Crotch Rocket: A Bad Boy Motorcycle Club Romance (9 page)

I considered my options and looked to Jacob, “Would you be able to get someone to loan you a bike?”

“As it turns out, my dad gifted me one of his old Harleys when he finally accepted me into the club,” he said with a proud grin on his face.

I looked Jacob in the eye and smiled, “That settles it then, take me for a ride Crotch Rocket.”

The End

Natasha Tanner is a hopeless romantic. She loves to write about bad boys and her stories always wind up with a happy ending and some steamy moments. She resides in Vermont and hopes you enjoy every one of her books as she strives to become a full-time writer.

Also by Natasha Tanner:

Aria:
The only thing I need is him...
It was the night before my wedding. Maybe I cursed it by visiting my fiancé. I didn’t expect him to cheat on me with my best friend.
That night I ended up going to the strip club. The same one I went for my bachelorette party. That guy told me to come back if it didn’t work out. I laughed at the thought. Well, it came true, because it didn’t. What was I to do next?
Ryan:
I want her, but I know I can’t...
I had my eye on her the whole night at the club. Usually, I can control myself. But not that night.
She came from a rich family. I came from the trailer. She was educated. I wish I was. There was no way it would work. But maybe if things changed, they could?
This is a full length bad boy novel, with
NO
cliffhanger and a
happily ever after
.

Excerpt:
“Most likely. You might even be able to settle quickly out of court. It will save you fees and time.”
“I think,” he says deliberately. “I think if there is money that comes out of what happened to them, I want to use it for something less superficial than what I have been doing.”
I tighten my hand around his in reassurance. I know it must be hard for him to share this with me.
He stops me and places both of his strong hands on my shoulders. The sun is bright and I notice for the first time that he has hints of gold in his dark hair. We are so close I can smell his soap and the scent that is singularly his. For a moment, I think he is going to kiss me. I try not to look at his smooth lips but when I turn my focus to his broad muscled shoulders, it just makes the anticipation worse.
“I want you to help me to read.”
His words jar me out of my reverie.
“Read?” I stammer.
“Yes, you said you can help me. Will you do that?”
“Of course I can. I mean, I would like to help. I’ve done some training and some volunteer work with kids that have learning disabilities.”
I worry that he will take offense at my using the word “disability” but he seems almost relieved. I can’t imagine how it must feel for him to know that with some tools and practice, he’ll be able to read as well as most people.
We make a plan to meet in the morning so we can get started right away. I need to do some studying myself on how best to go about helping him. I have only worked with kids, so this will be a change for me.
Ryan’s piercing eyes hold mine when we go to part ways and he takes both my hands in his.
“I knew you were someone special when we met.” He leans in and kisses me softly on the forehead.
Then he is gone around the corner before I can say anything. I want to yell after him that I knew the same about him, but I stay silent.
I get back to Theresa’s and all I want to do is sit on the couch and process everything that happened. She is there waiting for me though.
“Well, what did he want? I hope you didn’t let him sweet talk you into bed.”
“It wasn’t anything like that,” I told her. I don’t tell her about the dyslexia but I do tell her about his parents. I had forgotten that she knew them and she is upset by the news.
“Was the fire only in their trailer or were other homes in the park burned as well?”
I was so caught up with Ryan and his problems that I didn’t think about Theresa’s mom. Just because she hasn’t spoken to her in years doesn’t mean she wouldn’t be concerned and saddened if anything happened to her.
“From what I can tell, it was just Ryan’s parents and their home.”
“Wow, this is awful … poor Ryan. Now I feel bad for being so hard on him when he came by this morning.”
“I’m sure he understands,” I reassure her. “He apologized for how he behaved the other night at the club.”
“Good. He needed to apologize. But promise me you’ll be careful around him. I don’t want you to get hurt and all he knows how to do is use women for sex.”
I don’t want to argue with her about Ryan right now. Especially because a part of me knows she is probably right.
“I’ll be careful,” I promise.
My phone rings and the caller ID shows that it’s my father again. I take the call both because I don’t want to talk about Ryan with Theresa anymore and because there is no point in putting off talking to my father.
“Aria, your mother is too upset to talk but she wants to know if you’re safe.”
“I’m fine. I’ve made some new friends, have a safe place to stay since you kicked me out of my home, and a job.”
I don’t tell him that I’m living in a studio apartment in a questionable neighborhood and that I’m tending bar in a strip club.
I can hear him pass this on to my mother and then he pushes forward with the real reason he called. They need my answer now so that they can cancel the wedding before guests start flying in for the occasion. The rational part of me knows this is the right thing to do. But the hurt daughter in me wants to scream and yell at them for being such harsh and judgmental parents.
I think about my promise to Ryan and of how when I’m with him, I know I can do anything I want. I also think about the way he held my hand and the glimpse of what might be between us in his intense gaze. We will be spending every morning together and I am just as excited about that as I am about being able to help him change his life.
“I’m not coming home,” I finally tell him. “You can go ahead and cancel everything. And just remember; all I did was decide not to marry a man I don’t love and to stay in the city and start a career. You are the ones that are cutting me out your lives.”
My father doesn’t bother to reply but simply disconnects the call as his answer.
For better or for worse, New York and the club and Theresa and Ryan are my life now. I head to the library to use the computers and start a lesson plan for tomorrow morning so I’m prepared for my first tutoring session with Ryan.

Kat
My father's marrying me off to the Russian mob.
But is it still a shotgun wedding…if I used to be in love with the groom?
Growing up, Gray Petrokov was my closest friend and confidant.
Then he left town and broke my heart into a million pieces.
Now he's back and waiting for me at the altar.
But Gray's transformed into a tattooed hitman with a cocky smile, a dirty mouth, and the biggest, um,
gun
I've ever seen. I'd be crazy to still be in love with him. I'm not the kind of girl who takes orders, even from a
Bratva
boss.
Even when I'm carrying his secret baby.
So, I'm planning on being a runaway bride.
But what will I do if he catches me?
Gray
I never wanted innocent Kat to be touched by my criminal lifestyle.
But now she's in deep. And that's all I can think of: being deep inside her.
That, and keeping us alive.
Kat was too good for me, too good for the things I've done. So I pushed her away.
Now she's caught up with the mob and I'm her only hope.
She's looking at me like I'm a killer—and she's right.
My feelings for her haven't changed. Call me crazy. Obsessed. An animal.
But if she finds out I've been lying to her…she'll run.
Now that I've had a taste of her, I'll never let her go.
I'll chase her, hunt her down, claim her as mine.
No matter what.
Shotgun Wedding
is a standalone romance novel with no cliffhangers and no cheating, but one seriously bossy, seriously big Bratva hitman. Due to the tattooed guy's dirty mouth and dirty deeds, this book is not intended for readers under the age of 18.

Excerpt:
Oh my God, Grayson is kissing me.
Is he still the man of my dreams? Or is he a
killer
?
Do I care?
I should care.
I'll start caring in a second.
His lips are so full and surprisingly soft. He's firm but not demanding. He gently presses his lips to mine, holding me in place with the lightest of caresses. He slowly pulls back, just a hair's width, then barely bites my bottom lip. Then he kisses me again, running the tip of his tongue lightly across the place he'd just bitten.
Then he pulls away, still holding my face firmly but somehow delicately—cradling me in his palms like I'm precious, like I could break, like I matter.
All I can see are his gray eyes, that strong jaw, the scar, his full lips that tasted like mint—
"Kat," he murmurs. It hits me that he used to sometimes called me "Kat" when we were little, but mostly Kate or Katie. All day he's called me Kat, Katya…or
babes
.
I shouldn't like that nickname so much. My body shouldn't betray me and shiver with excitement just because he calls me a generic, stupid, ridiculous nickname that implies some sort of intimacy—
"Babes," he says.
Dammit. My body, the traitor, does it again.
I shiver in his arms. He feels it, and if I thought his eyes were intense before, well holy hot damn. When I quiver in his arms, in his hands, it's suddenly like staring into molten steel.
"Babes, get outta your head."
"What?" I say and then he kisses me again.
This time it starts soft but—how can I describe it? How can something be soft but rough at the same time? Slow but demanding. Insistent. Gentle but with a wave of violent longing just underneath the surface?
It hits me that maybe I'm not just describing Gray.
Is this how I feel? Is this what's going on inside of me?
His lips press onto mine, and I can't help but open to him. I part my lips, just slightly—but it's enough. He slides his tongue inside me, just a bit, just a taste.
I moan. I want more.
When I make that sound, he growls back. God, we've barely touched and I feel like an animal already. We skipped right over words into growls, sighs, heavy breathing. Maybe this is what he meant by getting out of my head. Because I'm definitely not thinking right now. I'm just feeling, existing. He's warm and big and cradling me. My body is suddenly
alive
. I kiss him back, fiercely; we're at turns sweet and slow, then violent and hard. Like I can't press enough into him; like he can't touch enough of me.
I could kiss him forever.
He's so tall, so broad. I have to lean back like I'm looking up at the sky, just to meet his lips. He moves and one large hand cradles the back of my head, supporting me…and drawing me closer. His other arm wraps around my middle, and I realize he's angling me closer, pulling me into him, pushing deeper into me.
And he's hard. Oh my God, he's hard
everywhere
. I can feel his hard-on pushing into my stomach, but instead of recoiling, I like it. I move closer. It's huge and terrifying and also awe-inspiring. Did I cause this? Does he get this way for everyone, or just for me?
What would he say if he knew I'd never really dated? That I'm more familiar with my vibrator than any man?
It doesn't matter. I'll never tell him. One month, two tops, and I'm out of here.
I'll
be the ghost now, just like Gray was for the past seven years…
Then he lifts me up in his arms and I wrap my legs around his waist and my words, my thoughts, are gone like smoke. I grasp his shoulders, his arms. The silk of his suit slides under my fingers, but I make a fist and hang on. He must like that, because he growls again, and the sound resonates in my chest, my head, between my legs.
There are people talking outside, somewhere down on the street. Laughter, shouting, a car horn blaring. But none of it exists, not here.
In fact, my shitty apartment is disappearing.
All I can feel is my body moving, writhing, contained in his arms. Trapped, and loving it. His tongue invades my mouth. His large, capable hands are cupping my ass, moving me closer, lifting me up and down so I ride the behemoth I feel between my legs. I press against it, suddenly wanting heat and pressure and friction between my legs. I moan into his mouth when I grind down on his ridiculously hard cock. But it feels so good. I move my hips faster, I bite him like he bit me—
Gray pulls back suddenly, his chest heaving, his molten eyes staring at me.
He looks shocked.
Aroused.
There's color on his cheeks, and I realize his dark blonde hair looks like he's just been wrestling with a woman between the sheets…
And that woman is
me
.
And then it hits me what we're doing. We're one inch away from my bed and I want him to throw me down on it. I want—if I'm honest with myself—I want everything. I want him to pull my jeans off, part my legs, bury himself inside me like I've imagined it over the years.
But what happens if I let him in? It won't just be sex. I'm already half in love with him as it is—or, half in love with a ghost.
I have no idea who this man is. I have no idea what he does, or why he married me.
All I know is he was forced into it and it's just a sham. I can't let myself lose control, because if we become intimate, if we act like husband and wife, once this ends I'll never get over it.
"Stop," I gasp. I put my hand over my wildly beating heart.