“It's not about the … the life,” I tell her, but she doesn't look like she believes me. “It's about Royal.”
“You've got that nice little career of yours at the mayor's office, and that's just something that doesn't translate over here.” Another pause where Fauna looks distinctly uncomfortable, the black and gray portraits on her upper arm catching my attention. She has a child's face, a cat's, two dogs'. “Does Royal know you're dating?” she asks in the nicest voice possible, like she's trying not to freak me out. “Because he really is the friendly sort, so it's easy to get the wrong idea.”
“Thank you for your concern, but it's not like that,” I say, my voice getting icy, my hand clenching tighter around the glass. I'm not stupid, and I really don't like the way Fauna is looking at me, like I'm some helpless idiot following Royal around and thinking it'd be cool to marry a guy that's in a motorcycle club. On the contrary, it sounds terrifying.
“Okay,” Fauna says, giving me another once-over, one that's completely different from the look she gave me earlier. It's a lot less friendly this time. I think I've just lost some of her respect, and I have no idea why. “Whatever you say.”
Fifteen minutes later, just as Fauna's gathering her things and giving me strange looks like she's about to leave but isn't sure what to do with me, Royal appears in the doorway.
“There you are. I was just getting ready to go, but I didn't want to leave your girlfriend in here alone,” Fauna says, looking right at Royal, challenging him with her eyes, her stance, her raised brows. He raises one of his own, cutting an impressive figure in his leather vest, dark jeans and boots. My heart flutters as soon as I see him, and I can't get it to stop, not even when Fauna blurts out the information I gave her right in front of her husband, Jack, who's moving around Royal and pausing next to his wife, one hand on her shoulder.
“Fauna,” he warns, but she's already locked in challenge with the Alpha Wolves' President.
Royal digs in his pocket for a cigarette and lights up before answering, his gaze swinging over to mine. This is it. The thought passes between us unspoken. I adjust myself slightly in my seat, giving up my chance to butt in, to say no, to put a stop to this. I might not be an expert on club life, but I know that if Fauna gets a confirmation on Royal's and my relationship, then by tomorrow, everyone will know.
Without saying anything, I tell him yes.
Could be the biggest mistake of my life—or the best decision I've ever made.
Only time will tell.
“Thanks for keeping her company, eh? She's the fucking bee's knees, this one.”
“Right.” That's all Fauna says as she turns, her purse slung over one shoulder, the expression on her face closed off and guarded as she looks me over again, leaving the bar area with the loud smack of heels on the wood floor.
“Don't worry about Fauna; I'll have a talk with her,” Jack says, nodding at Royal, his eyes passing over me quickly on his way out. “I'll see you in the morning.”
“Cheers, mate,” Royal says, lifting his chin and flashing a grin. He takes a drag and waits for the sound of the front door before moving over to stand next to me, his tattooed right hand sneaking out and stealing my drink. I stare at the roses and vines, the small lines of cursive that I still haven't had the chance to read. Next time we're alone in bed, naked and sweaty and sated, I'm going to take his hands in mine and study them until I have every mark memorized. “You and Fauna have a good old chin-wag?”
“Stop trying to charm me,” I say as I drum my fingers on the marble countertop and refuse to look at his face. Suddenly mine's just burning, lit up and pink and completely out of character for me. When Royal sets the glass down, he lefts his hand up and grabs my chin, turning my face to look at him.
“Wasn't even trying,” he said, leaning in pressing his mouth to mine, tasting like smoke and tobacco, the smell of leather all encompassing. When he pulls back, I'm breathless and wanting, my thighs clenching tight as I struggle to contain the rush of hormones. This is crazy. Beyond crazy. I'm sitting in a biker bar at four in the morning with whisky in my belly and the president's tongue down my throat.
I've officially lost it.
“Was it the accent then?”
“Definitely the accent,” I say as he looks down at me, studying my face carefully.
“Did Fauna torture you much?” he asks as the two redheaded guys come in next, followed by Glacier and the guy with the beard. He really doesn't like me, I think as he casts another glance my way that I catch and hold, challenging him. Neither of us looks away, forcing Royal to step between us to break the stare.