Impulsively (Dante's Nine MC) (16 page)

And wouldn’t you know it, there they all are—the eight men
of the Devil’s Wraiths are lined up along the bar, enjoying the view. Quite of
few of the Dante’s Nine men have joined them. I guess this is tonight’s
designated drinking spot. I watch as Kassie and Kelly locate their old men,
settling onto their laps with total ease, as if there weren’t dozens of half
naked women all around us. But it’s not the dancers I find myself looking at
now. Instead, I scan the crowd for a ruddy, bald, familiar face. It looks like
I might just be in the clear. I don’t see Bruno anywhere.

“Two whiskeys. Make them doubles,” Brooks says to the
bartender, a blonde woman who’s topless save for two sequined pasties.
Jesus
—and I thought the
sweet butts at the Forty-Five Club were bold.

“Hey Brooks,” Leo calls from down the bar, “Your drinks are
on me. You worked wonders on my bike this week. Thing runs like I just bought
it.”

“Thanks, Leo,” Brooks replies, settling onto a barstool, “just
doing my job.”

I laugh as Brooks lifts me onto his lap and wraps his arms
around my waist. I’m the only other woman in here, save the dancers and the old
ladies. And I’m starting to like the old lady side of the spectrum, if I’m
being honest with myself. I get comfortable on Brooks’ lap as our drinks appear
before us. I can’t resist gently grinding my ass against his groin, knowing how
wild it will make him.

“You trying to cause trouble, Red?” Brooks asks, snatching
up his whiskey glass.

“Absolutely,” I return, clinking my glass against his. “Is
it working?”

“You fucking bet it is,” he grins, though he need hardly
tell me. I can feel him growing hard against me with every passing second.

“You better make good on that before the night is through,”
I tell him, shooting back my fiery whiskey.

“I don’t think I can wait another day,” Brooks growls,
slamming his glass down against the bar.

My stomach flips over as his green eyes fix on mine. He
means it. No more frustrated desire, no more getting interrupted mid-hookup. I
know he means it when he says he’ll find a way to make it happen tonight. I can
feel my body start to light up with anticipation at the very thought of finally
having this man to myself for a night.

“How are you liking the Playpen, Keira?” Leo asks, sliding a
second round of whiskeys down the bar.

“It’s pretty fucking great,” I grin back. “Quite the
impressive clientele.”

“Our girls draw a good crowd,” Leo says, surveying the room
over Kelly’s head. Though he looks pleased with the goings-on around us, I only
spot real desire in his eyes when they alight on his old lady. Now
that’s
impressive.

“The new girl’s doing pretty well,” Declan observes from
Leo’s side. I follow his gaze to a petite, pixie-like woman dancing front and
center. At first glance, her hair looks platinum blonde. But as I stare at her,
I spot subtle streaks of lavender, too. She’s probably about my height, give or
take the three-inch golden stilettos she’s rocking. She wears nothing but a
matching golden thong and a tiny bikini top that barely covers her C-cups. Her
features are delicate and girlish—distinctly youthful.

“Jesus,” I breathe, “How old do you think she is?”

“I know, she looks really young,” Leo says. “That’s kind of
her niche. But we make sure all our dancers are over eighteen, scouts honor.”

“What’s her name?” Kassie asks from Declan’s lap.

“It’s Belle,” says a soft, awestruck voice from down the
bar. “Belle Taylor.”

We all turn to see Tyke gazing reverently at the newest Playpen
girl. And while there may be plenty of lust in his eyes, there’s something
softer, too. His severe, serious features soften as he looks at her, and the
slightest hint of a flush creeps up his neck. With his blonde hair and light
complexion, there’s no hiding that blush.

“Tyke,” Leo howls, “Do you have a thing for her?”

“I...I don’t...” Tyke mutters.

“You totally do!” Kelly squeals. “I knew you’d go for her!”

“That’s who you want to set Tyke up with?” Kassie asks,
staring at Belle as she wraps her shapely legs around the stripper pole.

“Why not?” Kelly shrugs. “Tyke needs someone to loosen him
up. That’s why I asked her to come say hi after her dance.”

“You did what?!” Tyke hollers, eyes going wide.

The assembled Wraiths and Nine burst into laughter at their
brother’s distress. I’ve learned that of all the members, Tyke has the
reputation for being the most buttoned up. As if on cue, the hard rock song
blaring overhead reaches its climax. Belle is suspended upside down on her
pole, legs splayed in the air. The crowd of men around her lose their shit,
stomping and screaming and throwing money at her feet. She rights herself and
smiles down at them, looking happily unsurprised by their affection.

“Brace yourself, Tyke,” Declan winks, nodding for the rest
of us to give him some space. We all get to our feet and scoot down the long
bar, watching out of the corners of our eyes as Belle Taylor sidles up to the
wide-eyed Tyke.

“Hey there,” I hear her say above the raised voices and
blaring music, “I’m Belle. Care to buy me a drink?”

“It would be an honor and a privilege,” Tyke says solemnly,
flagging down the bartender.

I’m glad that Tyke’s found a match after all. Kelly had
wanted to set him up with me when I first showed up, but I’ve only got eyes for
one MC bad boy. And he happens to be running his hands over every part of me
that he can reach right at this moment. Someone can’t wait to get out of here
and make good on his promise for tonight.

I lock eyes with Brooks as I finish my second drink. We’ve
only known each other for a week, but it’s already like we can speak without
words, just by looking at each other. There’s certainly no ambiguity in his
gaze right now. Those green eyes say
I
want you, Red.
And, feeling bolstered by his ardent want, I swing myself
around on his lap, straddling him on the barstool. I see Kassie and Kelly trade
an approving look from down the bar. As if I needed any more encouragement.

“Dance with me,” I say to Brooks, as the pounding bass sets
my hips to swaying.

“Gladly,” he growls, tossing back the rest of his whiskey.

He picks me up like a new bride in his strong arms and
carries me into the fray of the club. A dance floor is carved out between the
raised, pole-bearing platforms. Dozens of couples grind to the sexy music throbbing
all around us. The only difference between them and us is I’m not making Brooks
pay for the privilege.

I press my back to his chest as he sets me on the ground,
raising my hands above my head and moving against him. His hands course down my
torso, grabbing onto my gyrating hips. He pulls me against him as we move
together, the rise in his jeans growing with every passing beat. I spin around
to face him, wrapping my arms around his neck. I can feel his cock pressed
against me, just where I ache to feel it most. I’ve been yearning for him all
week, and now that I have the go-ahead to do whatever I want, there’s no way
I’m not going to have him tonight. The very thought makes my sex throb with
eager want.

Brooks runs his hands up along my back, working his fingers
through my long red hair. I look at him in the wild, pulsing light, amazed that
this person is here before me. I trail my fingers along his chest, tracing his
scrawling tattoos. There are so many things I don’t know about him, and even
more things he doesn’t know about me. But from the very first, I felt closer to
him than...just about anyone. Ever. How can that be?

“You’re incredible, Red,” he grins, lowering his lips to my
bare neck.

I close my eyes as his scruffy jaw glances against my skin.
I love the feel of his roughness, his jagged edges. I want to memorize each and
every one. How am I going to give this up after just another week? I force my
eyes to take in the room around us, to commit this moment in time to memory
forever. I catalogue every feeling, every sound, every face in the surging
crowd—

And across the crowded room, I find two familiar, unfriendly
eyes boring into me.

“Oh no...” I whisper, as I meet the graze of Jeff Bruno. My
fellow agent is lurking at the end of the bar, not an arms length from where
the Wraiths and Nine sit. He sneers at me over Brooks’ shoulder, raising a very
full glass of liquor to his puffy lips. A trucker hat obscures most of his
face, but there’s no denying that he’s seen me here. On “his turf”.

“What is it?” Brooks asks, looking down into my wide eyes.

“It’s just...I’m...” I splutter, searching for a means of
damage control. “I want to get out of here, Brooks. Right now.”

“You don’t have to ask me twice,” he says, grabbing onto my
hand. “Let’s go, Red.”

Brooks tows me across the dance floor toward the door.
Unfortunately, that means we’re edging closer and closer to the place where
Bruno lies in wait. As Brooks and I reach the edge of the writhing crowd, I
tuck behind his massive form, hoping to escape without Bruno calling me out on
the spot. The senior agent’s sneer has been replaced by a grimace of pure
contempt as he surveys the room. And the purest, most potent part of that
contempt is reserved for me.

“Come on,” I urge Brooks, dashing ahead of him, “Hurry.”

I race out of the club, gasping as we emerge into the warm,
dark night. Brooks looks at me with concern, catching my face in his hands.

“What’s wrong?” he asks. “You’re pale as hell.”

“Just...a little overwhelmed,” I tell him, smiling stiffly.
“I feel better now. Let’s just get out of here, Brooks. You and me. That’s all
I’ve wanted this whole week.”

“That makes two of us,” he says, his worry ebbing away as
desire floods in, “Fuck it. Let’s go. They won’t miss us.”

“Just get me out of here, OK?” I ask, heading for his
Harley.

“You got it,” he tells me, “Hop on, Red.”

We roar off into the night again, all alone at last. My
heart pounds with fear and desire in equal measure. I’m terrified to have
spotted Bruno at the Playpen, and utterly dreading my next meeting with him.
But with every inch we put between us and the strip club, it gets harder to
worry about my menacing coworker. How can I think of anything but that fact
that Brooks and I are finally making a break for it? I tighten my arms around
him and will the bike to carry us across the desert as fast as it can.

Together, we retrace our route. The landscape becomes more
familiar again as we make our way out of the dangerous, shrouded mountains. I
don’t ask where we’re going, because I don’t have to. I trust Brooks
implicitly. Not because of how long I’ve known him, but because I know that
he’s worthy of my trust. My faith.

Up ahead on our left, the Forty-Five Club rises up, dark and
empty. The entire club is partying at the Devil’s Playpen tonight, so the bar
is closed up tight. To my surprise, we turn into the parking lot and skid to a
stop before the clubhouse.

“Here?” I ask, ripping off my half-shell.

“Why not?” Brooks smiles devilishly.

“Well, it’s locked, for one thing,” I point out.

“Not for long,” Brooks says, producing a thick ring of keys
from within his cut.

“They gave you the keys to the bar?” I ask, amazed, “That
seems awfully trusting of them. You only just got here.”

“
Gave
isn’t exactly the right word...” Brooks says, arching an eyebrow.

“You stole the keys to the Forty-Five Club?” I ask, laughing
incredulously.

“I borrowed them!” Brooks replies, fitting a key into the
padlock on the door. “Declan will never notice. And if he does, I think he’ll
forgive me. He’ll understand the...
dire
nature of our situation.”

A battalion of butterflies tears through my stomach. If
Brooks knows there was another reason for my wanting to leave the club, besides
my desperate want of him, he’s not letting on. That’s just fine with me. Right
now, that’s all I can think about, too.

“There,” Brooks says, as the padlock pops open, “All ours.”

He rips the length of chain from the handle and wrenches
open the door. With the flick of a switch, a few dim lights glow to life,
lending the bar an impossibly sexy feel. I take a step toward Brooks, sliding
my hands along his cut arms. We stand in the open doorway, on the brink of
getting what we’ve craved through so many sleepless nights. 

“You’re shaking, Red,” Brooks whispers roughly, slipping his
arms around my waist.

“Just excited,” I smile. “And maybe a little nervous.”

“Don’t be,” he growls, leading me across the threshold, “You
may have never been with a real man before, but you’re nothing if not a real
woman. We were built for each other, babe.”

He kicks the door closed with his steel-toed boot, shutting
us inside the shadowy bar. My heart is thrashing against my ribs as Brooks
presses me back against the heavy wooden door. His powerful hips pin me there
as his hands roam the length of my body. I look up at him in the low light,
marveling at the passion that sparks in those emerald eyes. Slowly, savoring
every moment, I trail my fingertips over the hard panes of his chest, across
each defined ab, following the lines of his muscular waist. Finally, my hands
alight on the stiff, throbbing length between his legs.

“I can’t believe I get to touch you like this,” I breathe,
feeling the sheer enormity of him through the well-worn denim.

“Believe it,” he rasps, cupping my breasts through my thin
cotton tee shirt. He rubs his thumbs across the hard peaks of my nipples as I
slide my hands along the length of him. I can feel him growing harder by the
second.

All at once, he drops his hands from my breasts, and I feel
him parting my legs. He slides his hands between my thighs, and a deep, pulsing
pressure builds in my core. I’m already wet for him as his hands rub against my
slit. We stroke each other through our incidental clothing, each trying like
hell to drive the other mad. And it works, too.