Reading Online Novel

River of Love(22)



He led her across the scuffed and marred wood floors to a table by the rustic, unkempt bar, wondering what she’d think of the place, and pulled out her chair. He gave her shoulder a reassuring squeeze as she settled into the chair. He had to admit, this was a far cry from anyplace she was used to, but Faith wasn’t a prima donna, which was one of the things he really liked about her. She was real, and she spoke her mind. If she let herself, he had a feeling she might end up liking the place, and the company, as much as he did.

“Braden, how’s it going?” Bullet Whiskey’s voice sounded as rough as his name as he slapped Sam on the back. Before Sam could respond, Bullet smiled down at Faith and said, “How’re you doin’, sweetheart?”

“Faith, this is Bullet Whiskey. He and his family own the place.”

“Hi. It’s nice to meet you.” She smiled up at Bullet, her eyes drifting along his colorful tattooed sleeves to the tip of a snake’s head creeping out of the collar of his shirt. Her eyes narrowed quizzically, but Sam recognized a hint of mischief that set his stomach in a tizzy every time he saw it. “Bullet is an interesting name. Have you killed many people, or do you drive fast?”

Sam laughed, but inside he was full of pride, because he knew how intimidated she was. Still she’d found the courage to taunt a man who stood three inches taller than Sam and outweighed him by at least fifty pounds.

Bullet stroked his beard, his smile stretching across his face. “Sweetheart, I think the only answer you really want to hear is that yes, I drive too fast.” He winked. “What can I get y’all?”

“Faith? Wine, beer, soda?”

She touched his hand, still resting on her shoulder. “What are you having?”

“Just Coke for me. I’ve got precious cargo on board tonight.” That earned him another warm smile.

“I’ll have the same, please.”

“Coming right up,” Bullet said.

Sam pulled a chair close to Faith and sat down.

“Wow, this really is a biker bar,” Faith said over the music, looking a bit wide-eyed.

“It really is,” he said with amusement. He watched as Faith took in the rough wood walls littered with license plates, biker logos, flags, and odd paraphernalia like a banjo, old black-and-white pictures of the Whiskey brothers’ relatives on their bikes, and flyers for upcoming rides. Her eyes lingered on each item before moving to the bar, where neon lights brought shocks of bright, colorful light. There were about thirty men and women sitting at tables and milling around the pool table toward the back of the bar. The band members were probably pushing fifty, three guys dressed in faded jeans and black boots, and one woman wearing leather pants and spiky boots. They all wore black shirts with a red and white logo.

“I like this place,” she said casually. “It’s definitely different, but Bullet seems nice, not at all like I expected. I thought he’d be cold, or something. That sounds bad, doesn’t it?”

“No, it sounds honest.” And I love that about you.

“Do you come here a lot?” she asked.

“Not a lot. Every few weeks.” Sam had stumbled upon Whiskey’s when he’d first graduated from college and returned to Peaceful Harbor. He’d been out for a bike ride, looking for a place to clear his head, and he’d been coming ever since.

“Why? I don’t mean that in a bad way, but why so far out of town when there are so many places near home?”

“Everyone needs an escape.” He took her hand in his, loving that she seemed more at ease. “Except from you. I don’t need an escape from you.”

She dropped her eyes shyly, then met his gaze and tilted her head, as if she was trying to figure him out. “Your life seems full of fun, with your adventure company, friends, your family.”

“My life is full, and it’s great, but sometimes it’s too much.” He never would have admitted that to anyone else, but he wanted Faith to know who he really was, and that meant not holding anything back. “It’s nice to come here where no one expects me to do anything but kick back, talk, or chill.”

“Funny. I can’t imagine you relaxing. You’re always on the go.”

“Not always on the go,” he said. “The Rough Riders barbecue is coming up, and I was assuming you’d be my date, but I should formally ask, right? Will you go with me? Hopefully we can enjoy some downtime together.” He leaned forward and couldn’t resist adding, “Would you like to get down with me, Faith Hayes?”

The space between them sizzled, drawing his emotions to the surface. He loved the caged tigress look simmering in her eyes, like she wanted to play but felt like she shouldn’t. He was feeling her out, pushing her limits a little at a time. Letting her know that even though he was behaving himself, it was goddamn hard, because she was sexy and enticing and he wanted her more than she probably allowed herself to believe.

“You don’t like naughty talk?” He held her gaze, loving the hitch in her breathing.

She lifted a shoulder in a half shrug, half please don’t make me answer, and looked sinfully adorable. He slid his hand to the nape of her neck, which already felt familiar. He couldn’t wait to nuzzle against it, to kiss it, to trap it between his teeth and suck until she begged for more. Down boy.

“Don’t worry,” he reassured her. “I won’t take your sweetness away.”

She stared into his eyes, exuding femininity and lust, all behind some kind of invisible cloak of forbidden fruit. Just when he thought she’d turn away, she broke the silence.

“I’m not that sweet.” Her tone was pure temptress. “I say those things…in my head.” She touched his lower lip with the tip of her finger in a slow, alluring swipe. He knew she was as lost in them as he was.

“If you try hard enough, I bet you can hear it, too.” She pressed her mouth to his, taking him by surprise, and oh, hell yes, her tongue parted his lips eagerly. The kiss electrified, sparking through his body like a dozen live wires. She pulled away in one sharp move, leaving him hard and desperate for more.

Touching her finger to her lips, as if they were burning for another kiss, just as his were, she asked, “Did you hear it?”

Before he could get the blood to move north and feed his brain, Bullet brought their drinks and leaned down, speaking low in Sam’s ear. “Bear wants to take you in darts. That cool with your girl here? I’ll tell him to bug off if you want to hang.”

Faith blinked several times, her smile spreading wider, her eyes never wavering from his. “I love darts. You should play, or play teams and I’ll be on your team. I mean, if you don’t mind. I’m pretty good.”

Bullet looked as perplexed as Sam was. “You play darts?”

She nodded excitedly. “My dad taught us all to play, and I played all the time in college.”

“Damn, Braden. Where have you been hidin’ this sweet little lady?” Bullet nodded at Faith. “You want to play, sweetheart, we’ll put a game together.”


**

BY THE SURPRISED and still heated look in Sam’s eyes, Faith was sure she’d actually turned into some sort of vixen. She had no idea where that kiss had come from, but the urge to take control had hit her like a gale-force wind. It felt so good to break free from her own mental confines and kiss the hell out of him. And that kiss—Jesus, every kiss with him—made her whole body come to life. The atmosphere in this dimly lit, out-of-the-way bar where no one knew her felt dangerous and edgy, amping up her desire to be that way.

“I’m sorry. I hope I didn’t embarrass you,” she said to Sam.

“You’ve got to be kidding.” He leaned closer and said, “I heard every naughty word circling that pretty little head of yours.”

“Ohmygod. I can’t believe I said that.” Laughter burst from her mouth, making Sam laugh, too. “It’s this place. No one here knows me, so it’s easier to…play.”

“We’re not so different, you and I.” Sam’s eyes turned serious. “I spent my life playing around because it was what was expected of me, and I was too lost in it to realize I was playing a role. You’ve spent your life being cautious, because it’s been who you are. Maybe Whiskey Bro’s is the perfect place for both of us.”

She looked around at the muscular guy behind the bar, with tatted-up biceps and a five-o’clock shadow as dark as Sam’s. He was watching the band, his head bobbing to the beat. He could have easily been a bartender at Whispers. She shifted her eyes around the room, taking in the jeans- and leather-clad people. A couple sat at a table near the band, as focused on each other as she and Sam were. To their left was a table of burly guys; one guy was completely bald, sporting a thick beard and mustache, another had closely cropped hair and tattooed shoulders, and the others were pretty nondescript. Other than the nodded greetings she’d noticed—to Sam, to Bullet, to her—everyone kept to themselves. Her father had drilled into her head that bikers were dangerous, and she’d wrongly assumed he was right. There was no denying the contented look in Sam’s eyes or the newfound feeling of freedom whirling inside her. She’d sorely misjudged this place, and the people in it, the same way she’d misjudged Sam—based on other people’s opinions and her own skewed views.