Copper (Hell's Handlers MC 4)

“Copper,” she said, breathy and wanton. “I’d give you pretty much anything with you doing that to me.”

He gave her the most wicked grin he could manage. “Fuckin’ know it, gorgeous. Think I’m not above playing dirty? I’ll do damn near anything to get between those silky thighs again. Take me home with you tonight.” He inhaled as he ran his nose along her neck. Goddamn, the woman smelled heavenly. Something fruity tonight. Peach, maybe? Whatever it was, it only ramped up his desire to take a big juicy bite.

She groaned and tilted her head to the side, giving him better access. “Yes.”

“What time do you have to pick up Beth?” He caught a tendon between his teeth making Shell cry out. She slapped a palm over her mouth.

Copper chuckled. “What time?”

“Uh, my mom is keeping her for the night. I’m picking her up after my diner shift tomorrow.” She blinked as though trying to focus her thoughts.

Damn, for a second, he forgot she worked Sunday mornings. It’d be nice to spend half the day lounging around in bed. In time, he’d work toward convincing her to cut back her hours. Fuck, she wouldn’t need to work at all, but that wasn’t his Shell. His woman was independent, hardworking, and driven. “How’d you get her to agree to keep her so you could come here?”

There was no love lost between Shell’s mom and the club. After her husband died, she cut all ties with the MC and tried to get Shell to do the same. Most of the time, she refused to help Shell with Beth if Shell was doing anything Handlers related.

Shell gave him a mischievous grin. “She doesn’t know I’m here. She’d wanted Beth for the night, and we’d scheduled this weeks ago. Well before the party was planned.”

“So, you’re all mine for the night? And I can make you scream as loud as possible since there won’t be a four-year-old in the next room?”

“Scream, huh? That’s a pretty tall order. Sure you’re up for the task, old man?”

He shifted his hips giving her a hard demonstration of just how much he needed her. “Yeah, babe, I’m up for it.”

“Well then, what are we waiting for?”

He patted her ass. “Give me thirty minutes. Then we’ll head out. Gotta speak to a few of the guys first.”

Her eyes narrowed. “What? Thirty minutes? But…you’re…” She sputtered and waved toward his crotch. “And now you’ve got me all hot and bothered.” Her voice lowered to a notch above a whisper.

Copper threw back his head and laughed. “Anticipation, baby.” After scooting Shell off his lap, he kissed her, then headed off to find Zach.

When he was about ten feet away, he turned to see Shell watching him, a hungry and mildly pissed off look on her face.

Damn, Zach had better talk fucking fast.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

WELL, WHAT THE hell am I supposed to do now?

Shell took in the atmosphere of the clubhouse. Tonight’s party was electric. Bodies—had to be close to two hundred—packed the open space in front of the bar. Some danced, some drank, and quite a few were breaking in their nightly hook-up. She shifted as uncomfortable dampness between her legs made its presence known. Damn Copper for getting her all worked up. Now she was stuck in what could amount to a low budget porn movie with soaked panties and no outlet for her tension. At least not for another thirty minutes.

With a sigh, she wormed her way through the writhing couples with the bar as an end goal. Might as well drink the next half hour away.

“What can I get ya, darlin’?” one of the new prospects asked. Thunder was his name, and since he was brand-spankin’ new, he got stuck with bartending the shittiest shifts. Explained why the poor guy was slinging drinks during the wildest party in ages.

“I’ll take a gin and tonic, please, Thunder,” she said. “And thanks.” She always tried to be extra sweet to the prospects. Poor guys took so much shit from the patched members, she felt obligated to bring a little sunshine to their rainy days.

“Sure thang, sweets.”

Shell studied him as he poured her drink. The guy was southern as they came. At least his accent was. Word among the ladies was Thunder was a stage nickname, and this guy had a day—or night—job as a stripper. She wasn’t sure she believed the bit of gossip. What kind of stripper had Saturday night off to attend a biker party? Unless he was a shitty stripper working with the day shift. Though, if the sexy way he unconsciously moved his hips to the music while working the bar was any indication, he didn’t suck. Sandy hair, matching beard, a body that filled out the upper portion of his T-shirt before fading into flat as hell abs…yeah, the man would have dollar bills hanging from every inch of his g-string. Or speedo. Banana hammock? What exactly did male strippers wear?