“You’re always saying I should move in with you. Is this the kind of depravity I’d have to witness?” he says, gesturing at the couch.
Marcel snorts. “You should get out more. We hadn’t gotten anywhere near depraved yet.”
“Do you want coffee? I’m going to make coffee,” Charlotte says, practically running to the kitchen.
I move to stand and follow her, but Carter—the little shit—blocks me.
“You and my sister?”
“Are none of your business.”
He pokes his finger in my chest and I sort of admire the balls on this kid, even though I really want to kick his fucking ass right now. “I know how you guys treat women. My sister’s not some—”
Knocking his hand away from his chest, I move into his space, pushing him back a few steps. “You don’t know shit about me.”
“You know who our uncle is, right?” he asks in a low voice. I don’t get the feeling he’s trying to threaten me with the information. It’s more of a warning.
“I know.”
After a quick glance down the hall, he drops the cocky attitude. “You willing to protect her?”
“From who?”
“Anyone.”
“Is someone bothering her?”
“Just answer the question, King.”
“Of course I would.” I stop to think about his words. Combined with what Charlotte told me earlier, I don’t like where this is headed. “Is your uncle a threat to her?”
“He’s a useless piece of shit.”
Okay. That’s direct. Still didn’t answer my question.
He lowers his eyes. “I know she seems like a tough cookie, but please don’t hurt her.” After a second, he meets my eyes again. “She’s really all I have.”
Who the fuck am I to make promises to anyone? “I don’t want to hurt her.” I mean every word, but my voice sounds hollow because deep down, I know, eventually, no matter how hard I try not to, one way or another, I end up hurting everyone I care about.
“Where do you think this can go?” His question has a begging quality to it that only intensifies the guilt lodged in my chest. “Your club’s never gonna trust her. She has a career and you’re a career criminal.”
“I’ve been humoring you since she’s your sister. And I totally get the protective brother thing, trust me. But you’re starting to piss me off.”
“Do I look like I give a shit? Go ahead and kick my ass. It won’t stop me from worrying about her.”
This little fuck is frustrating the hell out of me. I step back and scrub my hands over my face and decide to be truthful with him. “I get what you’re saying. You’re not telling me anything I haven’t already thought of.”
“All right. Good. That’s all I’m asking.” He does that rubbernecking, looking down the hall thing again. “She seems to really like you, so I guess you can’t be a total douche.”
“Gee, thanks.” He laughs when I sneer at him and follows me to the kitchen.
Charlotte ignores us as she finishes making the coffee, setting out cups, spoons, cream, and sugar. “Carter, do you want something to eat?”
“What did you have for dinner?”
Charlotte meets my eyes and a quick smile passes over her lips. “Marcel made stir-fry.”
“Scary biker-man knows how to cook?” Carter asks.
“I have lots of talents, little man.”
“Gross,” he mutters, looking away.
“Anyone ever tell you you’re an obnoxious little shit?” I ask.
Charlotte snorts, but Carter just grins. “Yeah, she says it all the time.”
As annoying as he is, I respect the reckless way he cares about his sister. Pulling a gun on me, getting up in my face, warning me not to hurt her. If I were a different guy, that behavior might’ve gotten him killed by now.
Still, his devotion to his sister is admirable, sort of. I haven’t decided if he’s loyal and brave or really fucking stupid.
“You ride, Carter?” I ask.
He and Charlotte share a look. One that suggests I walked into uncomfortable territory.
“No.” Suddenly he’s fascinated by his coffee cup, staring at it and turning it in circles in front of him.
“Our dad died in a motorcycle crash,” Charlotte explains quietly.
For a second, I can’t breathe. I’m thrown back to the night of the crash with Mariella. Losing control. Losing the feeling in my legs. Blacking out. Under the table, I absently run my hand over my leg, thankful the sensation registers right away.
“I’m sorry,” I finally mumble.
When I glance up, Carter’s staring at me. “Uncle Chuck thinks I’m a pussy because I never wanted to prospect for the Wolf Knights.”
Jesus. How am I supposed to respond to that? “Club life isn’t for everyone, kid.”
“Nah, I’m just not a big enough knuckle-dragger for him.”
I shrug. “No shame in admitting you’re not interested. Was your dad a Wolf Knight too?”
Charlotte’s busies herself with taking things out of the refrigerator and as much as I want to watch her curvy little ass wiggle around the kitchen, I keep my gaze on Carter.
“Yeah. That’s why the club still takes care of my mom.” He rolls his eyes. “Sort of.”
“That’s good,” I answer carefully.
“Yeah, it’s a ball when they throw parties at our house and get her liquored up.”
“Carter,” Charlotte warns.
“What? You two aren’t at the sharing-family-dynamics stage of your relationship yet?” he asks, using air quotes around relationship, which pisses me off.
“Watch yourself,” I say in a low voice. My gaze strays to Charlotte. “She already knows all about my family dysfunction.”
Carter raises an eyebrow and glances at Charlotte.
“Mind your own business, Carter.” In a gentler voice she asks, “Do you want pancakes?”
His eyes widen and there’s a happy twitch at the corner of his mouth. “Yes, please.”
Tired of not being able to see what she’s up to, I take the chair next to Carter so I can watch Charlotte work.
“I have blueberries or bananas,” she says over her shoulder.
“Blueberries.” He glances at me. “She makes the best pancakes.”
When she finally brings his plate over, he tips his head back and flashes an almost childlike smile. “Thank you, Char.”
At least the kid is polite to his sister. Otherwise I probably would’ve taken him out back and kicked his ass by now.
Some girls cry at the drop of a hat. I’ve never been one of them. My mother used to say it was because I was cold and had no heart. But if Marcel keeps being so nice to my brother I might break down and sob all over myself.
“Do you want pancakes too?” I ask Marcel.
“Sounds like I have to try them.”
“Thought you ’roid-heads watched what you ate better?” Carter mumbles, earning a glare from Marcel.
“Carter,” I snap.
Sure, every time my brother opens his mouth and says something obnoxious, Marcel’s eyes gleam like he’d enjoy teaching Carter some respect using the fist-to-mouth approach. But he never does anything more than issue a low warning.
Marcel flexes his arm in Carter’s face, patting his bicep. “No ’roids, you little shit. Just hard work.”
“Put that away before you hurt yourself,” Carter says, brushing Marcel’s arm out of his way.
Marcel’s eyes widen, but when he tips his head my way, his lips are curved in an amused smile.
He’s putting up with Carter out of respect for me. Maybe it’s a ploy to eventually weasel information out of me about my uncle’s club. But let’s face it, that’s not a very efficient plan. While my uncle has always spouted off catchy biker sayings about respect and loyalty, he’s never practiced them.
Marcel seems to live those words.
“Since you know so much about everything, what do you do, Carter?” Mar
cel asks.
“He’s a very talented artist.”
Carter lets out a sardonic laugh. “Artist is stretching it. I paint houses and walls.”
“What kind of art?”
“Murals mostly.” He shrugs. “But I enjoy any type of illustration.”
“He’s good at all of it.”
“She’s exaggerating because she can’t even draw a stick figure.”
“True. All the artistic talent went to Carter.”
“And all the useful skills went to you.” Carter flashes a smile, but I know there’s a lot of pain behind it. Surprisingly, my dad didn’t care about conventional gender norms and encouraged Carter’s interest in art when he was little. After he died, Chuck urged my mother to take all of his “faggy”—his word, not mine—stuff away.
I was the one who kept buying him pencils, pens, sketch pads, anything that was easy to keep hidden but still allow him to express himself.
“I really like glass blowing but the equipment and space is expensive.”
I turn and point to a set of glasses with cobalt blue swirls. “Carter made those for me.”
Marcel glances at them and nods.
Carter smirks. “You never use them.”
“Because I don’t want to break one,” I explain.
“That’s challenging work. You need a kiln or something, right?” Marcel asks.
“Yeah. I’m really best with a sketch pad and pencils.”
“You ever think of tattooing?”
Carter lifts his shoulders, uncomfortable with Marcel’s full attention on him. “I don’t know if I could sit still long enough to repeatedly stab someone with a needle. I’d need to take lots of breaks.”
“If you’re good enough, clients won’t care what your process is.”
“I don’t know if my stuff’s worth permanently sticking someone with.”
“Well, if you want to talk to someone about doing an apprenticeship, let me know.”
My brother eyes him suspiciously. “Yeah, thanks.” He glances at the table and starts cleaning up the dishes.
“Leave it, Carter. I’ll do it later.”
“No. I’m not leaving you with a messy kitchen.”
“Do you want to take the rest of those home?”
“I think I’m gonna go see Bianca.”
“Girlfriend?” Marcel whispers to me.
I lift one shoulder and roll my eyes. “Friends.”
By the time the kitchen’s cleaned up, Carter seems to have recovered from whatever sent him running from Mom’s house. He wanders out to the living room, leaving Marcel and I in the kitchen.
“Sorry,” I mutter.
“Stop apologizing.”
Unsure of what to do with myself, I get up and make more coffee. “Want some?”
Marcel doesn’t answer right away. I turn to ask again and he’s staring at me with so much intensity, my heart skips. “I want something all right,” he says in a low voice.
A full body shiver of desire works through me.
The coffee finishes and I set two cups on the table in front of us and take my seat. While he’s stirring cream in his, I lean in closer to whisper in his ear, “Your balls must be pretty blue.”
He chokes on his laughter and drops his spoon on the table. He hooks his hand behind my neck, pulling me closer for a kiss. “You’ll fix me later,” he says against my lips.
“Christ, I was gone for a couple minutes and you’re already molesting my sister?” Carter says, stomping back into the kitchen.
Marcel holds his hands up. “Hard not to, kid.”
Carter just snorts and slaps a piece of paper on the table in front of Marcel.
“Thanks for dinner, sis. Later, Teller. Try to contain yourselves until I’m out the door.”
I stand and follow him to the living room. “You sure you’re all right?”
“I’m fine.”
I can’t help it, I rub my hand over the top of his head. “Tell B I said hi.”
“I will.” He lifts his chin toward the kitchen. “I’ll tell her you’re shacking up with a scary biker dude too.”
I give him a playful shove out the door. “Get out of here.”
As Charlotte leaves the table to see her brother out, I grab her hand. Our eyes meet for the briefest second and I let her go.
My fingers curl around the edge of the blank piece of paper Carter laid in front of me.
Except it’s not a blank piece of paper.
The other side has a quickly sketched cartoon portrait.
The kid’s definitely talented.
In the few minutes he was in the living room, he drew a decent likeness of Charlotte and me. My—jacked up and inked—arms around her protectively. Charlotte’s head tipped up, staring at me with affection.
What catches my breath is the way he somehow managed to capture the way I feel about her with a few quick pencil lines.
Is this some sort of approval from her little brother?
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
The next morning when I wake up, it’s still dark around the edges of my blinds. The steady drumming of rain on the windows tells me why.
I stretch and yawn, bumping into Marcel.
“Morning.”
I turn and find him smirking at me.
“What are you so smirky about?”
“Nothing.” He picks his hand up and waves something in the air.
“What?” I shoot upright and try to snatch it away. “Give me that. You went through my drawer?”
“I was bored. I’ve been up for a while.”
“So you were snooping?”
“I was curious.”
“Are you going to read my diary next?”
“No.” His gaze darts to the purple, silicone vibrator in his hand. “This is cute. Purple. Nice and girly.”
I groan and pull the sheet over my head. “It’s been neglected lately.”
“Oh yeah?” His sly tone makes my girl parts tingle, but I don’t peek out from under the covers. “How come?” he asks in a voice too confident for my taste.
“You know why. Don’t go fishing for compliments, it’s not manly.”
His deep laugh doesn’t help my girly parts situation. Lowering the sheet, I stare up at him. “Why are you laughing at me.?”
“You’re cute.”
“Hmph.” Flicking the sheet back, I throw my legs over the side of the bed.
He reaches for me, but I twist out of his grasp. “Where you going?”
“The bathroom.”
“Hurry back.”
When I return, he’s sitting up, bare torso on display. Legs mostly covered except for his feet sticking out. What the hell is it about this man that even his feet are sexy?
Our eyes meet. He’s still holding the vibrator with a wicked promise curving his lips. “Come here.”
“You look like you’re up to something.”
He flicks his gaze to his lap and I stifle a laugh. “I’m up all right.”
“I see that. I could go camping under there.”
His mouth twists into a grin. “Take your shirt off.”
I glance down at my pink tank top with purple unicorns scattered all over it. “This is my favorite shirt.”
“Love you in it.” He points at my chest and traces two circles in the air. “Your nipples poke through it. Now, take it off.”
Heat races up my neck, spreading over my cheeks. Why didn’t I ever notice how thin this shirt is?
I take my time slipping it over my head and toss it at him, aiming for his chest. He catches it easily and sets on it on my pillow.
“Now, get over here.”
I take a few cautious steps closer. “What are you up to?”
“I want to play with you.”
He says it in a sweet and sexy way that’s hard to resist. I really like this more relaxed, playful side of him. The orgasms are fantastic too, don’t get me wrong.
Unsure of what he’s up to, I crawl up the bed, kneeling n
ext to him.
“That’s better.” He places one hand behind my head and pulls me closer for a kiss. While he’d apparently gotten up at some point to brush his teeth, he hasn’t shaved yet. His bristly cheek scrapes against my skin. I pull away, touching my fingers to my lips. His bright blue eyes lock with mine, promising heat and mischief.
“I want to play a game with you,” he says, his voice low as he traces his finger along my jaw.
My breath catches in my throat. “What’s that?”
He sits forward and kisses the side of my neck, slowly making his way to my ear. “How many times can I make Charlotte come?”
“Oh,” I answer, slightly dizzy from the desire he stirs up in me. I try to pretend I’m cool and confident. That his words don’t make me want to straddle him right this second. Probably failing miserably. “Sounds like fun.”
“Good.” He spreads his legs wider and pats the space in between. “Come sit up against me.”
“So you can jab me in the back with your dick?”
He ducks his head and laughs so hard, no words make sense. When he’s finished, he doesn’t ask again. He gives me a simmering stare, waiting for me to do what he asked.
I climb over his leg, making sure to wiggle my butt in his face. He promptly lays a crisp smack on my left cheek.
“Ow. That won’t make me come.”
“Don’t lie.” He pats the bed. “Right here.”
He has most of his thighs covered by the sheet, but when I press my palms against them to lower myself to the bed, I feel the strength contained in his muscles. I slide my hands over his skin, kneading as I go along.
“Mmm, what are you trying to do, Charlotte?”
“I just like touching you.”
He sweeps my hair back and brushes a kiss over my shoulder. “And I love your touch.”
His arm bands around my waist, pulling me back against his chest. Tight enough to feel anchored by him. Not smothered. Warm skin meets my bare back and his lips go to my neck, gently kissing and sucking until I moan.
“I’ve been dying to play with you all morning.”
“You could’ve woken me up.”
“Mmm.” His voice vibrates against my skin and my head falls back against his chest. “That’s it, now spread your legs for me.”