Breathing His Air (3 page)

Not believing what he was hearing or seeing, he laughed. Holy hell, she was goofy.

“I’m serious.” She planted her fists on her hips. “You can’t tell me what to do all the time.”

He leaned down until his mouth hovered over her lips and looked her right in the eyes. He grinned as she blinked furiously at the closeness. “You don’t tell me what I can and can’t do, babe.”

She whipped around and stalked off but not before he heard her call him a dumbass again. He rubbed his chest where she’d stabbed him with her candy, and his fingers came away sticky. If the Lagsturns weren’t around, he’d love to show her how to keep that mouth from talking and teach her not to stick a damn piece of candy on his vest.

He watched her ass swish across the gravel lot. For the first time in a long time, he regretted not being able to spend some time sampling that flame of fire or worrying if she had a hidden agenda. He moved his foot and let the door swing shut.

Right before the latch clicked into place, he realized where Tori was heading and punched the door, sending it swinging back open. He watched in confusion as Taylor walked her to cabin B. Who the hell had told her she could stay in one of the Bantorus’ personal cabins? The cabin right next to his? No fucking way.

He was only gone for three weeks. Did everyone forget that he was the boss of the Bantorus club and he set rules for a damn reason?

Chapter Three

Tori took the last batch of chocolate chip cookies out of the oven, held them at eye level, and inhaled deeply. Perfect. She’d have at least two dozen to sell tomorrow morning.

It had taken throwing away two sheets of burnt cookies to regulate the old stove to the right temperature in cabin B. Determined to get her mind off her encounter with the overbearing and too sexy biker, she took her frustrations out on consuming too many unsellable cookies. She’d probably gain five pounds and give Rain something else to nag her about.

After setting the sheet on the counter to cool, she scooped two cups of cookie dough into a smaller bowl to enjoy when the next mood hit. Living next door to the bar, she figured she’d eat the rest tomorrow when she was bound to run into Rain again. Nothing beat the comforting taste and texture of raw cookie dough, no matter what the food industry said about it being a danger to her health.

She ripped off a strip of aluminum foil and hesitated.

The cranky owner of Cactus Cove could use some softening. Everything about him was hard. His attitude, chest, and even his thighs … She groaned.
Stop it.

All evening, she’d dwelled on threatening the owner earlier. It wasn’t in her nature to make an enemy, and he had removed her from Crazy Eyes’ grasp, essentially saving her life. Who knew what that man would’ve done to her if Rain hadn’t shown up?

Rain.
She wondered if it was his real name, or a nickname like a lot of the bikers used. When she’d asked Taylor those same questions, Taylor had only shrugged.

She slipped off her apron and walked outside with the extra helping. The sun had set hours ago, and she followed the sound of music across the parking lot to the bar. Rain had banned her from Cactus Cove, but he was probably over his huff by now.

Glancing around, she saw no one else loitering about causing trouble. It was almost closing time. They stopped serving drinks at two in the morning, and people were slowly leaving.

Earlier, she’d even thought about marching over there and ordering a drink just to piss Rain off. Then she decided baking cookies for tomorrow would be a better plan. It’d give Rain time to cool off before she returned to her normal routine of going wherever she wanted.

He couldn’t own all of Pitnam, and would realize he had no say in how she lived her life. She walked faster. He definitely lived hard and fast.

Something about the bad boy appealed to her. He made her whole body tingle and when he growled, she about melted into a puddle in front of his big, black, biker boots. Not that she had any inkling to become involved with him or anyone, biker or not.

Relationships meant opening herself up, and for this gig, she had a persona of the happy, carefree coffee lady to keep up. Nobody wanted a cursed nobody around, and she had to provide a living, which required her to be personable.

Before she lost her nerve, she slipped through the back door of the bar. The music blared, and she tiptoed down the hall without worry of someone hearing her. She only had to be careful not to get caught.

At Rain’s office, she turned the handle. The light was on and she peeked inside, finding the room empty. She blew out her breath and relaxed. Ten seconds later, she was outside again and heading back to the cabin with no one the wiser.

In the coolness of the night, she hurried across the gravel lot. Pleased with her stealthiness, she grinned all the way to the cabin. Now that she’d cleared her conscience from acting mean earlier, she could go to sleep.

Fifteen minutes later, she had her cookies prepared in individual baggies for tomorrow, cleaned the kitchen, brushed her teeth and hair, and slipped into an oversized white men’s T-shirt that she’d found left behind in the last place she stayed.

Instead of pulling out the hide-a-bed, she spread the sheet she’d brought with her from her truck and propped her pillow on the arm of the couch. She laid down, closed her eyes, and exhaled in exhaustion. Listening to the roar of motorcycle engines leaving the bar, she drifted off to sleep with a clear mind.

A loud knock bolted her upright on the couch. She squinted around the room. Her heart raced, unsure where she was.

The cabin. Pitnam. She pressed her hand to her chest.
It’s okay.

Another series of banging freaked her out. She jumped off the couch, holding her pillow in front of her.

“Babe. Open the door.” A deep voice came through her walls.

She sidestepped across the room, keeping the pillow in front of her for protection. “Cujo, back,” she said, hoping the person on the other side of the door had a fear of big, imaginary dogs.

“Open up,” the voice said.

She tilted her head, straining to hear better. “Wh-who is it?”

“Rain.”

The muscles in her shoulders eased, and she tossed the pillow back on the couch. She unlatched the chain and turned the flimsy lock on the door handle. Rain pushed his way in and shut the door.

“What are you doing here?” She moved to turn on a light.

“Same question.” He held her bowl in his hand. “I don’t know how you convinced Gladys to rent the cabin to you, but it’s not good. Not good.”

She shook her head. “What?”

“Tomorrow.” He all but forced the word out. “You move.”

“I will not. I paid for three months,” she said.

“I’ll pay for you to stay at Cozy Inn.”

She blinked. “A hotel? Get real, and quick, dude.”

“What’s wrong with the hotel?”

“Um, yeah, you’re paying for it. That’s what’s wrong,” she said.

He shrugged. “Get over it.”

“You get over it.” She snorted and backed away. “I like the cabin. I can walk to work. If I want to get something out of my truck, it’s right there. You’re on crack if you think I’d let you” — she raised her hands and air quoted — “put me up.”

He dropped his gaze and his eyes warmed. “You’re not wearing anything under your shirt.”

She crossed her arms. “Am too.”

“The hell you are.” He grinned, seeming to find that funny.

“You barged into my room. I was sleeping, not that it’s any of your business.” She wanted to grab the blanket off the couch and wrap herself from head to toe, but wouldn’t give him another chance to find any more humor in the situation.

He plopped down on her couch and held the bowl she’d delivered earlier up in front of him. “What’s this?”

“What’s it look like?” She sat down on the other side of the couch, far away from him, and hugged her pillow to her front. “It’s cookie dough.”

“Why’d you put it in my office?”

She looked away from him. “You’re assuming I did. Maybe someone else gave it to you.”

“Babe … ”

She shivered. It was becoming a habit. Nobody had ever called her by a nickname before. Besides, he probably called every woman babe. “Fine. I gave it to you.”

“I know that.” He peeked under the foil. “Oven broke?”

“No.” She sighed heavily. “I made cookies, and … Never mind, it was a stupid idea.”

“Say it.”

“You’ll laugh.”

He dropped his chin and looked at her. “Say it.”

“Everyone likes cookie dough. I kept some extra for me to eat, and I thought I’d give you some to make up for poking you with my lollipop earlier.”

“You called me a dumbass.” He grinned. “Twice.”

Her stomach fluttered because not only did he smile, but wrinkles formed at the corners of his eyes. She raked her teeth over her bottom lip. “Three times. I might’ve mentioned it to Taylor when you couldn’t hear me.”

He laughed. “No one’s given me dough before.”

“Get out.” She studied him. “Really?”

He stared down at the cheap plastic bowl. “No Mom around, and Dad didn’t bake.”

She stared in surprise. “None of your girlfriends made you treats before?”

He tilted his head and peered at her. “I keep women too busy to spend much time in the kitchen.”

Of course he did. He was probably a sexual God.

“Oh.” She gazed intently at him, trying to figure him out. He raised his brows and gave her a seductive grin. She glanced away.

Headlights flashed across the room. She fell silent. Compassion for a grown man who’d never experienced something as simple as cookie dough filled her.

He held out the bowl, breaking the tension. “Wanna share?”

She jumped at the excuse to escape from his attention. “I’ll get us some milk.”

“Milk?” He chuckled. “You’re so whacked. What are you, twelve?”

“Double that.” She glanced over her shoulder. “Why? How old are you?”

“Triple it.” He chuckled, and murmured, “Milk.”

“You’ll see. It makes everything better.” She opened the fridge and removed the carton.

He followed her across the room and set the bowl on the counter. She grabbed two plastic cups out of the dish rack and poured them both milk. Then she grabbed two spoons and handed him one.

“You go first.” She removed the foil and waited.

He studied the contents, dug his spoon in, and put the mound of dough in his mouth. She watched him as his eyes closed and he worked the food around in his mouth.

“Good,” he mumbled, swallowing. “Real good.”

She handed him his cup. “Drink some milk.”

His Adam’s apple bobbed, and she checked out his goatee. He had a lovely shade of whiskers, black with a hint of gray down the middle, apparently not from age, but natural shading. It matched the blackness of his hair, which he kept long enough to be wild and unprofessional. She liked it. The style fit him.

He fingered her bracelet, and then laid his hand on the back of hers, fingers lined up, except hers were dwarfed by his size. She glanced at him, curious to know what he was doing.

He removed his hand and picked his spoon back up. “Thanks.” His strong, broad hand held the spoon without any trouble, and the roughness on the palm of his hand told her he worked with tools on occasion. He also had a solid body, muscular and fit.

He pointed his spoon, going in for another bite. “Eat.”

She took her own turn from the bowl, too happy with his willingness to try something for the first time to say no. “What do you think?”

“Better than baked cookies.” He popped another spoonful in his mouth and chased the bite down with another drink from his cup.

She walked over, removed a couple bags of cookies from the sack, and returned to his side. “Here. You can have them tomorrow with your lunch.”

“Why are you doing this?”

She shrugged. “I know you don’t want me here, for whatever reason, but I need to stay. Three months, Rain. Then I’ll be hitting the road, and you’ll never have to see me again.”

He studied her, and she thought he was going to argue. She leaned against the counter and gazed at his boots. She wanted to get along with him. They’d be business neighbors and should get along for the duration.

“What time do you open the shack?”

She lifted her gaze. “Six.”

“I’ll walk you over.” He set the cup down.

“You don’t have to.”

“Don’t argue. It’s not safe.” He walked across the room to the door, stopped, and turned around. “Where’s your phone?”

She searched the one-room cabin, spotted her cell on the buffet. “Right there.”

He walked over, picked it up, and punched some numbers. “You call me when you shut down for the day. I’ll walk you home.”

“That’s silly. It’s a hundred feet away. I don’t understand why you think it’s unsafe. Do you mean those men who rode into the parking lot will be back?”

“Yeah, they’ll be back. You don’t belong here.”

She rolled her eyes. “Like I haven’t heard that before.”

“Where?” His mouth tightened.

She shrugged. “Doesn’t matter.”

“You’ll call me.” He pinned her to the spot. “My place. My rules. You’re in Bantorus territory.”

He exasperated her. She raised her hands. “Fine.”

“Good.” He opened the door, stepped outside, and turned. “Babe?”

“Yeah?”

“Next time you stand there with your tits pointed at me and your legs giving me more ideas than is legal, I’ll want more than cookie dough from you.” To prove his point, his gaze dropped to the front of her shirt and his eyelids grew heavy.

She blinked at him, stunned. Unsure why he kept calling her babe, she could only stand there and stare. No one had called her a name in such a soft, gentle voice before. She wasn’t sure if she liked it or not. Then her heart skipped a beat, and she decided she kind of liked it. A lot.

“Yeah, you think you can hide being a goof behind that attitude, but I see it. Don’t hide, babe. You might be whacked, but men like that. It makes us feel like you’re the only person in a crowd of boring.”

She stared. What kind of man said such things? She wanted to run away, knowing he could see through her, but she couldn’t move. She liked that he saw past her defenses, even though it scared her.