Fire Inside:A Chaos Novel(44)

Under normal circumstances, this would be nice and I’d latch onto it like a sucker fish to the side of an aquarium.

Obviously, in these abnormal circumstances, it wasn’t.

“Hop, no offense and you know I don’t share these sentiments, but my father’s the president of a bank that has forty branches. My mother is a banker’s wife. They live in Connecticut. They belong to a country club. They own a fabulous condominium on the beach in Florida. They vote Republican. My dad has pictures of him shaking hands with Senators and Congressmen on the wall in his den. My mother owns nothing that contains even a hint of synthetic fibers. She also has seventeen pearl necklaces and two drawers filled with scarves. In other words, they are not biker friendly.”

“Lady, to live the life I chose, I can’t spend it giving a fuck who is and who is not biker friendly,” Hop returned immediately. “They got a problem with my lifestyle, it’s theirs. Not mine.”

“I understand that,” I shot back. “But can you understand, you show up, how that would be my problem?”

“You’re with me, you gotta learn to make it not yours, either.”

God! Seriously?

I threw up my hands. “Hop, I’m not with you!” I cried.

“I broke into your office fifteen minutes ago, baby. Did you call the cops?” he asked.

“Of course not, you’re Chaos. You’re family,” I snapped. It just came out and it was true but it was stupid and I knew that when his eyes warmed on me again.

“You kissed me last night. You remember that?” he asked, his voice quieter and gentler.

I sighed.

I remembered.

I did it to shut him up but I chose kissing him, not pushing him away, not screaming bloody murder, not kicking him in the shin.

I kissed him and even I couldn’t deny or shove in the back of my head why I did.

“Cody, Molly and me’ll be up in Vail next weekend,” Hop concluded our discussion.

His words were still gentle but also very firm.

Too firm.

I didn’t have it in me to butt up against his firm.

So I gave up.

“Whatever,” I muttered, rolling toward my desk and, more importantly, my food.

“Now, babe, where we spendin’ the night tonight?”

I ripped the paper off my chopsticks, eyes on my food, mouth stupidly moving. “Hotel Monaco.”

“Class,” he murmured and I lifted my eyes to him. “Nice,” he finished.

I looked back at my food and shoved the chopsticks in, repeating on a mutter, “Whatever.”

I successfully clamped down on a big, juicy, butterflied shrimp and brought it to my mouth.

Miraculously, it was still warm and, as usual, delicious.

“Lady.” Automatically, my eyes moved to Hop at his soft call. “Next weekend, it starts.”

I didn’t want to know.

My mouth did. I knew this when it swallowed and then asked, “What?”

“You gettin’ to know your shield.”

My breath caught, my throat closed, and my heart started beating hard.

Hop wasn’t done.

“Nothin’ fucks with you, even your parents. You take a chance on me, you’ll learn, starting next weekend, you breathe easy.”

“You don’t know them,” I told him softly.

“I don’t care about them. I care about you.”

At that, my heart accelerated so much I felt it beat in my neck.

“Hop—” I whispered.

“Eat,” he ordered, dipping his head to my food. “Do it closin’ down your machine and gettin’ ready to leave. My lady’s tired. Gotta get her somewhere she can relax.”

I felt the pulse pounding in my neck and it took the rest of the minimal amount of energy I had left to beat back tears.

I won the fight and bent back to my food.

Tomorrow, I’d fight again. Tomorrow, I’d form a plan.

I swallowed delicious kung pao shrimp, my favorite, my favorite that Hop had made an effort to discover was my favorite, buy and bring to me.

I shoved those thoughts into the back of my head and snatched up another shrimp thinking, tonight…

Whatever.

* * *

I was doing all the work.

My choice, I climbed on top.

But I was doing it slowly, taking my time, gliding up, sliding down, my head tipped to his, my eyes locked to his, not him making me, me taking him in every way I knew how.

My hands were at his head, pulling back his hair, my thumbs sliding along the sides of his mustache, bending slightly to touch my mouth to his or the tip of my tongue to his.

Taking him in.

“Faster, baby,” he murmured against my lips.

I ignored him and kept my rhythm slow, steady, taking him in, letting him feed me.

His hands gripped my hips. “Faster, Lanie.”