Tank swallowed hard. How long had it been since he’d had a woman—and remembered it? One? Two weeks? Maybe more. But tumbling a sweet butt in his bed was never the same as fucking a woman he really wanted, a woman he had to work to get, a smart, classy woman the likes of whom never usually looked twice at a guy like Tank.
Unbidden, an image of Connie flitted through his mind. Connie was smart, too. She had a master’s degree in music. He’d thought she would be soft and sweet in bed, but she’d gone fucking wild for him, clawing at his back, screaming his name. He’d never had that kind of sex with a woman. Hell, he’d never had that kind of connection. But Connie was gone, and Ella was here. Ella with her silky robe and her lush lips. Ella who had gone through his phone and put his club at risk. He couldn’t hurt her, but maybe she could pay him back another way. She was offering after all. His mind wandered, and his cock rose to follow.
“Tank.” She raised her voice, pulling him out of the beginning of a fantasy about the famous Ella Masters on her knees between his legs with her lips wrapped around his cock, wearing those damn glasses she wore on TV and nothing else.
“Yeah.” He grunted, not wanting to risk any telltale huskiness in his voice, although if she looked down, the boner straining against his fly would be a dead giveaway.
“I can do more for you than access police reports.” She pulled the belt on her robe, and the two sides parted, her perfect body on display.
His mind split in two, half of it focused on Ella, sitting half naked swathed in white silk, the other half focused on his club and what they would do to him when the ATF came beating down the club door wondering what the Sinners were doing in Still Water putting bullets into Leo’s brain.
“Don’t talk about the fucking police. They’re gonna be all over the club ’cause of what you did.” He struggled to put his thoughts together. “What I told you about the gas station was between you and me. I didn’t say the Sinners were involved. If that was T-Rex and he offed Leo, he did it on his own and not as part of the club.”
“Don’t you get it?” She stood and the gown slid down her body and pooled at her feet. Christ, she looked like those marble statues he’d seen on TV—Greek goddesses with lush bodies and perfect faces, smooth skin, and bare pussies.
She walked toward him, her heavy breasts swaying, pink-tipped nipples hard and begging to be touched. “That little tidbit got me a boost up the rankings, which means I have more pull. I can stay on the story, and my boss is giving me more resources to investigate, resources I can use to help you. He’s even sending me to the bike rally on the weekend. I’d say that’s a win win for us all.” She stopped only a few inches away, slid her hands over his chest. “The Sinners are a powerful club. I’m sure they can handle the police.”
Her soft words, the gentle lilt of her voice, her hand roaming his body, the sweet scent of her perfume, and her lush naked body all ripe for the taking eased his tension, assuaged his fears. He reached for her and pulled her against him, ground his erection into her hips. “You better not be fucking with me, Ella.”
“I would never do anything to hurt you, James,” she whispered, leaning up, her breath soft in his ear. “I want you too much. I always have.” She clasped his hand, drew it down to the juncture of her thighs, slid his finger through her wet, slick folds.
Ella Masters, one of southern Montana’s top reporters wanted him. She wined and dined with governors and senators. She was on the fucking news every night. She was smart and rich and beautiful and talented and she wanted him, really wanted him. Tank. An outlaw who had never even finished high school. She was wet for him, and he hadn’t even touched her.
His phone buzzed in his pocket. Ella reached into his cut and pulled it out.
“Let’s put this away,” she whispered. “Right now it’s just you and me.”
The sight of her slim white fingers wrapped around his phone broke through the haze of his lust. Images tumbled through his mind: T-Rex, Banks, Connie, Sirens, Black Widow spiders with their heads bitten off, and the button on his phone that he pressed with his thumb to unlock it. And through her fingers he could see the flash, flash, flash of Jagger’s name.
“Jesus fucking Christ.” He ripped the phone from her hand and stepped away.
His president needed him. His club needed him. There was only one way she could have accessed his phone when he was sleeping and the thought she’d used him that way made his skin crawl.
Ella opened her arms and his betraying cock throbbed.
“Come,” she beckoned him forward.
He went. But not in the direction she was expecting.
SEVENTEEN