The Skeleton King (Dartmoor Book 3) (32 page)

              The wine was at least decent. Walsh had headed for the bar to get her a second glass, and that’s when Chanel had swooped in.

              Across the coffee table, Briscoe said, “Girl, don’t be bothering his old lady. She don’t wanna talk to you.”

              “She does too,” Chanel insisted, hands going on her hips, chest thrusting forward.

              “No, she doesn’t,” a female voice said, and Maggie Teague appeared, standing on the other side of the groupie, somehow making a plaid shirt, jeans, and boots look like Fashion Week’s finest. “Go see what the beer situation is, Chanel. I’ll keep the new Mrs. Walsh company.”

              The groupie hustled to obey with a fast “yes, ma’am.”

              As the queen sat beside her, Emmie didn’t know who she would have rather been subjected to. Chantel was…well, it wasn’t nice what she was thinking. But there was no agenda there. No cunning.

              “How’s it going?” Maggie asked. Light. Casual.

              Emmie stepped carefully regardless. “Good.”

              “Ever been to anything like this?” She gestured to the party with her beer bottle.

              “Not since high school. There were topless girls then, too, but they weren’t getting paid with anything besides gonorrhea.”

              Maggie snorted. “RJ, meanwhile, gives a girl such a great compensation package.”

              Across the way, he was pulling the stripper astride him, and it was obvious his jeans were undone.

              Emmie felt her cheeks warm, but she kept her cool, turned to give the other woman a raised-brow look. “Don’t you just love the way he respects her?”

              They both laughed together, and Maggie’s smile looked genuine, her eyes dancing. “God,” she said with a sigh, “I remember my first club party. Waaaay back. I was sixteen,” she said with a glance that was wondering if Emmie would judge her.

              Emmie didn’t.

              “And the second I walked in, there was a guy laid out on the pool table, and a girl was going down on him, and I freaked the hell out.” She laughed again, quietly. “I was halfway down the street before Ghost caught up to me.”

              “He convinced you to come back?”

              “No, he took me to an all-night diner and we had chocolate chip pancakes.” Her smile was directed inward, toward her memories. “And he made me a promise. He said no matter what I saw, no matter how crazy things got, none of that would ever touch me. ‘You’re not a conquest,’ he told me. ‘You’re my girl, and no one else’s.’”

              “They’ve all got a sweet side, don’t they?” Emmie asked.

              Maggie nodded. “The good ones do.”

~*~

Aidan dropped his head to whisper in Tonya’s ear. “Wishing that was you and me?”

              Up close, he could see her cheeks flush, see her skin prickle with gooseflesh. Her eyes were trained on RJ, where one of the naked club girls straddled him, working herself against him, the trailing tail of his belt proving this wasn’t a dry-humping situation.

              “This place is disgusting,” she whispered, but her eyes told a different story when they flashed to his face. Her gaze said
Fuck me
.

              “Then let’s get out of here.”

              Her hand was trembling when he took hold of it, and he knew it had nothing to do with nerves. He led her through the crowd and out of the clubhouse, the clean air punching down into his lungs. He hadn’t even had a drink yet, but he was buzzing.

              Tonya ran her hands up and down his back while he unlocked the bike shop. She pressed her breasts up against him as she followed him through the dark lobby and out into the garage bays.

              The lights came on with a loud thrum, flooding the space with harsh fluorescent light. The customer bike he’d been working on earlier was still parked in the center of the first bay, and the sight of it gave him an idea. One that got him hard.

              When he turned to Tonya, she braced her palms on his chest, leaned forward on her toes.

“Kiss me,” she said, breathlessly.

“No.” He hooked his hands in the front of her dress and gave a sharp tug. The silk split down the middle with a tearing sound, and she gasped, but didn’t move to cover herself.

She wasn’t wearing a bra, and her nipples were hard, aroused points, rosy thanks to her full-body flush. Aidan pinched them between his fingers, harder than he should have, until he heard her swift intake of breath.

He bent his head toward her, hovered his lips above hers; her neck softened and she tried to melt against him. He held back, not quite kissing her. “Turn around, and put your hands on the bike.”

“No, I–”

“Do it.”

The light in her eyes was feral as she turned to comply, bracing both hands on the bike seat, arching her back and popping her ass toward him. She glanced over her shoulder in silent challenge, egging him on.

She was going to regret that.

He pushed up the hem of her dress, all the way up, over her ass, bunched it up at her waist. The rustle of the silk wound him tighter, made his hands jerkier, crueler. She’d told the truth about the no-panties thing, and visible in the dim glow of the garage lights, her sex was already wet and glistening with arousal.

There wasn’t a drop of blood in his brain at this point, all of it funneling down his body, pounding in his cock with each heartbeat. Nothing in the world mattered as much as getting inside her. He tore at the fastenings of his jeans, freeing his erection. He didn’t take the time to test her with his fingers, stretch her, ready her. He braced a hand on the small of her back, aligned their bodies, and drove into her. Hard.

Tonya made a sound that was part-yelp, part-moan, and it electrified him. He latched onto her hips and started moving, let the need to thrust into her again and again take over.

He was rough, hammering into her, digging into her hips with his fingers until he knew he’d leave dark bruises. Her hands slipped on the bike and she almost fell, catching herself at the last moment. He didn’t relent, just kept up the driving rhythm, until he could hear his skin smacking against hers; his hands and her hips were so slick with sweat he could barely hold onto her.

It wasn’t about Tonya. As he fucked her like a club groupie in the goddamn garage where he worked on bikes, he knew that this moment had nothing to do with her. He’d wanted it to. He’d been attracted to her. Physically, yes…but he’d liked her fire. Had thought that meant something. That maybe she was…special. Something. He didn’t know. She was supposed to be different, the cool, calm, classy broad he needed in his life.

But she was just a slut with issues, like every girl he’d ever fucked before.

She let out a high, keening cry as she came, and he didn’t care, bearing down on her harder, working those last hard thrusts to his own release. And that’s all it was for him – a release. Because there was no satisfaction in it.

He pulled out and turned away from her, straightened his clothes, zipped up. Pushed his sweat-slick hands through his hair and took a deep, shuddering breath.

He hadn’t changed at all, had he? Same old fuckup Aidan. Same habit, different pussy.

Tonya’s breathing slowly evened out behind him. Her stilettos clipped across the concrete, and her hands latched onto his triceps. “Aidan.” Her voice was deep, ragged, satiated.

“We’re leaving,” he said. “We’re done.”

~*~

“Were you the first one to leave?” Holly asked, grinning, as Michael braced a hand on the arm of the couch and leaned down to kiss her. He tasted like smoke and whiskey, and stank of cigarettes, the scent falling off his leather jacket and cut.

              His mouth twitched as he pulled back. “Yeah.”

              “You didn’t have to. We’re fine here. Lucy’s been down for about a half hour. And that guy who was looking in the windows is gone now, right?”

              He sighed and dropped down beside her, arm draping absently across her lap, one hand curling around her knee. “Yeah.” He glanced at the TV and frowned. “What the hell are you watching?”

              She covered his hand with hers. “It’s this cooking competition. They’re making cupcakes, but they have time limits, and they have to use certain ingredients.”

              “Exciting.”

              “It’s fun,” she defended. “And it’s given me some new recipe ideas. How do you feel about maple bacon cupcakes with buttercream frosting?”

              He glanced over and gave her one of his little twitchy Michael-smiles. “You’re a wild woman, Mrs. McCall.”

              “Wilder than you. Why’d you leave the party early?”

              He shrugged and his eyes went back to the TV.

              “I thought things were better. With you and the guys.” Much to her delight, he’d been making friends with all of them. He was never going to be a high-fiving, what’s-up-bro kind of friend, but he had bonds with his brothers now, Mercy and Walsh especially. She and Ava had even managed a double dinner date a couple of times.

              “They are.”

              She stroked his knuckles. Even in summer, they were chapped from the wind, all those hours on the bike. “You’re just not a party animal, are you?”

              He didn’t comment, but his hand tightened on her knee.

              “That’s fine with me.” She leaned sideways, so she could rest her head against his shoulder. “I’d rather have you home, watching cupcake competitions.”

              He snorted, and she knew it meant
me too
.

~*~

Ava was far enough along that she was in the habit of talking to her belly. Partly because at eight months, the baby felt very much a part of the family, but also because he was a kicker, and their voices seemed to quiet him. “There’s Daddy,” she said as Mercy came in through the back door. “Do you hear him?” She laid a hand on her stomach. “It sounds like there’s a water buffalo shuffling around in my mud room when he takes his boots off. Daddy’s loud,” she added in a stage whisper as Mercy stepped into the kitchen.

              “In Daddy’s defense, so’s Mama when she gets worked up.” He grinned and stepped in to kiss her, put an arm around her and tucked her against him. Even when she was hugely pregnant, he made her feel small. “Baby, why are you on your feet? Go sit down.”

              “He’s restless,” she said, rubbing her belly. “So I’m walking laps. How was the party? You smell like a Marlboro manufacturing plant, so I’m guessing there was a good turnout.”

              “Meh.” He shrugged and steered her toward the living room, and the sofa. “The usual. Walsh brought his girl.”

              “How’d that go?”

              They reached the couch and he helped her lower down, sitting beside her afterward and pulling against his side. “I didn’t talk to her, but she seemed alright, actually. Some of ‘em get that look, you know? Like they can’t believe any of it. But she seemed cool. Saw her sitting with your mom.”

              “The hazer, you mean?”

              “She’s just gotta break ‘em in. You’d do it, if Mags didn’t.”

              “I wouldn’t.”

              He chuckled. “Oh yeah, you would.”

              She rolled her eyes. “
Anyway
. So Emmie’s gonna stick around, do you think?”

              “For Walsh’s sake, I hope so. Not that he’d ever say it or anything, but he’s got it bad.”

              Ava smiled. “I’ve always had this theory about Walsh.”

              “What’s that?”

              “I think he’s a total closet Romeo. I think he’s secretly romantic as hell.”

              “I’m telling him you said that.”

              “No, don’t!”

              Mercy laughed. “Too late, it’s out there. I can’t un-think it, and I can’t not say it.”

              “Don’t embarrass him, Merc.”

              “You’re bossy when you’re pregnant.” He squeezed her shoulders and grinned. “I like it.”

              “You’re a doof.” She settled against him more fully, the fatigue washing through her now that she was off her feet. “And now I’m gonna have two doof sons.”

              “Aren’t you the lucky lady.”

~*~

Walsh realized, as the party began to wind down and the local members dispersed, that he’d been waiting for something to happen. His nerves had danced all evening as he waited for Emmie to be offended, to be outraged, to stomp up to him with eyes flashing. It had to be too much for a respectable girl like her – his club world. But he watched her talk to Maggie, saw the tension leave her small shoulders. He’d heard her laugh, had watched her wave a hand through a cloud of cigarette smoke and smile rather than frown.