Whisper Falls Page 16

  She peeked over her shoulder toward Rachel, who moved her lips to say, Be careful. But the truth was, Tessa hadn’t come here to be careful—she’d come to be daring. So she just smiled, then let Lucky lead her wherever he wanted her to go.

  They crossed the room amid the clack of billiard balls and an old Motley Crue song that pumped through the air, until Lucky drew her back a short hallway, where he tried a closed door, which didn’t open. “Damn,” he muttered. “Of all the nights for Duke to start locking his office.”

  When he tried another door, also locked, he let out a deep sigh, then simply turned around and leaned her back against the nearest wall, his face instantly close to hers. His body, too. “I just wanted to talk to you alone, babe,” he explained.

  Her breasts ached, and the juncture of her thighs pulsed. It was suddenly hard to catch her breath. “Okay.”

  “I . . . wanted to apologize,” he said. “For walking away from you. Last week. At the waterfall.” Pressing one hand against the wall next to her head in a way that made her feel pleasantly trapped, he looked—felt—so big, masculine. As he peered down at her from beneath shaded lids, the warmth of his breath grazed her skin.

  In response, she simply shook her head, then found a couple of words. “It’s okay.”

  “No,” he said, his voice dropping, going utterly deep and sexy, “it’s not. I . . . didn’t want to walk away.”

  She swallowed, every pore of her flesh seeming to throb with the strange connection that always stretched so tautly between their bodies. Now her voice went lower, too. “What . . . did you want to do?”

  “This,” he rasped. Then he lifted his other hand to cup her jaw and lowered his mouth to hers.

  The kiss moved through Tessa’s entire body like a slow, warm, engulfing storm. She sank into it, embraced it, let it swallow her. It was, without a doubt, the best thing she’d felt in four long years.

  As Lucky’s tongue pressed between her lips, she met it with her own and heat flowed strong and potent between her legs. The tang of whiskey incited her senses further. And on instinct, she lifted her hands to his chest, felt his heartbeat, the warmth of his body, all that was hard and broad and male about him, soon curling her fingers into the T-shirt he wore as the intensity of the kiss overcame her.

  When finally the kiss ended, she opened her eyes and found Lucky staring back at her, looking as aroused as she felt. She heard them both breathing, felt the rise and fall of his chest as he pressed his body close to hers. “You taste good,” he murmured, their mouths just an inch apart. “Like cranberries.”

  “You taste good, too,” she managed. Though it didn’t matter what the taste was—anything he tasted like right now would have pleasured her, added one more sensation. In one sense, Tessa couldn’t believe a mere kiss had left her so utterly poleaxed, but on the other hand, she’d been waiting so long. For a kiss like this. From a sexy man like this.

  Now they just looked at each other, and the connection of their eyes felt like enough in that heady moment; it felt like sex. The first low, provocative notes of AC/DC’s “Touch Too Much” sounded over the loudspeakers and the pungently seductive lyrics only pulled her that much more deeply into the moment, into him. His dark eyes pinned her in place, so that she felt captured by him, but she liked it.

  When he reached up between them to run one fingertip ever-so-gently across the top edge of her bra, visible above her cami, her breath grew ragged, her stomach tight. The sensation skittered through her, straight to the juncture of her thighs. “Want to know a secret, hot stuff?” he whispered darkly.

  “Uh-huh,” she mumbled.

  He dropped his gaze to her breasts—which were heaving now—so she did, too. It was an admittedly sexy view and, for a second, she could scarcely believe this was her. “These little glimpses of lace,” he said slowly, “have been driving me wild since you walked in the door.”

  She sucked in her breath, tried to hide the quiver in her voice. “I . . . remembered you like red.”

  A small, wicked grin made his brown eyes sparkle. “I do. But that’s not why it’s driving me wild.”

  “Why then?” she whispered.

  “Because I want to get underneath it to the rest of you.”

  His words stole her breath and when he kissed her this time, she instantly circled her arms around his neck—she had to, or else she might have collapsed beneath the heat they generated. Each firm kiss he delivered was long and deep and swallowing, enough to make Tessa forget where they were or even who she was. She’d never been so lost to simply kissing a man.

  Of course, there was nothing simple about Lucky’s kisses—they were warm and utterly intoxicating, injecting an incredible energy into her veins even as they weakened her. His strong arms left her feeling all the more safe and protected—she couldn’t think of any place in the world she’d rather be than in Lucky Romo’s embrace.

  When a large noise came directly from Tessa’s right, they both stopped kissing and looked up to see an older, rather overweight biker stumbling drunkenly around the corner, probably looking for the bathroom. “Can I have some, too?” he asked.

  “Back off,” Lucky growled, then ushered Tessa quickly away, to the end of a short hall and through a steel door with an exit sign lit above it. Suddenly, they were outside, behind the building, where crisp night air bit at her skin and the world was much quieter—only the echo of AC/DC could be heard reverberating through the walls now.

  Before she knew it, Lucky’s arms were back around her and he’d resumed kissing her, whispering in between, “Too cold out here, babe?”

  “No,” she breathed. “I’m fine.”

  It was cold, but a blizzard couldn’t have pulled her away from him.

  He kissed her again and again, until she was utterly lost to him, until hot and cold didn’t even register anymore, until . . . his hands eased downward, over her ass, drawing her close, so blessedly close that his erection nestled against her through the denim. Oh God, yes. It was the perfect union between hard and soft, and maybe the best thing she’d ever felt in her life. Until, that is, they began to move together, to grind, to seek that ultimate pleasure in each other. It was natural, it was primal, and Tessa surrendered to it without thought.

  Her breath came short as his kisses dropped to her neck and she clutched at his broad shoulders. Soon he was lifting her, hands still on her bottom, up onto the hood of an old car she hadn’t even noticed parked out there among crates and boxes. A dim security light shone down on them.

  Their eyes met once more as Lucky smoothly drew his hands around until they were splayed across her thighs, the tips of his fingers edging beneath her skirt. She sucked in her breath. Nothing about the setting was as she’d imagined it, but seldom in her life had anything felt so powerful, so right. Everything about the moment was raw and honest and utterly intense. She didn’t care where they were—she just wanted more of him.

  So when he parted her legs and stepped up between them, she didn’t even think about resisting. And when he used his hands to slide her rear to the edge of the car, pressing his hard-on back against her, under her skirt, right up against the lace panties she wore, she let out a low moan.

  “You feel so good,” he murmured deeply, moving his delicious arousal against that most sensitive part of her again.

  “You feel amazing,” she breathed near his ear, then kissed his cheek, letting him know she wanted still more. More kissing, more everything.

  “I want to take you home with me,” he whispered. “I want to be with you all . . . night . . . long.”

  She drew in her breath at the heady promise and bit her lip in passion as Lucky slipped his thumb beneath the straps of her cami and bra, slowly lowering them from one shoulder, baring it to the night completely.

  And that’s when a racket came from inside the bar, so loud they could hear it through the thick door. Something crashing. Someone yelling. She felt his muscles tense at the distraction.

  He let out
a disgusted sigh. “Shit—I hope Spider isn’t making trouble.”

  And every nerve in Tessa’s body went on red alert. “Rachel,” she murmured in concern. In fact, it just occurred to her that she’d abandoned Rachel in there—the very thing Rachel had refused to do to her, whether she’d liked it or not.

  “Duke’ll look out for her,” Lucky promised. But even as he eased his arms warmly back around her, he glanced uneasily toward the door—through which they could hear more yelling—and said, “Aw, damn—better go see what the hell’s going on in there.”

  Tessa bit her lip and nodded as she reached to move her straps back onto her shoulder.

  And Lucky paused, lifting his hand to her cheek. “Sorry, hot stuff.”

  She just shook her head. Inside, she was going crazy, her body hungering for more—but after realizing she’d left Rachel alone, she also experienced an almost frantic need to get back inside. She even took the lead, hopping down from the car and grabbing Lucky’s hand to head toward the back entrance.

  Lucky opened the heavy door and together they rushed in—him stepping in front of her, which was probably best. There for a moment, she’d almost forgotten where they were, but she supposed anything could be happening in the biker bar.

  As they emerged from the hallway into the main room, Tessa tried to make sense of what she saw—which could have been far worse, but still shocked the hell out of her. A stool had been toppled, and Rachel stood between Duke and her fiancé, arms thrust to either side to keep them apart.

  Oh God. How had Mike ended up here? Maybe Tessa’s first thought had been wrong—maybe things couldn’t be far worse, since Mike looked completely outraged and she knew it was, ultimately, all her fault.

  She tuned in to the shouting, most of which seemed to be taking place between Mike and Rachel now, even as music continued blaring around them all. “What on earth are you even doing here?” Rachel was yelling.

  “We decided to go to Bleachers instead of the Dew Drop, and I saw your damn car outside!” Bleachers was a nearby sports bar. “I was sure it couldn’t be yours, but the hell if it wasn’t!”

  “Oh, so it’s okay if you have a change of plans and don’t let me know, but I can’t decide where I want to go without running it by you first?”

  “No! Not if it’s here, for God’s sake! Jesus Christ, woman, have you completely lost your mind?”

  Tessa didn’t know why Duke was even involved—maybe he’d mistakenly tried to protect Rachel from Mike. Or maybe Mike had jumped to conclusions if he’d come in and seen Rachel talking with Duke across the bar. Whatever the case, the whole scene was a mess—and she felt the overpowering need to intervene.

  She marched up to where they stood arguing and held up her hands. “Stop, this is all my fault!” Then she looked to Mike. “Don’t be mad at her. I made her come here—she didn’t want to, but I twisted her arm.”

  Mike just stared at her, clearly dumbfounded—whether due to the way she was dressed or because she’d dragged Rachel to Gravediggers, she didn’t know. Probably both. “Why on earth would you want to come here?”

  Oh boy. That’s when it hit her. Somewhere behind her Lucky stood watching, seeing his brother for the first time since he was eighteen years old. This wasn’t exactly the family reunion she’d envisioned them having. Yet she had no choice but to answer Mike’s question—even if her voice came out softer than intended. “To see your brother.” And without quite meaning to, she motioned vaguely over her shoulder.

  Then Mike’s focus shifted from her . . . to a spot behind her. And she turned to find the two brothers gaping at each other, the gruff cop and the wayward biker face-to-face at last.

  “Lucky?” Mike gasped, his expression filled with shock, anger, pain.

  She heard the breath Lucky expelled from where she stood a few yards away. “Mike,” he said quietly.

  I wish to be a better man than I have been . . .

  Charlotte Brontë, Jane Eyre

  Nine

  Lucky felt rooted in place, like he couldn’t move.

  And maybe that was good because his first instinct was to run away from this—to just turn around and walk out the door. He was good at running—he’d been doing it all his life. But right now, his body wouldn’t let him. He had to face his brother, ready or not.

  Mike’s Adam’s apple shifted as he swallowed, making him look uncomfortable, upset. At the same time Lucky watched his brother’s expression, he tried to take in the ways he’d changed, grown up, aged. Like Lucky, he was bigger than he’d been as a young man, his shoulders broader. He appeared strong, healthy—although now he possessed small creases around his eyes. He looked, at the moment, tired.

  He sensed Mike taking in the same with him—the changes. The ink, the muscles. And Lucky felt strange to realize he’d gotten a little taller, and more muscular, than his big brother.

  After what felt like a long time, Mike simply began shaking his head. “What the hell, Lucky?” he said, clearly angry. “You couldn’t pick up a fucking phone? Send a fucking letter, or e-mail? You couldn’t let us know you’re still alive and breathing someplace?”

  His attitude pissed Lucky off. He knew Mike and their parents had plenty to be angry about, but if Mike cared so damn much, couldn’t he let it show a little the first time they set eyes on each other? This was exactly why Lucky hadn’t let them know he was home—not just because of the complicated awkwardness of it all, but because he’d feared this very thing; he’d almost known they wouldn’t make him feel . . . missed. Or welcome. Instead Mike could only remind him what a screw-up he’d always been.

  “Maybe I didn’t think anybody gave a shit,” Lucky bit off, his body tensing with his own rage now.

  Mike just looked at him like he was crazy, stupid. “What? You didn’t think your own family cared if you were dead or alive?” His tone remained filled with just as much disdain, implying Lucky was an idiot.

  And despite the fact that it felt a little humiliating to admit this in front of the whole damn bar, Lucky was completely honest. “That’s pretty much the size of it, yeah.”

  Mike just stood there shaking his head, still as if Lucky wasn’t making any sense—when, in fact, he thought he was being perfectly clear. Eyes squinted and glassy, still disgusted, Mike growled, “Damn it, I don’t know if I want to hug you or punch you in the mouth.”

  Lucky just glared at him. “Guess that’s your call, big brother.” Then he held his hands out to his sides, palms up.

  His gaze never broke with Mike’s as he came nearer, and Lucky had no idea what Mike was going to do—but he began to feel, strangely, what it might be like to get a hug from his brother after all these years. And he’d just begun to realize he wouldn’t mind that, even here, even in front of all these people—when Mike drew back his fist and landed it squarely on Lucky’s jaw, a hard, jolting blow that knocked him back two steps.

  Everything around him went fuzzy, not from being hit, but from the surprise of it, and the surprise that it wounded him so much—inside. He felt like he and Mike were in some kind of a weird bubble—he could vaguely hear Rachel saying Mike’s name, could see Tessa in his peripheral vision covering her mouth with her hand, her eyes gone wide. He sensed Duke standing back, but ready to defend Lucky if need be. Yet Lucky just kept looking at Mike.

  He could hit him back; any other time in his adult life when someone had hit him, that’s what he’d done, hit them back. And whether it was a short scuffle or a long, knock-down, drag-out brawl, he’d usually been the last man standing. He didn’t lift weights for nothing—his muscles were one way he protected himself in this world. And given his size, he knew—he thought they both knew—that he could pound Mike into the ground right now if he wanted. But he just stood there.

  Maybe because somewhere deep inside him, he thought Mike had the right to take a swing like that.

  Or maybe because nothing that had happened when they were kids had really been Mike’s fault, and he was just now beginni
ng to see in Mike’s eyes that he’d hurt him by leaving.

  Or maybe . . . he just didn’t want to hit his brother, didn’t want to hurt his brother. Not anymore.

  “You can hit me again if you want,” Lucky said after a minute. “You can beat the hell out of me if it’ll make you feel better.”

  Mike’s expression remained cold, unforgiving.

  And Lucky’s heart broke a little more than it already had. Damn it. I didn’t think I felt shit like that anymore. I thought I was done caring what my family thinks of me. Apparently, he’d been wrong. He swallowed, hard, trying to keep the emotion from showing on his face. He didn’t have much in ways, but at least he had his pride.

  “It won’t,” Mike finally said. Then he turned his back, grabbed Rachel’s hand, and said, “Let’s go. We’re leaving.”

  Lucky thought it looked like Rachel wanted to say something in response—though she held her tongue, probably wanting to just get this moment over with, which suited Lucky fine. He faced Tessa then—only to have Mike stop and look her way as well. “Come on, Tessa,” his brother said.

  She simply blinked, pretty and shockingly pure even in that slightly sinful outfit. “Huh?”

  “You’re going with us,” Mike said, his jaw set. “I’m not leaving you here, either.”

  She sucked in her breath, and Lucky had half a mind to object, but the truth was, he didn’t want to make any more trouble for Tessa and her friend. He was used to trouble—but it sucked, and he wouldn’t heap it on someone who didn’t deserve it. “Go,” Lucky told her softly, just as Rachel made a prodding face at her to say, “Just come on already.” Then she shoved Tessa’s purse at her, which she must have been holding on to while Tessa and Lucky were outside.