BILLIONAIRE BIKERS: 3 MC Romance Books (42 page)

I hail a cab, and we shuttle a few blocks north. "Close to El Chaparral, and the border," I lean across the backseat to whisper to her. Lane nods, arms crossed and eyes trained forward. I'm afraid that the more time I give her to stew in hunger, the less likely I am to find another opening with her.

I pay the driver in cash, and together we pile out of the cab. Lane manages to raise one of her fine eyebrows in question, but I hold my hand out, inviting her to enter the hotel and restaurant ahead of me.

"We have accommodations, as well as a reservation," I note as we make our way to the restaurant. "Want a drink?"

"Water," Lane says, effortlessly seating herself at the bar. I take a moment to admire the way she fills her stool, like a queen astride her throne. She's a woman completely out of her element in every way—a woman who has been through a harrowing, days-long ordeal, a woman who was as recently as a few hours ago fucked sideways by me in the back of a truck—yet, on the outside, she appears fully in control of her situation.

I study her for a long moment, before signaling the bartender for two waters. He complies, passing them both to me. Lane is looking off into the bar, beholding the faux gold fixtures, the stucco walls, and the wide and sloping entries.

"You're rich," she states as I pass her water to her. "You can't hide the obvious. So what is it? Gambling? Drugs?"

"Sorry to disappoint you, but I was born into it," I reply as I take a sip of my own drink. I watch as she takes a long draw from her glass.
Good girl.
"My parents died when I was young. I've been on my own with their money ever since. Kind of like Batman."

"I'm sorry," she replies. Then, after a moment, "But you haven't been on your own, have you?"

"What makes you say that?"

"I used to think you were a lone biker, acting as a self-operating agent and serving your own self-interests. Now I'm not so sure there isn't some secret MC somewhere you're a part of." She draws back fully from her glass and raises an eyebrow. "Am I warm yet?"

"You tell me," I deflect, setting my glass down on the bar. "You're the precious little Pacific Northwest flower here. I'm a jetsetter, baby. I've travelled all over the globe, growing up a citizen of the world."

"You know, if you're not just pulling my leg, and my instinct about your deep pockets is true, then why the hell would you choose the Pacific Northwest as your place of residence?" Lane demands. "You couldn't be in… I don't know, Hawaii or somewhere."

"The highway," I state, after a long moment of contemplating whether or not it's a good idea to let her in my head. She's there already—might as well make it official. "The longest highway in the United States. It can change from scenic to treacherous in a second, depending on the weather. It's gorgeous. It's beautiful. One of a kind."

"Why are you looking at me like that?" Lane asks quietly. My eyes are locked with hers. Without taking my gaze from her, I reach back to the bar and down my drink. She does the same.

The next thing I know, we're practically falling out of the elevator on the top floor of the hotel, ripping at each other's clothes in a frantic effort to get them off. Thankfully, the whole floor is effectively mine—the penthouse takes up the entire two top stories, as well as granting me exclusive access to the members-only bar on the roof.

              "I wasn't expecting this," I manage to get out as I scrabble for the keycard. Wait, was it pocketed in one of the articles of clothing Lane has already managed to strip off me? The blonde stares hard at me as I hunt for it, her rumpled hair cascading in a teased waterfall and sticking out slightly from the heat. We've been on the road for days, and we look it, but neither of us wants a shower at the moment—I can tell you that much.

              "All right, a quickie," I concede as I let her into the apartment. She strides in first, grabbing me by the collar and dragging me after her. She wastes no time taking in the expansive quarters: the plush furnishings and the bubbling fountain installed dead center in the living room. She gazes toward the curtains drawn across the window, facing her body away from me; then, she lets her T-shirt fall down one shoulder, exposing the brown hill of one shoulder. Oh
fuck.
I bite my lower lip to keep from making my arousal at the sight of her audible. Already I can feel myself growing hard against the barrier of my pants. I strip them down, as Lane continues to strip herself, one slow movement at a time.

              "A quickie?" I'm almost sure I hear a pout in her voice as she echoes me. "What's your hurry, Houdini? You got places to be?"

              "Come here." I cross the room and capture her in my arms, pulling her naked body in close against mine. "You don't have to do this to thank me," I murmur between voracious kisses as we touch each other all over. Her lithe fingers fall to my turgid cock, taking it in hand, the same moment I palm one of her incredible breasts and roll it in my own hand.

              "What…do I have…to thank you for…?" Lane pants as I hustle her toward the bedroom. "You're the one who got me into this."

              "You got yourself into this," I growl, as I slam the door closed needlessly behind us. "Just how do you intend to get out?"

              "By seducing the man standing in my way," she says, ice-blue eyes hardening in challenge. Oh, I can play this game. I can definitely play this game.

              I grab little Laney around her womanly waist and toss her down into the bed. She lands with a thrilled utterance of protest, and before she can so much as think to move, I'm on her, straddling her as if I intend to ride her until the odometer spins out. Soon we're moving together, thrusting, and soaking the expensive, clean sheets with our sweat and fluid evidence. I thrill her until she's wet enough to penetrate, then I slip inside; I fuck her back into the bed, hard enough to make the frame squeak in protest, as her moans mount to cries of pleasure, and then to the eventual, ecstatic screaming of my name.

I fuck Officer Elizabeth Lane as I've never fucked any woman in my life before: thoroughly, knowing she can take it, knowing that any roughness only arouses her to her breaking point. I lay claim to that space between her legs, that tight pussy, losing myself in the sensation of filling her completely, until I have her begging for release—exactly as we both knew she would. When we come, we come together, that fabled shared shudder racking our exhausted bodies as we both shimmer over the edge, crying out and grabbing hold of anything within reach. I've never felt anything like it before.

But all the while, I can't shake the thought in the back of my mind: the thought that we're running out of time. I'm the fastest man on the Pacific Coast Highway, but even I can't outrace the inevitability of the destruction that's pawing at my heels.

#

I rear up out of bed, blinking blearily into the darkness of the room.

              "I can't believe I passed out…" I mutter as I bring a hand up to cradle my forehead. "I must've let Lane fuck my brains out without meaning to."

              Then it hits me. Lane. My plan. I wasn't supposed to be passed out, not even for a second.

              And there are flashing lights outside the hotel window facing the front of the street.

              I freeze. Then, I slip out of bed and pad to the window, twitching the curtains aside to look.

              The cops. Right outside my door.

              I turn my head. An officer of the law, right in my bed where I left her. She's snoring quietly, the way I imagine something cute, like a mouse, might sound in sleep. One of her lean arms is thrown over the pillow where my head previously rested. I cross to the bed and lift it, letting it fall back limp to the bed once more.

              The drug I slipped into her drink is in full effect. Originally, I had just intended to leave Lane here, with a glass of water and more than enough money to help her clear her head in the morning. I was supposed to ride out of here, and out of her life, taking everything I know about the Devil’s Bastards and the Mexican cartel along with me. She would be safer that way—without me. I had been so caught up in my infatuation with her that I'd failed to see it before. I have all the money in the world, and I've been desensitized for years to everything that doesn't involve a certain amount of risk. But over dinner, I realized I couldn't risk her, this woman I love.

              And now I'm seeing the line clearly again.

              The red lights flashe outside, muted by the curtains. Lane has betrayed me. She's done her duty and caught the bad guy, even if she had a very unorthodox way of going about it. Can I blame her? Would I want her any other way? I've already shaken her world so much by entering it.

              Now, quietly, I exit out the hotel door, pulling my helmet on as I leave the woman I love behind me. I punch the door to the fire escape open and descend into the night.

              I'm on my way back to America, and to the life I was always meant to live. I can't let myself want any more. I'm the guy who has everything, except the one thing that matters most…

              …and a relationship with Lane is something I can never have.

LANE

He drugged me. That son of a bitch actually
drugged
me. So I think I can be excused for acting a little leery now.

              "Drink, madam?" One of the waiters at the Grand Hotel ferries a tray over to me, half-bowing to invite my selection. I glare at the contents of the offered platter, wondering where they came from or if someone possibly put him up to this. After a moment, I gingerly pluck the one closest to him, before swapping it out for a different one at the last moment, eyes narrowed all the while.

              A lot has happened since I woke up a week ago, naked and alone in Mexico with the cops pounding on my door. Wolf was generous enough to leave me enough cash to get home, but by the time I did, the chief had shouted at me all the way out of his office. Turns out that after my joyride across the border, coupled with the time it took me to get back, I had been gone almost an entire week from work.

              And, considering that I was unwilling to offer an explanation the chief found acceptable, I'm now in the doghouse.

              So I said
fuck it.
Not out loud, of course—I still desperately want my job back, like a dying woman in the desert wants water, which as I can now personally attest to is a
lot.
But I've never been one to sit on my ass and twiddle my thumbs waiting for someone else to reach a verdict. I need evidence of the Mexican cartel's activity on the Pacific Coast Highway, and I need it fast…

              …this is why I now find myself back in California, attending a charity ball and auction that I have absolutely no right to be at. Let's just say I flashed a badge that I'm not sure I have a right to own anymore to get in.

              I let my gaze travel around the room, taking in the affluent suits, the glimmering dresses, and the obviously more budget-conscious outfits of the non-profit workers. Nobody here looks like cartel on the outside, but the night is still young, and I feel like I'm onto something. I browsed enough deep web Internet forums this week, while I was sitting at home in my pajamas, to feel confident I might have sunk my teeth into a lead here. If my sources are to be believed, the Mexican cartel deals with more than just the Devil’s Bastards when it comes to bringing their product into the states—they have rich connections near the border as well. Now all I need to do is isolate those among these obnoxious elitists who look like they might be willing to make a backroom deal tonight, and then I'll…

              "Really, Lane? Do you only have one dress?"

              I wheel in astonishment, nearly letting the glass of wine slip from my hand. I feel another hand close over my own, securing the drinkware safely in my grasp.

             
"Wolf!"
I half-shriek his name, drawing attention from a few nearby onlookers. It's all I can do to pull it together and lower my voice the next instant.

I stare into a pair of silver-gray eyes I know all too well. Wolf grins in acknowledgement that he is, indeed, who I know him to be, although I notice that for once the smile doesn't appear to reach his gaze. Those same intense eyes study me, searching for any indication of what I might be doing here. I'm startled to realize that this is the first time I've ever seen him clean-shaven; I can't decide if the effect makes him appear younger or older than the roguishly unkempt biker I'm used to dealing with. His dark hair is slicked back, his expression more mature and grave than it normally is, but I'm relieved to see that a single lock of hair has come loose to curl down along his temple; otherwise, I'm afraid I might have completely mistaken him for someone else, the change is so different. I realize this is what it's like to see a wolf domesticated, and I'm not sure I like it.

He looks like exactly what I've suspected all along: he looks like he's worth a
lot
of money. I wish I knew the figure, just so I would have a number to put to this otherwise enigmatic road warrior. In this moment, I wish I knew a lot of things.

"What are you doing here?" I demand, trying to keep my voice down this time. It's imperative to my cover that I deflect some, if not all, of the attention off me.

"I was about to ask you the same thing. Are you here to donate to the cause and help fight sex trafficking?" he asks me curiously. "I didn't think they gave you a salary that could support this sort of thing, not down at the good ol' PD—"

It's all I can do to keep from clapping an angry hand over his mouth. I must look completely frazzled, completely unprofessional, but I'm not sure I'll be able to save face with anyone watching without excusing myself for a bit first. I grab Wolf by the arm and drag him angrily from the ballroom, heading down the lobby toward the elevators.

"You got a room here?" I demand.

"So eager for a repeat of the last time, Lane?" Wolf raises one of his dark eyebrows as I jam hard on the button to call the elevator. "Wait, is that why you're here?" His second-round question sounds a little more sincere, and a little more confused.

I wheel to him angrily. "Do you have a room or not?"

"At the California Grand? Always. It's the penthouse suite."

"Of course it is," I mutter as the doors fold open. "Well, maybe it will only take this elevator ride to figure out just what the hell it is you're doing here."

"What I'm doing here?" Wolf follows me in without so much as a hitch in his stride. He stabs the button that closes the door behind us, but I note he still hasn't selected a floor. "This is
my
world, Laney. The place everyone wants me to be. So I come, and I shake hands and smile, and I fantasize about what my tire treads would look like printed on all these fake ass faces. Hell, I might even think about you once in a while, just to pass the time."

I don't even know what to say to this. I'm so angry, yet I'm almost certain that, in a deeply buried part of me, those were the exact words I wanted to hear from him…

Or at least, the least offensive version of those words I'm bound to get.

"What floor are you?" I demand, jamming the button with my free hand and carefully balancing my wine with the other.

The elevator lurches up, and then grinds to an immediate halt. We both look at each other. After a terrible second, Wolf reaches past me to try the door override.

Nothing.

"Great," I say. "I infiltrate an expensive hotel event, and I manage to get stuck in an elevator with a degenerate in a suit."

"Excuse me?" Wolf pulls back and glares at me. "You really want to keep insulting the guy who took you on the most expensive date you've ever been on, and oh, by the way, was the best sex of your life?"

"You
roofied
me you son of a bitch!" I all but shout.

"And you betrayed me to your cop buddies!" Wolf shouts. "Who, by the way, I don't see welcoming you back with open arms! How did they reward your effort down south? Hm? Oh yeah, by taking away your
badge!"

"You are unbelievable!" I seethe. "First of all, I never called the cops! Maybe it was your little cycle shop buddy you were getting all chummy with; did you ever think of that? Maybe
he's
the one who sold you out! And secondly, even now you're following my every move? I'm surprised I was even able to surprise
you
tonight since you insist on being such a…such a fucking stalker all the time!"

"Oh, that's rich." Wolf laughs, but it isn't the cheerful sound I'm used to. He sounds colder than I remember—then again, maybe it's all a part of the same illusion the cropped hair and shaved face and suit all work toward.

But if that's true, why does he sound so hurt?

"If anyone is stalking anyone, it's you, soon-to-be ex Officer Lane. Did you really think I would expect to find a working-class woman like you here tonight? Sorry:
formerly
working."

"It was a complete coincidence, I can assure you," I snap back. He wants to be cold? He better get ready for me to visit an Ice Age on this damn elevator. "And I wasn't aware you held to all this
bourgeois
garbage. The more you know, I guess!"

"Give me that." Wolf reaches across me and snatches the wineglass I hold, draining what remains of its contents in one fell swoop. I hate the choked, astonished noise I make at having the only thing that would have made this encounter bearable seized from me. I hear him gasp in satisfaction as he finishes it, but I've already turned away. It's less easy to ignore the shatter of glass as he tosses it into an unused corner of the elevator.

"Great. Now I'm trapped in an elevator with you that's littered with
broken glass.
Could this day get any worse?"

"Oh, don't say that," Wolf groans, but his groan is all but drowned out by the sudden, terrible noise of rending metal. I clap my hands over my ears to deafen myself to the awful grinding, gritting my teeth to keep a hold of myself as terror grips me. The floor of the elevator shakes, and then the box drops a half inch beneath us.

"Wolf!" I yelp. I'm in his arms before I realize what I'm doing; funnily enough, the man who has been taking such issue with my appearance at the party that evening has his arms wide open to receive me. I bury my face into his chest.

"Told you not to say it," he murmurs into my scalp, stroking my hair as I try to keep myself from shaking too obviously. "Haven't you ever seen a movie in your life, Laney? Things only get worse for our heroes the moment someone says those words."

"I
hate
elevators," I groan as I cling to him. "Oh my God. Please don't let go of me. I don't care how angry you are, or how much you hate me."

"Yeah, none of those things are true. Well, I'm a
little
angry," he confides as he lowers us both down to the floor of the elevator. I turn my face in against his chest, losing myself momentarily in his cologne. It's so easy to pretend I'm somewhere else in this moment. I let myself get swept up by the feeling of being captured in his arms, of being soothed by his voice, as Wolf continues to speak in a hushed tone. "Not angry. More frustrated, I think."

"Please don't tell me you're getting a boner right now," I say severely. He chuckles, and I feel some of the terrified tension ease out of me as a result.

As I let him hold me, my arms wrapped around him, I play with the bracelet I've been wearing all evening. I pull something off the inside of the band and drop it into his jacket pocket. Might as well take advantage of being this close while I still have the chance—who knows where or when we will ever see each other again.

"I miss it," I confess finally. "What we had together. I know it was only for a few days…"

"It was years in the making," Wolf interrupts me. "You know it, and I know it. Let's not pretend we don't." I feel the brush of his cheek against my ear, and the light stubble that is already forming on his jaw. Will he let it grow out again? Will I be around to know what decision he decides to make the next time he shaves? I wish my thoughts weren't so embarrassing, so inane.

Maybe I'm just trying to distract us both from the fact that I can feel, with every fiber of my being, that Wolf wants to kiss me.

I hold myself still, trying to ignore the fluttering of my own heartbeat, as the rogue billionaire I've been chasing after for years allows his lips to skate closer to mine. I bet they taste like the wine he stole from me. Don't I deserve the opportunity to steal it back?

But who's stealing from whom? I wish I had the answers, but my head is starting to spin, and thinking is getting more and more difficult the closer he allows his hot breath to inch. I part my lips without thinking, and he's nearly on me, when…

A feel a hand come up between my legs, and a pair of thrusting fingers plying the secret heat slowly kindling there. Wolf has impeccable aim, and I cry out as he brushes my clit with a marksman's accuracy.

"Just checking to see if you have underwear on." He grins evilly, exposing his chipped canine.

"Who named you the panty inspector?" I nearly scream at him as I make to rise. Wolf follows me up, and now I'm feeling
extremely
claustrophobic. I couldn't escape him if I wanted to in this tiny metal deathtrap. "We're trapped in an elevator! Is sex really all you can think about right now?"

"You were thinking about it, too," he accuses, loosening his tie and unbuttoning his suit jacket. "Hot in here, isn't it?" he asks me as he whips it off.

"No,"
I retort. "It really isn't."

It really is.

"I should have kept that wineglass around. We could have played 'strip-and-spin'. Remember our first date, Lane?"

"That was
not
a first date," I scoff. "That was a hormonally-charged, adrenaline-fueled mistake. I've made them before."

"Have you made them repeatedly?" he asked curiously as he lets his dinner jacket fall to the side. "Because I remember you making that particular mistake, oh, let's see…one…" He counts off on his fingers, and I feel myself tingle with need at the sight of them. "Two…"

"Three!"
several voices outside the elevator door shout in chorus, and suddenly the stuck panels are being pried back by invading fingers. I watch in relief as two uniformed firemen pull the doors apart, backing a little away from the forced entry to allow them room to work…and to escape from getting pulled once more into Wolf's magnetic sphere. I have no idea who's working on the door—knowing my luck, it may very well be members or affiliates of the local police, people capable of reporting back to the station about my whereabouts.