Devil's Kiss: Widowmakers MC Part 15

"No," I admit. "It's just...it seems like he wants some distance. Maybe doesn't see me the same way anymore..."

"Olive!" Stacy says, exasperated. "Look, maybe you should talk to him."

"I just don't want to be one of those girls that doesn't get the picture, you know?" I say, "I mean, sometimes when I overhear women talking about men who aren't texting them back or calling or whatever, I want to scream, 'he's just not into you!'" I explain.

Stacy stifles a giggle, which quickly turns into a cough. I ease her into a sitting position on the bed and rub her back until it ceases.

"You, OK?" I ask worriedly. She nods, her eyes watering a little.

"Just make sure you're not going too far in the opposite direction, is all I'm saying," she's finally able to say.

"I'm so sorry you got caught up in this whole mess," I whisper to her.

"You and Stick can't stop apologizing to me. Just quit it, OK?" she says with a smile. "Now, why don't you look through my closet and find something to wear to the party tomorrow."

The next day, I'm wearing a light sundress of Stacy's. She's more pet.i.te than me, but this dress is a little big for her, and it was easy to pull on with a cast on my left wrist. s.h.i.+rts and pants are much more of a struggle.

Stick drives us over to the clubhouse in the Tahoe. The afternoon sun feels good on my face as I lean out of the open window in the back seat. As we approach the clubhouse, I can hear music playing. I see people spilling out of the front and around the sides of the entrance. I'm not sure what I was expecting to find, but the "little fundraiser" appears to be every brother and their families all packed into the clubhouse.

"s.h.i.+t," Stick says, parking on the street. "Looks like some of the other charters decided to stick around for the party."

I adjust the straps of the dress as we get out of the car and walk through the gate. We're greeted with cheers and I blush self-consciously. We're quickly shepherded around the back and into the yard. It looks like they've got a sort of yard sale going, with items spread out on tables, and they're raffling off some services, too. I can't believe the Widowmakers put all this together.

I'm surrounded by brothers I've met at the Black Rock and their old ladies. They all express outrage at what happened and offer me food and drinks. I'm still not allowed to have the beer and alcohol because of the painkillers, but I munch a little on a hot dog. My full appet.i.te definitely still hasn't returned.

I look around, the music and sunlight drifting over me. The persistent coldness clinging to my bones for the last few days feels like it's finally leaving me, thawed by the warmth of the people surrounding me. I feel a hand on the small of my back and know even before I turn that it's West. I smile up at him and feel heat rush through me as we lock eyes. He's looking casually hot in his grey t-s.h.i.+rt and cut.

"Hey, I have something for you. It's in my room," he murmurs, with a nod at the clubhouse behind us.

"Oh, OK," I reply, and follow him as he weaves his way through the crowd and into the back hallway. I have no clue what his surprise could be.

We pa.s.s by a couple people who smile at me, and West opens a door on the right. He gestures me inside and shuts the door behind us. I look around at the small, spa.r.s.e room, and then turn to him. It's the first time we've been alone together since I woke up in the hospital, and I couldn't talk then. And now I don't know what to say.

"Here," he says, opening up the closet and picking something up off the floor. As he turns toward me, I realize it's my purse.

"Oh my G.o.d," I murmur. "How'd you find it?" It's both shocking and comforting to see it. A reminder of what happened, but also a relief to have my license and cards back again, and simply a possession that didn't burn up.

"I just got it from the brothers who took care of the car. They weren't sure what to do with it," he explains.

"When the police interviewed me at the hospital, there wasn't much I could tell them. They said you heard me call for help from the house and came in to find me, and Lees wasn't there. They're still looking for him."

"There's nothing to tie the Widowmakers to it, I promise you. It'll be easier for you if I don't tell you more about it," he says, running his hand through his hair.

"I have nightmares..." I whisper.

"Oh, Olive," he says and walks toward me slowly. He wraps his arms around me, and I relax against his chest.

"Do you ever?" I murmur.

"Have nightmares? Not about him. Sometimes about things I saw when I was stationed in Kandahar, but war is messy, complicated. What needed to happen to Lees was not," he says, leaning back so he can look me in the eyes. "I'll at least tell you...I only did to him what I had to, and nothing more, OK?"

I nod up at him. "Thank you."

"I was worried about you, you know," he says, stepping back from me and crossing his arms with a little smile.

"Were you?" I ask.

"Of course," he replies, with a little frown.

"I just...I know you had to find him for what he did to Stick and Stacy, too. And, also...I know things have been off between us," I blurt out. "I don't want, I mean, I'm not looking for an apology, or explanation, if that's what you think. Obviously, if anyone here owes the other-you rescued me, you actually saved my life!"

Yikes. I am making a mess of this conversation. West is just staring at me. s.h.i.+t.

"Olive," he finally begins, "I was confused, frustrated..."

"And now?" I ask nervously.

"I felt crazy when you were missing. I mean, that's what I've been avoiding. That feeling...or, I don't know, giving someone else the ability to make me feel like that, that loss, and powerlessness."

In this moment, I remember West as a kid. What he looked like when he would sit at our kitchen table in our old house when his mother was too high to make him dinner. The guarded look he wore as a teenager, as though every other person in the world was a ticking time bomb about to go off at any second and destroy him.

"But I got through it," he goes on, "And I balanced it against the feeling I had when we were together..." he trails off, his arms extended helplessly. "And it was worth it, I think."

A smile breaks across my face. I cross the few feet between us and stand on my tiptoes, resting my hands on his chest. I lean forward and kiss him gently on the lips. I'd like to do more, but my face is still too tender.

"So, you want to go out sometime?" he asks with a grin.

"Are you asking me out on a date?" I giggle.

"Are you saying no?"

"Ugh, well, I'm just so busy...I'm opening up this new bar with Franchise, if you hadn't heard," I say jokingly.

"I did hear something about that, congratulations" he replies, his eyes twinkling.

"But I guess I can squeeze you in."

He narrows his eyes at me and leans down to kiss my lips, then at the last second, breaks away and moves to my neck. He gently kisses me along the throat. I gasp and close my eyes, immediately lost to his touch.

"OK, we better get back outside," he says abruptly, standing back up and opening the door.

"Hey, no fair!" I protest, laughing.

"Tiny, you are in no condition for what I want to do to you right now," he says with a grin.

"Don't call me Tiny!" I protest, a smile spreading across my face.

"You've got to take it easy for a while, Tiny. I need you back up to full strength for what I've got planned for us," he says, the promising glint in his eye sending a thrill through me.

"Can't wait," I whisper, and softly kiss him again.

He smiles down at me, then takes my good hand and leads me back down the hallway. The sunlight s.h.i.+nes around the cracks of the doorframe, beckoning us outside. We make our way across the yard together, surrounded by dozens of grinning faces. I feel West's fingers lace with mine as we stop and talk to brothers and old ladies. It almost feels like...we're a couple. For real.

I look up at West in the gathering twilight. His handsome features are arranged in an expression of happiness and peace. His very body seems more at ease. Is it because Richard Lees is no longer a threat? Is it because I'm back beside him at last? I squeeze his fingers in mine, resting my head against his broad shoulder. He leans down and plants a kiss on the top of my hair. That simple, sweet gesture means as much to me as anything we've shared.

Stick and Stacy find us in the crowd, and the four of us become the epicenter of the party. It's an unconventional arrangement, our little family, but I feel more at home than I ever have. And I know that it's thanks, in no small part, to the Widowmakers, and their way of life. I eye Stacy's old lady cut, thinking something that that would look pretty d.a.m.n good on me.

But all of that can wait. Tonight, it's enough to have West by my side, knowing that we're truly together at last.

THE END.

About the Author.

Celia Loren is an author of gritty Contemporary Romance. She's always been an avid reader and growing up she devoured books by the truckload. Now she spends her time working toward finis.h.i.+ng her MFA and penning the romance stories she always wanted to read. Excited to be a member of the Hearts Collective Publis.h.i.+ng team, she brings her incredible imagination, unparalleled work ethic, and sa.s.sy personality into the mix!

Connect with Celia Loren and other Hearts Collective authors online at http://www.Hearts-Collective.com, Facebook, Twitter.

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OTHER BOOKS BY CELIA LOREN:.

Satan's Property (A Satan's Sons MC Novel) by Celia Loren Crus.h.i.+ng Beauty (Harbingers of Sorrow MC) by Celia Loren Breaking Beauty (Devils Aces MC) by Celia Loren Wrecking Beauty (Devils Reapers MC) by Celia Loren If you enjoyed Celia Loren's Satan's Property (A Satan's Sons MC Novel) Then you'll also enjoy reading Impossibly (A Dante's Nine MC Novel) by Colleen Masters.

Read below for an excerpt!!

Prologue.

My surroundings come into focus at last. I realize that I am floating-but not through s.p.a.ce. Warm water, scented with lavender and sage, suspends my naked body, comforting me. It laps against my skin, caressing every curve and limb of me. At first, I think I must be treading water in some hot spring, or sunbaked ocean-the body of water is that vast. But as the rest of the scene comes into focus, I find that I'm not in a sea at all. I'm in a marble and golden bathtub, sunken into the floor of some elegant, unknown room. I gaze up and see that the ceiling is made of curved gla.s.s, and the moon s.h.i.+nes down from above. The moon, and some other very vibrant lights...perhaps of the neon variety?

"What are you doing all the way over there?" asks a rich, rasping voice.

I look around sharply, sending little splashes of water everywhere as I try to cover my naked b.r.e.a.s.t.s. Warm, amused laughter rings out from the far side of the enormous tub. I peer through the steamy air and see that I'm not alone in this place. There, across the way, glow two piercing blue eyes. Heart battering against my ribs, I inch closer. Up out of the mist rises a broad, cut torso, covered in inky lines. Two thick, muscled arms drape over the edge of the tub. A face unlike any other, itself like something carved out of marble, watches me approach. And a full, irresistible smile bursts open there as I approach.

"There's my girl," Declan Tiberi growls, holding out his strong hand to me.

I place my hand in his, marveling at the sudden spread of heat that rushes through me at his slightest touch. Declan pulls me toward him, guiding me through the steamy water. His brown curls are wet, slicked back from his gorgeous face. Slowly, tentatively, I come to standing before him, letting my eyes trail all along every defined muscle of his chest, his web of intricate tattoos. I spot a scar or two on his chest, rising up from the bulky, firm panes of his pecs.

"Won't you come closer?" he breathes, running his hands down my bare arms. A cascade of goose b.u.mps stand up wherever his fingertips trail.

I sink down into the water, hiding my naked body from view. I'm suddenly bashful, feeling young and inexperienced. My long blonde hair twists and waves in the water, fanning out all around me. My cheeks are burning with excitement and self-consciousness.

"I'm a little nervous," I admit to him, averting my eyes.

"It's just me," he says softly, "You know me, Ka.s.sie."

My familiar name rolling off his tongue sends a s.h.i.+ver of joy down my spine. I dare to meet his gaze, feeling like I could get lost in those sapphire eyes.

"I've never...been with a man before," I tell him honestly, "Not really. I've messed around and all, but never...you know."

"Is that so?" he asks, unwaveringly, "Well...do you want to know what it's like? To be with a man-to be with me?"

"More than anything," I breath, inching closer.

"I want to show you, Ka.s.sie," he says, coming toward me in the water. "I want to show you what it's like. How good it can be."

His torso rises up out of the pool, his perfect rack of abs glistening and slick. He towers over me, even as I stand, letting my b.r.e.a.s.t.s meet the warm air. He groans as he takes me in, his eyes drinking in my every inch, my every curve.

This is it, I think to myself as he closes the s.p.a.ce between us. Declan cups my chin in his strong hand, t.i.tling my face up toward his. He looks sure and serious, but elated. Happy. And all at once, I realize that I'm not afraid anymore. I want this. I want him.

"Just let me show you," he says, his voice rasping l.u.s.tily, "Let me make you feel amazing, Ka.s.senia. I'll show you..."

He lowers his full, firm lips to mine. I close my eyes open myself to him, full of trust and longing. His tongue glides deliciously against mine. He pulls me against him, and I feel the rock hard length of him pressing against my belly. Just feeling him there, knowing that he's hard for me, is almost more than I can handle. I throw my arms around his broad shoulders, desperate to feel him inside of me, where I've never felt any man before. I want him to be the first one to know me that way. He's the first man I've ever met who's man enough to handle me. Take me. Show me what this is all about.

Declan catches me up in his arms, spinning me around in the warm, steamy air. He sets me down on the edge of the tub, my legs snaked around his tapered waist. I lay back against the cool tile as his fingers trail over my collarbone, ribs, thighs. His thumbs brush over the pink peaks of my nipples, sending shockwaves of pleasure dancing along my nerves. He cups my s.e.x in a sure hand, running his fingers all along my slick slit. He pulls his hands away and a new, unnamable, amazing pressure makes itself known against that throbbing place between my legs. A low, aching need goes off like a bomb in my belly as I suck in a huge breath, waiting to be filled up by this incredible man.

"Declan," I moan, bucking my hips toward him, "I need you..."

Chapter One.

Somewhere beneath Las Vegas, Nevada, present day...

A thousand rabid boxing fans leap to their feet as the fighter squares off against his challenger. The two fearsome, ruthless men have been at it for nearly a dozen rounds, flying at each other with nothing short of deadly force. Each man has been bruised and beaten, taken and given staggering blows-but only one can walk out of this ring with his life, it's the only way this fight ends.

The very canvas beneath the fighter's feet begins to tremble as the crowd stomps and jostles, craning their necks for a glance of him. He knows that he's something to behold. At six and a half feet tall, 200 pounds and change, he's a man to be reckoned with. His balanced, cut form ripples with muscle, but not the curated, manicured muscle you find on urban gym rats and vain, desperate men. No-the fighter's bulk has been earned. Built up on the battlefield, in the ring, fighting hand-to-hand, tooth and nail. Just as he does now.

He wipes the blood and sweat off his brow, a wild grin spreading across his full lips. His opponent has put up quite a fight, but he's fading fast. The challenger's knees wobble, his chest heaves, he may just collapse of his own accord. But the fighter can't take any chances. The stakes are too high to leave anything up to fate. He has to finish this man, for good.

"Dante's Son. Dante's Son. Dante's Son." the crowd chants feverishly, crying out the fighter's ring-christened name.