Burning to Ride Read online

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  This goes out to the fabulous Red Hots, who have been cheerleaders for this series from the get-go. Thanks for always encouraging me, celebrating with me, reading, and reviewing! And an extra big high-five to Jennifer Hayes for all her great ideas about names for biker gangs!

  BURNED BY LUST

  Chapter One

  “What the fuck is going on up there?” Hade Corban tried not to growl but hell, the racket coming from upstairs sounded like an elephant on crack.

  “Dunno. Some guy took a couple of women upstairs. Reckon it was the new guy trying to prove he’s actually got a dick after Mitch called him a pussy when he couldn’t get his bike over fifty in that last race.”

  Hade snorted. “Well he’s either having a really good time, or a really bad one. Either way, go tell him to shut up, Martinez, I’m trying to think.”

  The younger member of the Raising Hellfire biker gang perked an eyebrow and Hade bristled. “Yes, really. Shit’s gonna get real if the Reapers of Menace decide to come after you for talking smack about Tin’s woman. He married her for fuck’s sake, why’d you have to call her a bitch?”

  Martinez beamed and took a long pull on his beer. “She is a bitch. I know. I’ve been there.”

  “You’ve been everywhere. It’s going to get you in deep shit one day.” Hade rubbed his face. “And on top of that, we need money. Stat.”

  Martinez shrugged. “That’s why you’re taking over from Rocco and I’m not. Fuck being the leader of this gang, bunch of pricks. Too much responsibility.” The guy winked, a big grin on his face.

  “Bunch of pricks is right.” Hade shook his head and tipped back the shot of whiskey the barkeep had put in front of him. The burn down his throat was just right, strong enough to give him focus and warm his stomach after the gang’s long race along the hills of Los Angeles all afternoon.

  “If we don’t get some more cash soon it won’t matter if the Reapers of Menace take you out. That school burglary is going to bite us in the ass. Soon.”

  Martinez just shrugged. “I’ll leave you to it then,” he said and walked off.

  Heading up the gang was supposed to be Hade’s brother’s dream gig. The solo ride that went with the top job wasn’t Hade’s style. But he’d promised his brother, Jason, he’d do it while the idiot lay bleeding out in his arms, so do it, he would. No one went back on a promise to a dead man, not around here.

  He’d only just worked out how lonely the ride was at the top though. Keeping people at arm’s length so there was no one close enough to get hurt in any gang fallout had been easier than he’d expected.

  Hade shook his head and gestured for another shot. So what if this hadn’t always been his dream, it was his reality, and Hell’s was the only family he had. Trust. Loyalty. That’s all you had when you had nothing else. And what was he going to do if he didn’t head up Hell’s anyway? Get a real job? He chuckled at the thought of himself wearing anything but leather, and trying to make nice with someone’s little old grandmother over the sales counter at Macy’s.

  Another gang member pushed another shot in front of him with a nod and he downed it.

  A thud and a shrill collection of female squeals came again from above his head. Hade looked up at the shabby timber boards, bereft of plaster or paint. Wilde’s Hotel was the gang’s bar. Always had been. And there were rooms upstairs. Rooms that sounded like they were about to let loose their floorboards. He looked around. No one else seemed to give a shit, they were all either playing darts, talking crap, or gazing fondly at the beer in front of them. “Screw it,” he said, and pushed away from the bar.

  At the rate he’d taken them, they’d probably heard him coming up the stairs, but there was no response when he rapped loudly on the door. Another loud thud came from the room, then a woman’s pleading voice. Hade’s hackles rose. The new guy was just that, a new guy. But surely he wasn’t doing anything stupid.

  The door wasn’t locked and he pushed into the room. The bed was a mess of blankets and strewn clothes, but his eyes barely took it in. A woman wrapped in a sheet was bent over a guy on the floor, clearly trying to rouse him as she shook him by the shoulders. He didn’t stir and she sat back on her heels. “Seriously? You bring me up here and pass out? What kind of man does that?”

  Hade cleared his throat, and she turned.

  “Oh thank God, he sent for reinforcements before he lost it. This guy is useless. Hope you’ve got your big boy pants on.”

  Hade looked down at his black leather pants and then back up at the speaker. Despite the shots of whiskey he’d downed, his mouth went dry as he took in the scene. The new guy, his pants around his ankles, sprawled on the floor—that must have been the thud—and then the woman crouched over him, wrapped in a sheet, sleek jet-black hair tousled around her face. And her voice . . . it was all kinds of rich, syrupy coffee. She was nothing like the other women in the bar downstairs. Her hair, her soft curves, the way she held herself, it all screamed of a woman flirting with danger instead of living it. This was not her place.

  “Reckon he’s had too much to drink,” she said, still defiant from within her scramble of sheets. “All talk, no follow-through.”

  No, that voice wasn’t just coffee, Hade decided. Her voice was coffee with a shot of bourbon and the contents of half an ashtray. You didn’t want to drink it, but it was addictive, dirty, and fuck-me sexy, so you ended up drinking it anyway and wanting more even though you knew you should leave well enough alone.

  “We have a code ’round here.” He nodded to the guy on the floor. “No sharing. Not without permission.”

  “If you mean no sharing within your gang, don’t worry about it.”

  He was about to ask her what she meant when the woman stood up. Jeezus wept. The sheet dropped away and Hade realized that the woman was still dressed. Although dressed was probably an overstatement. She was just about covered in black lace. Sheer. Filthy. Black. Lace.

  “All dressed up and nowhere to go, huh?” he said, almost to himself. Hade’s eyes were drawn to the pink tip of the woman’s tongue as she licked her lips and then put a finger to her mouth and bit it. It was just a tongue, shouldn’t have had any effect on him, and yet every fiber of his being was set on wondering what that little pink tongue would feel like on him. Licking his chest. His neck. His cock.

  Someone started to snore gently, and Hade watched as Black Lace chuckled, took a step over to the bed, and rearranging the mess of bedcovers, revealing a naked woman. Black Lace patted her on the back.

  “Shit, I didn’t even see her there,” Hade said.

  Black Lace shrugged. “Probably because she was totally passed out.” Then she locked her golden-brown eyes with Hade’s. “Neither of us have any loyalty to him, if that’s what you’re worried about.” She nodded to the guy on the floor.

  The shrug belied his interest, and he fought to keep his composure neutral. “Looks like your party’s over,” Hade said, forcing the words through his tight jaw.

  “Does it have to b
e?” Black Lace said, but he sensed a bravado that was bigger than she was in her words, like she was putting on an act. A hard leather shell to guard whatever it was she kept inside. “Bet you’re not like them,” she said, her eyes dancing between defiance and fear. “You wouldn’t leave a lady hanging, would you?”

  As if he wanted to be part of the conversation, the unconscious guy rolled over and Hade’s eyes narrowed. The face was familiar, but it wasn’t the new guy. Hade couldn’t place where he knew him from, just that he was familiar.

  Everything in him told him to walk away. The distracting noise was over now that the guy was out for the count, but Hade found himself rooted to the spot. You don’t have time to rescue anyone today. No, he didn’t. But there was something about this woman that was already under his skin. Under his skin, on his skin, in his hair, curling its fingers through his veins.

  Black Lace crossed her arms, plumping her small breasts so her nipples almost peeked over the top of the lace baby-doll dress that could barely call itself more than a handkerchief. She was fighting something, all right, something that had hardened her to the point of no return. Something he wanted to smooth the edges off and put back into its box.

  “I need this,” she said simply. And he knew he wasn’t leaving. The need for escape was something he understood all too well.

  Trust, loyalty. And also living life like there was no tomorrow. Getting rid of her hard edge and sending her back to her nice soft life would be doing her a service, right?

  “You coming or going? I thought you gang boys were supposed to be hard,” she said.

  Oh, he was definitely hard. The rasp in her voice pushed his cock against the zipper of his riding leathers. Walk away. She’s trouble, you promised Jason you’d give the gang your all and the Reapers of Menace could be pulling up outside any minute. You don’t have the time. The voice in his head provided a chatty commentary. Chatty, but utterly useless. “Gonna tell me your name?”

  “Lee. Lee Delevigne. And I bet I’m a better ride than any bike you’ve ever had.” Again with the forced hard edge. The way she spoke her name though—all pride, all sass—snapped something in Hade and the air in the room crept closer, making his nerves ping like rubber bands. The buzz of the bar downstairs was dulled to the low roar of air inside a seashell and all Hade could hear was the threat and promise of Lee’s taunt. His feet started moving and suddenly the door behind him was shut and locked and his jacket and white T-shirt were on the floor.

  “You sure you want to know what Hell’s Boys are made of? It might ruin you for anyone else.”

  That dented her shell a little. He saw her gulp. But she jutted out her chin. “Nice try, mister, but talk is cheap. You’ve still got your pants on.”

  “And you’ve still got”—he gestured at her black lace outfit—“still got something on that would be illegal in any number of states.” The almost-dress was tied at the side with black ribbon and underneath it, the barest scrap of a black lace thong was neatly outlined under the sheerness of it all.

  “Last chance to run away. This isn’t the place for nice girls like you.”

  Her shoulders stiffened and with a careful finger she slipped the strap off. “Who you calling nice? I’m the one who’s still waiting.”

  Okay, then. “Manners, sweetheart. You’re supposed to ask nicely for treats,” he said and took a step toward her.

  “I’m not very good at manners. I always forgot to listen to what Momma tried to teach me.” Lee bit her lip again and slipped the strap off her other shoulder.

  Oh hell yes. “I should teach you how to say please and thank you then.”

  She laughed, a thick, throaty sound that wouldn’t have been out of place coming from a burly builder. Her golden-brown eyes met his with a keen interest and sharp challenge. No one looked at him like that anymore. They were either scared or resentful. Not defiant with a splash of indignation, not like her. And definitely not in a way that sent his blood screaming downward.

  She pretended to look at a nonexistent watch. “And look at that, I’m still waiting,” she teased. “Hell’s boys, Menace guys, all of you think you’re the kings of the world, don’t you?”

  The hairs on the back of Hade’s neck tried to get the hell up and crawl away and the feeling that he knew the face of the guy on the floor scratched at him harder. “What do you mean? What do you know about the gangs around here?”

  “Just that your man here thought he was being the big guy bringing us here, right under your noses.”

  “Right under our noses.” Recognition clicked and Hade took a step back. He knew where he knew the guy’s face from. “You’re a Menace woman?”

  She shook her head. “I don’t belong to anyone.”

  “That’s what you think.” That’s what everyone thought who messed with the Reapers of Menace. The frustration that had been boiling in him all day threatened to swipe away the pleasure of a night of anonymity.

  “No.” She was suddenly firm and her body language changed. “I. Don’t. Belong. To. Anyone.”

  Hade watched her and saw the edge of whatever it was that was eating her rear its head, ready to snap at him, at anyone that tried to own her.

  “Wouldn’t you like to get one over on them anyway? Bastards, trying to have women in your hotel.”

  “Damn straight.”

  “So take me. Show them who’s in charge around here.”

  This was an even worse idea. Back. The Hell. Away. His body ignored him and he closed the gap between them before she’d finished the sharp inhalation. Her eyes glittered as they met his. He took her arm and pulled her away from the edge of the bed. “Don’t want to disturb your friend there.” He slid his fingers across her stomach, and down farther until he stroked at the seam of her black lace panties. Soaked. Holy shit.

  He deserved a little fun. A night off. A night of pure lust and pure escape. And if he was going to head up this gang of misfits, fallout from the Reapers of Menace was inevitable. They were going to be coming for him anyway. Fuckers. Really? This mindless rubbing it in their faces was the sort of shit you were going to crack down on.

  Then Lee twisted slightly, rubbing herself against his hard, ready cock and all rational thought disappeared.

  “You gonna take that outfit off or you want it in little pieces on the floor?” he said as he gripped her hips and kept her pressed tight against him, rocking against her to show her what was coming next. He was pleased to feel her pelvis move with his rhythm and a faint, dark moaning came from the back of her throat. Not loud, probably subconscious. Damn. Hot.

  He slapped her on the butt. Hard. Her eyes flashed at him, the golden brown of her irises turning a smoky caramel color. “Well?” he demanded.

  She looked up from under long dark lashes. “You not gentlemanly enough to undress a woman nicely?”

  He stopped his pressure. “You never said you were looking for a gentleman.”

  “Touché.” She undid one black silk bow on the side of her dress, then the other, and let her negligee slither to the floor.

  “Now those.” He pointed at the tiny pair of panties.

  She bit her lip and he watched her steel herself to challenge him. “Not till yours go.”

  For the briefest moment nothing but the air in the room moved, the world crackling as their gazes locked. Then she put a hand to his bare chest and it was as if she’d seared his skin with a hot poker.

  The woman on the bed sighed as she rolled over again and Hade took in the two drunken bodies sprawled around the room. Time to relocate. “Let’s go. You got any suggestions?” he said, his voice gruff even to his own ears.

  Her finger traced the line of his abs and she put her mouth to his nipple, just once, lightly, but his skin burned, the hairs on every part of his body standing to attention. She smiled. “I always have plenty of suggestions.”

  Chapter Two

  Lee looked him up and down and bit the inside of her cheek as she took in the sheer size of him. The man wa
s huge, up as well as down. Broad-chested and tall, the kind of tall that made her all kinds of petite. Eyes—dark pools of glistening chocolate, black hair—slicked, longish, dirty-ish, but outlaw-in-leather-sexy perfect in all the right kind of ways.

  Nothing like her stepdad. Thank Christ. When she’d gotten upstairs with the guy currently unconscious on the floor, she’d realized with a blinding flash that he reminded her of her asshat stepdad. But then she was there, in the room, full of booze, committed, and figured it might be good for her to fuck him, to shake the hold her control-freak stepdad still seemed to have on her. And having another woman with her had been a nice safety blanket. But when he looked at her all leery and drunk, his eyes slanting just like the asshat’s used to, Lee’s skin crawled almost off her back. Thank goodness he’d passed out.

  But this guy? This guy walked into the room and it was as if the air had taken on eighty volts. Guy was full-throttle charged and she could do with a jump-start in L.A. Best way to disappear was to make yourself at home, right?

  She wasn’t exactly on the run, but she wasn’t going home anytime soon. Here was what she needed. The anonymous oblivion of being part of a pack. And even if someone from Boston came looking here in L.A., they weren’t going to bust into a biker gang without thinking twice. Certainly not when they got a look at Muscle Man here.

  “Hope you’re good with a shower nozzle,” she said and stalked toward the adjoining bathroom. As she walked she slipped a finger under the side of her thong, letting the elastic snap against her skin with a sharp crack. Glancing down, she saw it had left a faint pink mark on her pale skin. Chancing a look over her shoulder, it was clear her biker liked that. His eyes were hot. Hungry.

  Sex was her biggest and best vice. Booze came a close second, but if she had to give up bourbon to keep a steady supply of fuck-buddies in her life, she’d do it gladly. Hell, she needed sex. In a man’s world, what else did she have a chance of controlling? Watching men dance to get inside her was almost as good as the surge of blood through her body that came with each and every orgasm.