Kicked: A Bad Boy Sports Romance (87 page)

“Okay, okay, okay, I can do this,” she murmurs, moving over and swinging her leg over the bitch seat behind me. Probably shouldn't call it that around her, should I? “Where do I put my arms?”

“Wrap 'em tight around me,
love,
” I say, making fun of her imitation of me. “And squeeze—hard. Don't want to fall off and crack that pretty little helmet I gave you.”

That does the trick.

Lyric wallpapers herself against my back, her breasts mashed up against my spine, her helmeted head pressed into the leather of my jacket, right up against my one-percenter patch.

I have to take a few steadying breaths myself. Guess I'll be riding with a hard-on. Good thing I've had a lot of practice at it.

“You ready?” I ask and Lyric nods.

A surge of adrenaline goes through me, like this is my first ride all over again on the back of Landon's shitty old clunker, my third day in the States and already getting into trouble.

Landon.

I shove that thought violently away and start the engine while Lyric begins to tremble behind me. She's a brave bird, that one. If she's that terrified and still willing to try? Well, cheers to her then.

I start off slow, circling the block a few times until I feel her loosen up a bit, her body relaxing into mine instead of stiffening against it. There's only one thing around here that needs to be stiff, and I've already got that part taken care of.

When I think she's ready, I crank up the speed a bit, changing direction and heading north, towards my place. Lyric tenses up again, but only for a minute and after awhile, I feel like she's starting to get it, that epiphany that happens on your first time out. Not everyone gets it, but those who do, they know that the bike and the rider … they're one body, one soul. Out on the road, it's like you're a different being altogether, something so perfect that God had to split you in half to keep things fair.

Add Lyric into the mix … and I'm definitely feeling some bloody supernatural shit.

I take the turns slow, the coast dropping away beside us in a rush of navy and white crested waves, tangled sea withered plants on either side of the road, the perfect frame for popping Lyric's two up cherry. She catches on quick, too, making me grin wide and feral beneath my helmet as I feel her adjust her weight with mine when we make the next turn.
That a girl.

I don't go straight home, taking a more scenic route until the sun starts to dip low and the light begins to fade from the sky. We circle around the city, flying beneath the thick, heavy branches of redwood trees, drops of moisture splattering the shield of my helmet as I take us all the way around Trinidad and pull smoothly into my driveway.

“So?” I ask, pulling off my helmet and glancing over my shoulder at Lyric. She's still holding onto me, hands pressed against my stomach, fingers clutching the leather of my jacket. She's so small that she has to squeeze tight to even get her arms around me.
I don't want her to let go.

That thought hits me like a brick to the head, and I stand up suddenly, dislodging her grip as I climb off the bike and reach out a hand.

“What'd you think?”

Lyric's fingers are trembling again when she places them in mine. Must be a thing of hers, to quiver like that when she's too full up on emotions. Pint-Size needs to learn to express herself.

“It was …”

“Magical?” I suggest with an arched brow as she takes her own helmet off and glances around with a puzzled facial expression. “Mind-blowing? Orgasmic?”

“Interesting,” she supplies, lifting her chin and looking at me like she couldn't care less. I see right through her.

“You felt it, didn't you?” I ask, stepping close. She steps back and bumps into the bike, a sight for sore eyes in all that leather.

“Felt what?”

“
It,
” I say, reaching out and pulling her helmet from her fingers. “That cosmic force that binds the rider and the bike.”

“Cosmic force?” she asks. Her turn to raise a brow at me.

“I'm a biker, babe, not a poet. It was the best I could come up with.” I flash another grin and step back, turning to look out across the road at the sea. All I have to do is cross the street and descend a couple hundred steps to get to the beach. It's cold as hell and windy as shit, but at least it's pretty to look at. I stare at the massive rock formations, just barely visible in the weak moonlight. “Like what you see, Pint-Size?”

“Where are we?” she asks, turning to look over her shoulder at the massive white and blue Victorian behind us. “Whose house is this?”

“You have three guesses, sweetheart, but if none of them are
Royal
then you're dead wrong.”

“This is
your
place?” she asks, spinning fully, forgetting completely about my luxurious little ocean view. “You?” She glances over at me and then back at the house. “
You
live here? The president of the Alpha Wolves Motorcycle Club? In this pretty old house?”

“Well, where did you think I lived? In a cave out in the woods?”

“Wouldn't have surprised me,” Lyric sniffs, running her fingers through her hair. It's so mussed up and sexy right now, the ends tangled and windswept. I want to bury my hands in it, cup the back of her head and pull her mouth to mine. But I restrain myself.

For the moment. Can't promise I'll behave once I get her inside.

“It's … nice,” she admits begrudgingly and I smile. Of course it's nice. I worked my ass off for this place. Being a part of a motorcycle club, it's not all fun and games and bros hanging out at the bar. We run legitimate businesses—and plenty of illegitimate ones—buy houses, get married, have kids. I'm not exactly ready for the last two items on that list just yet, but I figured I'd settle down eventually, so I got started on the house part. Even a bachelor likes a comfortable place to sleep; we're still human you know. “But it is pretty late and we have a meeting tomorrow.”

“So what? I'll drive you to the compound myself then. That's a good way to make sure we're both late to our own meeting.” I'm smiling, but Lyric isn't when she turns and looks at me.

“This could never work,” she says as I wrinkle my brow at her. “You and me,” she points back and forth between us. “Would never work.”

“You and me?” I ask, reaching up and cupping the side of her face. “Whoever said there had to be a
you and me?
Spend the night with me, love. Have a little fun.”

“You think spending the night with you would be fun?” Lyric asks, but she's leaning into my touch.

“I have actual food in my cabinets and a general knowledge of how to put it together. I have two giant arse wolf dogs who are probably scratching the shit out of my front door in an effort to come out here and sniff your crotch.” She smiles a little at that one. “And I have a king sized bed in the back.” Her smile falters a little but she catches her lip on her teeth for a moment in thought. “Or if we don't make it back there, I have a bearskin rug in front of my fireplace.”

Lyric snorts and that smile shoots back into place with a vengeance.

“You have a
bearskin
rug? Talk about a cliché.”

“Talk about an outlaw biker who actually knows what a rug is. You should see Smoky's place. He has a couch he found on the side of the freeway, a pool table, and an entire cabinet of noodle cups.”

“The typical bachelor then?” Lyric says and then pauses, shaking her head suddenly like she needs to clear her thoughts with a physical action. “No. No. You're doing it again, distracting me.” She pauses and looks up at me with those big emerald eyes of hers, and I wonder for a split second there if I'd do anything she asked of me.

The fuck?

I met the girl on Monday. Today is Thursday. I think I'm in deep shit.

“So … tonight, we …”

“Shag?” I supply and her lips twitch.

“If I stay here tonight, you'll cooperate at the meeting tomorrow?” she asks, playing her politics card. Smart girl.

“I'll
attend
the meeting if that's what you're asking. I can't make any promises about anything else that might happen.” Lyric narrows her eyes briefly and then nods.

“Okay, I can accept that. I stay the night and tomorrow, we have our meeting. You listen to everything I have to say and then make your decision. I hope you make the right one, Mr. McBride.”

“No more business talk tonight,” I say, reaching around her waist and pulling her towards me. “Save that shit for tomorrow. Right now, we have other plans.”

“Are we going to have tea time?” she asks, and it takes me a second to realize that she's joking around with me. This girl right here, little mayor's daughter, taking a jab. I love it.

“Don't make fun,” I say, my smile taking over my face again. “I had a proper English mum who taught me to make a bloody brilliant cup of tea. Keep asking and I'll get out my Gram's silver tea set, serve you some English breakfast with two lumps of sugar and a dash of cream.”

“That actually sounds kind of nice,” she says and then lets out a deep breath, her chest expanding and brushing against mine. “But a glass of wine might be better.”

“How about a beer or a shot of Jack?”

“A beer sounds great, thanks.”

The wind whips our hair and we both pause for a moment, listening to the ocean crash against the rocks. Tonight's going to be fun; I can feel it. Tomorrow … well, I can just hope for now that tomorrow never comes.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Lyric

“The gray one's Alloy,” Royal says as he opens the door and the dogs rush out into the yard, tails wagging frantically, heads down as they sniff the grass and take turns peeing on every single bush in sight. When they're finished with that, they come up to me and start licking my fingers. “And the black one's Lake. They're brother and sister, abandoned as puppies by their breeder when his place went into foreclosure.”

Royal gets out a cigarette and cups his tattooed hand around the end to light up. The wind is picking up and tiny raindrops are starting to drip from the sky.

“Dumped 'em on the side of the highway on his way out of town. There were two more in the litter that didn't make it,” Royal adds, his voice holding a note of sadness that reminds me that he really is human. My mind conjures up an image of him hugging that blonde woman back at the Wolves' compound. Obviously he has to play the confidence card a lot; I mean, he
is
the boss of a bunch of bikers. But he's definitely got a heart in there somewhere.

I almost wish he didn't, that I didn't …
like
him so much. Ugh. If Royal were pretty much anyone else on the planet, I'd definitely ask him out. He's the kind of person I'd want to date. He has a sense of humor, a well of compassion (even if it's hidden deep down in there somewhere), and knows how to take care of himself.

Don't forget that he threatened you just yesterday.

I feel my lips purse a little.

And he broke into your house.

I feel my lips purse a lot.

“They were ugly as sin when they were pups, but then most high content wolf dogs are.” Royal takes a drag on his cigarette and closes his eyes for a moment as I bend down and stroke my hands over the thick, course hair on Lake's back. She's a stunner with long legs, a long muzzle, and a dense winter coat that ripples when she runs. Her brother's gorgeous, too, pretty much the exact replica of every wolf picture I've ever seen on calendars, cards or mugs—gray and brown with dark eyes and a lolling tongue that he can't seem to keep in his mouth.

“How'd you know the guy dropped them there?” I ask as I smile at Lake and let her lick my cheek for a moment.

“I had my boys track him down and beat the information out of him.”

I glance up sharply at that one.

“You … did
what?
”

Royal shrugs like he doesn't give a shit, but I can tell from the tense muscles in his neck and jaw that he does. He really, really does.
What the hell is up with this guy?
I thought all bikers were crazy, dirty criminals with no morals and zero compassion? I feel a little bad about that, but it's what I was taught.

“You really love these dogs, don't you?” I ask, standing up straight and moving towards him, the zipper on my boots clinking as I move. Royal watches me, his eyes darkening with lust as he looks me over and takes me in from head to toe again, like he can't get enough. I'm not used to guys—to anyone, really—looking at me like that.

“You think I'd put up with their crap if I didn't? These fucking wankers chewed up my best pair of riding boots.”

Royal finishes his cigarette and drops it onto the pavement, putting it out with his boot. I look around, but I don't see any butts anywhere. He must actually clean them up every once in a while. That shouldn't come as a shock, but it kind of does.

“You're an interesting man, Royal McBride,” I say and he smiles at me. “If you hadn't threatened me yesterday and broke into my house today, I might even like you.”

“I tried to tell you, Pint-Size, but you wouldn't have any of it. I wasn't threatening you. If I had been, you'd have known.” He looks down at me, his face emptying of humor for a moment. The shift in mood scares me a little, but I stand my ground. “That was an offer of protection, still is. You have something to tell me about that FBI man, and I'll see what I can do. If any of the boys finds out something you don't want them to know—and trust me, they'll be looking for it—then I won't be able to help you.”

“Help me?” I ask, trying not to sound indignant. I need to tread carefully here. “Help me how? What are you trying to say, Royal?”

He takes a step toward me and I get a sick feeling in my stomach, like this is a subject I don't want to mess with. My mind reels with the implications of what I've done. Calling Brent … it didn't seem like such a big deal at the time, just a means to an end.
Goddamn it, Brent.
If he hadn't gone poking around, looking for trouble, this wouldn't be happening right now.

“Please tell me you don't know anything else about this, love, and I'll believe you. Look me right in the eye and swear it up and down. If this gets messy, I don't want to see you tangled up in it.”