Naked Dirty Love (9 page)

Trey nodded his head along with all the others before standing and grounding out his cigarette in the same glass ashtray.

“Can you hang back a minute, bro?”

He looked up, meeting Cillian’s calculating gaze. “Sure.”

Both men waited until everyone cleared the room.

His brother glared at him. “I know this has to be difficult for you. Belfast ain’t no joke—problem is most of the guys in here don’t know it. Are you sure you’re ready to make a run? I can put you on detail here if you’re not ready to deal.”

Trey shook his head. “I’m fine. Besides, I need to get back out there. All this mopin’ around is killin’ me. It’s worse now that I’m home. In Belfast, I didn’t have time to think and I’m better when I’m on the move—”

“You don’t
need
to be on the move, what you need is some pussy. Yeah, I know she ain’t gonna be Keri, but it’s time you started usin’ your dick to help you forget your troubles a bit. Nobody knows what you’re goin’ through but you shouldn’t be doin’ it alone.” Cillian laid his hand on Trey’s shoulder and squeezed.

“I know, but I ain’t feelin’ a woman like that right now.”

“Or maybe a certain fiery redhead is the only woman you’re feelin’ right now,” his brother replied. “I’m not blind. I see the way you look at her. I don’t know the history is between you two but I’d go for it.”

Trey’s dark eyebrows shot up. “Yeah, that’s the problem…too much fuckin’ history between Kyra and me—ain’t gonna work.” He walked toward the door and opened it.

“Why’s that?” Cillian called over his shoulder.

“The bitch is off limits,” he replied. “That’s what Jonesy told me back then and I doubt anything’s changed now that I’ve got a new cut on my back.”

He strode out the door and left the club as quietly as he’d come.

Chapter Four

Kyra

T
he tune of “Do What U Want” startled me out of my REM sleep and, for once, I wanted to throw my phone across the room and murder Lady Gaga for making such a catchy fucking song in the first place. I also had a “What the fuck?” moment too for assigning the ringtone to Trey. If that wasn’t my subconscious at work, I don’t know what the hell it was. I still couldn’t believe I’d consciously choose that song for him, of all people.

“Hello?” I answered, stifling a yawn.

“Hey…sorry to wake you. I just had to call in case you heard from a certain person.”

I sat up in bed, my heart thundering in my chest. “Yeah, what about?”

“A run came up—I don’t have a choice, I gotta go. We’re going to SoCal to see a shipment through. We’ve been havin’ some issues lately and there’s gotta be muscle there,” he said in that drop dead sexy voice of his.

God, he sounded hot as hell even at two in the morning. Or maybe it was because he hadn’t gone to bed yet. Some of us no longer had a best friend we could depend on for long, leisurely wine nights and now, two glasses of top-shelf Cabernet Sauvignon put us to sleep.

Okay, that would be me since Gisela was back with Cillian and he took up more of her free time than not. We still hung out but my best friend finally in a stable relationship complicated things. She would eventually be the old lady of a fucking club Prez and I was the daughter of one. Neither my mother nor I had it easy; neither would she nor the twins she was expecting by her soon-to-be husband.

“That’s not a problem. I can arrange something in southern California but…you have to be discreet. Can Trista cover for you if you tell her it’s important?”

“If I know my mom, she’s not gonna want my sister involved. Besides, I can get away easily but I need to know she’s gonna be there. I can’t risk everything and have her be a no-show.”

I shook my head, knowing he couldn’t see me do it. “That won’t be an issue, I promise. As soon as she calls me, I’ll let her know things have changed. Don’t worry about it—that’s my job, remember? I’ll get it arranged.”

“Thanks, Kyra.”

I knew he’d be hanging up any moment by the tone of his voice but now that he’d woken me up, he owed me something. The least he could do was put me back to sleep with that sex-personified voice of his.

“Um…do you wanna come over? You kinda woke me up, and now I can’t sleep,” I said boldly.

Shit!
Where the hell did
that
come from? Now he would think I was interested in a bootie call.

“Listen, if it’s ’cause you wanna talk then I’m all ears. If it’s for somethin’ else, I can’t help ya there. I’m barely holdin’ on as it is,” he replied frankly. “No, it’s nothing sexual. I just…” I trailed off and bit my bottom lip. “I don’t want to be alone. That’s all.”

“Well why didn’t you say something before? I know how silence can drive a person crazy. When I’m alone, I have to listen to music or watch TV to get to sleep. It hasn’t been easy to sleep, not since Belfast.”

“Come over. I’ll make you a cup of coffee or get you a beer—whatever you need.”

Trey laughed out loud. “I don’t need much. I’m leaving now so expect me soon.”

“Okay.” I pressed End and threw my phone on the bed.

I quickly slid into a pair of pajama shorts since I only wore matching tank top and panties to sleep. The weather was cold as hell and my apartment was warm enough without being uncomfortable. I enjoyed late autumn and early winter, especially here in Northern Nevada, but so much crap had happened over the past eleven months, I only wished the year was over.

The silence didn’t bother me to the same extent it disturbed Trey but, then again, I hadn’t watched someone I loved die. People lived by the club and they died by the club. I wasn’t a stranger to death, given my background, but I’d yet to be deeply touched by it. The closest I’d really been to losing it was when Gisela disappeared for almost a year during our teen years. Her parents wouldn’t tell anyone anything except she was fine and would be back soon enough. No one had put two and two together, mostly because even I didn’t know she’d gone so far as to have a boyfriend, let alone get knocked up.

Eventually she’d told me the truth and, although I wished she’d been honest with me before she left, I couldn’t possibly stay mad at her. Yes, I’d lost my best friend for almost a year but she’d handed her own flesh and blood over to strangers as soon as she gave birth. Her situation was definitely more traumatic than mine.

Gisela and I had always been close, even in college. We’d attended the same universities and graduated with honors in law. She’d been there for me when I’d had to get an unfortunate D&C after I hemorrhaged. At the time, I wasn’t even aware I was pregnant. The relationship had gone the way of all my previous sexual escapades with men but I still regretted what happened. If I’d known, perhaps I wouldn’t have lived so recklessly and wasted so much time.

I knew I was still young. Hell, I was only thirty and had plenty of time to find the right guy, get married, and have kids but I highly doubted it would be that simple. My dad being who he was limited the men I could consider for potential marriage material. There wasn’t one guy in the club I wanted to be with that didn’t already have an old lady. I didn’t shoplift cock and I didn’t sleep with married men. Not that I judged women who did—hell, my best friend had done it twice—but it was my own firm principle.

Everyone expected the worst out of me just because my father was President of an MC and they wouldn’t find it, not with me. Sadly, I only wanted one guy and he was off limits for two reasons. The first being my dad, who’d given us explicit instructions never to pursue anything with each other. The second was his mother—though using an alias—was my client. There was no six degrees of separation like Gisela’s relationship with Cillian. Though he was, technically, considered her client, he hadn’t been paying the bills. The Saints used a dummy Corporation for all their legit operations.

That didn’t mean I couldn’t dream though and what I wanted was a night filled with fantasies about Trey. Hopefully, they would be easy to achieve after seeing him in the flesh.

The doorbell rang, startling me out of my thoughts. I quickly stood, strode to the front door, and opened it.

Trey stood in front of me looking as delicious as ever. When did this man
ever
look bad? Dressed casually in a dark long-sleeved t-shirt with the leather Saints cut, a pair of indigo jeans, and steel-toed shit-kickers on his feet. He might have thought he looked like shit since he hadn’t shaved in a couple days, and finger-combed his hair but, hot damn, the man was a fine-ass package.

I stepped out of the way as he strode into my condo, his presence filling my space like the air I breathed. I never realized the place was so small until someone like him commandeered it just by walking inside.

“Make yourself at home.” I turned away to hide the flush spreading from my cheeks all the way down to my neck and beyond. My face felt hot and, all the sudden, it seemed really warm and entirely too damn claustrophobic.

I’d always loved my condo with the stunning view of Lake Tahoe from my balcony, until now. It felt too closed in and confined. I’d never wanted to buy a house more in my life than I wanted to now.

“I have wine or beer. Can I get you anything?” I asked, my mouth dry and desperate for anything alcoholic, if only to relax my frayed nerves.

“What kind of beer you got?” Trey asked behind me.

“Beck’s. Most men seem to like it even if they think imported beer is for metrosexuals—”

“It’s fine.” His voice felt too close to me. I turned to realize he was definitely in my space, mere inches from us touching.

His breath smelled fresh, and those liquid pools of hazel—pale green irises with striations of amber-gold surrounding the pupils—brilliant, as they were mesmerizing. I traced the bridge of his Roman-shaped nose and his lips parted slightly.

“Okay,” I replied as he grabbed my wrist, holding it softly in his hand.

The scent of his body washed over me. He’d recently showered, the mixture of body wash and expensive cologne lingering as I stood near him.

“I don’t care about what kind of beer you have, Kyra. Whether it’s imported or domestic—it doesn’t matter to me.” Trey’s eyes never left mine. “I’m a fraud, babe. Born into this life by
blood
, not by family. I’ve been actin’ so long…playing a part I had to mold myself to fit. I like imported beer and hiking by the lake, but I also love having that steel beast underneath me, and a woman pressed against me from behind. Just the Harley, the highway, miles of pavement, and nothing between nature and us—sounds like a perfect day, doesn’t it?”

“Yes, it does,” I whispered as he gently let go of my wrist and his arm swept around my waist. “You’re not a fraud, Trey. I don’t know why you left the Bastards and it’s none of my business, either. If you’re happier with the Saints then isn’t that what counts? This life…how can you say it wasn’t meant for you?”

He pulled me closer until we were touching. All I could feel was the warmth of his body infusing, consuming, my own. Nothing existed outside our own little bubble and that was okay with me.

“I didn’t leave the Bastards because I wanted to, babe.” He licked his lips and my eyes followed the salacious act. “I didn’t have a choice.”

Okay, maybe I hadn’t outgrown damp panties but hadn’t found a man worthy of making it happen in a very long time. Trey had me feeling heart palpitations, damp palms; goose bumps covered my fair, freckled flesh, and my panties were indeed wet with my sex feeling as flushed as my face. “Why don’t you hold that thought,” I replied, after I regained a semblance of breath. “I’ll go get you a beer and a glass of wine for me.”

He nodded before his arm dropped from my waist. The heat from him was missed immediately and my condo didn’t feel so warm or claustrophobic anymore. I felt numb, unable to process anything at all without his touch.

I knew my behavior was irrational. I was acting like some crazed, love-starved teenager when men had never been a problem. I’d known Trey for a long time, so why did he have this power over me? Perhaps because he’d homed onto me like a goddamn missile seeking out its target and I was it. Finally, he had me in his sights and was determined not to let me slip away this time.

If only that were true,
I thought wistfully.

What was so fucking special about me? I was a red-haired, blue-eyed, white girl, born and bred in Northern Nevada. Both my parents were immigrants from Wales but had lived more time here in the States than in their homeland. Yes, I had my fancy education and wild club pussy, but I was no one of a kind bitch. No chick grew up in the club and behaved any different from me.

Was I more refined?

Obviously, but, at the end of the day, I was still Jonesy Hughes’ oldest little girl and the Prez’s daughter. I still felt like trash when Gisela and I met up with our classy friends from Stanford and Harvard. Where she felt like their equals, and just as good as them—if not better—I felt like an imposter.