Kicked: A Bad Boy Sports Romance (84 page)

I snap my eyes up as he straightens and tosses a wild grin over his shoulder.

“You're one lucky bird, Pint-Size,” he says, circling his bike and running a tattooed finger over the handlebars. “If you'd scratched up my Swinger, I'd have put you over my knee and spanked you for it.”

“Excuse me,” I say, squeezing the strap of my purse and pretending that seriously didn't just turn me on. “Why did you even bring your … bagger over to my house in the first place?”

“Couldn't very well put a princess like you on the back of my bobber.”

I put the fingers of my left hand up to my temple.

“And a bobber is what?”

“Irrelevant,” Royal says, finishing his circle around the bike and pausing in front of me, far closer than any rational, sane sort of person should get. “I brought you an extra helmet and had Janae pick up some gear for you. Go inside and get dressed, Pint-Size, you and me, we're riding two up tonight.”

“I already told you,” I say, moving back and adjusting my purse to my other shoulder, just so I have something to do with my hands. My lips are desperate to betray my brain and invite Royal inside, drag him to my bedroom and see what he can do in the blush of twilight.

Did I really just think that?

I really did.

“I don't
like
motorcycles.”

“You get in an accident or something?” Royal asks me, reaching up and threading his fingers through his helmet mussed hair. He's still smiling at me with those full lips of his. It's not fair for a man to have a mouth that nice, lashes that long, and still look so goddamn manly. He has the most perfect five o' clock shadow I've ever seen yet it doesn't look groomed or styled in any way. How does he do it?

“I've never ridden one before,” I say and then wonder if that was a mistake when his brows go up.

“Never ridden a motorcycle before,” Royal starts and then his grin gets a little wider. “So you're a virgin biker, eh?”

“I'm not a virgin anything,” I say and then almost get caught up in his laughter when he chuckles at me. I can sense a dangerous energy, something that deep down that screams
Don't fuck with me!
from a primal level. At the same time, his humor's infectious. “You should know that.”

“Oh, should I?” he asks as an unbidden smile curls my lips.

“What are you doing here anyway?” I ask again. “And how did you know where I lived?” I mean to sound angry and indignant, but it doesn't work. I've already forgotten about Brent and the feds and the missing VP.

What a big mistake.

“I stopped by your office today and found that pretty blonde sister of yours. She has a big mouth, that one.”

I purse my lips and narrow my eyes.
Kailey gave Royal my address.
It should surprise me that my older sister would give an outlaw biker that kind of information, but it doesn't. Not one bit.

“You came all the way over here to ask me if I wanted to ride on your motorcycle with you?”

“Reality check, Pint-Size,” Royal says, grabbing a helmet off the leather seat of his bike and tossing it to me. “I'm not asking. This is an order. Change into some leather and denim and get your ass on that bike.” He grins while he says it, but I get the idea that this is a man who isn't used to having his orders ignored.

And I'm a woman who doesn't like to be told what to do, especially from sexy British men with too many tattoos and a leather jacket with a snarling wolf's face on it.

“I have a date tonight,” I lie—I'm getting a little too used to lying lately—but then decide to make it the truth instead. “With a bottle of wine and a jar of pesto.”

“Sounds smashing. We'll break into that when we get back.” Royal gestures at my house with a jerk of his chin. “Your gear's on the porch, but if you want to invite me in, I can help you slip into it.”

“I haven't agreed to anything yet, Mr. McBride.”

“Mr. McBride?” Royal says, his dark eyes twinkling. “So we're back to that? I thought proper etiquette suggests that any man who's seen that naughty little red thong of yours gets to be on a first name basis?”

“Etiquette would
suggest,
” I say in my most haughty voice, “that any man who's seen said thong in question would refrain from mentioning it in the lady's front yard.”

“My apologies, Pint-Size. It's just … ” Royal runs his tongue across his lower lip. “That thong … and all the deliciously little naughty bits beneath it have been on my mind since yesterday. I kicked myself all day today for letting you leave last night.”

“Letting me leave? Look, I don't know how these groupies of yours act around you, but I'm not the kind of woman who anyone
lets
do anything.”

“And I'm not the kind of man who takes
no
for an answer,” Royal says, stepping towards me and sweeping his arm around my waist. Before I can protest, his mouth is covering mine, hot and desperate and wanting, turning my entire body into a greedy mess. I want him so bad I can hardly breathe, my fingers sliding up the leather front of his jacket and curling around his big shoulders. This is probably a bad idea, making out in my yard like this. Trinidad might be growing at an exponential rate, but it's still got that small town feel. A lot of my neighbors know my dad's the mayor.

But right now?

I. Don't. Care.

For the first time in a long time, I don't give a shit about anything but what's happening to me right here, right now. Royal tastes freedom, like rebellion, like a million other things I've never experienced. I've planned my whole life out from birth to death. I know what I want to do, what I want to achieve, where I want to live.

I just never knew I wanted this.

CHAPTER TEN
Royal

Lyric's tiny body trembles in my arms, but I don't think she's even aware of it. All of the suppressed need in this girl is stifling in the best of ways. I want to let it sweep over me and drag me under. And then I want to scoop her up in my arms and take her over the back of my bike.

Maybe later.

Right now, we're going riding.

I let my hands roam over Lyric's body, enjoying the way she presses her breasts into me, wiggling that soft, curvy body against mine.

“Go get your gear on,” I murmur against her mouth and her eyes snap open like she's just realized I'm feeling her up in her front yard. Lyric pulls away and wipes her arm across her mouth like that'll get her to forget me. “It's going to take a hell of a lot more than that,” I growl, grabbing her around the waist again and pulling her close.

“More than what?”

“More than an arm across the mouth. Might sound a bit arrogant, but I'm pretty sure I'm the sort of guy you'll never forget.”

A laugh escapes her throat as a grin curves my lips.

Remember what you came here for, Royal.
My smile falters a little and Lyric notices. Perceptive little Pint-Size.

“Doesn't sound arrogant at all,” she says, but she's looking me up and down, from my boots all the way up to my eyes, locking our gazes together. “Something just crossed your mind. What is it?”

“Am I that transparent?” I ask, trying to keep the mood light. Should be anything but considering all the fucking shite I've been dealing with lately.
Landon is dead.
That thought springs up for the hundredth time since that big toothed asshole showed up on my doorstep this morning. Like I really need to be reminded.

“Not transparent,” Lyric says, tilting her head to the side. “Just moody?”

“Moody?” I ask, brows raising. “There're a hell of a lot of men who'd be scared shitless to say something like that to me.”

“That's your answer then,” she says blandly, crossing her arms over her ample chest, as if we weren't just lip-locked and rounding second base. “
I
am not a man.”

“So I noticed when you were on your back yesterday.”

Narrowed eyes and pursed lips.

“You're feistier than I first thought,” I say, sliding my fingers into my pocket and grabbing a smoke. “A wild woman under wraps.”

“You must've come over here for something other than riding,” Lyric says and I feel my face split into another grin. I try to keep good humor in all situations, sure, but this girl … there's something different about her.

“
Riding
is exactly what I came over here for, but I'm not talking about my bike. I came here to ride you.”
Not entirely true, but I wish.
“First things first,” I begin, lighting up and taking a drag of my smoke, “do you happen to know a man named Brent Gilman?”

Lyric's entire body goes tense, a definite
yes
in my book.

Damn it.

I feel my own body tensing in response, my emotions shutting down, all of our playful banter going out the window in an instant. I wanted her to say no. I wanted her to say no so goddamn badly.

“Brent and I went to college together,” she says and then glances away like she's ashamed. I can't tell if it's an act or not. “We dated for a while.” My fingers clamp down tighter on my cig and my jaw tenses. This girl? She dated Mr. Monotone with the bleach blond hair and matching skin? No fucking way. Lyric looks back up at me, her face almost completely makeup free but still gorgeous. Most of the girls I know refuse to leave the house without an entire cosmetics aisle on their face. “Why? How do you know Brent?”

“He paid me a little visit at my house this morning,” I say, testing her reaction as I smoke my cigarette, the cherry burning bright and orange in the early evening light.

“Brent?” she asks, her reaction seeming genuine. “Why would Brent be at your place?”

“That's a question I'm hoping you can help answer. You told me your dad wasn't interested in working with the FBI.” Her eyes widen and I can see the color draining from her skin.
Damn it, damn it, damn it. Fuck. No. I wanted to play around with this girl for a while, have a good time.

But if she's working with the feds? The boys would not take kindly to that information.

For a moment there, I hate my position in the club with a passion. It only lasts for a second, but it scares the crap out of me. My brothers, and the club, they come first. Always. Forever. I proved that with Landon last week, and if I had to, with this girl …

“Brent's with the FBI, yeah, but he's here on vacation.”

“Vacation?” I ask, glancing over my shoulder at the sky, at the clouds clinging to the air above the ocean. “Why the hell would he want to have a holiday out here?”

“Brent and my brother are friends, and …” Lyric shakes her head and holds up her hands. “I'm not talking about this with you. I told you my dad didn't care about your club or the feds or anything but getting re-elected. What I said was true. Brent isn't on official FBI business.”

I narrow my eyes on her, but her words ring with truth. I'm no human lie detector like my brother, Glacier, but I've got a decent track record at reading people.

“I think he wants me back,” she blurts when I don't say anything for a moment. My fingers pinch tight on the cig and ash falls to the cement walkway. “He asked me out to dinner tonight.”

“So why are you here with me then?” I ask, softening towards her. I know I should keep my guard up, that I should put her through the ringer, scare the shit out of her and make sure she's telling the truth.

But I'd rather not.

Fuck.

“I'm not
with
you,” Lyric says, smoothing her hands over her hair. It's in that horrible bun again. “I'm just not exactly thrilled about the idea of dating a guy who dumped me.” She pauses and then looks back up at me with a face that dares me to comment on that.

“
He
dumped
you?
” I ask, giving her an approving once-over and flicking my tongue over my lower lip. Hopefully she can tell by the bulge in my pants just how much I approve of what I see. “The guy with the weird teeth?”

“Brent has nice teeth,” she says defensively. “Anyway, that's not your business. I don't even know why I'm still out here talking to you. Goodnight, Mr. McBride.”

When she moves to walk away, I reach out and grab her arm, curling my fingers tight around the sleeve of her black suit jacket. It's much better than the gray. Still ugly though.

“If you're lying to me about this FBI crap, you'd best speak up now.” I yank her towards me and flick my cigarette into the grass. “If you tell me the truth, then maybe I can cut you a little slack.”

Her eyes go wide and her fingers fly to the strap of her purse.

“Are you
threatening
me?” she gasps, more like she's pissed off than scared. “I can't believe I had sex with you!” Lyric tears her arm from my grasp and narrows her gaze on me. “Screw you, Royal. Get the hell off my lawn and don't come back.”

“At least she didn't slap you again,” Glacier says, his eyes as blue as mine are brown, bright and deceptively cheerful. He's an even bigger monster than I am. As the MC's enforcer, he keeps everyone in line and helps clean up the inevitable spills of club life. Sin for sin, Glacier wins out in the bad boy category.

“To small miracles,” I say, lifting my glass and downing it in a single swallow. Fauna refills it without my having to ask. Bless her bloody heart. “I really don't think she knows anything,” I say, but the words feel forced. She works at the mayor's office, dated that blond douche. She's as wrapped up in that world as I am in mine.