Chapter SIX
SOPHIE
No girl should have to lose panties this expensive.
I felt almost wistful when I found them in Ruger’s couch. Dark, rich purple silk, delicate lacy cutouts in the front. Whoever she was, she’d shelled out way too much money prettying up for a one-night stand with the man-whore.
I knew the pain of lost panties myself … On that less-than-spectacular night Noah had been conceived, I’d had to go without mine after we got kicked out of Ruger’s apartment.
Sighing, I dropped the couch cushion I’d been vacuuming under. I’d made my first pass through Ruger’s house doing surface cleaning. Now I was on to the deeper stuff, which meant hunting through the bowels of the furniture, among other things.
It was Thursday afternoon and the week had come together nicely. After my visit with Kimber, I’d gotten in touch with some of the girls from the club who’d left their cell-phone numbers. They were coming over on Friday night to meet me and hang out. They sounded every bit as nice and thoughtful as I’d suspected, and I couldn’t wait to put faces to names.
I’d also gotten to know the neighbor down the road, a woman in her late thirties named Elle. She’d been widowed a couple years back and now she lived alone. We met her Tuesday afternoon, when Noah and I went exploring and wandered onto her property.
She and I spent a couple hours sitting outside her house (she had one of the old, original farmhouses, which meant a kick-ass porch complete with swing and rockers), sipping iced tea, and shooting the shit. Elle really hit it off with Noah, too, and had already offered to babysit if I needed it. I got a great vibe off her, Noah adored her, and we’d been thrilled when she had us over for dinner on Wednesday.
Wednesday was also when I started cleaning Ruger’s house.
This was partly out of boredom. I also felt guilty, because Ruger was a single man who clearly enjoyed his freedom, yet he’d brought us home anyway. This had to cramp his style. Not that I particularly liked the idea of him being completely free to indulge himself … I knew I couldn’t have him, but it still bugged me to think of him with other women.
And I totally got how messed up that was.
Didn’t change how I felt.
Anyway, I decided the best way to pay Ruger back was to become his unofficial housekeeper. He didn’t plan to charge us any rent, but I wouldn’t feel right if I wasn’t earning my keep.
Which brought me to the pair of tiny purple panties lost in the couch.
Sadly, this was not the first piece of lingerie I’d found in the last twenty-four hours. They weren’t all the same sizes, either—Ruger clearly appreciated variety among his many booty calls.
I picked up the panties with a pair of kitchen tongs and carried them into the laundry room. I didn’t know who they belonged to, but I didn’t think I should be tossing out anything I found, no matter how … used … it might be. I dropped the panties into one of the four plastic boxes I’d lined up across the top of the dryer.
The first held money. So far I’d found ninety-two dollars and twenty-three cents. Box two was condoms. I found stashes in almost every room. Some were definitely on purpose, and I left those in place. But I’d also found them in the pockets of stray pants, in the silverware drawer, on top of the bookshelf … I’d even found two in the pizza box on the coffee table. Chocolate-flavored ones. This led to a series of fantasies about pizza-themed sex, which squicked me out a bit.
Also made me sort of hungry.
That’s when I decided I needed little boxes to put all this stuff in, so I could just close the lids and pretend they didn’t exist. So far it was working pretty well. Box three held women’s underwear, bras, and a single silk stocking. Box four was “other”—small, strange chunks of metal, random tools, a Buck knife, and two ticket stubs from a Spokane Indians game.
Weird pangs of jealousy aside, I wanted Ruger’s house fresh, clean, and comfortable when he got home. It was the least I could do. I cleaned everywhere but his bedroom, although I did wade in just far enough to grab the worst of the laundry.
That night, Noah asked me when Uncle Ruger would be back. I had no idea what to tell him, and I wondered if living in his house could ever feel normal. Free rent was great, but Kimber was probably right. Ultimately, I needed my own place, where the couch cushions weren’t full of strange underwear and the silverware drawer was condom-free.
The thudding of feet overhead woke me up around three o’clock early Friday morning. Ruger was home, I noted drowsily, and it sounded like he was throwing a party. Fortunately, my kid and I could sleep through anything, so five minutes later I was out again.
The next day, Noah and I did our best to stay quiet as we got ready and used our own door to leave the house. When I got back from dropping him at school, I had a near-miss with the house alarm, punching in the code twice before I got it right. Ruger’s obsession with security was damned inconvenient at times …
I showered and straightened up our little apartment. By then it was almost ten and still no noise from upstairs. Maybe I dreamed the whole thing up? God knew, Ruger had a tendency to invade my dreams.
I slipped up the stairs softly, not wanting to wake him. I reached the top, turned toward the kitchen and swayed, completely shocked.
Apparently a hurricane had hit the house in the night.
Empty beer bottles covered every possible surface. The furniture had been shoved around, with one end of the love seat actually lifted up and resting on the back of the main couch. There were partially empty pizza boxes, spilled beer—and the most disturbing part of all?
A completely naked blonde chick sat at the breakfast bar, lighting a cigarette.
Seeing her hit me hard—I actually couldn’t breathe for a second, and I felt dizzy. I knew Ruger slept around. I’d found the evidence myself, but somehow this finally brought it all home for me.
She was gorgeous and utterly unselfconscious. Naturally, I wore an old tank top and cutoffs, hair in a messy bun, and no makeup. I wanted to kill her. Dead. Strangle her on the spot for being a damned whore and being prettier than me and f*cking my man.
I gave myself a mental smack.
I had no claim on Ruger. None. This was his house and he could do whatever he wanted in it, including this whore.
I didn’t even want him, not really.
“So, you Ruger’s property?” she asked me, eyes hostile, red-tipped talons tapping the bar idly.
“Um, I don’t think I understand the question,” I replied, torn between staring at her perky, jiggly boobs and watching the trail of smoke rise from her cigarette toward the ceiling. Once that smoky smell gets into a house, you never get it back out.
Yet another reason to hate the bitch.
“Simple yes or no,” she said. “You belong to him? He patch you?”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” I said, glancing around the living room, growing pissier by the second, despite the fact that it was none of my business. This was going to take hours to clean and it sure as hell wouldn’t be me doing it, I decided. Let the whore do it. Or Ruger himself—what a concept!
“That’s a no …” she said slowly. “So why the hell are you here? Did he call you this morning? Seriously, if he wanted a three-way, he should’ve talked to me earlier. No offense, but I can do better.”
She looked me up and down as she said this, judging every inch of my body.
“I think I should go back downstairs,” I said with careful control. I turned to leave, but Ruger’s voice stopped me.
“You still here?” he called. The blonde answered, voice all sweet like honey, eyes sparkling with possessive triumph.
“Sure thing, baby. You need me?”
Ruger strolled down the stairs and into the living room, wearing only a pair of unfastened jeans. I could tell this because they drooped low enough to leave very few secrets. Damn.
I knew Ruger was hot, but it seemed like I forgot just how hot whenever I didn’t see him for a while, because it still shocked me. I could spend a year trying to describe him, but you still wouldn’t fully appreciate his unique appeal until your panties spontaneously combusted the first time he smiled at you.
Or, in this case, when he walked through the living room wearing half-fastened jeans commando, eyes still sleepy.
My eyes caught on his chest, sliding down along the lines of his muscles. Oh, my … Perfect pecs, sculpted obliques and abs. They disappeared into the denim, which just barely rode his hips, ready to slip at any minute. I wanted to lick him all over.
Right after I killed him for f*cking The Blonde Slut.
“Morning,” he said, looking from me to TBS. I raised my hand and gave a little finger wave, wondering if the knife in the laundry room was well-balanced for throwing.
“Welcome back, Ruger,” I said, trying not to sound like a jealous wife, because nothing crazy about that, right? “Have a nice trip? Noah missed you. I was just going downstairs. Have a great morning.”
TBS smirked, taking my attempted retreat as a victory for her. Or that’s what I imagined was behind her smirk. For all I knew, that could have been her thank-God-I’m-not-in-a-three-way-with-this-loser face.
Whatever it was, she could damned well shove it up her ass.
“No,” Ruger said, staring at me intently. His eyes flicked down my figure, and no matter how hot the chick in the kitchen was, I could tell he still wanted me. His eyes were dark and needy like they’d been the other night. And all those years ago, too …
Nope, not going there, I reminded my brain. This situation’s f*cked up enough already.
“We need to talk. It’s important,” he told me. Then he glanced toward TBS. “We’re done, time to go. Don’t call.”
Wow. That was cold.
I liked it.
“You seriously want her over me?” TBS demanded, looking between us, face genuinely confused.
“Sophie’s my nephew’s mom,” Ruger said, voice going hard and flat. “One of her in dirty sweats is worth ten of you naked on your knees, so get the f*ck out.”
Oh, that was sooo cold. Maybe I didn’t hate him quite so much, because he might be an a*shole, but he was definitely being a bigger a*shole to her than to me. Justice, for once.
“You’re kind of a dick,” TBS said, pouting.
“Ya think?” he asked, walking past us to open the fridge. Ruger pulled out a container of orange juice and chugged it without using a glass. He finished, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and slammed it down on the counter. Juice splashed, reminding me of the brand-new, giant-ass mess everywhere else.
A mess I wouldn’t be cleaning. Enough of this.
I needed to retreat back downstairs, away from this bitch and Ruger, the world’s biggest a*shole. He ranked up there with the biggest pigs, too, based on what he’d accomplished in one night with his friends. I turned to the stairs but his hand caught my arm, tight and unyielding as a handcuff. He tugged me through the kitchen to the bar, pushing me into a seat.
“Stay,” he ordered me, his eyes hard. Then he looked over at Blondie. “Go.”
His tone didn’t leave room for discussion, and she jumped up, scowling. Ruger strode quickly across the living room and up the stairs. Blondie followed him, then ran back down fast, her clothes flying over the balcony from the loft.
Five minutes later she was gone with a massive slam of the front door and Ruger was back in the kitchen making me all nervous. I wasn’t quite sure what to say to him. I hated him for bringing her home. I was jealous of her, because she was hot and she’d felt his cock inside her last night, when all I’d gotten inside me was my vibrator. Hell, it wasn’t even working right—some sort of loose connection. Half the time it wouldn’t turn on and I didn’t have money to buy a new one. How pathetic was that?
Too broke to buy a damn vibrator.
Maybe I should stand outside the Adam & Eve store holding a sign reading “Single Mom, Anything Helps” and a cup for change.
Ruger narrowed his eyes at me. He still hadn’t buttoned his pants. Holy shit. I sincerely hoped I wasn’t drooling.
“So, tonight the girls from your club are coming over,” I told him, trying to find a safe place for my eyes. They skittered across the tribal tattoo on his pec and caught on his nipple ring. I flushed. Definitely not there. “I guess we’re planning some sort of party for tomorrow at your club’s armory? Do I want to know why your club has an armory?”
“It’s an actual National Guard Armory,” he said. “Club bought it when it got surplussed, years ago. It’s got everything from a big kitchen and bar to rooms upstairs for people who need somewhere to crash for the night.”
So. His clubhouse had beds. Why did this not surprise me?
I wanted to ask him why he hadn’t f*cked TBS there instead of bringing her home to me and Noah, but I couldn’t think of a not-crazy way of doing it. Instead I decided to keep talking about my schedule.
“They had me line up a sleepover for Noah at my friend Kimber’s house for tomorrow night,” I said, eyes darting to his face. Not a flicker of recognition at her name. Good. “Anyway, they invited me and I promised you I’d give it a shot, so … I’ll see you at the party?”
He cocked his head and studied me, utterly impossible to read. Silence stretched between us. I struggled not to start babbling just to fill the void.
“Bigger party than they think,” he finally said, his voice low. It took me a minute to remember what we’d been talking about. Oh, yeah. Party planning. Armory. “Whole bunch of guys from all over coming in tonight and tomorrow. Not sure I want you there.”
He shook his head slowly, tongue flicking out to slide along his lower lip, catching on the ring. I wanted to flick it with my tongue, too. Then I caught a glimpse of something else … Shit. His tongue was pierced. There was a hard, round ball right in the middle.
That hadn’t been there four years ago. I would’ve remembered.
What would it feel like in my mouth … or lower? I’d never kissed a guy with a pierced tongue, let alone had one go down on me. I started tingling between my legs, which was not what I needed in that moment. A*sholes this big shouldn’t be so hot.
Hairy ears, I thought. Pretend he has hairy ears.
“You’re a very frustrating person, Ruger,” I said, torn between bitching at him for being such a giant whore and jumping over the counter, ripping off his pants, and riding his cock. Not the best way to handle the situation.
I knew this.
Really.
“You say I shouldn’t judge the club,” I added, trying to focus. “You say you want me to get to know everyone, and that Noah’s life would be better if he had the club behind him. If that’s true, why can’t I go to one of their parties?”
“Because this one’s gonna get pretty f*ckin’ wild. Not really a starter party,” he said, unfolding his arms to brace them on the counter on either side of his body. I saw his biceps rippling under his full-sleeve tattoos. He had more ink across his shoulders, some kind of rounded slash things in addition to the pattern on his chest. There was another tat curling around his stomach from his hip. A panther disappearing down into his pants on one side.
Lucky cat.
I really, really wanted to see the rest of it.
“You said some shit the other night that we gotta deal with. Um, Sophie? I have a face, you know,” he added, and my eyes jerked up from his stomach. I felt myself flush and he stayed silent, watching me with hooded eyes. He raised a hand and rubbed the back of his neck, biceps and triceps flexing nicely, then scratched at his stomach. The muscles between my legs took note, pulsing their approval.
“What do we have to deal with?” I asked, feeling my cheeks flush again.
“No friends with benefits for you,” he told me without a trace of humor. “No f*cking around, no kissing, or even fluttering your goddamned eyelashes at any guy in the club. That’s the only way you’ll be at the party. Or any club event.”
I raised my brows at him and shook my head. No matter how uncomfortable this conversation might be, I needed to set some boundaries.
“That’s stupid. I’m single. If I meet someone I like, it’s my decision whether I flirt with them or kiss them or whatever. And you’re one to talk—you just threw a naked chick out the door without even a thank-you for the road. Hypocrite much?”
“My house, my rules,” he replied. “You go to that party, nothing happens. You’re the Virgin f*ckin’ Mary, got me? Otherwise you stay home.”
I thought about this, then straightened, placing my hands flat on the counter. Until that moment, I’d been on the fence about the party. I wanted to give the club a shot, but I’d been nervous about jumping in headfirst. Now? Now I’d show up at that damned Armory if it killed me. I’d flirt all over the place, too.
F*ck him and his whore.
I glared at him. He glared back. Neither of us blinked.
There’s a lot Ruger and I refused to talk about, and God knew he could hide his thoughts from me. Now I couldn’t even begin to follow his logic—he’d made it clear nothing would happen between us, so why the jealous boyfriend act?
“Why does it matter?” I asked finally. “Are your friends so dangerous that I’m not safe? Because you’ve spent a lot of time giving me shit for assuming they’re dangerous criminals instead of giving them a shot. So it’s either that or because you’re jealous. That it? You don’t want me but nobody else gets me, either? Would it be easier if you peed on me so they know I’m taken?”
“It’d be easier if you’d shut the f*ck up,” he said, eyes darkening.
“That’s what you want from me? Silence?” I demanded, feeling my temper rise. “Call me stupid, but it seemed like you wanted a hell of a lot more the other night. You can’t have it both ways, a*shole. Either there’s something between us or I’m a free agent.”
Ruger pushed away from the counter, holding my gaze as he stalked across the kitchen.
“Oh, I can have it both ways,” he said. “You shouldn’t make assumptions about what I’m capable of, Soph. I’ll be nice and give you a heads-up what’s happening here. I want to f*ck you.”
He rounded the kitchen island, prowling like the big cat tattooed on his hip. The kitchen felt smaller and smaller. I was all too aware of his bare chest, black ink rippling as he moved, and just how tightly controlled he kept his strength. Perhaps direct confrontation had been a mistake …
“That’s the thing about guys like me,” he continued, his voice low and smooth, eyes boring right through mine. “We don’t do what we’re supposed to. We take what we want. And me? I want all kinds of things. First I want to tie you up in my bed with my belt. Then I want to cut off your clothes and f*ck you in every hole you have. I also want to come on you and rub it into your skin and lick your p-ssy until you scream at me to stop because if you come one more time you’ll die. Then I want to do it again. I want to own you, Sophie.”
He stopped beside my stool, so close the heat of his body engulfed me. I couldn’t even turn my head to look at him, frozen like a rabbit, his words turning over and over in my head. His scent surrounded me. I tried to breathe as he leaned in close, one arm braced on the counter, whispering in my ear.
“I want to own every part of you,” he continued, his breath hot against my skin. “I want to throw you face-first across this counter, rip off those shorts, and f*ck you hard and fast until my goddamned cock stops hurting and my balls don’t feel like they’re gonna explode. Because they’ve felt that way for a helluva long time, Soph, and I’m startin’ to think it’s not gonna go away unless I do something about it.”
It took everything I had not to squeak in panic. Every part of my body tingled and I clenched my legs together tightly, putting pressure on my * with every pulse of desire. Oh, that felt good. Not good enough, though, I needed more. My cheeks flushed and my breath came quick. I considered reaching down and shoving my hand into those half-fastened pants. Maybe discover for myself if Kimber had been telling the truth about his cock …
Ruger hadn’t even touched me.
He still wasn’t touching me. I bit back a moan.
“But that’s probably not a real good idea,” he added, his voice cooling as he pulled back. “We both know it. Not what Noah needs and a f*ckin’ tar pit for you and me, too. But your idea about hooking up with one of my brothers? That keeps runnin’ through my head, Soph, and then I start thinking about shootin’ people. I don’t want to have to shoot anyone tomorrow, get me? Shitty way to end a party. Not to mention the prez might get frustrated, one of the local brothers loses it in public with the whole f*ckin’ club here for a meet.”
Holy crap.
I nodded, chest tightening.
“So, all things considered, you might think about doing exactly what I say at that f*ckin’ party,” he said, and while he phrased it like a suggestion, it was a straight-up order. “I get that you don’t want someone like me in your bed, not as a keeper. Don’t want things to get weirder than they are between us, either. But if you’re gonna screw a biker, Soph, I’m the only one you get. I won’t stand by and let you f*ck one of my brothers.”
“I can’t believe you just said all that,” I whispered. “That’s wrong on so many levels. I don’t even know where to start.”
He considered me, eyes hard, voice cold.
“I don’t care if it’s wrong,” he said. “That’s the way it is. My house, my world, my rules. Tell me you understand and I’ll let you go to the party.”
“I’m an adult,” I managed to say, although my voice shook. “You don’t get to tell me what to do.”
“And yet I’m doin’ it,” he returned, shrugging casually. “Do you really think I won’t enforce this? I’ll f*ckin’ enforce it, Soph. Don’t test me.”
“I haven’t decided about the party,” I whispered. “But I’m done with this conversation. I’m going back downstairs.”
“No, you’re not,” he said, and that little, instinctive voice deep down inside me screaming to run finally won. I slid off the stool and made a break for the stairs. Big mistake, because Ruger caught me around the waist and lifted me up onto the kitchen bar, eyes blazing. Two seconds later he stepped in between my legs, one hand pulling me in tight and the other twisting through my hair, jerking my head back.
“Let me go,” I whispered. He cocked his head, as if considering the idea, then slowly shook it.
“I can’t,” he said. Then his lips covered mine and a fuse blew in my brain.