The Sinner’s Tribe Motorcycle Club, Books 1-3 (49 page)

“I'm not injured everywhere.” The deep rumble of his voice made her skin tingle.

“Seriously?” Dawn swallowed hard as her hands followed the shirt up his torso, her fingers brushing over heated skin and hard muscle. God, he was magnificent, all taut pecs and rippling abs. Even the bruises couldn't mar the perfection of his body. “How can you be thinking of sex at a time like this?”

His voice dropped, husky and low. “'Cause you're standin' between my legs wearing a tiny pair of shorts that only cover the top of your ass cheeks, and a damn tight top that doesn't hide what you're thinking.” He leaned forward in the chair, so close she could feel his breath on her skin. “And nothing underneath.”

Dawn's breath hitched and her blood heated, thundered through her veins. Until this moment, focused on Cade's injuries, her attire had been totally irrelevant. “How do you know I have nothing underneath?”

Cade traced lazy circles up the sensitive skin of her inner thigh, pausing at edge of her cotton PJ shorts. Dawn stilled as her brain clouded with desire. It was always this way with Cade: A chemistry so potent she was surprised they didn't combust.

“Let's see.” He slid his finger inside her shorts and stroked along the sensitive crease at the top of her thigh, sending a zing of electricity straight to her core.

“Hmmm. Can't tell. Spread for me, baby. Let me in.”

Her face flushed. God, the things he said did all the wrong things to the right parts of her body. “Cade … this isn't the time. You're hurt. Let me look after you.”

He grabbed her hips, pulling her so close she could feel his heat through her clothes. Dawn breathed in his scent of blood and grass, mixed with heady aroma of leather and manly musk, and a delicious shiver ran up her spine.

“You are taking care of me,” he said. “Man gets in a fight. Hurts all over. He wants to feel good. He wants something to make him forget the pain. And you—all soft and sexy and smellin' like flowers—will do the trick.”

“I thought you came here for help.” Dawn made a token effort at resistance and raised an eyebrow. “I didn't realize it was a booty call.”

“You got the nicest booty I ever seen.” Cade slid a hand down her hip, and gave her ass a squeeze. Before she could move away, his finger was inside her shorts, stroking over the bare skin of her folds. She gasped as moisture flooded her sex, and her nipples tightened beneath her thin cotton tank. Had she really thought things would be different from every other time they'd been together?

“Naughty girl,” he whispered. “You go to bed without your panties and someone might take advantage.”

“Cade.” She pulled back just enough to dislodge his questing finger, at once disconcerted and aroused. “Why did you come here?”

His shoulders slumped and he leaned back in the chair, his easy capitulation more disturbing than his injuries. “The minute I got outta there, I called Jagger. Told him what had happened. The Brethren are planning to patch over to the Jacks. You know what that means.”

“The Black Jacks could destroy the Sinners.” She pulled the shirt over his head, biting her lip when she saw the extent of his injuries. Not an inch of his torso had been spared. His skin was a mass of swelling and bruises, with a few surface knife slashes across his abdomen below the fabulous tat of blue wings and twin pistons across his chest. And were those boot prints on his side?

Cade stiffened when she reached for his belt. “He called an executive board meeting for eight o'clock tomorrow morning.”

“I'm not surprised.” The executive board—consisting of a president, vice president, secretary, sergeant-at-arms, treasurer, road captain and two members-at-large—governed all outlaw clubs. The board made all the key decisions about the club and reported back to the members in weekly mandatory “church” meetings attended only by full-patch members of the MC.

Cade pushed himself to standing and unzipped his fly, wincing when he tried pushing off his jeans. Dawn gently moved his hands away from her body, taking a moment to collect herself, before she said, “Let me.”

Licking her dry lips, she eased his jeans over his narrow hips, dropping to her knees in front of him to slide them over his powerful thighs and muscular calves.

Without taking his gaze off her, Cade stepped out of his clothes, seemingly unembarrassed to be standing in her kitchen, wearing only black boxers and sporting a sizable erection.

“Dawn…” Cade's voice cracked even as his gaze burned into her. Focused. Intent.

She should get up. Kneeling in front of him like this was sending all the wrong messages … for both of them. He was hurt. Badly. His injuries needed tending, and she didn't want this. Didn't want to open this door again. And yet she couldn't pull herself away.

“You still haven't told me why you came here,” she said.

Cade sifted his hand through her hair, his touch more soothing than erotic. “I needed to tell you something … Fucking bastard's coming after you. He's gonna make you choose between going back to him or losing your kids.”

Dawn stood, removing herself from temptation. “I knew the risks, but I couldn't help myself. I miss my girls so much I ache inside every minute of every day.” Her throat tightened and she looked away. “I've been fighting to get them back for a year now, but the court process is slow and Jimmy has the money to pay a lawyer to drag out the case with frivolous motions that are draining me dry.”

“How the fuck did the courts get involved?” He toyed with her curls, twirling them around his fingers as he cupped her jaw in his hand. “One-percenters don't do civil weddings. We find a woman we want to be with; we make her an old lady. Fuck the courts. Fuck the law. And when a biker says it's over, it's over. Simple.”

“Simple if he says it's over. Hell if he doesn't. Double hell if he was the one who initiated the civilian wedding. Triple hell if he was clever enough to use the system against me.” She sighed and tipped her head against his hand, his palm warm and soothing on her skin. “He was so angry when I filed for divorce, but he'd planned for it, and he used the system against me. He hired a shady private investigator to set me up. The guy wore a school sweatshirt and said he was selling tickets for the school picnic. I handed him the money. He handed me a Baggie filled with crack. I was thrown off for a moment, trying to figure out what it was. Even though I'd seen quarters like that before, because we were behind the school, and I wasn't expecting it, I thought for a moment it was a sugary treat for the kids, or some kind of fairy dust. By the time I figured it out, it was too late. Someone was secretly filming our encounter. Jimmy produced the tape at the custody hearing. He paid off the judge so no questions were asked. My lawyer did everything he could, but on its face, and given my history, it looked bad.”

“Bastard.”

“I was so scared for the girls,” she said softly. “I didn't know he planned to give them to Shelly-Ann just to spite me. He'd hit Tia once before…”

“He hit your kids?”

Instantly she realized her mistake. Cade was nothing if not protective. The first time they'd met, she and Arianne had been fleeing the Black Jacks and Cade offered to take her to the safety of the clubhouse and spend the night watching over her. One motorcycle ride pressed up against Cade's broad back later, and she'd let him watch her in more ways than one.

“Yes, he did. That's when I finally left him.” She didn't mention the years of abuse she'd endured as Jimmy's old lady. The day she'd left Jimmy was the day she put the past behind her; the day she realized she was a fighter and a survivor. The day she'd started her life as Dawn, and not Dee.

Cade thudded his fist against the cabinet. “Fucking cowardly piece of shit beating on children. Gimme my clothes and I'll go out there—”

“Cade.”

“I'll find him and show him just how it feels to be beaten up by someone bigger and stronger. Then I'll flay him alive—”

“Cade.”

“And when he's on the ground whimpering and pissing in his pants, I'll pull out my gun—”

“Cade, honey.” She pressed her hands against the only unmarked skin on his chest, stilling him in a heartbeat. “Can we save the beating and flaying talk until tomorrow? I have a feeling you won't be able to get off the couch in the morning, much less pulverize Jimmy, and I'll have nightmares if you keep it up. Not that I'm turning the offer down. I'm quite happy to endorse the beat-him-till-he-pisses-his-pants plan. But not right now.”

“You want revenge?”

“When someone messes with my children, I'm not going to shed any tears if someone lands a few good blows on the bastard's face, except for the fact I couldn't do it myself.”

Cade gave a satisfied growl. “At your service.”

She licked her lips and Cade slid his hand over her hip, pulling her against him. His erection pressed against her belly and Dawn bit back a groan. Even battered and bruised, Cade turned her on like no man ever had. “I'm sure you are. But why?”

*   *   *

Why?

Because when he'd been on his knees on the gravel road with a pistol pointed at his head, he was sure he was going to die. But instead of thinking back over his life, trying to relive thirty years in the space of a heartbeat, he'd thought about her: The softness of her skin. The warmth of her smile. The way the sunlight glinted on her hair, making it look like spun gold. He'd thought about running his hands over her beautiful body, in and out of her sweet curves, cupping her breasts in his palms and licking her dusky-rose nipples until she writhed on the bed. He remembered how easily she rode pillion on his bike, the feeling of her arms around his waist, the way men looked at her in the bar and how everyone wanted what he'd had for only two nights.

Cade had been with more women than he could count. But the only face he could remember was hers.

When Mad Dog had pressed the barrel of the pistol against his forehead, he thought about every detail of those two nights with her. And in that moment he decided two things. First, it wasn't a good day to die. And second, if he did manage to escape, he would find a way to make those two nights into something more.

But Jesus fucking Christ if he didn't get her away from him right now his more-than-two-nights dream would be over in two minutes. Already the throbbing in his cock far exceeded the pain in every other part of his body.

“Cade?” She looked up at him, big green eyes wide and glistening, her lips pink and plump, wet from the little flicks of her tongue.

Cade let out a tortured groan and tightened his hand in her hair. The urge to settle her back on her knees, shove down his boxer briefs, and slide his cock into that soft, sweet mouth was overwhelming. And from the way she was looking at him, he was damn sure she wouldn't say no. He'd never met a woman whose needs so matched his own, who knew what he wanted before he did, and was totally and absolutely uninhibited in bed. There was nothing she wouldn't try and in the two nights they'd spent together, they'd tried a lot.

“You got some whiskey?”

She turned away, breaking the spell. Cade sat heavily in the chair thanking God for the small mercy of whiskey and its miraculous powers of healing, numbing, and taking a man's mind off soft plump lips and little pink tongues.

By the time she finished tending his wounds and settling him on the couch, he was rock-hard again, but fairly certain he wouldn't be able to do much about it with his veins now running at least 75 percent alcohol.

“I think you'll live.” Dawn handed him a blanket. “I'll see you in the morning.”

“Where are you going?”

“Bed. I have a job waitressing at Table Tops and I have to be there at seven
A.M.
”

He stretched out his arm, motioning her back, and gritted his teeth against the pain. “You're gonna leave an injured man alone all night? What if I lose consciousness?”

She lifted an admonishing eyebrow and Cade grinned. He liked that about her. She didn't easily take offense, nor did she take any crap. And she totally got his sense of humor, although right now he wasn't being funny.

“It's called sleep, and you know what it's like when we're together. We can't…”

“I'll be good. You have my word.” Part of him couldn't believe he'd been reduced to begging. He'd never begged to sleep with a woman. In fact, he'd never had to pursue a woman. Nor had he ever been rejected.

But then he'd never been interested in anything other than a casual hookup. Relationships required intimacy, and he had no template for a healthy, intimate relationship. He enjoyed the company of women, their gentle temperament, and the softness of their bodies. After he had what he wanted, whether it was to be teased, tempted, or sexually relieved, or to ease the ache in his soul, he was just as happy to walk away. But he was always up front. He was there for a good time, not a long time. And when he left, he did so with no regrets and no trail of broken hearts.

Her head fell back and she groaned. “You can sleep in my bed only because you're badly injured, but if your hands or any other part of your body moves off your side, I won't be responsible for my actions. Arianne gave me a gun and taught me how to use it.”

“You'd shoot me for a little cuddle? It's a scientific fact that sex releases healing hormones. Don't you want me to get better?” He couldn't help but turn on the charm he used to lure women to his bed, and yet, for the first time, the teasing banter left a bitter taste in his mouth.

Her lips quivered with a repressed smile. “I highly doubt you'd be able to perform in your current condition.”

“Performance is never an issue.” He whipped off the blanket to reveal the erection tenting his briefs. Apparently his cock could withstand the effects of excessive alcohol consumption and bone-numbing pain in the presence of a beautiful woman in ass-revealing shorts and a skimpy tank top.