Thunderclap (Steel Infidels MC) (Bad Boy Romance) (Steel Infidels Series Book 4) Read online

  “It’s too bad to work with, isn’t it?” she says in disappointment.

  “No. Are you kidding? Of course not. As far as I’m concerned, you’re a blank canvas that I can make beautiful again. You’re not doing any reconstructive surgery?”

  She shakes her head and tries not to cry. “The insurance won’t pay for it. I was wondering if you could tattoo on nipples. I heard you can do that.”

  “Sure I can, if that’s really what you want to do. And they’ll look pretty damn close to real, too. But there’s another option we should talk about. Take another good look at those photos. I can design a big tattoo on your chest that will cover all of your scars. Something wild and magnificent. You’ll be going topless at the beach just to show off your cool tat.”

  She thumbs through the photos again, then smiles and nods her head.

  “That’s what I want. Go big or go home, I always say. Can you do horses?”

  “I can do anything,” I say. “You’ll look like a warrior. Because that’s what you are, right? You beat breast cancer, so you should be proud and show it off.”

  “Damn right I’m a warrior,” she says. “How soon can you do this?”

  “Whenever you’re ready. Let’s talk about a design.”

  An hour later, she leaves the shop with a new perkiness in her step. I walk her to the door and she takes a few steps down the sidewalk before turning around and coming back to quickly hug me.

  “Thank you,” she whispers into my ear.

  Chapter Eleven

  Lila

  I obsessively check the time again and take another look at my reflection in the mirror. I’ve spent far too much time and effort on my appearance for tonight’s date. After a great deal of deliberation, I decided to wear another dress since Sam seemed to like the white sundress. Not the most ladylike attire for a motorcycle, but hopefully it’s long and loose enough to keep me decent.

  Sam didn’t say where he’s taking me for dinner. After the visit to his Aunt Leona’s, I’m almost afraid to find out. There’s no telling what might be on the menu. Frog legs, venison, squirrel. Whatever...I’ll be ready. The only surprise will be if he takes me somewhere normal.

  When I hear a car pull up in front of the house, I hurry to the door. It can’t be Sam because he made a point of telling me it’s either ride on the back of his motorcycle or don’t go at all.

  An older model red Camaro with dark tinted windows is sitting in the driveway. The door opens and a black leather boot steps out.

  Sam.

  I can’t believe he actually drove a car to pick me up. Now I’m wishing I had chosen a shorter dress to wear. One that he might have liked better.

  What’s wrong with me?

  I shouldn’t care one way or the other what he likes.

  Sam slams the car door and runs up the steps. I’ve noticed he doesn’t do anything slow. He’s a continuously moving fireball of pent-up energy. He has on his regular jeans and boots, but this time his muscles are covered by a light blue button down shirt that brings out the color of his eyes. I could stare into those eyes of his all night long and never get tired.

  “A Camaro?” I ask. “I should have known you would drive a fast car.”

  He doesn’t answer and instead leans down to kiss me lightly on the mouth. I don’t pull back and secretly like that he doesn’t hesitate or ask me first before kissing me.

  “Did you think I would be driving a station wagon?” he teases before pulling me closer to him and kissing me playfully a second time. “Or a mini-van?”

  “You’re frisky tonight. What’s gotten into you?”

  “I’m excited about taking such a pretty gal out on a date,” he answers. “I’m also very glad that I brought the car since you’re wearing a dress. You look beautiful.”

  He means it. I can tell by the appreciative look in his eyes.

  “You’re not so bad yourself, handsome,” I say. “So why did you bring the car?”

  “The truth?” he says. “I can’t see your face when you’re riding behind me. Or hold your hand.” He laces his fingers through mine. “Are you ready to go?”

  “I’m ready,” I say. “I was planning to ask you in for a beer or glass of wine first, and then I remembered this is a dry county. How far is it to the nearest place to buy alcohol?”

  “From here, it’s about thirty minutes if you go all the way across the North Carolina line, and at least that much time if you drive to another Georgia county.”

  “Just for a bottle of wine? That seems crazy and way behind the times. What do people do if they want a drink?”

  “They go on beer runs,” he answers with a laugh. “If you want alcohol, you grab a friend and go on a beer run. Want to go on one?”

  “Not really. I’m not desperate for a drink. Are you saying that is the only way to get alcohol in this county?”

  Besides buying it illegally from the Steel Infidels, of course.

  Truthfully, I would kill for a decent glass of chardonnay. Being in a dry county sucks. Even if this is the Bible belt, banning all forms of alcohol is ridiculous.

  “Yeah, it’s the only way,” he answers. “Don’t worry. The place we’re going to is ‘bring your own bottle,’ so I have a little something in the trunk of the car. We’ll take it in with us to dinner.”

  “Wine?” I ask hopefully, then realize I’m being overly optimistic. “Or beer?”

  I’m not crazy about beer. If there’s nothing else, I’ll drink it in an emergency.

  “Tequila,” he answers with a straight face.

  I burst out laughing. “Seriously?”

  Only Sam would bring along a bottle of tequila to a first date. This should be interesting. I’m actually looking forward to tonight. Sam makes me laugh, and that’s something I haven’t done much of in a long time.

  “What’s wrong with tequila?” he asks.

  I can’t tell if he’s kidding or not.

  “Not a thing,” I say. “Let’s get this show on the road.”

  He opens the car door for me like a Southern gentleman and helps me tuck my dress inside before shutting the door. By now I’ve accepted the fact that he actually does have a few good manners.

  So he is a good-mannered criminal. I don’t think that’s going to help him any in the eyes of the law.

  After sliding behind the steering wheel, he turns the key in the ignition and reaches over to grab my hand again.

  Is he really going to hold my hand the whole time while he drives?

  It feels nice and I like it.

  Steering with his left hand, he backs out of the driveway and pulls onto the road.

  “So where are we going?” I ask.

  He winks at me and I melt all over again. A gut punch in the stomach every time.

  “Oh, so now you ask where we’re going? Lila, how would you like to go to a honky-tonk?”

  I smile back at him.

  Here we go again.

  ***

  The restaurant is located high on the top of a big hill with a spectacular view of green mountains in every direction. A large deck overlooks the valley stretching out for miles below.

  Sam pulls into a parking spot at the far end of the lot.

  “What do you think about God’s country?” he asks, waving a hand at the mountains.

  “It’s beautiful,” I say. “I can’t imagine what it must be like waking up to a view like this every morning. The traffic in Atlanta gets to me sometimes.”

  He squeezes my hand. “Ever thought about moving? You could have this every day too. There’s nothing that says you can’t.”

  I look over at his handsome face, not at the mountains.

  There could be worse things than waking up to the view of Sam every morning.

  Wishful thinking won’t get me anywhere.

  “Don’t move,” he says. “I’ll get the car door for you.”

  “I’m perfectly capable of opening a car door, Sam,” I say.

  He laughs. “I know. I
’m trying to impress you, so work with me here, okay?”

  I roll my eyes and sit there like an invalid while he walks around and makes a big show of opening the door and helping me out.

  “Don’t forget the tequila,” I say, pointing to the trunk.

  “I almost did. Thanks for reminding me.”

  He unlocks the trunk and pulls out a brown paper bag.

  “We’re brown bagging it?” I tease. “That’s a big bottle. Were you planning on us drinking the whole bottle by ourselves? I have to warn you, I’m a lightweight when it comes to alcohol. A little bit goes a long way with me.”

  Not true.

  For some bizarre reason, I can drink most men under the table and not even be the least bit tipsy. Must be my metabolism. This little party trick has come in handy plenty of times when working undercover. It always surprises me what people will do and say if they think I’m drunk. I’m dying to know how long Sam’s Southern boy good manners will last if I’m tipsy.

  I hope I’m not disappointed.

  We walk into the restaurant with Sam holding onto me with one hand and the bottle of tequila with the other. Loud country music is blasting from a room towards the back of the dining area.

  “Was this place originally a barn?” I ask, glancing up at the upper level that still looks like a hayloft. I hope the customers don’t go up there since only a thin wooden railing would keep someone from tumbling off into the crowd below.

  “I believe so,” he says. “It’s been a honky-tonk for as long as I can remember. If you haven’t guessed, we’re hurting for good entertainment around here.”

  “I can see that.”

  A waitress, an older woman with grey hair and a wrinkle-lined face, greets us.

  “You brought a friend this time, I see,” she says, winking at Sam.

  Is there anyone in this town who doesn’t know him?

  “Do you want to stay in the dining area or eat in the back with the music?” she asks.

  Sam looks at me for an answer.

  “Near the music?” I say, knowing that he would always want to be right in the middle of the action.

  She leads us through the large crowd of diners to a big cavernous room with tables and a stage. A country music band made up of four long-bearded men is playing a fairly decent version of an old Waylon Jennings song.

  “Take your choice of tables,” she says, waving her hand at several tables near the stage.

  Sam points instead to an empty table set up against the wall.

  “As the night goes on, the music gets progressively louder,” he explains. “I doubt you’ll want to be right in front of the stage.”

  Sam places the bottle of tequila on the table and pulls out my chair.

  “What do you need to go with whatever is in that paper bag?” the waitress asks. “Mixer? Coke? Orange juice?”

  “Lime, salt, and shot glasses,” Sam answers.

  “Oh no,” she says. “Let me guess. Tequila again? Will your friend Toby be joining you?”

  “Not tonight,” he answers. “I’m on a date.” He places a hand possessively on my thigh.

  “Thank goodness for that. The two of you almost got thrown out of here last time you were drinking tequila.” She turns to me. “You need to watch him close and keep him out of trouble tonight. I’ll be right back with menus.”

  Sam slides his chair over closer to me and slings an arm over the back of mine.

  “So what did you do last time you were here?” I ask.

  He shakes his head and laughs. “I honestly don’t remember. Toby might, but I sincerely doubt it. I’ll have to ask him. Do you like country music?”

  “I like all kinds of different music. It depends whatever kind of mood I’m in.”

  I never listen to country music.

  My musical tastes run wilder and darker. Sam would be shocked to know the last time I listened to live music was in the middle of the night at an underground club. Less than a month ago.

  There are lots of things about me that Sam would be shocked to find out.

  I hope he never does.

  The waitress returns with menus along with a saltshaker, lime wedges, and two shot glasses. “Have fun,” she says after placing the items on the table.

  Sam opens the bottle of tequila and fills the two shot glasses. He places one in front of me.

  “Give me your hand,” he says.

  I cock my eyebrows at him, and after hesitating a moment, place my hand on the table. He picks it up and curls my fingers into a fist. Slowly, he runs his tongue across the space between the thumb and forefinger on the back of my hand.

  Damn. That’s erotic.

  He lifts his eyes and looks straight into mine. I know just as well what he’s thinking and exactly what he wishes he was doing right now instead of licking my hand.

  I know because I’m thinking the same thing.

  He’s not going to say it though. Not after the last time.

  Suddenly he grins.

  He read my mind. How the hell did he do that?

  We’re in so much trouble.

  Picking up the saltshaker, he sprinkles salt onto my hand and hands me a slice of lime.

  “Lick the salt, drink the shot, then bite on the lime,” he says.

  I’ve drank tequila plenty of times in my life, but I’m not telling him. It will be more fun to pretend like I know nothing.

  “You go first,” I suggest for no other reason than I want to watch him lick my hand again.

  “I don’t use the salt and lime,” he says. “I drink the shots straight.”

  “Oh, come on,” I say. “I need you to show me how.”

  I can’t believe how turned on I’m getting just by watching him.

  He picks up a wedge of lime. “Okay, if I must. For you, I’ll drink my tequila like a sissy. I hope nobody else is watching this. I will never forgive you if one of the other Steel Infidels walks in here.”

  I can’t help smiling as he slowly licks the salt from my hand, downs the shot, then bites down on the lime. As far as I’m concerned, we can sit here doing this all night long. This is the best entertainment I’ve had in forever.

  “Now it’s your turn.”

  He lets go of my hand and moves the saltshaker towards me.

  Two can play this game.

  Instead of putting the salt on my own hand like he’s expecting me to do, I reach for his. Since getting thrown out of honky-tonk for indecent behavior wouldn’t look good on my resume, I double check to make sure no one sitting around us is watching.

  Bringing his hand to my lips, I run my tongue along the same spot. Then I surprise him by sliding my lips all the way down over his thumb and sucking slowly one time hard before turning it loose.

  “Fuck, Lila!” he says and almost jerks his hand away from mine.

  Exactly the reaction I was looking for.

  I sprinkle the salt on his hand and lick it again. Grabbing my shot glass, I down the tequila and bite the lime.

  He grips my hand tighter. “Jesus Christ, Lila! What the hell was that thing you just did?”

  I don’t answer and instead pour two more shots of tequila.

  “Ready to go for round two? Your turn.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Sam

  An hour later, my body is still reeling and my mind is a white, lust-filled blank.

  Lila shocked me when she licked my hand instead of her own, and then my head almost exploded when she slid her lips down my thumb. A jolt of white-hot electricity shot straight through to my cock and I almost turned the table over.

  I want her so much it’s killing me.

  And she knows it.

  For the last hour, we’ve joked and talked while the whole time I keep thinking about how unbelievably fantastic she would feel sprawled naked underneath me. Or her sweet lips sliding down my cock. I can’t think straight or keep up with the conversation. I’m so turned on, I’m not even sure what I ate for dinner or how it tasted.

 
All I can think about is Lila.

  The sweet scent of her hair drifts my way every time she brushes it back from her face, and I want to lift it up to kiss my way down the back of her neck. My hands can’t stop reaching over to touch her. Thankfully she doesn’t seem to mind my hand on her leg or stroking her arm.

  I can’t get enough.

  It frustrates me to know that I’ll never have her.

  There’s no way she’s going to sleep with me now or ever. All I can do is dream.

  Besides being an ATF agent, Lila is out of my league. Until she came along, I never realized girls like her even existed. She doesn’t put up with my shit and isn’t afraid to dish it right back to me.

  I don’t understand why none of my old tricks are working on her. Or maybe they are and she’s not showing it. This is a position I’ve never been in before, and one that I don’t like very much.

  Either way, I need to up my game.

  Again.

  I thought I had already done that. And then she upped her game on top of mine.

  At this point, I need to accept that outplaying her might not be an option.

  Or outwitting her, since she’s always a mental step ahead.

  The one thing I can do is outlast her.

  I won’t give up. I’ll wear her down and keep trying until she completely shuts me down with no chance at all.

  I hope to God that doesn’t happen.

  If it does, I probably deserve it.

  The steady stream of women in my life has been endless and disposable. Not a single girl has managed to keep my attention for more than a few weeks, usually only a few days.

  I’ve lost count of the number of women I’ve fucked in my life. Many I can’t recall at all. My sex life has been an endless blur of pussy and boobs. Tons of fun at the time, yet meaningless and at times, almost unbearably empty.

  One night with Lila would be unforgettable.

  I’ll wait for as long as it takes.

  “Do you want to dance?” I ask her after the waitress clears our food plates away.

  Lila reaches for the bottle of tequila and starts to pour what would be her fourth shot. I’ve been keeping close count.

  “How about another shot of tequila?” she says. “I’m game if you are.”