"Don't make fun," I say, my smile taking over my face again. "I had a proper English mum who taught me to make a bloody brilliant cup of tea. Keep asking and I'll get out my Gram's silver tea set, serve you some English breakfast with two lumps of sugar and a dash of cream."
"That actually sounds kind of nice," she says and then lets out a deep breath, her chest expanding and brushing against mine. "But a glass of wine might be better."
"How about a beer or a shot of Jack?"
"A beer sounds great, thanks."
The wind whips our hair and we both pause for a moment, listening to the ocean crash against the rocks. Tonight's going to be fun; I can feel it. Tomorrow … well, I can just hope for now that tomorrow never comes.
"The gray one's Alloy," Royal says as he opens the door and the dogs rush out into the yard, tails wagging frantically, heads down as they sniff the grass and take turns peeing on every single bush in sight. When they're finished with that, they come up to me and start licking my fingers. "And the black one's Lake. They're brother and sister, abandoned as puppies by their breeder when his place went into foreclosure."
Royal gets out a cigarette and cups his tattooed hand around the end to light up. The wind is picking up and tiny raindrops are starting to drip from the sky.
"Dumped 'em on the side of the highway on his way out of town. There were two more in the litter that didn't make it," Royal adds, his voice holding a note of sadness that reminds me that he really is human. My mind conjures up an image of him hugging that blonde woman back at the Wolves' compound. Obviously he has to play the confidence card a lot; I mean, he is the boss of a bunch of bikers. But he's definitely got a heart in there somewhere.
I almost wish he didn't, that I didn't … like him so much. Ugh. If Royal were pretty much anyone else on the planet, I'd definitely ask him out. He's the kind of person I'd want to date. He has a sense of humor, a well of compassion (even if it's hidden deep down in there somewhere), and knows how to take care of himself.
Don't forget that he threatened you just yesterday.
I feel my lips purse a little.
And he broke into your house.
I feel my lips purse a lot.
"They were ugly as sin when they were pups, but then most high content wolf dogs are." Royal takes a drag on his cigarette and closes his eyes for a moment as I bend down and stroke my hands over the thick, course hair on Lake's back. She's a stunner with long legs, a long muzzle, and a dense winter coat that ripples when she runs. Her brother's gorgeous, too, pretty much the exact replica of every wolf picture I've ever seen on calendars, cards or mugs-gray and brown with dark eyes and a lolling tongue that he can't seem to keep in his mouth.
"How'd you know the guy dropped them there?" I ask as I smile at Lake and let her lick my cheek for a moment.
"I had my boys track him down and beat the information out of him."
I glance up sharply at that one.
"You … did what?"
Royal shrugs like he doesn't give a shit, but I can tell from the tense muscles in his neck and jaw that he does. He really, really does. What the hell is up with this guy? I thought all bikers were crazy, dirty criminals with no morals and zero compassion? I feel a little bad about that, but it's what I was taught.
"You really love these dogs, don't you?" I ask, standing up straight and moving towards him, the zipper on my boots clinking as I move. Royal watches me, his eyes darkening with lust as he looks me over and takes me in from head to toe again, like he can't get enough. I'm not used to guys-to anyone, really-looking at me like that.
"You think I'd put up with their crap if I didn't? These fucking wankers chewed up my best pair of riding boots."
Royal finishes his cigarette and drops it onto the pavement, putting it out with his boot. I look around, but I don't see any butts anywhere. He must actually clean them up every once in a while. That shouldn't come as a shock, but it kind of does.
"You're an interesting man, Royal McBride," I say and he smiles at me. "If you hadn't threatened me yesterday and broke into my house today, I might even like you."
"I tried to tell you, Pint-Size, but you wouldn't have any of it. I wasn't threatening you. If I had been, you'd have known." He looks down at me, his face emptying of humor for a moment. The shift in mood scares me a little, but I stand my ground. "That was an offer of protection, still is. You have something to tell me about that FBI man, and I'll see what I can do. If any of the boys finds out something you don't want them to know-and trust me, they'll be looking for it-then I won't be able to help you."
"Help me?" I ask, trying not to sound indignant. I need to tread carefully here. "Help me how? What are you trying to say, Royal?"
He takes a step toward me and I get a sick feeling in my stomach, like this is a subject I don't want to mess with. My mind reels with the implications of what I've done. Calling Brent … it didn't seem like such a big deal at the time, just a means to an end. Goddamn it, Brent. If he hadn't gone poking around, looking for trouble, this wouldn't be happening right now.
"Please tell me you don't know anything else about this, love, and I'll believe you. Look me right in the eye and swear it up and down. If this gets messy, I don't want to see you tangled up in it."
"Why did you swear in a new vice president?" I ask carefully. "What happened to the old one?" They probably killed him and dumped his body in the ocean. Brent's words echo in my mind and send a chill down my spine. What am I doing here with this man? He's funny and he's handsome as hell, not to mention good in bed. I want another taste, just one more taste, but this is too dangerous. I need to walk away while I still can. If I still can.
"Putting two and two together?" Royal asks, tilting his head to the side. "Or working off information you shouldn't rightly know?" He doesn't look happy anymore, his smile gone and replaced with a deep set frown, the weight of the world hanging heavy from his shoulders.
"Brent said he was looking for the guy for you, that that's why he decided to stay in town a few extra days. Our police department hasn't nearly grown as fast as the city, and our resources are already stretched thin. A missing biker isn't going to get much attention from the department. He just wants to help."
"And you're buying that crap?" Royal asks, raising his brows at me. "You think your little FBI boyfriend gives a flying fuck about my missing brother?"
"He's … " I'm failing here, miserably. But I can still salvage this. I'm in politics for God's sake. If there's a valuable skill to be had in that field, it's telling people what they want to hear without really saying anything at all, without committing. "Brent's a good guy, Royal."
"Awfully defensive of a guy that dumped you," he says, running his knuckles down my cheek. We need a change of subject, and there's only one other choice topic that I think Royal might be interested in right now: me. It's a strange thought to have-I'm not usually the focus of anyone's attention-but the way he's looking at me right now … It's like he wants to be distracted, like he doesn't want to talk about any of this either.
"Well, he came all the way out here to see my brother and me, so I guess I feel like I owe him a little." Not a lie, not exactly. Royal's mouth twitches and something else shifts over his face, replacing the anger and the suspicion that was there a moment ago. "He wants to get back together," I say, like I'm admitting a secret, using the fact that Brent asked me out on a date to bolster that little lie. Maybe he wants to get back together? Or maybe he just wants to sleep with me? I have no idea. "We'd make a good couple, I think."
"That so?" Royal asks, putting his arm back around my waist and tugging me close enough that I can feel the heat radiating off his body, smell his rich scent-leather, oil, green things, wet earth. My body responds and I can feel the wetness between my legs growing.
"We would," I say, biting my lower lip and looking up at him. "He's the exact sort of guy I always saw myself marrying. He's rich and ambitious and handsome."
"So I'll ask you again: why the hell are you here in my arms and not in his?"
"Because I want to marry a guy like Brent, but I want my wedding night with a guy like you."
Not a complete lie, not really. In fact, I think the latter's the more truthful portion of that statement.
Royal grins, nice and wide, the hard bulge in his pants proof enough that I've got him right where I want him.
I never thought I'd use sex to get my way-ever. But this is different. This, if I'm honest with myself, is an excuse. I'm not using sex to make Royal forget about our conversation; I'm using our conversation as a reason to sleep with him.