Wolf loved women. He was good with women. He understood them in a way most men did not. He could talk to them, and more importantly he listened. And he observed. He picked shit up, shit most men missed. He could read women. He knew what made them tick. He’d heard that saying…men were from Mars and women were from Venus. And damn if that wasn’t the truth. They thought differently. They communicated differently. Women were emotional, verbal, and analytical. They thought shit through, analyzed the hell out of it…what every word meant, what every action meant. Men thought in terms of action. Men were problem solvers, not usually very good listeners. Women liked closeness and men needed space. Women loved to give advice and men hated taking advice. It meant they weren’t trusted to figure it out for themselves. A woman trusting a man to figure problems out and take care of her meant everything to a man. Why the hell was that so hard for women to fucking understand?
The sound of the door unlocking broke into his thoughts. Crystal was home. And fuck, she’d better be alone. If Shane was with her, he’d kill him. At the very least beat the shit out of him. Hell, if any man was with her…
He heard her footsteps coming down the hall, and then into the room. She flipped the light switch. Nothing. A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. He’d unscrewed the light bulbs.
He watched her shadowy figure move to the bedside table, and he heard the click as she turned the switch. Nothing.
Wolf smiled. He hadn’t missed that one either.
“What the hell?” he heard her mumble, the only light in the room being the dim light coming from the hall. She moved to the walk-in closet and turned on that light. He’d left that one alone. She began stripping off her clothes, and his eyes slid down her body. She had on a pair of low slung jeans with a big brown belt and a short, tight tank top that left about two inches of skin bare between them. Just enough to tease the hell out of a man. The tank came up and over her head, revealing a black lace bra. She kicked off her boots. Then her hands
dropped to her belt and unbuckled it. He watched as she shimmied out of the jeans and put them in the hamper. Her panties matched her bra, and his eyes zeroed in on her ass. Crystal loved expensive lingerie, and they always matched, pretty little sets that were sometimes sexy and sometimes virginal, but always beautiful. He began to get aroused and shifted in the seat to adjust the growing erection in his jeans.
And the goddamn chair creaked.
Shit.
She whirled around and gasped, her back slamming up against the wall as she stumbled back, her eyes wide as she took in his dark shape in the corner. He was out of the chair and moving toward her in a flash. She darted toward the door, but in two strides he beat her to it, his palm hitting it, slamming it shut as she tried to escape. Grabbing her upper arm, he yanked her around and pushed her up against the wall, pinning her there.
She tried to scream, and his hand slammed down over her mouth. Her wide eyes stared up at him.
“Shh. It’s me, baby.” Her breathing was coming fast with fear and panic, but slowly recognition flickered in her eyes, and she slumped against the wall as he felt the fight slide right out of her. He removed his hand from her mouth.
“Wolf,” she hissed in a relieved voice.
****
One hour earlier…
Crystal wiped down the bar top and glanced around the Evil Dead MC’s clubhouse, a place she’d come to love. It was practically her home away from home. Mack, their president, and Red Dog sat at the end of the bar quietly talking and sipping on their drinks. Cole, their VP, and Crash sat at a table talking. Other than the four of them the place was deserted. She glanced up at the clock behind the bar. Ten past midnight and things were winding down. Crystal was tired and ready to go home. She’d finished stocking the cooler with beer for tomorrow, she’d washed all the glassware, and removed and cleaned all the liquor pourers. Not that the bottles ever lasted long enough for them to get dirty. One thing for certain, this bunch sure went through the booze. But Crystal had always been a bit of a neat freak, which was why she was so good at her job of keeping the clubhouse clean and managing the bar for the club.
Walking over to the corner where Mack and Red Dog sat, she wiped the bar off and tossed some coasters their way.
“A coaster?” Red Dog snorted. “Those are for people who put their drink down.” He flung it like a Frisbee back at her.
“Hey, watch it.”
“Be a doll and hand me that bottle of vodka.” Dog pointed to the shelf behind the bar. Crystal turned to look.
“Which one? Cherry, pineapple, coconut…”
“Christ. Life was a lot simpler when there was only one flavor of vodka.”
“Amen,” Mack agreed.
Crystal grinned. “Pick a flavor, Dog. I want to go home sometime tonight.”
“I’m thinking. I’m thinking.”
She picked a flavor and slammed the bottle down in front of him.
“Well aren’t you just bein’ the worm in my tequila tonight.”
“Dog.” Mack gave him a look.
“What? I don’t try to annoy people; it’s just a gift.” Dog rose up, leaned over the bar and grabbed two shot glasses, then he unscrewed the top and poured them. He slid one to Crystal. “Drink up, cupcake.”
They both lifted their shot glasses and drank. And they both made a face. Dog picked up the bottle and looked at the label. “What the hell flavor did you pick? Cotton Candy? What the…?” He turned to look at Mack. “What the hell are we stocking this shit for?”