Unruly (18 page)

“As long as I call first, right?” I teased, trying to end the renewal of my foolishly hopeful thoughts.

“No need.” He met my eyes and added, “I don't have a woman right now. Haven't since I moved here.”

“I've seen you with girls. There was that blonde—”

“Dating doesn't mean they're in my house . . . or my tub. I don't make a habit of bringing women to my home.” He shrugged. “I like my space. Killer's been here. Echo. Mike. That's really about it. This is my home, darlin', and that's not where I'd let just anyone wander about. Women I went out with once or twice aren't the same as you, and to be clear, Ellen, dating doesn't mean they're in my bed.”

“I wasn't saying you—”

“Actually you
were
,” he said, cutting me off. His voice grew harsh as if he was angry, even though I didn't know why. He shook his head and added, “You think just because Dash and Killer can't keep it zipped that we're all like that.”

“Killer's all but married to Aubrey already,” I corrected. I was still feeling protective of Killer. Ever since he'd gotten shot, I was prone to forgive most any offense and defend him ferociously. I crossed my arms and pointed out, “He's a one-woman Wolf now.”

Alamo nodded. “True. Aubrey's good people, even though I can't see how a sweet girl like her fell for a prickly bastard like him. He's a lucky man.” He met my eyes. “But Dash is a fool.”

“Because?” My voice grew all wobbly when I asked. I hated that he thought ill of me for my past with Noah.

Alamo shook his head, but he didn't clarify. He never brought it up, never mentioned the day we'd met. I wished he would. I wished he'd just tell me that he thought I was an idiot or a slut or whatever it was that he thought. All I knew was that when Dash's name came up or Alamo saw me talking to Dash, he turned away. Maybe
he
had never made a mistake, but that shouldn't mean that he judged me for one I made a long time ago.

“Right, then.” I took a breath and stepped closer to the tub and, consequently, closer to Alamo. There was no way to check the water and hold the jacket closed—or avoid bending over. Truthfully, though, I wasn't sure I wanted to either. I wasn't careless with my body, but I wasn't a prude either. If he was going to think I was a pass-around girl, maybe he'd end this ridiculous distance between us. There was no reason for him to know that I could count my bedmates on one hand and have fingers to spare. I hadn't been with anyone since Noah and I split.

I let go of the edges of the jacket, letting it gap open. Almost involuntarily, Alamo dropped his gaze to the middle of the bright blue bra and then down to the matching panties that I'd exposed. Earlier, it was dark enough and I was cold enough that I wasn't sure what he'd thought. I knew this set was a good choice for me though. The blue was a nice contrast against my pale skin, but it wasn't something predictable like black or red.

He took a moment simply staring at me, and I felt like my skin burned where his gaze touched. I rolled my left shoulder so the jacket fell off that side, and then pulled it forward over my right side. It looked as practiced as it was. I might not have a long list of ex-lovers, but I'd spent more than a few hours learning how to make myself look natural and relaxed at things that were terrifying. My body wasn't perfect, but whose is? Confidence was sexier than physical perfection.

Seeing Alamo's eyes darken was renewed proof of that truth.

“Here.” I held his jacket out to him. “Thank you for keeping me warm. Sorry it got a little wet. I guess I was pretty soaked.” I ran a finger along the inside of one of my bra straps. “I appreciate not having to ride home in just this, though.”

His gaze tracked my hand as he accepted his leather without looking at it. He watched as I propped a foot on the tub and rolled one of my stockings down. When I repeated the action on the other one, his hand fisted on his leather jacket.

I bit back a smile.

Once he looked back at my hand, I slowly slid it down my hip until I reached the top edge of my panties. I paused, enjoying hearing the quiet exhalation as he waited, and then I started to slide my panties down.

“What are you doing, Ellen?” His voice wasn't as soft and comforting now. He sounded like he was struggling. I loved that I was finally getting a reaction.

“What does it look like?” I paused in my disrobing.

He looked at my mostly naked body. “Either trying to seduce me or getting naked so you can get in the tub.”

“Does it have to be one or the other?” I asked softly.

He tossed his jacket toward the door, and the next moment he grabbed me and yanked me closer. After months of barely being within a foot of me before stepping backward, he had me so close that his wet jeans were harsh against my now-bare legs.

I looked up, and he caught my mouth in the sort of kiss that made me think every other man had been doing this
very
wrong. My arms twined around his neck, and he lifted me up so I didn't have to stretch.

I wrapped my legs around him, cherishing the strength in his arms as he moved to support me with one hand under my ass. His T-shirt was sopping wet, and worse yet, it was between me and his skin. I started trying to tug it up.

Bare stomach. Bare chest. I could feel each wet, hard inch of Alamo as I tugged the shirt up. I wanted to look, to touch, but seeing that exposed skin meant stopping kissing him.

I pulled back only long enough so I could get the shirt over his head, but as soon as I started to do so, he lowered me and my feet touched the floor again.

“No. I don't do halfway, Ellen.” He stared down at me. “I can't do this. I can't mess around with someone under club protection.”

My kiss-addled brain clearly wasn't working right. Seeing the bit of a tattoo that was visible above his belt wasn't helping. I wanted to see the rest, to see him. He, however, was stepping backward.

“What do you mean?” I managed to force my gaze higher so I was looking at his face. The wet T-shirt clung partway up his chest, baring skin I'd finally been able to touch. He was right there. He'd been kissing me. Now? Nothing but a glimpse of bare skin that was distracting me from my attempts at conversation.

“Protection?” I repeated stupidly.

“I'm not going to start shit in the club for a one-nighter,” he clarified—or seemed to think he'd clarified.

My temper washed back over me. I'd been doing so well, telling myself I didn't mind that he thought I got around or that he thought I wasn't attractive or whatever his drama was, but his words hurt enough that I was suddenly furious instead of aroused.

“Okay,” I said as carefully and calmly as I could. “You're not from here, so maybe you're confused or something. I'm not under protection. My father was a Wolf, but he's gone. I'm not anyone's old lady,
and
I'm an adult. I can choose my own bedmates without anyone's approval or permission.”

Alamo shook his head. “Then maybe you need to tell Dash that.”

“Excuse me?” I stepped back and crossed my arms over my chest again. “That was a
long
time ago.”

“Was it?”

“I'm not the one in his bed tonight, in case you forgot that,” I snapped.

“And I'm not interested in being a revenge fuck because he stepped out on you again,” Alamo said just as sharply.

“Now you listen here, Mister Judgmental.” I pointed my finger at him like he was a misbehaving child. “Not that it's any of
your
business, but I haven't been in his bed since the day I climbed on the back of your bike.”

Alamo looked . . . surprised. There was no other word for it. He hadn't expected that answer. It was obvious in his expression.

There were only a few possibilities: Dash had lied to Alamo, he'd presumed rights that weren't his and told Alamo I was off-limits, or Alamo was simply confused. I wasn't particularly pleased with any of those possibilities.

“Then . . . that doesn't make sense,” Alamo said, frowning now. “You're not with Dash?”

“I'm not with Noah,” I stressed. “I have
not
been since the day you picked me up in the alley.”

Alamo shook his head. “That's not what I heard. He made it very clear that you were under his protection, and I was to keep my hands off.”

“That was
months
ago!” I pointed out. “Before—”

“Not before,” Alamo interrupted. “After.”

This time I was the one shaking my head in confusion. I opened my mouth, but there wasn't anything I could say other than calling Noah or Alamo a liar. Finally I managed to say, “Oh.”

My temper was dowsed, as was my libido.

“I don't poach, Ellen. He said you were his, and . . . he hasn't rescinded that. He's
repeated
it in case I forgot.” Alamo took a step back, as if being close but not touching was as difficult for him as it was for me. Gently he asked, “Why do you think I've stayed clear of you?”

“Because you aren't interested,” I said, but my voice lifted at the end, making it seem like a question instead of a statement.

“Christ, woman! I stayed away because I forget myself when you're near.” He laughed, not like it was funny but like he was uncomfortable. “Killer's been on my ass about it too. I don't want trouble. I tell myself that over and over, but then I see you, and all my logic starts evaporating.”

Again all I could muster was a quiet “oh.”

I wanted to say more. I wanted to call Noah or Killer. Hell, I wanted to call Echo, but it was the middle of the night, and my wanting a man wasn't the sort of emergency that justified calling Killer
or
Echo. And Noah needed to look me in the eye when we sorted this shit out.

Unfortunately, that all meant that I was standing in Alamo's bathroom, nearly naked and having been kissed like kisses were art, and I was
still
going to bed alone. I'd wanted Alamo more and more over the past few months. He was kind and funny and sweet and sexy. Here I was in his house, and I was no closer to progress.

“I'll get you a shirt you can sleep in,” Alamo said after several moments of staring at me in silence. “I'll leave it outside the door so you have privacy.”

And then he left me there, and I felt like screaming again. My day wasn't ending any better than it had been going since I'd left for the interview. The difference was that this time I could blame it on one very specific person: Noah Dash.

Chapter 16

A
LAMO WALKED INTO HIS FRONT ROOM AND HUNG UP HIS
jacket. Knowing that Ellen was naked in his tub wasn't doing wonders for his resolve. She'd seemed genuinely confused when he'd mentioned Dash, although Dash had all but hung a “do not touch” sign on Ellen six months ago.

Alamo had followed the rules. He'd kept it light and easy, and he hadn't smacked Dash despite seeing him flirting with everything with a pulse. He'd kept clear of Ellen as much as he could—and to find that she and Dash weren't even together was infuriating. Maybe they did this regularly. That had been what Alamo had assumed, that they were one of those insane together-apart-together couples.

Tonight, though, Dash was in bed with some girl while Ellen was cold and stranded. There was no reason he couldn't have come to pick her up tonight, or have taken her to sing or to see Killer in the hospital. Honestly, Alamo couldn't understand why Dash wasted his time with the girls he did when Ellen was around—or why she put up with it if they
were
actually just on the outs—but relationships weren't exactly his thing.

He'd had exactly two that were anything semi-serious, but in both cases they'd fallen apart over Alamo's prioritizing Zoe or the Wolves over his then-girlfriends. If he met a woman who didn't think his devotion to his family was a problem, maybe he could consider settling down. He wanted to. Unlike a lot of the bikers he'd known in his life, Alamo wasn't interested in the women who waited around like groupies hoping to be upgraded into something more. He'd moved to Tennessee for a clean start, and he wasn't going to mess up because he broke club rules. The Wolves were family. Aside from his sister, they were his
only
family.

That didn't change the fact that Ellen was in his thoughts far too often. After her comments tonight, he was starting to think that Dash had simply marked Ellen as off-limits in case he wanted her back later. It didn't matter, though. Being interested in Ellen didn't change the fact that she was off-limits until Dash rescinded his claim.

Alamo grabbed a beer out of the fridge. It wasn't what he wanted, but what he
wanted
would land him in trouble—and he had plenty of that dogging him already. After he'd put a beating on that asshole in North Carolina, he'd worked to put that rage away. He'd slipped here and there, especially when the car full of jerk-offs in traffic had been eyeing Ellen.