Saved by the Outlaw: Motorcycle Club / Hitman Romance (23 page)

I
t's been two years
, but when I see him he still manages to make me feel like a girl again.

I called, asked him meet to meet me for coffee. I figured it was the easiest way to start to get to know him again, but honestly, the thought of going through his books as a spy for Rebecca still makes me feel queasy.

Sure, I want the money.

But looking at him as he sits in the back table, staring out at the streets, I want him more.

It's not good. This mass of butterflies in my stomach, tormenting me, acting like it's totally cool for me to feel like this for him.

Well, it's not.

I try to steel myself again, but in the meantime, my eyes roam over him. He's filled out a lot in the past two years, and bulked up. Even beneath his shirt I can see the outline of his pecs, his arms huge and undoubtedly covered in a myriad of tattoos.

His hair is shorter than I remember, brushed back away from his face and revealing his strong jawline, just the hint of stubble noticeable from across the room.

I order my drink at the counter and wonder what I'm going to say. I've gone over it in my head a thousand times in the week since my meeting with Rebecca, but I still haven't a clue how this should go.

It's not like I can go in, all fists and fury for him ditching me, though that's what I want to do. He was a coward for hiding from me for so long.

But I need him on my good side.

I lick my lips as the barista hands me my coffee, and I walk towards my step-brother.

My former crush.

I'm in a skirt that hugs my curves, and the nicest tank-top I have. Red lace skirts my cleavage, my back tattoo on proud display as I sidle into the seat across from him.

He smells divine.

I have to keep myself from rolling my eyes in pleasure, instead delivering him a hard stare that slowly breaks into a smile. With him, I can't help it. I've never been able to help it. No matter how pissed he makes me, I always feel soft the second I'm with him. No matter how hard the world makes me, he tears down my defenses.

"Well hey," he practically growls as he leans in towards me.

And his voice...

It does things to me. Things I'm not proud of. Things that the quirk of his mouth makes me remember that he knows all too well.

I sit back in my chair, begging myself not to flush. Not to let those butterflies get the best of me.

It's harder than I expected.

It's one thing to try to be cool with him, be professional. To push down all the rage and anger and hatred I've felt for him over the past two years, how abandoned he made me feel. That was just the first battle.

But the second I see that smirk on his lips, all I can remember is the way his mouth tasted against mine.

I bite in on my lower lip, and he has me right where he wants me.

"Well, hey yourself," I finally say back, trying to hide my blush behind my coffee.

We stare at one another, his dark brown eyes trailing over my face, scrutinizing me, and suddenly I feel so self-conscious. He's seen me so vulnerable, so exposed, and now I just want to forget it all. For two years, I've struggled to block him from my mind, and now, here he is, looking better than ever.

"You look damn fine," he says, his grin turning lascivious, and there's no use hiding my blush.

Two years, and so many tears later, and I'm still wrapped around his fucking finger. My skirt suddenly feels too tight, my tank-top too warm, and a full body flush overtakes me.

His large hand reaches beneath the table, clamping on my knee, his fingers touching along my inner thigh, and that heat only grows.

I pull away after a moment, though. I can't let myself give into this again.

I can't give in to him again.

He raises a brow at me, but his smile tells me all I need to know. I've gone from a guarantee to a challenge, and he likes it.

It makes me sick, but I can't deny the thrill it gives me.

"This isn't about that," I say, hoping I sound curt more than turned on, but I'm way closer to the latter right now.

His grin broadens and he sits back in his chair, hands folded beneath his chin like a scolded child.

"Then what's it about, little sister?"

His reminding me of our relation tears me in two and I try to hide that down along with all my other genuine emotions.

"I just... I don't like the way things ended with us."

"I did," he growls, and that heat travels my body once more.

Just the once I’d given in to him. Just that one night, before I never heard from him again.

"You could've fooled me. You never answered any of my texts."

He shrugs as if it's no big deal.

"I had a lot going on."

"Asshole," I growl before taking a sip of my coffee. Dimitri gets under my skin like no one else could ever dream of.

And he just revels in it. That’s what kills me, because I’m damned if I do, damned if I don’t. If I react, he gloats. If I don’t? He just pushes me further and further until I hit that tipping point.

“You love it,” he says, his grin almost feral. “And besides, you had your own thing. Meeting new people, making new friends...”

“Being homeless for three days?”

“Right, that too.”

I stare at him, aghast at just how easily he let that go.

“You could’ve fucking helped,” I spit out, unable to hold it back any longer.

He lived a pampered life, an easy life, all because his mom had problems with me. I don’t even know what I did. Sometimes I wonder if it was just a Snow White complex where she saw too much of my mother in me, but I doubt I’d ever get an answer.

“I could have,” he agrees. “But I didn’t. And now look at you. Banging, and let me guess, a bit more rebellious than you used to be.”

He leans in, and I can smell the mintiness of his breath wash over me.

“Isn’t that why you called? Finally decided you wanted me to stick it to you? Get back at mommy dearest?”

His hand finds my leg again and his fingers snake up along the inner seam of my thighs, and I’d have to be a saint not to feel anything. I beg my body not to give in to that sensation of pleasure, that cruel teasing to his voice, but I can’t resist it totally. Despite my anger and humiliation, he knows exactly what to say to turn me to butter.

“Fuck off,” I say, but my voice is breathy and light, and he doesn’t stop. We’re in the middle of a crowded coffee shop in the middle of the day and he’s groping me under the table.

And the worst part is how much I like it.

More accurately, how much my body likes it.

“I like it when you pretend you’re mad,” he growls, the pads of his fingers imprinting upon the fleshy part of my thighs. “You’re so fucking hot when you act like you don’t want this.”

And then he pulls away, and from the smug expression on his face, I know I look as disappointed as I feel.

My breath has been stolen, and my nerves are frayed.

I just want to leave. Take off and ignore everything Rebecca’s offered.

But it’s Dimitri’s offer that keeps me in my seat.

“It’s not going to be like that,” I say, without conviction. “I just want us to have a part in each other’s life.”

His grin grows and I wonder how he possibly turned my words into something dirty.

“Stop it,” I insist. “I just... I was hoping maybe you could hook me up with a job or something, so we have an excuse to be around each other and reconnect.”

I hope that sounds natural, though his surprised expression doesn’t fill me with confidence.

“A job? That’s what this is about?”

He sounds disappointed, and he leans in, his eyes narrowing.

“You know if you ever really needed money, Sarah, I’d give it to you in a heartbeat. Your stupid pride always got in the way, but you don’t have to work for it.”

"I'm not some beggar, Dimitri," I spit back with more acid to my tone than I expect. But it's true. I'm not going to beg for handouts when I'm able and willing to work for it.

He holds his hands up defensively.

"Whoa, Sarah, I never said you were. But we're still family."

I don't know why his words bug me so much, but they do. For two years, we weren't family. For two years we were less than strangers, and now that he's finally back in my life, he's acting like that didn't happen? As if he's always been generous and not more than a little self-involved?

He knows he's not going to win, and he simply nods his head.

"Fine, fine. So what do you do? Still taking those weird photos?"

"They're not weird, Dimitri. They're real life."

"Sure, if that's what you want to call spying on people and taking their picture."

His smile is devious, and I know just as well as he does the time he's talking about. He was in the bath house, getting changed one day, and I snuck up to my room, leaning out my window with my camera to get a better view of him. His hard, glorious body on shameless display, thinking no one was home.

That was the day things shifted between us and his teasing ramped way up. Not even a month later, and I was kicked out.

At least we never did anything I really regretted. It isn't like I lost my
virginity
to him. Hell, I haven't lost that to anyone. Not for moral reasons, just, and I know this is cheesy, I'm waiting for the right person.

"That was one time, Dimitri."

"Sure, sweetheart, I'm sure it was the only time you caught me in the buff, but it wasn't the only time you wanted to." He licks his lower lip, his eyes narrowing at me deviously. "Tell me it's not true, and I'll hire you right now."

I stare at him, incredulous, and swallow hard. If there's one thing I'm not good at, it's lying. Especially to him. He's seen me lie about so many stupid things — and caught me so easily — he knows all my tells.

"It's not true," I say, trying to sound haughty and confident, but I'm aware of the fact that I fluttered my eyelashes too long, and he looks like he's just won a massive prize.

"I knew it," he growls, but he doesn't reach for my leg. He just lets the awkward silence grow between us until I have to look away.

"Listen, I'm a bookkeeper. I don't have school for it, but I have experience, and I'm really good. Let me help you, let me get more experience so I have something impressive on my resume. You can't get anywhere without school, and I can't get a loan since your mom is so filthy rich."

"Mm, last I heard, you liked things filthy."

"Dimitri, stop," I plead. "This is serious."

He shrugs his heavy shoulders, his shirt straining against his muscles.

"Sarah, I'm not going to leave you down and out when you ask for help. The second you called, you were going to get what you wanted. I just think you want something else more than an accounting position."

My heart leaps and for a second I wonder if he knows that I'm spying on him for Rebecca, but when that hard hand reaches to my leg, his finger teasingly running down the outside of my calf, I know he's in the dark. He just thinks I want sex.

And maybe I do.

It's so hard being a young woman and still being a virgin, and with every passing year it seems more and more significant that I still have it, and more intimidating on how to lose it. I guess most figure it out in college, but there's not a lot of opportunities when I work seventy-hours a week to barely scrape by.

"We're siblings, Dimitri. Maybe not by birth, but by chance."

That doesn't stop him, not even for a moment.

"All of the best things feel wrong the first time, Sarah. I don't hold it against you for getting scared."

"I wasn't scared!" I'm lying again.

"Don't think I forgot how wet you were against my hand, Sarah. Don't you forget how sweetly you moaned as I kissed your body, and how much you were begging for it before you suddenly
remembered the time
. You were eighteen, it's not like you had a curfew. And it was summer, no school."

I blush at the reminder, the sight of him kissing between my thighs forever burned into my memory.

"Just admit that you got off and then got scared, and we have a deal."

He's so mean!

I stare at him, swallowing as I nod.

"I was scared."

He smiles.

"Then we have a deal?" I ask, my voice suddenly foreign to me, so much softer and without much else but heated desire.

"I already said you got whatever you wanted just for asking, Sarah. Hearing you say you were scared was the icing on the cake," he says as he stands up.

He walks beside me, reaching down and touching his fingers along my jaw, making me look at him once more.

"You start tomorrow. Come meet me at my office," he says as he places his business card down on the table with his other hand. "You look much more daring today than when I last saw you," he muses before finally taking off, leaving me alone with my thoughts.

A
lready my day
is off to an epic start. Firstly, it's pouring. The first real rain — not just drizzle — that we've had in weeks, and the city is more humid than ever, so my blouse is already sticking to me.

Secondly, a car splashed me as I was waiting for the bus.

And now?

"
Mr. Brokov
is not to be disturbed." The brown haired woman is staring daggers at me like I just kicked her puppy rather than simply asked to see Dimitri. She apparently takes issue with me using his first name, too, what with the emphasis on his last name.

I'm mildly surprised he went back to Rebecca's maiden name, given how she still has my father's — and my — last name. Fairfax.

"Well, it's my first day," I protest, a heavy box under my arm. I don't know what I'm going to do, not really, but I wanted to come prepared. My books, and my camera, both weigh a ton, and these heels are already killing my feet. Why did I decide that I wanted to look my best?

Why did I care so much about impressing him?

Because you have to,
I remind myself, but I know it's a lie. I'm past doing things just because I have to, or just because Rebecca dangles a carrot in front of my face.

This is about me and Dimitri, and about finding out why and how he left me so casually.

The rest is just... extra.

"I know," the brunette behind the reception desk says, but her tone says she doesn't care.

"Where am I to sit?"

She ignores me, and my cheeks begin to burn. My skirt is too tight, my stockings are itchy as hell, my heels are too high, my blouse is stuck to my chest, and I feel like a hot mess.

And I'm two seconds away from throwing my box at her head when Dimitri walks in the door and it's like all the breath is just stolen from my lungs.

I've never seen him look like this. It's not just business attire, oh no. It's that the suit clings to his body, accentuating his shoulders and arms, making him seem even more filled out. His tattoos hidden away, his hair brushed and styled, and his brown eyes warm as they see me.

"Sarah," he says as he walks to me, touching his hand on my lower back and sending a shiver through me. I know it's silly but that touch seems so... significant. I can't imagine him touching his other employees in such an intimate and familiar way.

"Has Joyce seen to your paperwork yet?"

I assume that he's talking about the secretary, and I shake my head no, and she shrinks behind the desk. Great, day one and I'm already making enemies, and I have no idea what I even did to her.

"Joyce, get Sarah set up in the system right away." His tone is hard and borderline threatening. "I'll show her to her desk myself," he says and doesn't spare her another glance.

The office isn't huge, but it's still a lot to take in. I guess around fifty people must work here, most in the cubicles that litter the inner office. I expect to be led to one of the empty ones I note, but he walks beyond all of those to a door that proudly proclaims:
Mr.
Dimitri Brokov, C.E.O.
.

He takes me to the smaller office just off his, pushing open the door. I almost have this feeling that it used to be for his personal secretary or something, as there's a door linking my new office right to his, but he's beaming down at me like it's a secret I'm in on.

That scares me, I'm not going to lie. I suddenly feel like it's all too fast, too soon, and way too close for comfort. Especially if I really am going to backstab him.

And why shouldn't I? He doesn't seem apologetic in the slightest at how much he hurt me. He hasn't apologized, hasn't even pretended like he's done anything wrong, and it's eating me up inside.

I feel that well of anger begin to bubble up and I have to suppress it.

"Nice view, huh?" he asks casually, and truthfully I hadn't noticed, but he's right. It's overlooking a park, and even though we're up on the fourteenth floor, I can still hear some of the birds chirping through the glass. Ever so faintly.

"Yea, it's fine," I say, and he only looks amused at how unimpressed I'm acting. He knows what type of shitty places I've been living and working in, surely, but he lets me go with it.

"I'm just on the other side of that door, Sarah. Anytime I'm not in meetings, at least. So if you ever need help..."

I'm more aware now that his hand is still on my back, and beginning to trail lower, and all that anger dissipates like smoke and is replaced with a heat of a different kind.

We're in public, in our workplace, for heaven's sake! So why does that thought arouse me rather than repulse me? Is this really the type of reputation I want? That I'm only getting the job because of who I am to the boss?

The thought occurs to me, unwanted.
They might not even know you’re siblings. Different last names, different accents...

Another shiver travels my spine and I push into the office, plunking the heavy box down on my desk.

"Thanks, Mr. Brokov," I say, and when I turn to face him again, he has an excited and mischievous twinkle in his eyes. I don't even want to know what put it there. I smooth out the front of my blouse and look at him, trying to make my voice stop trembling, "If you could just have someone brief me on the status of your books..."

"After how Joyce treated you back there, I doubt she's going to tell you anything accurate," he grins, and it falls into place.

Did I just steal her job?

No wonder she hates me already...

"I see," I say with a frown, licking my lips thoughtfully.

He motions his head towards the computer.

"The user login information is on the notepad, and all the programs you need are installed. The hardcopies are all kept in the filing cabinet in the back corner of my office, the keys are on your desk. Only you and I have copies, so don't lose them."

He walks in, and suddenly the office feels so much smaller and more claustrophobic, his body taking up so much space. His heat sucking up all my air.

It was one thing to see him rugged and casual at coffee, but when he's dressed like this, he looks stronger. Powerful. Like he can say anything and I'd do it, and that's a scary feeling for someone trying to resist his charms — and forget what we came so close to doing.

"If you need me," he growls, his eyes burning into mine, "you know where to find me."

And then he disappears through the door leading to his office, leaving my panties soaked, and my heart absolutely stopped.