Beauty & The Biker

Reaching out, I stroke my fingers along her jaw. She moans in response in her sleep and it is sexy the way her lips part. When she whispers my name, I lose the control I had gained by being away.

She IS dreaming of me.

Leaning down I press my lips softly against hers, careful not to wake her, but wanting her.

With care I ease my arms under her and scoop her into my embrace, so I can put her in her bed where she needs to be for now, but soon she’ll be in mine.

Chapter 9

ISABELLA

I am on my hands and knees in the entryway scrubbing the stone flooring with nothing more than a rag and a bucket of soapy water. Even though it is summer in the world outside, in here it is cold, dark, and depressing. I’ve not seen Tristian for three days or anyone else for that matter. Not since he flipped out on me. We were having an amazing day. I thought I was getting somewhere with that darkness he carries around inside, but as usual, his ugly side reared its head. He is mentally exhausting.

I have spent plenty of time on my own, but at least I could still see what was going on in the outside world. Tristian doesn’t even have cable TV. He just has movies.

I have searched all over for a phone. If there is one, I am certain it is in his bedroom, where I am not permitted. I’ve tried his door, there is no getting in unless he wants me to. I want to call and check on my father. I need to know he is okay. I have never been away from home...away from my crazy sisters. I would walk to town if I could get far enough for it to matter. I’m truly alone. But I have to make the best of a bad situation.

That doesn’t cease my worrying though.

What if Papi isn’t eating, what if he has suffered another heart attack? I pour more water from my bucket onto the floor and wipe as my tears fall. I know why I agreed to this but why didn’t I try to make a bargain? I really am a naive idiot.

I’m mentally and physically exhausted by the time I finish cleaning the floor. My knees are bruised and bloodied from the hard uneven floor. My fingers ache and my knuckles are swollen.

My dress is soiled with who knows what. My hair even hurts but I did as I was told. I scrubbed the damn floors clean; it took me all three days. I started upstairs and worked my way down until I reached the front door. I’m hungry but too tired to eat. I don’t have the energy to make it up the stairs to my bed. I end up in the library on one of the many sofas.

**

I am dreaming of Tristian. We are back on his motorcycle, carefree and he is being sweet. The dream takes a heated turn when he leans back, with his head resting on my shoulder. He smiles lazily and I capture his mouth in a kiss. At first it isn’t passionate but it is a kiss that says we are familiar and comfortable. But then his tongue sweeps against mine and it feels erotic. I want more and move my tongue against his as he turns into me, but we are no longer on his bike, we are somewhere in the mansion. Candlelight glows against the stone walls as he plants more kisses down my neck.

“Tristian,” I call his name.

The feeling of swinging awakens me. My head is bobbing up and down as my arms and legs sway. Tristian is carrying me up the stairs, weightlessly.

“What are you doing?” I murmur.

He drops me on my bed roughly. “Never fall asleep downstairs. I told you my brothers will take first and ask later.”

“I’m sorry,” I whisper an apology, my throat dry and thirsty.

He slams the door and as I am dozing off again he comes back, with a bowl of warm water and first aid to tend to my knees. This tender side of him seems to be rare but welcomed. I decide to stay quiet in fear of upsetting him, but I really want my phone. I could care less about the panties at this point.

Winning Tristian over won’t be easy. I don’t know why he hates me. In time, Tristian will see he doesn’t have to be the monster his tattoos portray him to be. I know somewhere buried inside him has to be a decent guy instead of the beast he pretends to be. If there wasn’t he wouldn’t have taken the time to bandage my knees and give me a mild painkiller.

I stare dreamily at the tattoos traveling down his neck, wondering what they look like under his clothes. Do they continue in the same fashion, showing the muscles and organs of his body?

“Why are you looking at me like that?” He asks his voice almost seeming friendly and unguarded.

“I was just wondering...” my cheeks flush with heat; I’ve never asked to see a man naked before. I can’t believe I am being so candid and that he is still sitting here waiting for me to continue. “Are you tattooed all over, everywhere? Can I see?”

His eyes grow darker and unreadable. He is closed off again. “No. Go to sleep.” He gets up quickly taking the dirty water and kit with him. I hear the turning of a key; he has locked me in my room. Better than the dungeon.

The pain meds kick in and I drift off.

All night I keep

dreaming of Tristian, seeing him in all his glory, reaching out and touching him, tracing his tattoos with my fingers.

There is a sadness behind his eyes. He hides under the ink covering his skin, but I see him. I see the man underneath it all and I want him like I have never wanted anything before.