Page 6

Chapter

Six

Scarlett

I sip the hot, rich coffee from the China cup, letting the dark nectar tease my taste buds before I let it slip down my throat, warming a path to my eagerly waiting stomach. Coffee is my go-to breakfast, while actual food can wait until later in the day. It’s been two days since Smoke dropped by, so as I lean against the kitchen counter, I’m not surprised when I hear the distant rumble of motorcycles. I glance at the clock on the microwave and see that it’s exactly the time, to the minute, that he said he’d be here.

“Punctual as always,” I murmur to myself before draining the last of my coffee and placing the now empty cup into the sink.

When the rumble grows louder, I walk towards the back door and slip out into the early morning sun. Since this place is alive with people coming and going in the evenings, Smoke and I decided that the crack of dawn was the best time for our guest to arrive. My girls are still in bed, and most of them sleep like the dead, so at least it will give me time to settle the new arrival undetected, saving me from being hit with a hundred-and-one questions.

Smoke is already off his bike and standing with his back to me. His authoritative stance tells me he’s having harsh words with our guest, yet all I can hear is a dull droning. It’s not until Smoke has turned and walked toward me that I catch sight of the man I’m tasked with holing up, not only under Velvet Reds roof, but in my own personal quarters for God knows how long.

The image I had conjured up in my head—middle-aged biker, dirty jeans, scuffed boots, and a distinct lack of grooming—couldn’t be further from the truth.

He steps closer, eclipsing the bright sun that obstructs my view, leaving a bright halo of light behind him, and I see him.

Sure, he has the leather cut, the boots and, of course, the motorcycle, but everything is so clean and pristine: sharp jeans, crisp white T-shirt, the one per cent patch on his rich, leather cut spotless, looking like it’s been freshly laundered. There’s not a speck of dirt to be seen, and the high shine on his boots is one any military man would be proud of.

Young, so much younger than I’d envisioned, around twenty-two, maybe twenty-three years old. His hair, every strand, is in place with a height to his quiff which is unreal, considering he’s just been wearing a helmet.

Holy Jesus, am I going to have my work cut out keeping him under wraps because he is fucking sex on legs? With the body of an athlete, packing a little extra muscle bulk, and a face that resembles a sixties rockabilly heartthrob, if my girls get their sights on him, they’ll be offering him freebies like it’s Saturday at Costco.

His Nordic blue eyes are bright against smooth, tanned skin, and his rich, dark, almost black hair. Even if hit by a cyclone, I’m sure it won’t move an inch.

What products does he use, and how many does it take to keep it looking like he’s just stepped out of an expensive hair salon? I need to know this magic.

Once I’ve gathered my wits about me, I step forward.

“Hi, you must be JB.” I hold my hand out to him in greeting. “Welcome to my home, seeing as Velvet Reds will be out of bounds for you.”

“You must be Scarlett.” His smooth, sultry, almost lyrical voice dances in my ears while he takes my hand in his, wrapping his fingers around it in a gentle but firm way. My disbelieving eyes drop to where we connect, searching for the reason behind the zap of electricity that sizzles against my skin—the kind you only read about in cheesy romance novels. When I find nothing, I raise my gaze to his to be met by a devilish gleam in his eyes and an expression that can only be described as pure hellraiser. Believe me, I’ve met my fair share of cocky assholes in my time, but he’s beyond belief.

“Motherfucker,” Smoke growls, punching a fist into JB’s upper arm. It has the desired effect as instantly JB releases me, breaking the unorthodox connection between us, pulling his arm back to rub the area that now must be throbbing like hell. “Didn’t you listen to a word I just said to you? Out of fucking bounds, asshole. Don’t think I won’t follow through with my threat.”

“And what threat is that?” I chuckle at Smoke, raising an eyebrow at his overzealous reaction.

“Let’s just say that if he doesn’t keep his dick in his pants, he won’t be needing any new tighty-whities to hold everything in place because there won’t be anything left hanging.”

“Then we better get him inside my apartment before any of the girls wake and get a glimpse at pretty boy here, and start taking bets on who gets to be the first to put his chance of ever having a family at risk.”

“For the record”,—JB pipes up, dramatically covering his crotch with both hands as he shuffles from one foot to the other, as if in pain — “having kids is not one of my life goals, but keeping a firm hold on my junk is, so lead the way.” His face scrunches up, but it barely diminishes his handsome good looks.

I can’t help but laugh at JB’s dramatics. Even Smoke—despite his seriousness in making sure that JB knows that keeping a lower profile is imperative not just for him but also for the safety of everyone at Velvet Reds—has a slight upturn to the side of his mouth. That tells me that regardless of JB being a liability, he likes the guy.

“Smoke,” I place a hand on his chest, stopping him when he moves towards the house. “I can take it from here. Best make yourself scarce. If you hang around here at this time of a morning, you could end up raising some awkward questions, too.”

“It’s my fucking place,” he grits out.

“Shit, Smoke. You drop by once in a blue moon to check on things. Usually, you send one of the guys, but you’ve been twice in a matter of days. Trust me, I can deal with this.”

“I’ll be on my best behavior.” JB holds three fingers up to the side of his head, trying to come across all innocent. “Scouts honor.”

“Fuck me,” Smoke huffs out. “Like you’d ever make it into the scouts. Robert Baden-Powell will turn in his grave hearing you say that shit.”

Smoke stares out JB, and I can tell he’s weighing up his options: insist on staying and piss me off, or leave as I’ve asked. Turning to me, he says. “You’ll ring me if this asshole gets out of hand or if word gets out that he’s here?”

“The very minute,” I promise. I think about doing the three-finger scout thing, too, but I’m not sure he’d find it amusing based on his mood.

Reluctantly, Smoke stomps over to his ride while slamming his lid on his head. He isn’t happy, but he’ll live.

“Come on.” I walk towards the back door, but when I go to open it, I’m beaten to the post by JB. He swings open the door, giving an exaggerated flurry of his arm, beckoning me to enter first. “You can cut that flirty, male chivalry crap out for a start,” I warn. “You seem to forget that I know exactly why you’re here.”

“What?” he says once again, his face a mask of innocence. “I don’t know what you mean and besides, you shouldn’t judge a person before you at least hear their side of the story.”

“This jury is out, and the verdict is guilty,” I throw back at him as he follows me, far too closely, might I add, through the kitchen and up the stairs to where the rest of the living quarters are.

“Well, I prefer to make up my own mind,” he counters as we walk to the bedroom that was mine until I moved into my mamma’s old room. I push open the door to a space I haven’t had time to de-feminize. But he’s staying here gratis, so he’ll just have to suck it up and put up with the floral.

I mimic his arm flurry of earlier, gesturing for him to enter his new sleeping accommodation, but before I get the chance to step back to give him space, he steps forward, wedging us both just inside the open doorway, face-to-face, the length of our bodies way too close for comfort. Instead of moving into the room, he stays where he is. With the back of his hand, he sweeps it across my cheek, then captures a loose ribbon of hair that has escaped from a clip holding back my curls. He fingers it with a gentleness that makes me suck in a deep breath.

“Redheads are supposed to be wild and sassy, impulsive and quick-tempered.” He leans in a little further until his mouth brushes the shell of my ear. “The temptation to find out is real, but I promise to do my best to resist.”

With that, he steps away, closing the door behind him, leaving me with my mouth hanging open and wondering what the hell I’ve let myself in for.

Johny B

Being told by my Prez that I had to get out of town wasn’t something I was happy about. In fact, I was fucking livid, but I’d dipped my dick into a high-risk chick and only had myself to blame. Prez had stated that staying around Florida was too risky, but fucking Nevada? Jeez, I could have just gotten out of town and laid low for a while until the heat was off. But no, Cannon insisted that I was shipped off to stay with another chapter of the YOMC, someone who he could trust and watch my back if the fuckers did manage to track me down. Personally, I think that it’s overkill. The Chief is all fucking hot air and piss, and if he’d been showing his wife the attention she was due, then she wouldn’t have been so easily distracted. Although, I do seem to have this irresistible attraction that pulls in the ladies. I’m never short of a lay when I want one.

It wasn’t until we pulled up outside Velvet’s, where I’ll be staying for the foreseeable future and saw the fucking red-headed beauty waiting for us, that I realized why Smoke had been ranting on about keeping my dick in my pants and my hands firmly to myself. All the females were strictly out of bounds. No one was to find out that I was here. Not to forget the threat that if I so much as looked at my host the wrong way, Smoke would take immense pleasure in removing my manhood, leaving me singing soprano and wearing my ball as earrings.

Fuck, she was stunning. The color of her hair was like nothing I’d seen before. Rich, dark red and vibrant with the softest of curls, pinned up in places, yet some falling long around her shoulders and down her back. She’s curvy in all the right places. As we walked towards her, I caught sight of her emerald green eyes that sparkled like precious jewels, filled with confidence and knowledge yet still housing a hint of innocence. For sure, she’s not one of the working girls; she’s too soft, unjaded and untouched.

I could very well be waving goodbye to ever having any kids. But hell, just one taste of her could be worth being demoted from Johny Bravo, lothario and man whore to a pathetic dickless eunuch. The temptation is real.