Lock and Key (49 page)

We were wrapped around each other, our muscles wobbly, our breathing finally steady.

“Moving inside you bare goes right to the core, Grace,” he whispered against my arm.

We didn’t leave his huge platform bed until the afternoon sun made the room glow with a dark golden light.

“I have to say, I like your bed. A lot,” I said. My fingers traced over the glossy live edge slab of wood that was the headboard. “It can stay.”

A chuckle rose in his throat. “Glad to hear it.” His lips touched my forehead. “Get up, baby. I wanna show you the bike,” he said.

I blinked up at him.

“The Indian Chief, Grace.” Miller gave my bare ass a pinch.

“Ow!”

I let out a huff, and he threw me a wicked grin over his shoulder as he pushed off the bed and sauntered from the room. I hugged his pillow and enjoyed the show: long powerful legs, lean hips, and a small sculpted rear, a broad sleek back and even broader shoulders all in a fierce, yet graceful package.

My man.

Yes, he is my man. All mine. Imagine that.

My body still hummed with him. I rubbed the sage green cotton pillowcase where his head had lain moments before. My mouth and hands had taken their sweet time memorizing the feel of his smooth bronze skin and the lines and dips of his entire body. His flesh had shivered under my touch.

After we had made love, I’d leaned over him and kissed him gently one last time. He had looked up at me with those molten eyes. The silver threads intrigued me all over again, just as they had the first time I had noticed them. His fingers reached up to my face and traced a trail down my forehead, my nose and rested on my lips.

“Marry me, Grace.” He had let my name out on a sigh. His heart pounded under my palm.

I shook with laughter.

“What the hell is so funny?”

“You’re a brave man. You just had to convince me to move in with you. And now, hours later, you’re asking me to marry you?”

“That’s right.”

“You’re confident, aren’t you?”

“I figured I had the advantage after all those orgasms I just gave you.”

I bit his fingers, and he chuckled.

“Babe, do you need to try me before you buy me?”

I shook my head. My lips nuzzled his fingers.

“So, was that a yes to my proposal?”

“Yes.”

He took in a deep breath. “Love you, baby,” he whispered.

I closed my eyes again and enjoyed the warmth that filled my chest. I thanked God, the Spirit of the Great Eagle, and all of nature and the universe for it.

For him.

Miller’s rich laugher shook me from my thoughts.

“Woman, get your sweet ass out of that bed already!” his voice thundered from the bathroom.

I sighed and smiled at the ceiling.

The metal of the garage clambered and shook as Miller dragged it up and jerked it open. The dark garage yawned before us. Metal and chrome glimmered in the afternoon light. Mustiness and the smell of gasoline and metal assaulted us.

Miller took my hand in his and squeezed it. We stepped inside. My other hand covered his.

“It’s over there,” his chin jerked towards a hulking mass in the corner covered in a dirty tarp.

Wreck had found an Indian Chief frame from the early fifties, before the company got bought and resold and reintroduced the bikes. He had kept it hidden in his garage for years. When he had finally found Miller and brought him home from Pine Ridge, he had decided it would be their project to work on together. He had taught Miller everything he knew about a scooter and more. I had only seen the bike in a photo Wreck had once shown me with a skinny, long-haired teenage Miller striking a proud pose on its seat with Wreck at his side, an arm draped over his shoulder.

I have to find that photo!

Miller pulled off the tarp.

I froze.

“Is it the bike in your dream?” Miller asked. His lips cemented into a firm line.

“How can that be?” I asked. “I’ve only seen it once, and that was so long ago. Wreck didn’t even ride it when you were away.”

“Dreams are the language of the mind, Grace. Over time your mind catalogues random items and experiences in your life and uses them as symbols to work things out when it needs to.”

“More Grandma Kim wisdom?” I asked.

“No.” Lock rubbed the back of his neck with his palm and grinned at me. “A buddy of mine in the army was a psych major in college and was really into dream interpretation. We used to talk about this shit for hours on patrol.”

“Ah.”

“The key is to understand what the symbols in your dreams mean to you. Then you can unweave the meaning of the thing. And maybe you’ll learn something from its message about what you’re dealing with or where you need to go.”

Okay then. My brain flipped through the imagery of my dream.

Wreck on the Indian.

His passion for bikes, passion for the One-Eyed Jacks.

What does that mean to me?

I was on the back of that bike holding on to Wreck.

Wreck, my substitute older brother, quasi-father figure. Wreck on the vintage bike he restored for his long lost brother. For the brother he hunted for and found and gave shelter and love to. Something I admired enormously and would want for myself: security, love of family, refuge. Safety. Masculine protection. Father. Brother. Lover.

Miller
.

Driving in the dark faster and faster without lights. Wreck was the most experienced rider I have ever known and had taught me how to ride. Riding with him in the dream was scary, but exhilarating. Maybe I’ve got to trust my new feelings about Miller. Maybe I’ve got to move forward in general in my life, because yes, it is like flying over a dark highway in high gear.

And I’ve been roving blind and bound for too long.

My fingers brushed over the rusted, mangled handlebars of the damaged bike.

The Indian, the precious Indian. Rare. Restored over the years by the hand of one man who loved and gave and safeguarded. The Indian company. The first American motorcycle company that later struggled to reinvent itself over the years and blast back into the now competitive market after several resurrections.

My life.

“What is it?” Miller’s deep voice whipped me out of my reverie.

“Thinking over the dream,” I murmured.

Butler and Caitlyn.

Loss, the past. That was done. Life pushes on, doesn’t it?

Miller’s fingers rubbed over the scratched logo on the engine tank. “When I went into the army, we stored it in here. Then when I got out and joined the club, I rode it. But I rode it down into the ground. I was on a huge tear. One night I had been drinking too much, and I was on my way home from the clubhouse. It was raining hard. Didn’t give a shit. I was going too fast, didn’t pay much mind to the ditch at the head of the main road here, and she went flying. Not much happened to me, I had my gear on, but the goddamn bike took it hard. I hauled it back here, and here she sits ever since. Stupid.”

He exhaled, his chin hung low for a moment, and then our eyes met. His face was blank, yet for a second I saw the pained expression of a boy on those features. This special bike, this treasure, now all banged up and bruised, somewhat maimed and pretty rusted, had lain under a dirty tarp in a dark cave of a garage for so many years. Yet this vintage bike was still a thing of beauty, even if it looked more like a gaping wound.

“You never tried fixing it?” I asked.

His fingers tugged on his hoodie around his neck. He shook his head.

“You’ve got to fix it, Miller. It tells a story. Yours and Wreck’s. There’s lots of love and honor in this buckled metal. You’ve been fixing up the house. Baby, you’ve got to fix this bike.”

“Willy’s been after me to do it,” he said. “He’s good for leads on the parts, which are pretty scarce these days. He knows a lot of the old timers still around.” Miller’s gaze returned to the Indian. “I’d definitely need his help.”

“Do it.”

“By the way…” he said. “Who the hell is Karen, and why is she insisting I trick out her husband’s Nova?”

I threw my head back and laughed.

“You like it?”

The breath caught in my throat.

“Grace?”

The delicate diamond eternity band of rose gold around my finger was gorgeous. The new ring matched the white gold eternity band studded with emerald cut diamonds that was my wedding ring. And the delicate platinum eternity diamond band with smaller stones that was my engagement ring. All three were now stacked on my ring finger. They were perfect.

I lunged at my husband.

“I love it!” I whispered in Miller’s ear. His soft laughter filled my chest.

“A new one every year, baby. I’m gonna fill your fingers with them.” He kissed me. “Happy first anniversary, Grace.”

“Happy Anniversary.” My hands tugged through his hair and pushed the silky black locks behind his ears. I kissed him.

He groaned in my mouth. “Baby, I’m getting hard again. You don’t let go of me, you’re going to have to do something about it at lightning speed, and you know how I’m not into lightning speed with you these days.”

“Get over it,” I murmured. I pulled down his zipper, released his grateful cock from his boxers, and slid down his legs to the floor. His dark eyes shone and his lips parted.

I took him in my mouth and showed my husband my enthusiasm and appreciation for my glittery anniversary gift. He came in lightning speed. I smoothed his black boxer briefs up over him, tugged up his jeans and zipped them and rubbed his gorgeous ass. I held his somewhat astonished stare and grinned. “Ready for work now, baby?”

He fisted a hand in my hair and pulled me in for a deep kiss. “Love you, wife.” He bit my lip.

Miller and I got married three weeks after we moved my things into his house that day.

Initially, we had wanted to go to Vegas and make it a week long escapade, but then we decided our friends and family could really use the boost, and, frankly, so could we. We quickly put together a wedding ceremony at the local church where Mary Lynn’s brother-in-law was the pastor. (I didn’t want to get married at the club, Dig and I had done that. This time around I wanted a more traditional sanction from the Powers Above.) Wreck had walked me down the aisle the first time around. This time Ray gave me away, and Bear was Miller’s best man. Jake, of course, was our handsome ring bearer with Mary Lynn’s girls leading the parade down the aisle tossing rose petals everywhere.

Since winter was fast approaching, and we couldn’t have the party outside, we had the reception at Dead Ringer’s Roadhouse; the place where it all began or, actually, where it all ended. Ray insisted on springing for the party. There was catered food, plenty of booze, balloons, flowers, the works. Erica was thrilled to bake us a three-tiered dark chocolate cake layered with whiskey-flavored caramel. The cake was covered in off-white fondant with a simple beaded trim and was flourished with dark pink peonies on each tier. It was simple and elegant, just perfect.

We hired one of the band that played at the Roadhouse, and the party went all night long. All the One-Eyed Jacks brothers and their families were in attendance. It felt really good to have everyone be a part of our special day. Everyone except for Butler. He had given up the presidency and checked himself into a rehab. There was plenty to celebrate though. Jump and Vig had worked out a truce that satisfied everyone. At least for the time being.