What a weird day it had been. But, as odd as it had been to have to keep Trey from murdering—justifiably, but still—her ex-boss, it had to be six times more bizarre to walk a six-foot-five tattooed biker through his first craft store.
“What the hell is this for?” He held a Styrofoam ring in his hands, his tattooed knuckle running down the curve of the green foam.
“It’s for wreaths. You know, like flowers?”
“It’s fricking seven dollars.”
Bethany shrugged. “Craft stuff is expensive.” She wheeled the cart toward the wedding section, laughing to herself as she heard him muttering about Styrofoam cups being cheap and just as useful as a damn seven-dollar ring.
He was quick though. Once she showed him the type of paper she meant, and they went through the different options for cutouts and embossing and all that, they’d finally come up with a plan.
Since Bethany had a die-cutting machine at home—Mama Yelverton had gotten on a scrapbooking kick several years ago, and both Bethany and Sarah had received one for Christmas—she and Trey would work on the invitations there.
As they checked out and Trey paid for their selections, Bethany thought about how it would feel to have a man in her apartment. Not just any man either.
Trey Harding.
With his cold expression, his lethal movements, and his completely endearing determination to see this wedding through.
God, she was in trouble. At least she’d been bored enough to clean everything four times that week. No need to worry about stray laundry or a ring around the tub.
“You sure you’ve got time this afternoon?”
“Sure,” she said, giving him a smile as he put their purchases in the passenger seat of his old, black Ford pickup. His truck was as beat-up as his bike was nice. “I don’t have any plans until tomorrow when we’re supposed to finalize the guest list.”
“Great.” He palmed his keys and stood there, waiting.
God, he was so hot. Even when he’d been questioning why anyone would need a set of picture frames shaped like seashells, she’d had to keep her eyes glued on something to keep them from wandering over the muscular planes of his body again.
What would it be like to be with a man like that? All of her previous boyfriends seemed so…colorless in comparison to him. Trey was big all over, tough, and larger than life. He’d be in control in the bedroom, she was certain. She’d never thought of herself as a sexual submissive, but damn if the idea of Trey ordering her to her knees didn’t make her stomach tighten with want.
“So, what’s your address?”
Blood rushed to her cheeks as she realized she’d been stripping him naked in her mind’s eye while he waited for directions.
Jesus, she needed to focus.
“Sorry. I… Sorry. Moorcliffe Apartments, over on Parker Road. Apartment 3-A.”
“See you there,” he said with a nod. He stood and waited while she climbed into her Corolla, which was parked only a few spaces away from his truck.
She waited for a moment, but he motioned her out first. Oh duh. He was going to follow her.
The whole drive back home, she told herself to keep it professional. She wasn’t taking him home to unwrap like a big, old piece of man-candy. This was about Sarah and Mark’s wedding. Not about her starving, malnourished libido.
She managed to last ten minutes before mentally undressing him again.
* * *
“You sure it’s up here?”
“Yeah,” Bethany said, trying and failing to keep her eyes off his glutes. Good God, she’d seen less attractive asses on male models. “I put it in the top of the closet. It was one of those gifts that I thought about returning, but I was too busy to get around to it.”
He was standing on the lowest step of the step stool and reaching all the way to the back of her spare room’s closet shelf. She would have needed to put a box atop the step stool to achieve the same reach.
“Here,” he said, unearthing a box from the far back corner. “Got it.”
“My hero,” Bethany said with a smile as he stepped to the floor. “Thanks.”
“You’ve got to stop with this white knight, hero crap,” Trey said without venom as he set the die-cut machine on the table by the window. “I’m not that kind of guy.”
“So far, you haven’t done anything to convince me otherwise.”
She thought back to the moment he’d burst into her old office, looking like the world’s most badass avenging angel as he stared down her ex-boss. Yup, he wasn’t doing a good job of pretending not to care.
As she busied herself unboxing the die-cut machine, she watched him out of the corner of her eye. He wandered around the room, taking it all in.
“Nice color,” he said, nodding at the pale-blue walls.
“Thanks,” she said. “I like calming shades.”
He stopped at her dresser and picked up a framed photo. She and Sarah smiled out from the frame, their graduation tassels hanging at jaunty angles as they mugged for the camera.
“You must have been popular in high school.”
Bethany barked out a laugh. “Not hardly. If not for Sarah, I’d have been a complete loner all through school.”
Trey hiked a brow at her as he put the picture back atop the dresser. “No way that’s possible.”
“It is. I was awkward, too thin, with a bad acne problem when I moved here. But Sarah somehow saw through my social anxiety, and we became best friends. Then, when my dad died, they took me in.”
Bethany bent down to plug the machine into the wall, glad for the motion that hid her face from him. She didn’t know what it was about this man that made her want to spill her guts to him.
“This is him?”
She turned. Trey had answered his own question, picking up her dad’s last service portrait.
“Yeah. That’s him.”
“He looks like you.”
“Yeah.” Bethany kept the answer short, trying to stifle the old pain.
Clearing her throat, she leafed through the instruction booklet, and for a few moments the only sound in the room was the soft rustle of paper and the occasional honk from traffic outside.
“I wondered…” he started, breaking the silence, then coughing. “I wondered what it would be like. Living with them…as a kid, I mean.”
“The Yelvertons?” Bethany lowered the instruction booklet. “They were amazing. They treated me as if I were their own flesh and blood. Still do,” she said, smiling ruefully down at her toes. “You couldn’t find a more giving and loving family than them.”
“You must love them a lot.”
“I do.”
Trey turned his back to her, and she studied him in silence for a long moment as he perused her bookshelves.
What he was doing was both sweetly touching and heart-wrenching. Not only was he trying to get to know her by exploring her space, but he also seemed to be imagining what he’d have been like if he’d been who he was born to be.
But the boy who’d been Samuel Yelverton was gone forever, and Trey Harding stood in his place. Hurt, lonely, and desperate to find his place in the world.
Bethany stood and let the booklet fall to the tabletop. Crossing the distance between them, she wrapped her arms around his waist and pressed her cheek to his back.
She didn’t say anything, just closed her eyes and enjoyed being close to him. And, after a moment, his hands covered hers on his rock-hard abdomen.
“You keep acting like this, and I’ll forget I’m a gentleman,” he said in a husky voice. She shivered a little as the deep rumble went through her.
“I already bought you a drink,” she said, loosening her grip so he could turn to face her.
“I guess you did,” he said with a crooked smile and a twinkle in his eye.
“Doesn’t that mean I get another kiss?”
“Whatever Strong Girl wants,” he said, leaning down, then lowering his voice to a whisper, “Strong Girl gets.”
Mouth descending to hers, he kissed her. Softly at first, gently, as if the emotion in the room had driven them together, their mouths tangled sweetly in a dance of getting-to-know-you. Bethany sank into him, her heart threatening to escape her ribs if it beat much faster.
But the hunger that had been growing between them couldn’t be held at arm’s length forever. Bethany opened her mouth to him, and then he lost control. Kissing her wildly, deeply, passionately, he moved against her as if this was his last day, and she was his last hope.
His hands were everywhere—rubbing down her back, across her waist, down to cup her ass and lift her straight off the floor and hard against him. She gasped against his mouth at the feeling of his erection pressing into her belly.
He clearly wanted her as badly as she wanted him.
Whirling, he took the three steps to the bed that was pressed against the wall opposite the closet. Down onto the mattress they went, his big body covering her, holding her down, imprisoning her with the passion she’d imagined over and over again since their first meeting.
“Beth,” he growled against her neck, and she arched her back to encourage him.
His teeth grazed her pulse point, and her blood rushed through her veins at triple speed. Her nipples were so hard they were aching inside her bra, her core getting wetter with every touch, every caress, every kiss.
His hand was broad enough that, when he brought it from her waist upward, he covered her whole breast with a palm. She gasped, the fabric of her bra and shirt not enough to keep the feeling of his hand from her sensitive nipple.
“I can’t wait to see these,” he said, rubbing his hand over her breast in a gentle but demanding circle. She moaned, her legs shifting against each other in a fruitless bid to ease the ache he was stoking there. “You are so beautiful. I want to see and touch every part of you.”
“Then do it,” she whispered, tangling her fingers in his hair to bring his head down to her again. “I want you too.”
His fingers went low, to the hem of her shirt, and her breath caught in her throat as his touch skirted across her bare belly. His fingers were a little rough, and the foreign sensation heightened her anticipation and excitement as they bumped over her lower ribs.
“If you’ve got any ideas about changing your mind, this is the moment to do it. Once I see you—”
She grabbed his hand and looked deep into his beautiful, sea-green eyes. “I want you, Trey.”
A hungry smile spread across his face, and his fingers had just crept beneath the edge of her bra when—
The doorbell rang.
With a little shriek, Bethany jumped. Trey clapped a hand over her mouth.
“If you want to keep this quiet, screaming isn’t the best way to do that,” he whispered.
Shaking her head, she scooted out from under him. “Crap. I… Crap. Where’s my… Okay. Stay here.”
Weaving her way out of the room, Bethany skidded toward the front door as if her ass were on fire. In a way, it was. Trey had been so willing to help her stoke that flame. And now she had to pretend to be normal for whoever was on her front doorstep.
Hopefully, it was a salesman, or a religious invitation, or a new phone book that would land straight in the recycling bin.
Bethany peeped through the hole and winced. No such luck. She twisted the lock with a jerk and opened the door, just a bit.
Her neighbor, a sweet—but incredibly nosy—older woman, was trying to peer through the crack in the door.
“Hi, Mrs. Sanders! How are you?”
“Just fine, dear. I’m sorry to bother you, but I need some help. The light bulb in my bathroom blew, and I’m not too steady on the stepladder. Would you mind?”
Crap.
“Oh no, no problem,” Bethany said with a tight smile. “I just… Well, I’m in the middle of something, is all. I was—”
“Oh dear,” Mrs. Sanders said, her eyes brightening with interest. “Is your boyfriend here? I didn’t know you were dating someone. Oh, do let me meet him.”
“What?” Bethany’s denial was half breath, half squeak. “No, no, of course I don’t have a guy here. Why would you say that?”
Mrs. Sanders laughed, almost a cackle. “I’m not so old that I don’t remember that look. I’ll ask Matthew across the way to help me with the light bulb. You have fun.” She patted Bethany’s hand with a wink. “Bye now.”
The door closed behind her.
“Jesus,” Bethany moaned and collapsed onto the couch.
She had to get this under control. Who the hell knew what would happen if the Yelvertons found out that Bethany wanted their long-lost Samuel?
She didn’t want to know. She really, really didn’t.
* * *
Leaving Bethany had been difficult, but she’d asked him for time, and he wouldn’t say no.
Still gave him a raging case of blue balls and a pissed-off attitude though. And two days later, it wasn’t fading. He’d texted, but she hadn’t responded. Knowing it was a bad idea just to go to her apartment, he settled for sitting at home, or at Ruby’s and glowering into a glass of Jack.
“Hey, Boss.” Evidently, Ace hadn’t gotten the message that Trey didn’t want to be bothered. The blond-haired biker sank down beside him with a grin. “We going out tonight?”
“No.”
Ace leaned forward on crossed arms as Trey downed the rest of his drink. “But it’s Thursday. We always go looking for dealers on Thursday.”
Several of the Shadows had had problems with addiction in the past, and none of them wanted anyone dealing hard drugs in their territory. Their weekly ride-through ensured that anyone who got the bright idea to start would be fully aware of who’d be handing them their own asses once they got word.
“Wolf’s handling it.” Trey grabbed the bottle and poured himself another, thankful that Ginger had left it.
“But it’s your favorite night of the week.”
Trey bared his teeth at Ace just as Jameson walked up.
“Ace, Wolf wants you outside.”
Grumbling, Ace shoved his chair back and headed outside.
Any hopes Trey had of solitude were short-lived when Jameson sat down in Ace’s recently vacated chair.
“You mind?” Jameson nodded toward the bottle.
Trey pushed it over to him wordlessly.
For several moments, they drank in silence, Trey from his glass, Jameson straight out of the bottle. The low buzz of voices from other tables acted like a barrier between them, each man alone with his own thoughts. After a few minutes though, Trey eyed the other man with a sidelong glance.
Jameson was a couple inches shorter than Trey, still topping out at just over six feet. His tattoos were all black and gray, most of them from his time in the military. The glaring exception was on the back of the hand that was wrapped around the bottle of Jack—a set of angel wings around the initials CM done in a purple, feminine script.
Trey looked down at the glass in his hand again. He really was a bastard. He was so up in his damn head about Bethany that he’d completely turned his back on the rest of the Shadows.
“Boss.”
Jameson broke the silence. Trey looked at him.
“What’s up?”
“I don’t know if I can keep doing this wedding shit. It’s—” Jameson rubbed a hand over the back of his military-style haircut. “All the families around. The kids. I… It got to me at Ginger’s.”
Jameson lifted the bottle and took a long, hard pull.
Trey didn’t say a word. Jameson continued.
“It will—it would have been—her birthday in June. It’s always worse then. You know I’d do any damn thing you asked. I’m just asking—no, I’m begging—you to let me do something else.”
Feeling lower than dog shit, Trey pounded the rest of his drink and pushed the glass away. “You’re off the hook. I need someone to keep up with our regular jobs anyway. You can take point on that. The Thursday night rides, the usual security details, any calls that come in.”
Jameson’s eyes widened slightly. “You want me to do all that? What about Wolf?”
“Wolf does what I ask him to. Same as the rest of you assholes.”
The relief was clear on Jameson’s face, but that didn’t make Trey feel any less like a dick. “You got it, Boss.”
“Good. Now go get me a bottle of water. Ginger’s up to her ears in alligators right now.”
Jameson nodded and took the empty bottle and glass up to Brian at the bar.
Alone again, Trey laced his hands atop his head and looked at the low, exposed beams of the ceiling.
He really was a selfish jerk. That wasn’t really a surprise though. What was a little out of the ordinary was the fact that it was bothering him.
He couldn’t pretend that it wasn’t because of recent events. Now that he had a frame of reference for where his genetic material had begun, it felt as though he should be doing better. Caring more. Hell, his mother’s influence even had him wondering if he should step down as head of the Shadows.
He was that serious about fitting into her life. And how stupid was that? He could change his wardrobe, he could sell his bike, but he’d always be a tattooed loser from the wrong side of the tracks. No amount of new clothes and fancy talk could cover up the stink that was his early life.
And that was the asshole who was doing his best to worm his way into the Yelverton family and to get into Bethany’s panties. A woman his mother had made clear was basically a second daughter to her.
“Damn it,” Trey said, shoving his chair back and stalking outside.
He was a rotten bastard.
Wolf, Ace, and several of the other guys were outside, talking about the route they were about to ride.
“Wolf.” Trey beckoned his second with a nod. Wolf came over to the shadowed side of the building where Trey waited.
“We’re ready to ride.”
“Let Jameson take point.”
Wolf frowned, an expression that was made plainer by the wrinkle in his forehead than the corners of his mouth, which were obscured by his impeccably groomed dark beard.
“He needs this.” Trey tapped the back of his right hand. Wolf’s eyes lit with recognition, and he nodded immediately.
“Give him an hour or so to sober up, and then circle back so he can take over.”
“What about you?” Wolf tightened his glove as he asked. “You’ve been hitting the bottle quite a bit lately yourself.”
The question made Trey’s fists tighten, but he forced them to relax. “Just had a lot on my mind. I’m working it out.”
Wolf nodded. “Just make sure you work it out before your liver craps the bed.”
“Drop dead,” Trey said without venom and nodded toward the group of men who were trying to look casual as they clearly attempted to overhear the conversation from the shadows. “They’re waiting for you.”
He clapped Wolf on the shoulder, and then his second walked back to the concrete pad where their bikes all sat.
With a heavy breath, Trey sank down on the curb.
He’d kissed Bethany out here after Ginger’s wedding. What he wouldn’t give to have her in his arms again. But that was a bad idea, and he knew it. Especially since she’d pushed him away.
He needed to focus. Keep this charade going long enough for Sarah to get married and his mother to believe that her son was the kind of man she could be proud of.
Then he could back off. It’s not like Mrs. Yelverton and he moved in the same circles. He could tell her he’d moved and see her from time to time, but not so often he had to keep lying.
It could work, if he kept his brain on the task and his cock in his pants.
Which was easier said than done, especially when he remembered how incredible Bethany felt beneath him.
Ah, damn it.