The four men walked into the restaurant, Rock blinking as his eyes adjusted to the low light. The steakhouse boasted the finest steaks in the western Rocky Mountain region, and the aroma curling up from the grills was intoxicating. The hostess sat the men at a table near a picture window showcasing the peaks of Maroon Bells.
After placing their order for porterhouse steaks and mashed potatoes, the brothers kicked back, drank their beer, and shared riding stories. For the amount of screwing the motorcycle club did, most people would think that the main topic among the brothers was fucking, but it wasn't. The conversations that made them excited were always about Harleys: riding them, customizing them, and buying them. The ride was what they lived for-and, many times, died for. It was just that simple.
As Rock leaned back in his chair, he scanned the restaurant, trying to spot their pretty waitress so he could order another drink. That's when he saw her. Actually, he saw Frederick first, but the woman with the lush hair cascading a little past her shoulders sat across from her partner, her back to Rock. But he knew it was her; he could sense her, feel her, and almost hear her soft voice. His groin pulled and he caught his breath. He had to see her and catch a whiff of her vanilla-scented body.
Frederick's mouth kept moving and every few minutes, he'd throw his head back and laugh. Rock saw him place his hand over hers, and a sudden urge to see her consumed the biker.
He pushed his chair back. "I'll be right back. If the waitress comes over, order me another Coors." He walked toward Frederick and the woman who'd been invading his thoughts since he'd first seen her a month before.
When he approached the table, Frederick acted like he didn't know who he was, which pissed Rock off to no end. If it had not been for the woman who intrigued him, he never would've acknowledged the rich asshole.
"Mr. Blair, correct?"
Frederick's lips curled down in disgust as he nodded. The woman shifted to the side and bowed her head, her hair falling in front of her face. Fuck! What the hell is up with her? Why does she keep hiding her goddamned face? As hard as he tried, he couldn't get a glimpse of her. He squished his brows together and gave Frederick a perplexed look.
Frederick pressed his thin lips together. "My pet is very shy. What can I do for you?"
Rock's body tensed and his expression grew tight. It took all he had to stop himself from smashing his fist into the arrogant sonofabitch's face. "Nothing. I was just passing by."
"And you can continue passing by." Frederick turned from him, acting as though he weren't there.
The woman moved slightly in her chair, and Rock was rewarded with the seductive fragrance of amber, creamy vanilla, and sandalwood. As the delicate thread of her perfume wound around him, it reminded him of the glowing embers of a campfire under an inky deep blue sky studded with brilliant stars. Now that makes putting up with this shithead worth it. I wish I could see your face, darling.
He turned around and went back to his table. When he scooted his chair in, he caught a quick glimpse of the woman as she turned to look at him. It was so fast that he thought he may have imagined it, but then he spotted Frederick's face, dark with disapproval as he clutched her hand … tightly. Rock noticed she squirmed in her chair. When her partner released her hand, her shoulders slumped a bit.
All through dinner, Rock watched her, half listening to what his buddies were saying. A few times, Frederick leaned in and whispered something in her ear. Rock heard her laugh and it resonated deep inside him like a lost echo in a cave.
The waitress set down another beer for him. "Compliments of the redhead." She pointed to a table a little past Frederick's; three women in their late twenties waved, the redhead winking at him.
Rock held up his beer and jerked his chin, his eyes roving back to Frederick and the woman he was with. It was at that moment that he saw her stand up and head toward the restrooms. He waited a few seconds and then rose from the table, ambling past Frederick's table, through the bar, and over to the bathrooms. He leaned against the wall as he waited for her to come out. A couple minutes later, she exited the bathroom and he pushed in front of her, "accidentally" running into her.
She glanced at him for a second, then quickly bowed her head. "Sorry," she mumbled as she tried to get around him. He blocked her way. "Can you please let me pass?"
"I want to talk to you," he said.
"I can't. Please don't talk to me." Panic laced her voice.
"You intrigue me, sweet lady." He heard her suck in her breath. "Ever since I saw you, I've had the feeling you're in something you want to get out of."
"That's not true. I'm sorry if I made that impression on you." She brushed against him, her head still bowed.
He grabbed her hand, her moan as they touched skin-to-skin making his insides burn.
"I'm not asking for an apology from you."
"What are you asking for?" she whispered.
"To see your face. Why do you keep hiding it?" He felt her hand stiffen before she pulled it away.
"I have to go. Please." She squeezed his hand then slipped it away from it.
"I worry about you." He brushed his finger against hers; he needed to touch her again.
"You don't need to worry about me. I'm fine. Forget about me. I've stayed much too long. Fredrick will be displeased. Please."
"Do you ever think about me?"
She looked up at him through the tendrils that fell over her face like a veil, then turned away from him. "Oh yes … so much," she whispered. "I have to go. Please."
"That's all I wanted to know." He moved aside and she walked away from him, her enticing scent lingering behind her. He inhaled and it coursed through him, stirring something deep inside: a tenderness he'd buried a long time ago. He stepped out of the corridor and watched her go to her table, her curvy hips moving provocatively in her tight black dress. As she pulled out her chair, he noticed the way Frederick frowned, his mouth a jagged line. The minute she sat down, he grabbed her wrist and yanked her to him, then said something in her ear. Her back stiffened, and he saw Fredrick pull her hand under the table, the maroon tablecloth covering what he was doing.
Something doesn't seem right. Damn, why do you give a shit? So she said she thinks of you. Big fuckin' deal. She's the jerk's woman. Move on. Forget about her.
But he couldn't forget her. She'd already pulled him in. There was something about her that seemed familiar yet unfamiliar to him all at the same time. This odd, fragile woman summoned memories that had been hidden under the weight of many years and experiences. This woman, whose name he didn't know and face he hadn't seen, threatened to detonate those memories that he had worked so hard to forget.
"Your friends told me you'd be here." A flirty voice grounded him.
He turned to his side and saw the redhead who'd bought him the drink. Shaking his head as if to rid himself of the spell the strange woman had cast on him, he laughed. "I was going to come over and thank you properly. You live in Aspen?"
She nodded and moved in close to him, pretending there wasn't enough room for them to talk. He knew she wanted him to feel her big tits against his chest and smell her overpowering musk perfume. If only she smelled like my mysterious lady. Fuck, you're acting lame. This one's a hot one. Dump the fucked-up woman who gets off on men like Fredrick and go with the sure thing. "You're pretty cute." He smiled down at her and she giggled. "Why don't you and your friends join our table? How many friends you got with you?"
"Two. Is that a problem?"
"Not for me." He laughed and led her to his table, his arm tight around her shoulders. He strutted past Frederick's table, catching his partner's gaze on him for a brief second before she looked away. The woman who was tucked under his arm motioned to her friends to come to the bikers' table. The two women scrambled out of their booth and joined the four men.
"What's your name, darling?" Rock asked as he motioned the waitress over.
"Zoe." She giggled and snuggled closer to him.
The waitress brought another round of drinks and the women and men talked, mostly flirting with each other. The bikers knew they were in for a good time by the way the women "oohed" and "ahhed" over their biceps, tats, and patches. Zoe looked especially pleased that the Sergeant-At-Arms had taken an interest in her. And even though Rock laughed, drank, and rubbed his hand on Zoe's thigh, his gaze kept going over to the table a few rows from his. A few times the strange woman would tilt her head as if trying to hear his conversation with Zoe, and he sensed she wasn't too happy about the redhead and her friends joining his table. And for reasons he couldn't articulate, he was happy she didn't like seeing him with the sexy redhead.