just as well. He hadn’t been thinking straight anyway, imagining bringing a woman with him. He didn’t really want
that
type of connection with her. It would mean something serious, and he had no intention in getting serious with any woman ever again.

He took one last look and made his way down the peak, heading into Pinewood Springs. Without thinking, he rode to his sister’s house, making sure he didn’t take the shortcut. He wanted to go past Kimber’s house just to see if a cherry-red pickup was in her driveway. As he came down the road before turning onto her street, he saw her living room lights on. He pictured her sitting on her couch, her lovely legs on the coffee table, her dark hair pulled up in a makeshift bun. He bet she was wearing shorts and a crop top, and her luscious lips would be shiny and so fucking kissable. He slowed down as he passed her bungalow; his desire to stop was intense, but his pride kept him away. A quarter of a mile down the street, he turned left and parked in front of Dawn’s house.

He rapped on the screen door. “Sis, the screen’s locked. Come open up.”

Dawn, a cigarette dangling from her mouth, unlatched the door. “I didn’t expect to see you. We’re still going to dinner next week, right?”

“Yeah. I was in the neighborhood. Is Olivia here?”

“No. She’s at camp, remember? You paid for it.”