Vegas Knights (2 page)

"First off, we need to go through this stack of bills and figure out what gets paid first," he said, flipping through a pile of mail so fat Kelly was tempted to crawl back into bed. He must have sensed her dread because he reached out and patted her hand.
 

"The sooner we tackle this, the sooner we can move on to Phase Two: Getting Kelly a Show."

Over the next few hours, they sorted out her finances and came to the mutual conclusion that she would either need to get another roommate — something that had not worked out well for her in the past — or get a regular job to pay the bills and possibly save up a few pennies. "And you happen to be in luck because Auntie Brutus knows someone who knows someone at a big corporation who needs a desk jockey." Kelly had held plenty of odd jobs — retail sales clerk over the holidays, cocktail waitress, dog walker, telemarketer (that one had only lasted two days because she hated herself for doing it) — but she'd never worked in a big office. The thought of becoming an office drone, even if for only a short time, scared her a little.

Proving once again that he knew her better than she knew herself, Brutus suggested looking at the job as research for her art. "I can totally see your next series: Dystopia, A Life." He spread his hands in a 'I can see it now' pose, gazing into the air at an invisible marquis.

Kelly gave him a weak smile. "I dunno, Brute. Do you think I could survive corporate life?"

"Honey," he said gently, again patting her hand, "you don't have much of a choice. You need a paycheck, and you need it now. But it doesn't have to rule your life. You won't even have to be there all that long because we're going to get you a show and make Franklin regret he didn't sign you when he had the chance."

Of course it didn't turn out exactly as they'd planned. Nothing ever does.
 

Kelly got the job, but instead of inspiring her to create art, the dismal environment and the miserable people she worked with sucked every ounce of creative energy right out of her. Then Brutus — her rock, her north star — had been offered a show at Galerie du Luminaire, a prestigious gallery in Manhattan, leaving her alone.

"I swear, Kell, I'll send for you soon," he'd promised when she dropped him off at the airport. Since his departure five months earlier, she'd received a grand total of two phone messages — both in the first week detailing how things were going for his show — and one postcard of the Manhattan skyline, which simply had the word "Soon!" scrawled on it.

She kept the postcard in her desk drawer at work and pulled it out about sixteen times a day for the first couple of months, dreaming about Brute's life in the Big Apple. No doubt his days were filled with high-powered lunches at fancy restaurants with even more high-powered people, all wanting to represent him. He probably had a series of devastatingly handsome lovers who kept his nights interesting. Maybe even a new best girlfriend with whom he could dish on his latest conquest and who would rave over the delicious meals he'd cook for her. Maybe this girl would be far less needy than the one he'd left behind. Maybe this one wasn't a frightened little girl hiding in a plus-sized body.

Over time, Kelly looked at the postcard less and less, until one day she realized it had been a week since she'd even thought about Brutus. She pulled the card out for one last look before she tossed it in the recycling bin. She didn't begrudge her friend his success — she was thrilled for him — but she understood that as long as she held on to the fantasy that he would swoop down to save her from her depressing life, she would never do what it would take to become her own savior.
 

Mr. Franklin's rejection had hurt her pride and broken her confidence, but he
had
liked her work. There were other galleries in town she could talk to, but after Brute left, Kelly had no fire, no drive. She was merely surviving, not truly living. She kept thinking, "Someday..." but that day never seemed to come. Instead, box wine and Must See TV filled her spare time.

The morning after she'd thrown away her friend's postcard, Kelly vowed to change. She'd stop feeling sorry for herself and start working toward a goal. The first was to save enough to quit her miserable job.

That was the day she was late for work because of a blown-out tire, which meant she had to stay late, which is why she was in the room when her boss was berated by his superior, which is how she was given an impossible task to finish over the weekend, which meant she needed gas to drive back and forth, which is how she ended up at the gas station where she spotted a hot biker in black leathers who fucked her silly behind the station and asked her to go to Vegas with him. She'd been
thiiiiiiiis
close to saying no, but Brutus' voice kept screaming in her head, "Are you insane?! Look at him! Go! Go! GO!" The moment she realized her skeevy boss had been watching them have sex, the decision was made.

Still riding a wave of euphoria from their hot lovemaking session, Kelly lived every office worker's dream of taking revenge on her sadistic and perverted boss, which made her feel as if she was finally in control of her life again. She was no longer a slave to corporate America; she was free again. Free to do whatever she wanted, as frightening as that notion might be.

As they flew down the highway, Kelly envisioned what she looked like on the back of Rick's bike. She felt like a goddess of great proportions — seriously great proportions. Her long blond hair flowed out from under an iridescent black helmet. The heat between her full thighs was cooled by the wind, which also whipped her loose skirt around her rounded hips. She pressed her considerable assets into Rick's leather covered back, her wind-chilled nipples transmitting her excitement to him silently. She was a verifiable sex goddess. Not only had a seriously sexy biker taken her to new levels of ecstasy, but he'd practically begged her to go on a road trip with him. And now they were literally riding off into the sunset together.

Of course she'd had second thoughts. Fear clenched at her heart when Rick had been evasive in answering questions about himself. Instantly regretting her impulsive decision to jump on the back of a stranger's bike, she imagined herself bound and gagged in a decrepit shack as he sharpened knives to dismember her. Then, in a moment of clarity, she realized that she was on the back of a Peterson-Knight touring bike — one of the most iconic American hogs on the road — with Rick Knight, the heir to a legacy, driving her into the night.
 

Kelly let the rust-colored water run clear before stepping into the shower. As the warm stream ran in rivulets down her body and she lathered herself with the harsh motel soap, she smiled as she recalled their first night on the road.
 

They'd only had to ride for a couple of hours to reach Rick's cabin. Thinking of it as a cabin almost made Kelly laugh out loud. It was no cabin; it was a mansion in the woods — minus the servants.
 

As the wheels of Rick's bike crunched down the overgrown gravel access road and his headlight cast eerie shadows at the edges of the woods, Kelly again had a moment of doubt, wondering if she'd ever leave the woods that ran long and deep along the highway. As if reading her mind, Rick activated his helmet mic. "Worried?"

"Huh? What? No! No, I'm not worried," she said a little too quickly.
 

Rick's shoulders shook with laughter. His voice was thick with amusement when he responded. "You're perfectly safe, beautiful. I know the road's bad, but no one's been here for a few years."

He paused, and Kelly sensed there was something more to the place's neglect than just a busy schedule. "It'll be musty, but I think you'll like it. I hope so, anyway. Spent a lot of time here growing up. Lots of memories."
 

Kelly wondered if the memories were good, or if were they more like her memories of growing up — a disconcerting mixture of good, bad and the funky stuff that lies somewhere in the middle.

They rounded a bend into a clearing, the headlight illuminating the front of a massive three-story log cabin-style house. Kelly gawped at the enormous front porch that ran the width of the house and wrapped around into darkness.
 

Rick pulled the bike into a grassy area at the side of the house but the little road continued on into nothingness, suggesting there was much more to the property than just the house. She'd never been to an honest-to-goodness compound before, but she sensed that was no longer the case.

Rick didn't cut the headlight when he killed the motor, allowing Kelly a better view of the scope of the place. His earlier offhand comment that it was a mansion might have been a slight exaggeration, but Kelly had never seen such a massive log cabin, didn't even know they could be built this big.
 

Her head was still tipped back, taking it all in, when Rick dismounted from the bike, throwing her off balance. Kelly twirled her arms in the air comically to regain her balance but she'd leaned back too far and she was going over.
 

"Whoa," Rick said, reaching out to catch her. In the movies, the big, strong, handsome biker would have caught the flailing damsel in his big, strong arms and then delivered a luscious kiss to her eager lips but, as Kelly knew all too well, life rarely plays out like a Hollywood chick flick.

Instead, as Rick reached for her, Kelly's helmet smacked him in the chest, throwing him off balance, and they both toppled to the ground. And as if that wasn't humiliating enough, Kelly's considerable bulk landed fully on Rick's belly.
 

"Oof!"

Mortified by her clumsiness, she scrambled off him and into a kneeling position over his motionless body, yanking her helmet off as she went. "Omigod! Are you okay? Rick?"
 

Worried by his silence, she opened his helmet visor hoping that would help him breath easier. "Rick? Shit, I'm so sorry. Talk to me." Still, he made no noise.
 

Adrenaline flooded her system. Was he unconscious? Dead? What? If he didn't come to soon, she'd have to call an ambulance, but she had no idea how to get in the house to use the phone, and even if she did, she had no idea what address to give them.
 

If he was dying, she figured she should probably try giving him CPR before running around trying to find a phone. It wouldn't occur to her until much later that her cell phone was tucked safely in one of the bike's saddle bags.
 

Nervous fingers fumbled with his helmet strap and gently pulled the helmet free, one hand easing his head to the ground. She leaned in close, whispering, "Please be okay, please be okay..."

A surprised cry escaped her lips when Rick's arms shot out, wrapped her in a bear hug, and rolled her onto her back, his arms pinning her down.

"Boy, when you fall for a guy, you really fall hard." A wicked grin spread across his face.

She was about to protest, to cuss him out, when he dipped his head and captured her lips with his. She stiffened for a moment, torn between irritation at his little rouse and sheer lust.
 

Lust won, and rather quickly.

As Rick explored Kelly's mouth for the first time since their gas station tryst, she pulled her arms free and ran her hands up his bulging arms to his chest, feeling his pecs flex under his leathers as he held his weight off her. The firm kiss he'd initially delivered, meant to subdue any objections, softened as she did, deepening into the kind of kiss reserved for new and adoring lovers.
 

His tongue slicked across her full lips, dipping in and out to taste her tongue before his teeth nipped at the corner of her mouth. A calloused hand skidded up her waist to a full mound topped by an already taut nipple, his thumb caressing, stroking, teasing. His own bulge dug into her hip rhythmically, reminding Kelly of what was hiding in that leather-wrapped package. The memory of how he felt inside her, how so completely filled she'd been, sent shivers of anticipation through her body.

The crushed grass beneath her provided little comfort, but she'd give him whatever he wanted right here in the dirt. Wrapping her legs around his hips and her arms around his neck, she pulled him to her. Still pantyless from their previous encounter, Kelly knew her heat would drive him wild.

"Mmwaah..." Rick moaned into her mouth as he settled into place between her thighs. His lips left a hot trail as they moved from her mouth to her neck. Kelly felt him nestle his face into the crook of her neck and breathe her scent in deeply as their bodies rocked in time, his bulge growing with each movement.

"Nuh uh. No, not yet," he grunted as he pulled himself from her embrace. Kelly groaned in frustration.

Propping himself on one elbow, hovering over her, Rick picked a blade of grass from her hair. Holding it in two fingers, he lightly dragged it down her cheek to her neck and finally her chest. All the hairs on her body stood at attention and she arched her body toward his, desperate to finish what they started. "Rick, please," she whispered as her eyes rolled back in her head.

"Damn, girl, you have a serious effect on me. But I think the next time we make love, it should be indoors, don't you?"

Kelly blinked.
Did he just say 'make love'?
Her throat tightened and her heart thudded just a little harder at the turn of phrase usually reserved for more committed partners, not total strangers who were having a two-week fling. Why didn't he say 'fuck' or even 'do it'? Was it possible he wanted more than just a short-term fling?
 

Stop acting like a lovesick school girl
, she chastised herself.
He probably just wanted to put you at ease
. Besides, working under the assumption this was a short-term thing was much safer emotionally than constantly wondering if it could turn into more.
 

Steeling herself against any further mushiness, Kelly forced herself to lock onto his gaze like a tractor beam. "Honestly, I could give a shit," she said thickly, hoping he would be so overcome by her brazenness that he wouldn't be able to resist taking her right here, right now. Instead, he laughed and rolled off her.