Raw and Dirty(37)

“What do you think?” His grin tells me that he knows he's done well. The kitchen is updated but still tasteful and suited to the era of the house. It's cozy in here, definitely masculine but not overwhelming.

“It's beautiful,” I say, putting my hand on the archway casing between the living room and the dining area. “Usually the trim's been painted in these houses. It isn't often you see the natural wood.”

“It was painted,” Royal says, picking up the plate of steaks and moving to the back door. He unlocks it and the dogs rush outside ahead of him. “I stripped it, sanded it, stained it.”

My mouth parts in surprise as I follow him outside to a small deck and a huge yard, way too big to be this close to the ocean. With the recent population boom, a lot of people have been carving up their lots and building houses closer and closer together. But of course Royal wouldn't be one of them.

“You did all that work?” I ask as he turns on the grill and lets it heat up a moment before laying out the steaks with a sizzle. I can't believe he's actually cooking me dinner. The president of an outlaw motorcycle club. I cross my arms over my chest and try to keep my surprise in check. If this was a first date with a normal guy, I'd be hooked.

But this is both a first and a last date.

This sucks.

I bat that thought away and move over to the porch swing that's hanging under the eaves, safe from the soft fall of raindrops that dot the green grass and the beds of sea grass and flowers that make up Royal's backyard.

“Don't sound so bloody shocked,” he says, but he's still smiling, so I guess we're okay. “I do have talents that lie outside the bedroom.”

A thrill chases up my spine as my fingers curl around the edge of the wooden seat. The bedroom. Just hearing him say that word is making my heart stutter and pound, my nipples harden, my thighs clench tight.

“What about you, Pint-Size? What do you do besides fanny about for the mayor's office?”

“Are we going to have a real conversation then?” I ask, finishing off my beer and setting it on the deck near my feet. I'm not comfortable talking about myself. There isn't a whole lot I want to say either. I feel like my life's just a continual work in progress, like I'm heading for a specific goal but I'm never there. What do I do besides work for my dad? “I thought you brought me out here for other reasons.”

Royal turns to face me, beer in one hand, spatula in the other.

“I let you change the subject earlier, but not this time, Pint-Size. Fess up. I want to know something about you, the girl that wears clothes she stole from her Gram and hides dirty lingerie underneath them. We'll get to all those other things I promised soon enough.”

“Why do you want to know about me? Does it matter?” Royal smirks and then sets his spatula aside, moving over to stand next to me, an imposing sight in his leather riding gear. My eyes stray to his crotch for a moment and then snap up guiltily to his face.

“You're interesting to me, that's all,” he says, leaning down and putting his arms on either side of my face, palms splayed open against the wall of the house behind the seat. “Fucking fascinating. You seem so uptight at first, but there's a spark in there just waiting to burn you up from the inside out. Don't you ever get frustrated with being so perfect all the time?”

“Who said I was perfect?” I ask, lifting up my chin and staring into his dark eyes like they don't affect me at all. But they do. They do. They really, really do. “Don't you ever get tired of being the bad boy? Doesn't that get old.”

“Sometimes,” he says, his voice a gentle purr that raises the hairs on the back of my neck. I want him so bad it hurts, my body filling up with a desperate need and desire that I didn't know I had in me. “But if I wasn't such a raunchy little bastard, I'd have never gotten you into bed.”

“I knew what you were doing,” I say, even though the words make my cheeks heat. “I'm not stupid.”

“Oh, I'm well aware,” Royal says, leaning in close, touching his mouth to mine, sliding his tongue slowly, sensually, between my lips, bringing his right hand to my hair, cupping my head in his fingers as he tastes me. I know what he tastes like—fresh and wild and untamed. I wonder what he senses in me? If I have a taste at all.

“What do I taste like?” The words blurt out of my mouth the second our lips part, but I don't take them back. I want to know, and I've never had the guts to ask anyone before. Royal doesn't look surprised, his mouth curving up in a sexy smile.

“Like honey and wildflowers,” he says. “Sweet but wild.”

“Wild?”

“Ferocious,” he says, capturing my lips again and reaching down to my waist, scooping me up off the chair and into his arms. Royal moves his mouth to my neck, sliding his tongue against my heated flesh as my body trembles and turns to liquid in his arms. I want to collapse right here, fall to the ground and let him do whatever he wants with me. It wouldn't matter what he decided on: I want everything.