Banger's Ride: Insurgents Motorcycle Club (Insurgents MC Romance Book 5) (3 page)

She gave a half-shrug then tilted her head up, her gaze locking with his. He moved his hand to the back of her neck and kissed her lightly on the lips. When she pressed into him, a low growl rose from his throat and he crushed his mouth against hers, his tongue breaking through the seam of her lips then dipping into her warm, giving mouth.

Banger trailed his fingertips down her back and found her soft ass. When he cupped her rounded cheeks under her coat, he felt them flex at the same time her small moan vibrated against his mouth. The sound of her arousal lit a fire in his dick, and he pushed her against the car, his hardness poking her. Then she stiffened, pushing him back, her blue eyes watering and her face red from cold and embarrassment. His gaze lingered on her lips, swollen from his kiss. Bringing his thumb up, he ran it across her cheeks.

She panted, “I have to go,” and abruptly turned and scooted into the driver’s seat of her car. “Thanks again.”

“I want to see you again. How about going for round two sometime this week?”

Her curls swayed from side to side. “Can’t. Really, I’m too busy right now for anything more than what I already have on my plate. I’ll see you if you come into the diner. I’ve already stayed out too long. Bye.”

Banger didn’t argue. “It was nice spending time with you.”

Belle closed her door then blew him a kiss before taking off into the inky dark. The Accord’s red taillights wavered in the misty night, and he stood watching her until he couldn’t see her car anymore.

The thought of Belle and her soft lips warmed him as he made his way over to Blade’s SUV parked in the far corner of the parking lot.

“Hey,” Blade said as Banger slid into the passenger seat.

Banger nodded curtly, closed the door, and settled back on the heated seat. Banger wanted to see her again, hold her, smell her jasmine scent, and kiss her incredible lips. For some reason, her touch uncovered a deep desire that he thought had long been buried. With the memory of Belle on his mind, her scent on his clothes, and her taste on his lips, warmth blanketed him as the chilled wind shrouded him. There was something about her that made Banger want to know her better. Belle had intrigued him, and there was no way in hell he was going to walk away.

B
elle poured herself
a glass of chardonnay and sat at the kitchen table, sipping slowly as she tried to stop the fluttering in her stomach when she replayed her time with Banger. When she’d bumped into the tall man, her heart had leapt to her throat when his eyes had met hers. They were the most incredible shade of aquamarine, like the clear, tropical seas of the Pacific, and they’d pulled her in. Breaking away from them, she’d let her gaze run over his rugged, lightly tanned face. His long, honey butter-blond hair was pulled back in a ponytail, and his beard had flecks of white through it and was close to his face. His skin was slightly weathered, as if he’d spent time outdoors in the wind. The small wrinkles around his eyes crinkled when he smiled, and his deep, resonant voice melted over her like liquid chocolate. His six-foot-one frame was rugged and built, and his presence exuded strength and raw sex. Banger’s chiseled cheekbones and jawline made her want to reach out and stroke them. He was definitely all male. Her pulse had raced when his eyes bored into hers, as if trying to read her soul.

When she’d gone back into the kitchen, the sound of his deep, sexy voice had echoed in her ears, and he already had her fantasizing. Then she’d seen him at the table with Cara, her daughter’s attorney. She couldn’t believe how nervous she’d felt when his smoldering gaze ran over her body. Banger did things with his voice and eyes that made her heart shudder. And when he’d held her while they danced, her squishy body pressed against his hard, strong one, funny sensations had tugged between her legs. When he’d kissed her, her panties dampened and her breasts ached for his touch, but she’d had to stop it. She couldn’t begin to think about becoming involved with Banger because she knew she’d fall hopelessly in love with him, and a man that good-looking would surely cheat on her.

Since Harold had died, her life had been a series of upheavals. When her husband had passed away, it was the first time she’d been alone. She’d become pregnant her last year of high school with her daughter, Emily. Her boyfriend had denied any responsibility and dumped her before Emily was even born. She’d struggled to provide the basics for her daughter since her mom and dad didn’t help her out, too angry at her for “ruining” herself. Not being able to afford rent and food, she’d been forced to stay at home, enduring endless lectures on how she had sinned and how she was damned.

When she’d landed a job at a tourist resort on the lake, she’d been twenty-one years old, broke, and worn down by her parents. When Harold, twenty-five years her senior, took an interest in her, she’d jumped at the opportunity to give her daughter a better life and to break away from her parents. He was a widower who’d lost his wife the year before. He had a son and daughter who were older than she, but Belle didn’t care; she just wanted out of her shitty life. In six months, she and Harold were married, even though her parents threatened to disown her and his daughter, Jessica, accused her of being a “gold-digging slut.”

Five years later, she’d given birth to Ethan, and Harold had been thrilled. They’d had a nice life. Harold had a successful textile company, and Belle didn’t have to work. He was a good provider, and a good father. He’d adopted Emily, and their life together had run smoothly for years.

Belle loved Harold, but she was never
in
love with him. Love was overrated; she’d been in love with Emily’s father, and it had left her pregnant, broke, and alone. Harold was a sickly man, who’d suffered from diabetes and hadn’t taken good care of his health. He ate and drank too much, so, at the age of fifty-four, he’d been put on insulin injections to control his disease.

Belle had always made sure to be the best wife and mother she could be. She’d joined all the charity boards Harold had told her to, attended all her children’s school activities, hosted wonderful dinner parties for investors interested in Harold’s company, and made sure to be available sexually for her husband, even though she didn’t enjoy sex very much.

She’d given Harold a good home and taken care of him, and when she’d found out he’d been cheating on her with his clichéd twenty-three-year-old secretary, her world had crumbled. He’d broken her heart. How could he have done that? After all she’d given him. She’d even put up with his bitch of a daughter, who’d consistently hated her throughout the years.

Of course, he’d admitted the affair when she’d confronted him, and he’d sworn it was nothing more than sex and freaking out about becoming old. He’d begged Belle to forgive him, to not leave him, so she said she’d stay. She didn’t have a better gig, and he’d been the financial rock of the family. Then he’d died, and Belle had thought the saying that “karma is a bitch” was really true. She’d donned the obligatory black for the funeral, but her heart had been freed from the anger and disappointment she’d felt at his betrayal. His death had set her free.

Then she’d found out he’d left her and the kids penniless. He’d been bleeding the company dry, embezzling funds for the past three years. There was nothing left—even the house had three liens on it. Jessica had accused Belle of spending all her dad’s money, and Belle hadn’t bothered to explain the situation. She didn’t want to sully Jessica’s memory of her father.

Homeless, penniless, and bankrupt, Belle had moved her family to Pinewood Springs. It had been the best decision she’d made. Except for her long hours at work, she’d tried to make a normal home for her son and daughter. Her daughter hadn’t dealt with her father’s death very well, and she’d been acting out by drinking and ignoring her curfew. In the last year, Belle had fought with her daughter more than she had with anyone else in her whole life. She was at her wits’ end with Emily. Belle really didn’t know what to do.

She drained her wine glass. Being with Banger reminded her how good it could feel to be with someone attractive and sexy, but she’d have to dispel those thoughts. Her life was too busy, and she had to put her daughter back on track. She didn’t have time for dating, and the last thing she had time for was to fall in love. No damn way was she going to let
that
happen.

She washed out her glass, turned off the lights, and climbed the stairs to her bedroom.

*     *     *

Around two o’clock
the following day, a loud rumble rolled to the back of the diner, and Belle looked up from a pot of bubbling beef stew just as Banger walked in. Her face flushed and a surge of adrenaline coursed through her when she saw him scoot his long, denim-clad legs into a booth. His blond hair was secured in a ponytail, and a glint bounced off the earring in his left ear. He wore a black T-shirt and from where she stood, she saw the bulge of his bicep. Not thick and ripped like he worked out, just tight and defined as though he was used to manual labor. Blue, red, black, green, and yellow ink twisted on his tanned skin as he moved his arms. When they’d gone out the previous night, Banger had worn long sleeves, so she hadn’t noticed any tattoos. Watching him as he sat, the menu in his large hands, Belle held her breath in anticipation. She wanted to see his tats up close, trace them with her tongue as he explained what they meant.

Stop it! Right. Now.

Something searing hot splashed on her hand. Belle looked down and noticed the beef stew was boiling rapidly. Cursing under her breath, she turned the flame to low, hoping she hadn’t burned the house special. And all because she couldn’t keep her eyes off Banger. How stupid and juvenile was that? After all, she was a thirty-eight-year-old mother of two, hardly a young twenty-something looking for a boyfriend. She shook her head—she was acting ridiculous.

As Belle took out the homemade rolls for the stew, Ruthie came into the kitchen, her hand on her hip, her deep-set brown eyes twinkling. “Go on and take your break. Jerome can cover. You got a customer who wants to talk to you.”

Belle’s mouth went dry and shivers trembled up her spine. “Who?” she asked, even though she knew it was Banger. She was stalling for time so her body would calm down.

“Banger. Now go on and get.” Ruthie blew on a spoon of beef stew before she took a taste. “Damn, this is good. They’ll be lining up for it tonight.”

Belle smiled weakly then rushed to the bathroom to make sure she didn’t have flour all over her. She swiped on another layer of apricot lipstick and a smear of clear gloss, took a deep breath, and willed herself to stop shaking. She walked out toward his table.

“Hey there,” she greeted him, her voice much more confident than she felt.

A huge smile cracked Banger’s face, and she liked how his eyes lit up when he scanned hers. “Hiya, beautiful.” He straightened against the seat and gestured for her to sit down.

She sat opposite him, their gazes locked together, neither saying anything. Belle cleared her throat. “So I must be doing something right if you’re coming back so soon for another meal.” Her laugh sounded forced and too high.
Damn. Get a grip. He’s just a man. A gorgeous, sexy, intriguing man. Stop!

“You’re doing a lot of things right.” His gaze dropped down to her chest then back to her face, and he winked at her.

Uncomfortable, she pulled out a napkin from the dispenser and began wiping the table. “You’ll have to try the beef stew and homemade rolls. I’m not bragging, but they came out great.” She kept wiping the table.

His warm hand stopped her frenzied movement, and her gaze shot up to his. “Pretty sure the table is more than clean.”

She laughed, even though the butterflies in her stomach were twirling around. “I guess you’re right.” Belle leaned back stiffly against the seat, his hand still covering hers. It was nice to feel the strong warmth; it made her feel safe and comforted.
What the hell is wrong with you? So he’s holding your hand. Big deal.
“Were you in the neighborhood?” she asked.

“Nope. I came here to see you.”

“I usually work nights. How’d you know I’d be here?”

“Called Ruthie and asked. Her second husband and I are good friends. Have been since high school. That’s how I met Ruthie, and we’ve been friends ever since.” He squeezed her hand. “I wanted to see you again.”

She swallowed hard. “You did?”

Banger stared into her eyes. “Yeah.”

She slowly slid her hand from under his then pretended that someone had texted her. Even though her head was down, she was aware of his stare boring into her. She set her phone on the table then stretched out her arms, her hand knocking over his water glass.
Damnit! He makes me so nervous.

Banger jumped up as water spilled on him. He grabbed a handful of napkins to sop up the liquid as it dripped off the table.

With her hand over her mouth, she said, “I’m so sorry. I really am. Here, let me get a rag.”

“No need.” Banger motioned the waitress over. “Could you take care of this mess for us?”

The waitress dried off the table and set a full glass of water in front of Banger before ambling away.