Driving Whiskey Wild Page 7

  “Back door,” he said, pulling her from her secret inspection.

  In three long strides he was standing beside her, his heady stare making her heart beat even harder.

  “What’s that look for?” she asked.

  His eyes twitched, but he didn’t say a word, just scanned her notebook, where she had written down the menu suggestions, looked at her bag and her other items spread out along the bar, and then glanced down at the notes littering the floor. When his gaze landed on her again, he looked deeply into her eyes, as if he was searching for something. The intensity of his stare made it hard for her to breathe.

  “Do you remember what happened two nights ago?” he asked.

  It would be so easy to say she didn’t remember, but no part of her wanted to lie to him. “Of course. I told you I wasn’t drunk.” She set down the pen she was holding and crossed her arms, needing the barrier between them, because the longer he stared at her, the more intrigued she became.

  “Everything?” He set one hand on the bar, the other on the arm of the stool, caging her in. “Loose lips sink ships.”

  Holding his gaze, she said, “There is no ship to sink. I remember every word.”

  “Then we’re both on the same page,” he said in a low, gravelly voice.

  An after-sex voice.

  She swallowed hard, remembering the last thing he’d said to her Wednesday night. For the record…I want to see you naked, too.

  “You know you want to go out with me, Finlay.” He slid his hand along her back, and heck if her body didn’t heat right up like she’d been torched. “Don’t fight it, lollipop. Tonight’s our night.”

  Her head spun with thoughts, desires, worries. She pushed from the stool to her feet, needing the distraction of pacing, but he blocked her path, towering over her. His closeness made her knees weak.

  His features softened, and just when she began to catch her breath, she remembered how his entire demeanor had changed in an instant when he’d held her after she’d come face-to-face with Tinkerbell. I’ve got you, lollipop. So much for catching her breath.

  “Do you want to go out with me, Finlay? Or are you playing some sort of game?”

  “I don’t know,” she said honestly, throwing her hands up, frustrated with her own confusion. “Yes…Wait, no. Yes…”

  He cocked his head with a perplexed expression.

  “I’m sorry! I’m really confused. You mess with my head. Or rather, you’ve been messing with my head since the wedding. But that’s not your fault. And now I’m rambling, but I want to be honest with you. The truth is, I’m curious about you. Maybe more than curious,” she said, moving around him so she could pace. “But I don’t know what you expect from women, and I don’t know anything about your biker lifestyle. I don’t think I’m a biker girl. But I don’t really know that. I do know I’m probably not like the women you’re used to, and motorcycles scare me. And sometimes you scare me. Not you, you, but the idea of you, because I’m not sure who you really are. But you also turn me on, which makes it all even more confusing.”

  A slow grin spread across his face.

  “See? That smile makes my stomach go all sorts of crazy.”

  “Call me nuts, but I think that’s a good thing, Fins.”

  The endearment also made her insides flutter. But none of that came close to the worries welling up inside her right that second as the big, confident caretaker to all around him stood looking at her like he was hanging on her every word, and the truth came tumbling out. “I haven’t been with a lot of guys, and like I said, I don’t know what you expect. You’re all power and”—she tried to use her hands to emphasize her thoughts, but she ended up looking like she was imitating a bear, with claws extended—“sexuality, like you’re ready to swoop in and devour me. But I’m not sure I can handle being devoured, because it’s been so long since I’ve even kissed a guy that I might have…”

  He stepped closer as slow as could be and placed a hand on her hip. She was mesmerized by his gentle approach and the touch of his hand as he brushed her hair over her shoulder, holding her gaze so intensely, she couldn’t speak. His hand slid softly to the nape of her neck, then into her hair, until his long fingers cradled the back of her head. His other arm circled her waist, holding her against him.

  “Forgotten how…” she whispered.

  He gave her plenty of time to pull away, to tell him no, but her voice was silenced by the throbbing of her heart, the wanting in her head. As he lowered his face toward hers, she went up on her toes, bracing for a fierce, possessive kiss. But his mouth came gently down over hers, drawing a breathy sigh. His lips were warm and soft, his hands hard and hot, and her body was a vibrating mess. His beard scratched her cheeks, sending swirls of desire spiraling through her core. He pressed her tighter against him, angled her head and kissed her harder. His tongue swept across the seam of her lips, and she surrendered to his masterful seduction. His whole body beat against her like a pulse, bringing a surge of lust from some forgotten place inside her. He took the kiss deeper, tasting every dip and swell of her mouth, and a heady sound rumbled in the back of his throat. And oh, how she loved that! She’d never been kissed so thoroughly, been wanted so desperately. She never imagined that the man who was forward motion personified could harness that power and deliver it with such all-consuming passion. She couldn’t resist lifting higher on her toes, clawing at his shoulder, trying to taste more of his sweet and sinful desire. He was right there with her, gripping her waist as he lifted her off her feet, holding her against his hard frame, her legs dangling off the ground as he kissed her breathless.

  She was so lost in the slide of their tongues, the purely male, utterly unique taste of him, time failed to exist. They could have been kissing for hours, maybe even days. By the time her feet touched the ground, her noodle legs refused to work. But they didn’t need to. Bullet was still holding her tight, kissing her softer now, his scratchy beard trailing after his lips across her jaw, all the way to her ear.

  His warm breath seeped into her skin as he whispered, “I think you remember how to kiss just fine. Go out with me, lollipop. You don’t have to be a biker girl. Just be my girl.”

  “’Kay,” came out embarrassingly breathy.

  “Fuck yeah, lollipop,” he said louder.

  She was reeling from his exclamation when his mouth came down roughly over hers, with all the fierceness and fervor she’d braced herself for earlier. Gone were the slow sensual kisses he’d lavished on her, replaced with an aggressive, celebratory rush of excitement, which she felt from her head all the way down to her toes and every tingly inch in between.

  Did they really have to finish working? Did they have to move from this very spot…ever? Couldn’t she stay in his arms, being kissed into the heavens, forevermore? She’d never known a kiss could be so intense and electric, and smooth and entrancing at the same time. Even her fantasies couldn’t come close to measuring up to the graceless power of his kisses.

  When they finally came up for air, she was a boneless, needy mess.

  How was she supposed to speak after that kiss? She was still clutching his shirt. She couldn’t recall grabbing it in the first place, and for some reason, she couldn’t unfurl her fingers. Nervous laughter fell from her lips. Good Lord, he’d kissed her silly!

  She touched her forehead to the juncture of his rib cage. His big hands pressed against her cheeks, and he tilted her face up toward his, which only made her laugh more.

  “I’m sorry,” she managed. “That was a pretty amazing kiss. How am I going to work, to function after that?” If he could make her lose her mind with kisses, what would happen when he touched her? When she touched him? Oh Lord, how she wanted to find out.

  “Work can wait.”

  His eyes were coal black and his voice was thick with desire, snapping her out of her fantasy. She lowered her gaze, concentrating on the hole in his shirt instead of the look in his eyes, reminding herself that she wasn’t one of those girls w
ho lost her head over men. But she couldn’t resist stealing another glance at him, and his lips curled up in a wicked smile, causing lust to coil tight and hot, low in her belly.

  Okay, maybe I am one of those girls who loses her head over…Bullet. Was that so bad?

  No, she decided. It wasn’t bad. It was very, very good.

  “We good? Play now, work later?” He said it with a tease in his voice, and she was glad for it, because her normal sure-of-herself-goody-two-shoes personality seemed to have fled the premises, leaving a lusty, horny, want-to-be-bad woman behind.

  “Yes, we’re good, but no, we’re not going to ‘play.’ You’re taking me on a proper date tonight, remember? Despite losing my head for a few minutes, I’m not the kind of girl to kiss and then jump into bed. Besides, Dixie’s going to be here soon to go over the renovation plans. And I have some things I want to show you, too.”

  His gaze ignited, and she swatted his arm. “Not like that! Gosh, Bullet, a few hot kisses and you think that’s a green light and you can take home the prize?”

  “I happen to like green lights and prizes.”

  Why did she find everything he said exciting now, instead of inappropriate?

  Because now I know how fun inappropriate can be.

  “Calm down, Brutus. We’ve got work to do.” She took a step toward the stool and turned back, seeing him through new eyes. Less judgmental, kinder eyes. She went up on her toes, hands pressed to his hard pecs, and kissed the tattooed snake on his neck, which was as high as she could reach. Without a word, she climbed up on the stool, strangely calm and focused for the first time in days.

  FINLAY LEANED OVER a mass of documents as she explained to Dixie the technical differences between several appliances she’d deemed “the best for your money.” She seemed to have a mental checklist she was ticking off with each point she made and went on to explain why it was worth an extra few thousand dollars to opt for a twelve-burner stove rather than the eight-burner options. Though he was busy doing inventory, Bullet got caught up in her enthusiasm and the passion in her voice over something as boring as kitchen appliances. The more she explained, the clearer it became that she really cared about the future of their family’s bar.

  “Based on the customer suggestions,” she said to Dixie, “they really do want mostly finger foods like sandwiches, fries, wings, you know, standard pub fare. But there were enough requests for other, more complicated dishes that I think you should renovate for the future of what Whiskey’s could easily become.”

  “That makes sense, but how far out of our budget is it?” Dixie asked.

  Finlay pushed a spreadsheet in front of Dixie. “It’s really not bad.”

  Dixie studied the numbers. “Less than seven thousand dollars? That hardly seems enough to worry about.”

  “Exactly,” Finlay said. “And with the increased profit from the kitchen, you should make it up fairly quickly. I’m glad you agreed to hire two cooks and two dishwashers, even if part-time, in case someone gets sick. I have some other ideas, too. I think once we make a few decorative changes, you could pull in a whole new crowd.”

  Bullet’s enthusiasm came to a screeching halt. “Decorative changes?”

  “Just a few small things,” Finlay explained. “Like clearing the black from the windows and maybe spiffing things up out front so it doesn’t look like such a dive from the road. Curb appeal goes a long way, and with a little love—”

  “Hold up, sweet thing. We aren’t looking for a new crowd. Whiskey’s is a biker bar. It’s been a biker bar for several generations, and that’s what it’s going to stay. I thought Dixie covered all this with you.”

  “I did. Don’t you have inventory to do? Finlay and I are capable of dealing with this on our own.” Dixie glared at him.

  “It’s okay, Dixie,” she said. “Yes, Dixie went over it with me, but don’t you want it to be the type of establishment that people are drawn to? That new bikers in the area want to check out?”

  “Um, not really,” Dixie said. “That can be tricky around here.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Bullet came around the bar and said, “The first problem with your idea is that Whiskey’s isn’t an establishment. It’s a bar. A dive. A place guys can come to after a hard day’s work and shoot the shit, have a few drinks, play a few rounds of pool, hook up with a hot chick. We’re not looking to be some fancy place like Whispers. And as far as new bikers go, babe, you’ve got to learn about our world before you can make those suggestions.”

  “You know what? You’re absolutely right,” Finlay said enthusiastically. She picked up a pen and started jotting down notes. “I’m going to check out other biker bars here and in the neighboring towns. That will tell me what your competition is, and I’ll take a look at their menus, too.”

  Bullet put his hand over hers, stopping her from writing any more nonsense. “Like hell you will.”

  Dixie glared at him.

  Finlay wrenched her hand free. “What is wrong with you? First of all, I’ll do whatever I think is right, and second of all, market research is important.”

  “Putting your pretty little ass in danger is stupid. We’ve got all the market research we need right here in the history of the bar. I don’t give a flying fuck what other bars are doing. I only care about ours, and it’s not changing.”

  Finlay gasped, shock rising in her wide eyes. “Just because I agreed to go out with you does not give you the right to demean me and call me stupid. In fact, it makes me wonder what the heck I was thinking.” She pushed to her feet, the shock in her eyes morphing to hurt, slicing right through his heart.

  “You agreed to go out with Bullet?” Dixie asked.

  Finlay looked at him with disdain. “Yes, but now I think it might have been a mistake.”

  Bullet’s gut clenched. “Like hell it was.”

  He pulled her closer and sank down to a stool, bringing her between his legs so they were eye-to-eye. He finally realized what his mother had meant when she’d said, Don’t go after your sweetheart with your brawn, baby. Go after her with your heart. The last thing he wanted was to hurt Finlay, and he’d done just that. He didn’t have much experience with apologies. In fact, he avoided them at all costs, living his life how he wanted to without anyone telling him what to do or how to feel. Now, faced with the pain he’d caused Finlay, he not only wanted to apologize, but he needed to. The nightmares from his military days wouldn’t come close to the haunting her sad eyes would inflict on him.

  “Oh my God,” Dixie whispered. “Penny was right.”

  He had no idea what the hell Penny had to do with this, but he wasn’t about to slow down enough to find out. He regretted hurting Finlay’s feelings, even if he stood behind his statement.

  “I’m sorry, Finlay. I wasn’t calling you stupid. I meant the idea of a sweetheart like you going into biker bars wasn’t smart because you have no idea of the danger you’d be putting yourself in.”

  “Well, you need to think before you speak.” Her gaze softened slightly, but the hurt remained palpable.

  “You can say that again,” Dixie mumbled, and this time Bullet glared at her.

  “I’m not very good at that,” he admitted, “but I can try to be more careful about the way I say things.”

  That seemed to soothe a little of the hurt, but he’d damn well try to be more careful.

  “Thank you,” she said with more politeness than he deserved. “I think I proved that I can handle myself around bikers.”

  Grinding his teeth against a knee-jerk reaction of, Bullshit. You have no fucking clue, he said, “Babe, you proved that you could handle yourself around my type of bikers, in my bar, where they know I’ll pound the life out of them if they wrong anyone in my circle. Bikers are not all the same.”

  “But aren’t most of those guys in your gang?” she asked. “They weren’t aggressive with me.”

  She tucked her hair behind her ear, looking so sweet he wanted to put her in protective
armor and stand sentinel over her, keeping all the ugliness away. The fact that he had spouted off something so hurtful without even a hint that he was saying something wrong did not escape him. He was part of that ugliness, and he knew he’d have to figure shit out or let her go, because causing the pain he’d seen in her eyes again was not an option.

  “The Dark Knights is not a gang, Finlay. We’re a motorcycle club, which means we’re a group of people who have an interest in biker culture. We have rides and events that are family friendly, and in our case, help the community. Gangs are completely different beasts. There is a lot of drugs and violence, parties that, trust me, you do not want to know about or be part of the shit that goes down there. The last thing we want is for some gang to ride through town and think they’re welcome in our bar.”

  Her expression was taut, her eyes contemplative. “But how can anyone possibly tell the difference? You guys all look the same.”

  “But they’re not,” Dixie said.

  He’d heard it his whole life. You guys all look the same. Growing up in the club environment, he’d had the same observation and questions when he was young. There were plenty of times when his family was out and his father, who went by the road name Biggs, because of his six-five stature, and whom Bullet took after, would see a rough rider and suddenly send Bullet and his siblings off to the car with their mother, or into a store. Or there would be a knock at the door in the middle of the night and one of the club members would show up, bloody and angry, and his father would take off for hours. He learned about loyalty, and as he got older and stupider, he’d made his own mistakes, causing trouble to come crashing down on his family. Getting into the military was his savior, and his demise. His stomach knotted up with the memories. Those weren’t things Finlay needed to hear about, but she had to understand that bikers’ turf wasn’t something she should fuck with.