Slow Burn (Lost Kings MC 1)

Ohmygod, ohmygod, ohmygod! What did I just do?

I berated myself all the way out to the parking lot. I'd kissed another man. Almost done a hell of a lot more. Wanted to do a lot more.

"Hope, wait." His deep, gravelly voice stopped me. I didn't turn around, but I didn't move forward either. Why couldn’t I make a clean getaway?

The crunch of his boots over the asphalt warned me he was close, but I still didn't turn around. Finally, his big hands settled on my shoulders and turned me to face him.

I ducked my head to avoid those stormy gray eyes. "I'm sorry. I really need to go."

"Don't apologize. I like you, Hope."

I decided it was time to reach down and find my backbone.

"Like the way you like Inga? Sorry to disappoint, but I’m not the kind of woman who gets on her knees in some filthy closet." I touched my fingers to the corner of my mouth. "I'm so stupid. You probably gave me cold sores."

Instead of angering him, my reckless remarks made him laugh out loud. Having him laughing at my expense after making a fool of myself was the last straw.

"I'm glad you think that's funny. But I can't do this. I'm married."

"I don't mind."

My hands curled into fists at my side. "I mind! I don't cheat."

"Okay, doll, whatever you say." Suddenly, he released my shoulders. Instantly, I regretted the loss of his touch, which only infuriated me more.

"Stop calling me that," I snapped.

My jaw locked as I held back the laughter I knew would only get her more ticked off at me. I hadn't even realized I'd started after her until the glare of the afternoon sun hit me. By then, I needed to grab her and make things right before she stormed off. And never came back. Because the thought of not seeing her again left me cold.

"Fine, Hope. I respect you. I'm sorry I got carried away. It won't happen again." There. I'd managed to give her my most reasonable tone of voice and not choke on the words because I wasn't even a little sorry. Her shoulders relaxed, and the expression on her face softened as she finally met my gaze.

"Thank you. It's not your fault. Around you, I feel—"

The absurdly loud buzz of a motorcycle on the main road drowned her soft voice out. Since bikes were my thing, naturally I tipped my head up to see who would be stupid enough to ride that loud near my club.

Fuck.

I recognized the ape hangers and the logo on the cut. I pushed Hope behind me as I watched the Viper cruise by. His bottom rocker identified him as from out of town. Not good. Where there was one, there had to be more of them moving in from other charters. The fucker had the nerve to take an unnatural interest in Hope, and I didn’t like it one fucking bit.

"What's wrong?" Her timid voice came from behind me. Pride surged through me when I realized she'd moved and stayed put without me even having to ask. She trusted me. Her hands settled against my shoulder blades, and I swear even through the thin material of my tee and the thick leather cut, her warmth pulsed against my skin.

When the Viper finally moved out of sight, I hooked my arm around her waist and hauled her in front of me.

"Nothing. Just never know."

Her forehead wrinkled, but she wisely chose to keep her opinions to herself.

"Now, what were you saying?"

Guilt flashed in her eyes. Her gaze darted somewhere over my shoulder before she answered, "I don't remember."

I took her words at face value. I’d messed with her head enough today. If it wasn't for the damn ring around her finger, I'd have her on my bike on the way to my house so damn fast. But, believe it or not, I didn't believe in cheating either. And honestly, I liked her too much to disrespect her. Above everything else, I knew I couldn’t stand it if she ended up hating me.

"I should make an appointment to come into your office to talk about a few business things."

"My office is in my house. I meet my clients at a friend's office downtown usually."

Fuck me. The thought of going to her house, seeing what she liked to surround herself with, and getting in her personal space excited me a lot more than I liked to admit.

"So your friend's office, then."

"Okay. You have my number. Call me and we'll set something up."

Curiosity, mixed with a strong desire for her to stay, made me ask, "Why don’t you have a regular office?"

Her cheeks reddened, and she fixed her gaze on the ground. "Can't afford the overhead yet. My buddy is nice enough to let me use his space, or I use a room at the courthouse, or like today, I come to my clients."

I considered her words and nodded. It actually sounded like a pretty smart plan.

We were interrupted by one of the girls flying into the parking lot, almost running us down. I pushed Hope out of the way and stared after the white Infinity sedan. After Lexi parked, she jumped out to apologize.

"Shit—sorry, Rock." She pointed to the sky. "The glare. I didn't see you at first."

I shook my head. "You need to slow down too, kid."

She blushed. "Sorry, I'm late."

I stifled a laugh. Lexi was always late. "Get your ass in there," I said without any bite behind the words. She was a good employee, just time challenged, which I could deal with.

"I have to get going." Hope's soft voice pulled me away from watching Lexi run through the parking lot.

Hope’s keys jingled in her hand as she opened her car door. The old beater she drove surprised me.

"I'd expect a lawyer to drive something flashier," I said without thinking and instantly felt like an asshole as I saw her flinch.

She chose not to say anything as she slid into the car, slamming the door shut. I knocked on the window, but she ignored me, started up the car, and took off, leaving me staring after her.

CHAPTER FOUR

Although Hope’s business card only listed a P.O. Box, using her license plate gave me her home address. Before I knew what the hell I was doing, my bike was winding its way out of the city, through suburbia, and down what I quickly noted was a dead end street.

Shit.

It's not like a lot of motorcycles probably ever ventured out here. It would seriously suck if she spotted me. What the hell could I say? I decided to drop by for some legal advice? Oh, and by the way, I hacked into the DMV database to find out where you lived.

Yeah, no creepiness there.

Fortunately, I found her house sat back quite a way off the quiet street. Oddly enough, her street bordered state land, so a small dirt public parking lot rested at the end of the concrete. I did a lazy turn around, trying not to stare up the tree-lined driveway to catch a glimpse of her. I caught a piece of her car, but not much else. I brought the bike to a stop and planted my feet on the ground. Maybe she’d come outside to grab something from her car? I shook my head.

This woman was turning me into a crazy-assed stalker.

Part of me realized I was a little obsessed, but I couldn’t muster up a single give-a-fuck. Although, it would have been awfully embarrassing if she’d caught me. Even worse if one of her neighbors called the cops because some shady dude on a bike was casing the lovely Ms. Kendall’s house.

Common sense finally returned, and I headed back to Crystal Ball. The ride took about thirty minutes but did nothing to clear my head. I couldn’t forget the soft press of her lips against mine. The taste of her mouth. A hint of her fresh, clean scent still clung to me. The memory of how sweet and light she smelled up close. Nothing like the heavy floral or foodie scents I was used to the girls at the club bathing themselves in.

I needed to get a grip. For fuck’s sake, I’m a biker. I shouldn’t be musing about perfume like some lovesick pansy.

Of course, my little excursion hadn’t gone unnoticed. Dex ran out to the parking lot the minute I pulled in.

"Boss, where were you? We got a situation."

Slipping off my helmet, I pasted on my concerned boss face. When wasn’t there a situation here? Couldn’t I take a few minutes to stalk someone in peace?   "What now?"

"Lexi's boyfriend is inside." He jerked his thumb toward the front door. "She's freaking out and won't go onstage."

"Christ, I thought she dumped that asshole?"

Dex shrugged before falling in behind me as I stormed into the club. Fucking hell. I hated this drama bullshit.

"Why didn’t you or Blue kick his ass out?"

Dex shrugged. "He didn't do anything. Paid his cover charge, bought his drinks."

"I don't fucking care. Blue never should've let his ass in the door in the first place." Fucking bouncers were useless if they were too busy paying attention to the naked chicks on stage instead of who was coming in the front door.

Dex pointed the guy out to me. Sitting in the corner, nursing a non-beer, he wasn’t causing any trouble. Yet.

Stalking into the back, I knocked on the dressing room door. "Lex, come on out, babe."

I leaned against the opposite wall and waited for her to poke her head out. Well, at least she wasn’t all red-faced and teary like the last time this happened.

"Is he gone?"

"No. Babe, he’s not doing anything. Can’t just kick him out for no reason."

Slick red lips pushed into a pout. Judging by the pinstripe miniskirt, necktie, and barely-there white blouse she had her assets crammed into, she planned to do her Office Tramp routine tonight. Good thing—it always netted her a lot of cash from the corporate drones who dropped in here on their way home

"Come on. Between Blue, Dex, and me, if he breathes wrong, we’ll haul his ass out."

"Promise you’ll stay?"

Fuck. I really wanted to go home.

"Yeah, I’ll stick around."

She still looked hesitant.

"You don’t have to go to his table or give him a lap dance, sweetie."

"Okay."

"Good girl. Go get side stage. Reagan’s almost done."

She didn’t bother going back in the dressing room, thank fuck. No, she put her game face on and strutted down the hallway. Tight, perfectly round ass cheeks peeked out from under her tiny skirt with each step. Still unbearably wound up from Hope’s kiss, I considered offering Lexi a ride home after her set. Inga still lurked around the club somewhere, but no way did I want to stick my dick in her twice in one day. Might give her the wrong idea.

Lexi’s signature song trickled over the speakers, so I headed out front to keep an eye on her ex. Ginger was busy giving him a lap dance, so either he didn’t give a fuck about Lexi, or he was here to make her jealous.

Dropping my concerned boss face, I pasted on my scary biker mask, which I felt a lot more at home in. One hard pinch of Ginger’s ass later, Blue and I helped the douchebag out the door.

On our way back inside, I pinned Blue to the wall with my finger in his chest. "No more, Blue. You pay fucking attention to who’s coming in the door."

"Gotcha, boss."

After dealing with that nonsense, I took my sorry ass home. Involving myself with Lexi was a complication I didn’t need tonight.

My empty house bothered me for some reason. I should have gone up to the clubhouse instead. Never a quiet moment there, and always the possibility of some eager, uncomplicated pussy.

I still couldn't get Hope out of my head. Was she home thinking about our kiss? Fuck, had she told her husband about that smoking-hot face-suck? Were they fighting about it right now? Or had I fired her up and sent her home to fuck another man?

That last thought depressed the hell out of me. I wondered what her husband looked like. Probably some nerdy dickwad who didn’t dare go to strip clubs and had never ridden a bike. Hope most likely thought of me as nothing more than an exciting way to add a little spice to her dull, suburban life. With a nasty smile, I wondered if the next time she fucked her husband, she’d close her eyes and picture my face.

Eventually I managed to get some sleep. Hope’s pretty eyes and sexy mouth tormenting every single dream.

Over the next few months, I took many more drives down her dead end street. By some miracle, she never spotted me, even though a part of me always wanted her to. I was playing with fire, and it was only a matter of time before one of us got burned.

I never told Clay about the incident at Crystal Ball. That’s how I referred to it in my head. The Incident. It wasn't going to happen again, so I didn't see the point in stirring up trouble. I’d never lied to my husband before. The guilt gnawed through my stomach, but still I kept silent. I knew if I opened that can of worms, there would be uncomfortable questions I couldn't answer.

All of this brewing in my head meant I couldn't forget what it felt like to be pressed up against Rock. His mouth over mine. He was hard where I was used to softer. I had to tip my head up to kiss him, whereas Clay and I were almost the same height.

I hated myself for all of these thoughts and comparisons. Clay was a good man, and he loved me. We had a solid marriage. What was my problem? Boredom? Midlife crisis? Although it was a little early for that. Dissatisfaction with the way my life had turned out? Maybe.

Did I want to have a fling with Rock? Absolutely not. A man like him would only bring me heartache and probably an STD. I didn’t even like him.

If I kept telling myself that, maybe I’d believe it.

Since I’d sworn off ever setting foot in Crystal Ball again, Bricks and I conducted all our future appointments at my friend's office. Each time, he brought me cash in an envelope that I assumed had come from Rock. Eventually we worked out a fair agreement with his ex that allowed him to take on more parenting time with his children. He was very effusive in his thanks, and it helped to feel good about something for a change.

At the oddest times, I heard the roar of an unfamiliar engine, throaty and loud on my street. The rumble reminded me of Rock, even though I realized I’d never even seen his bike. I’d never given much thought to motorcycles in my life, but now I saw and heard them everywhere. I bet he drove something big, dark, and scary looking. Situated far off our little street and shielded by trees and shrubbery, I didn't have a clear view of our road. Some days I'd fantasize about him cruising up to my front door and ordering me to hop on the back of his Harley.

Months went by without a word from Rock. Still, I couldn't erase his image or touch from my mind.

Then he called.

"Another marijuana charge? Rock, really?"

He shrugged at my schoolmarmish tone while I tried to imagine him with a case of the munchies. The only stoners I'd ever known had been in high school, and they'd all been soft, marshmallow-y types. Not hard like Rock. He seemed so in control and disciplined that I found it difficult to picture him glassy-eyed and elbow deep in Doritos.

"How many does this make?"

He waved a hand in the air dismissively. "It's only a matter of time until it's legal here."

"Well, in the meantime, it's not. Take a trip to Colorado if you need to get high."

This pending charge was a little more serious because of the amount he'd been caught with. I got the feeling there was more to the story he wasn't telling me, which ticked me off. There was nothing worse than a client lying to you and getting blindsided in court because of it. At that point in my career, it had already happened to me twice. I honestly think being stripped naked and forced to walk through the courthouse would be less humiliating. Or maybe I was just overly sensitive. Who knew?

Since the day I met Rock at his impromptu arraignment, I'd managed to log a few more hours in criminal court. Mostly minor drug charges. I seemed to have a knack for it, and my buddy Adam had taken to calling me "the pot lawyer" which embarrassed the hell out of me when he introduced me that way to colleagues. An older attorney I knew had sort of taken me under his wing and given me more confidence in handling criminal matters. It still freaked me out because defending people in criminal court meant their liberty was at stake. It terrified me to think that some flaw or weakness of mine could send an innocent person to prison. My mentor told me that once I lost that fear, I shou

ld retire.

Rock and I met at Adam’s office. I'd been using the space so much, he’d given me an empty room not much bigger than a closet. I’d even started paying him rent on a semi-regular basis.

Our meeting took place in the conference room, because after a filing cabinet, chair, and desk had been added to my office, I had no room left to conduct a client interview.

Not satisfied I had the whole story, I gave Rock my lawyer-client confidentiality speech—as in nothing he told me would leave this room, so please just tell me the fucking truth. He flashed an indulgent smile at me.

"Don't you trust me?"

"I can do a better job if I have all the facts."

He lifted his shoulders in a careless shrug, while I fought the urge to grab my red Swingline stapler and clock him with it.

Blowing out an exasperated breath, I managed to hang onto my professionalism. Just barely. "Fine, let me make some calls and see how hard they want to pursue this. The DA portrays himself as tough on the news, but in court, he's really been backing off these petty drug charges lately."

Rock warmed up to the subject. "It's a waste of time when they could be out there prosecuting real criminals."

"Yes, I think that's his reasoning. But you also have a record, so he might not budge."

"Do what you can. I trust you."

Sure you do, I thought, still convinced he was holding something back. Oh, and let’s not forget the fact that I wished I trusted myself around him. My body remembered every second of the kiss Rock and I had shared. My heart kept thumping so hard I feared he could hear it all the way across the table. And I absolutely refused to acknowledge how damp my panties were. My cheeks burned, so I knew I had to be bright red.