Possession (2 page)

Vincent gently lowered her onto one of the leather couches near the big-screen TV. With half his Brothers in Austin on business, the clubhouse was quieter than normal. He grabbed one of the pillows off a nearby recliner and elevated her injured foot. God, she looked great—completely edible in that silky black skirt and low-cut leather halter top hidden underneath a short-sleeved half jacket. One look at her ridiculously high-heeled shoes told him how she'd twisted her ankle.

“Into self-torture?” he asked, removing the suicide stiletto. “You don't need heels to accentuate those pretty legs, Tina.”

She chuckled, arching a perfectly sculpted brow. “Thanks for noticing,” she said.

He placed her shoe on the coffee table, then examined her swollen ankle.
Yep—definitely sprained.
“Still living at the Sendera BayPoint Apartments?”

“Yes,” she answered. “Why do you ask?”

“Because I need to know where to take you in the morning.”

“Morning?” she repeated with surprise. “I plan on cuddling up in my bed once we're done here.”

He snorted. “If you think I'm letting you go, you're delusional.”

“On what grounds?”

Did he need to spell it out for her? “Injury aside? You sought protection from the Sons of Odin. I'm obligated to grant you refuge.”

She sat up. “Refuge? Last time I checked we weren't in Vatican City.” She rolled her green eyes. “I didn't want that prick to follow me home. That's all. Maybe have a couple of drinks, hang out for a while, then go—pretend I was never here.”

Vincent hadn't seen her in five months, since his best friend's wedding. But every time he did, she gave him a raging hard-on. Her smooth, olive-toned skin made his fingers take on a life of their own.
Must touch.
Must fuck her before I explode in my pants.

“Hey…” She snapped her fingers playfully. “Earth to Vincent. I know we haven't seen each other in a long time, but you're making me nervous. You kind of disappeared into your thoughts. Are you okay?”

He shook his head. “Yes.”

She grinned, eyeing their surroundings. “I see nothing has changed in the clubhouse.”

“Still party central most of the time. Half the club is out of town right now.”

“So we're alone?”

“Sort of. Everyone is in bed.”

“This early?”

He shrugged. “Don't believe all the rumors you hear. Most of us work for a living. We don't raise hell every night.”

“I always wondered about you,” she teased.

“There's nothing to hide, sweetheart. What you see is what you get.”

She curled her fingers under her chin. “Not so sure about that. Remember, I
know
you.”

How could he forget? She lit up any room she walked into. Men flocked around her, and women—well, he remembered the lethal stares. On top of that, they'd shared secrets before, almost made love. “It's good to see you, Tina.” He'd never forgotten her, but the most important thing was getting her foot looked at. He started to get up.

“Are those assless chaps?”

“What?”

“The kind male strippers wear—absolutely love them.” She didn't try to mask her enthusiasm as her gaze wandered over his hips and legs.

The girl had a way of making him feel uncomfortable in his own skin. Maybe that was why he had avoided her after the wedding. He'd experienced too much pain with women he cared about and wasn't about to open himself up for another hard fall. If he were completely honest, the idea of getting close to Tina scared the shit out of him. “I'm not going to justify that ludicrous question with an answer. For the record, though, I rode today—that's why I'm wearing leathers.” His lips twitched as he caught her mischievous grin. “Stay put while I get Doc.”

She nodded.

As he walked away, she squealed. Vincent turned around. “What happened?”

“If you weren't wearing jeans, I'd get an eyeful of that cute ass.”

“Fuck,” he huffed out. Nothing was off-limits. He'd spent weeks with her when Lang and Lily were planning their wedding. They'd collaborated on the after party. “Better watch what comes out of that naughty mouth, Tina—you might get more than you expected.”

He stalked down the hallway, toward Doc's bedroom. A filthy little mouth that tasted sweeter than anything he could remember. Drinks at the wedding turned into dancing, which turned into a series of shooters, which ended with kisses that left him wanting more. Relationships had a way of backfiring on Vincent. And after two failed marriages, he was trigger shy.

He knocked on Doc's door.

“Better be good,” a gruff voice called.

“Need your medical expertise in the living room.”

The door opened and Doc stumbled into the hallway wearing boxers. “Brother down?” He rubbed his eyes.

“No. Remember Lily's best friend?”

“That hot little piece of ass with the long black hair?”

“Yeah.” Vincent didn't know why it bothered him to hear another man objectify Tina. “Found her in the parking lot; she sprained her ankle.”

“Let me grab my medical kit.”

“And a shirt,” Vincent suggested before he joined Tina again.

Fifteen minutes later, Tina's foot was bandaged and elevated above her heart with an ice pack. “Will I live?” she asked with a hint of sarcasm.

Doc smiled at her, then eyed Vincent. “You will. I'm actually more concerned about my Brother here.”

“Why?” Tina asked.

“Shut up, Doc,” Vincent warned on a growl. The last thing he needed was for Doc to point out his obvious attraction to Tina.

Doc yawned and checked his watch. “Twelve thirty, I need to go back to sleep—I have an early morning appointment. Good night, Tina. If you require a chaperone, a couple of the old ladies are sleeping in the guest room at the end of the hallway.”

Vincent watched him leave, tempted to give him a solid kick in the ass for his comment. “Ready for a drink?”

“Sure.”

He loved her feisty personality. “Shots?” Preferably peppermint schnapps, what they shared at the wedding reception. Five or six of those and she was primed for sex. “Or something less potent?”

Acknowledgment of the shared memory spread across her beautiful features. “You won't let a girl forget, will you, Vincent?”

Should he? He'd gotten as far as hiking her dress above her hips, two fingers inside her perfect little pussy, that night. A hint of her scent and taste had set him on a crash course for a full-blown relationship. Not the kind to fuck and run, Vincent controlled himself very carefully around females. Oh, he'd get the occasional blow job from a pass-around after he pounded too much beer or when testosterone flooded his system after a fight. A trade-off for not killing someone. A necessary outlet for a man driven by anger and suspicion.

“Something tells me you haven't all on your own.”

She squirmed under the weight of his stare—wiggling her hips to get more comfortable. “Vodka cranberry,” she requested.

Tempted to laugh at her blatant attempt to deflect his comment, he walked across the expansive space to the kitchen, an open area with a double archway and long breakfast bar. The old ladies kept the fridge and liquor cabinet well stocked. He grabbed a tall glass and measured out two generous shots of vodka, then filled it with ice and juice. He chose a Budweiser for himself, then wandered back to the couch.

“Gave you enough liquor to knock you out.”

“Don't underestimate me,” she bragged as she took a long swig. “I can outdrink most men.”

Something he'd never believe if he didn't know better. She couldn't weigh more than a buck fifteen wet. “Another secret?” he asked. “Like letting a man win at darts?”

Her feminine laughter made him smile. She'd pretended to be a novice dart player the first couple of nights they hung out—clearly a deceptive move. The following week she challenged him for money, and he felt like a heel for accepting the bet. An hour later, he owed her a C-note.

She held up her hands in mock surrender. “No more tricks, promise.”

“Good,” he growled, sitting on the edge of the sofa near her feet. He plucked her other shoe off, placing it next to its mate on the coffee table. Her toenails were painted bright red, matching her fingernails and lipstick. “You're color coordinated.”

“More like coded. Sometimes I wear pink or blue. Want to know what red means?”

He massaged her toes on the good foot—instantly hard. “Tell me.”

“It means I want to fuck.”

That mouth…
He groaned, his body on fire.
Only her.
Another girl wouldn't risk talking like that to him, not even a pass-around. Vincent had buttons, and when pushed, he lost control too easily. “Fuck who?” He took a deep breath.

“Maybe you,” she teased.

Pure torture, but he still considered her untouchable because they were so different. She'd left him in a daze after the wedding and he'd needed to fuck something to alleviate the frustration. It ended in a one-night stand with a stranger, something he regretted to this day.

“Don't toy with me, little girl,” he warned. “You know the rules inside the clubhouse.” If she needed a reminder, he'd gladly give her a quick tutorial. Brothers didn't ask twice once a woman offered herself.

“Unless you've gone through some kind of metamorphosis—a born-again Vincent or something crazy like that—I'm pretty sure I'm safe on your watch.”

Once upon a time he would have been all over her. But she'd experienced his hesitation too many times to believe he'd ever act. Time to get his man card back. He closed his eyes, fantasizing what it would feel like to have her pussy wrapped around his dick, clenching in orgasm. She reminded him of a gypsy—always wearing oversized gold hoops and braids. Fuck, he wanted her. He squeezed her foot, his fingers sliding up her petal-soft leg. Nothing wrong with a quick kiss for memory's sake.

“Vincent,” she whispered.

His eyes snapped open. Why did she have to call his name in that raspy, I-want-to-fuck-you voice? Careful to balance his weight so he didn't crush her, he crawled over her.
Fuck.
One call of his name and he'd lost it. And as he'd always suspected, months apart hadn't done anything to cool his attraction. He slanted his hungry mouth over hers, his tongue seeking the warmth and heat inside hers. Unrelenting magnetism drove him, a fucking gnawing hunger that refused to go away. Vincent didn't want to cross the line, but the opportunity to purge his system of anything remotely linked to the woman clawing at his arms was hard to resist.

His tongue spiraled with hers, sinking deeper, wrestling for dominance. He fisted both of his hands in her long hair, a soft floral scent invading his senses, her full breasts crushed against his chest. Then he pumped his hips. One swipe of his hand and he could unzip his pants—a second would have her short skirt and panties out of the way.

Reluctance gone, he invaded her halter top, his fingers finding an erect nipple. He pinched it hard, kissing her ruthlessly at the same time. Her goddamned painted-on leather top didn't give him enough room for his big hands—to massage and tongue-fuck her breasts.

The mental barriers were too strong. He broke the kiss—staring down at her. “Tina…”

She frowned. “Why did you stop?”

“For the same reason I did half a year ago.”

“Bullshit.”

Please, someone hit me over the head.
Everything he wanted was spread underneath him and willing—panting and angry. Fire flared inside her eyes, making her all the more desirable. God forgive him for being an emotional coward. Vincent's heart was the only reluctant organ he possessed. If he fucked Tina, he'd fall in love. No question about it.

He rolled off the sofa and his knee hit the concrete floor.

“You're a bastard,” she complained, adjusting her clothes. “I should have known better.”

Vincent gritted his teeth, wanting to shut her up with another kiss. He stared at her plump lips. “Here.” He handed her the vodka cranberry. “Finish this and I'll carry you into my bedroom.”

“No thank you, pussy tease.” She snatched the glass and sucked it down. “I can walk.”

He needed to make sure she understood. “This has nothing to do with you, Tina. It's all about me.”

“Did you get that line from the all-time lame excuses handbook?”

He grimaced. “I'm not trying to hurt you.”

She waved her hand. “Stop.”

When she stood and yelped, Vincent shook his head. “Stubborn little girl.” He lifted her into his arms.

She kicked in protest. “Where are
you
going to sleep?”

“In the bunkhouse.”

“What?” She obviously disliked his answer. “Are you dead from the waist down?”

He threw his head back and laughed menacingly.
Far from it…“
Nothing short of a brick wall could keep me away from you, Tina. And that's a risk I'm not willing to take in the middle of the night.”

She'd rather die than suffer the humiliation of another rejection from Vincent. Her confidence didn't take many hits. But when it did, she questioned everything about herself. Tucked safely in his king-sized bed, she stared at the closed door with resentment. The aggravating ass had even left a light on for her. A SpongeBob nightlight he used when his sons stayed for the weekend. Which compounded her frustration, because she knew what he meant by it—another reference to her being a little girl.

But he'd kiss and fondle her, get her so worked up her panties were sopping wet. However, when it came to following through, he retreated like a coward. For the first time in her life she didn't understand men. Weren't they all the same, driven by basic instincts—food, sex, and sleep? She laughed bitterly; apparently not, because Vincent had some superpower that made him immune to her.

Big bad biker, my ass.

She wiggled her toes and pain shot up her leg. Fine—she'd suffer through the night alone. Maybe the discomfort in her foot would take her mind off the ache between her legs. She fluffed the pillows, then tried to get comfortable. But she couldn't banish Vincent from her mind. How long had they known each other, over a year? They'd hung out—at the bars, dinners with Lily and Lang, a couple of hockey games, even went to the beach. Never a moment of awkward conversation or lack of attraction—she sighed, knowing how real it was.

Few people could pick up where they left off, after months without contact.

Her lips still tingled from his kisses. She crossed her arms over her chest, pleasant memories springing to life. They'd always enjoyed each other's company and had a lot in common. But Tina remembered all too well what kind of emotional baggage Vincent dragged around. Two divorces and two sons—though she adored children, knowing he'd always be attached to his second wife felt awkward.

After an hour of tossing and turning, she finally fell asleep.

The bedside alarm clock chirped annoyingly. Tina rolled onto her side so she could reach the off button; seven in the morning came too soon. Thank God Vincent had an en suite bathroom; she needed to pee like a Russian racehorse. Very carefully she tested her ankle again. Although the bathroom was only a few feet away, it felt more like a mile.

What a crazy night. She'd never imagined sleeping in the Sons of Odin clubhouse, or even visiting it again. After Lang retired his patches, Lily had steered their lives away from the charter. And with that move, away from any chance of Tina hooking up with Vincent. Yet time obviously hadn't erased the memories between them. Or the attraction.

She hobbled into the restroom, noting a slight improvement in the pain and swelling. After washing her hands and face and combing her hair, she squeezed toothpaste onto her index finger and brushed her teeth. Morning breath grossed her out.

Someone knocked on the bedroom door as she hopped toward the bed. “Come in.”

“Hey.” Vincent stepped inside, looking concerned. “What are you doing?”

“Good morning to you too, Mr. Sunshine.” Still upset about the blow-off last night, she couldn't deny how good he looked first thing in the morning. “I needed to go to the bathroom.”

“Glad to see you're more mobile today. Doc found a pair of crutches one of the old ladies used last year—she's about your height. And here.” He offered her a pair of jeans. “From Natasha.”

Tina peeked at the tag to see if they were close to the right size.
Perfect.
“Thank you.”

“Hungry?” he asked.

“A little,” she said. “Dying for a cup of coffee though.”

He smiled. “We keep as much coffee in this place as we do beer. Want to take a shower first or shall I carry you to the dining room?”

“Conveniently forgot to bring the crutches?”

She'd never been under any illusions about Vincent. For a minute she considered exactly what intrigued her the most. His steely blue eyes and thick lashes? Or his blade-like nose and sensuous lips? Next she studied his impeccably trimmed goatee, which did nothing but draw attention to his mouth. Physically appealing in every way, but inside he seemed conflicted, like something boiled just below the surface. Even when he smiled, his eyes were sad.

He was dressed in dark jeans with a muscle shirt underneath his vest, and she focused on his front patches. Less prominent than the ones on his back, she didn't like the one near his right shoulder—
Snitches are a dying breed.
Men like him harbored secrets and did things she disapproved of. As an attorney, she often represented defendants from his background. But the man outside his club affiliation interested her most. His wit and infectious smile, the dedicated father and friend. What she'd give to get to know that man.

“Ready?” He stepped closer and opened up his arms.

She willingly crawled into them, happy to find another excuse to be so close to him. She laid her cheek against his chest, his heartbeat strong and steady.

They passed by several closed doors in the hallway. “It's so quiet,” Tina said.

“One of the benefits of the members being gone on business. I've learned to appreciate the rare minutes of peace around here.”

“And all this time I thought you were an extrovert.”

“I am,
most
of the time.”

“Can't handle the spotlight?” she asked playfully, purposely challenging him.

“If I couldn't handle the attention, I wouldn't wear the patches.”

She chuckled, liking the gruffness in his masculine voice, the air of complete control. Tina knew better, though. She'd pushed him to the edge months ago, seen him fight against what his mind and body craved. She should know—because she wanted the same thing.
Him.
In all his biker glory.

“Can I have a kiss?” she asked, gazing up at him.

Vincent stopped abruptly. “Here? Now?”

Tina pretended to assess their whereabouts. “Why not? All I see is an empty corridor. Afraid we might get caught smooching?”

He huffed, his eyes meeting hers. “You're a pain in the ass.”

She nodded in agreement, sighing as his mouth lowered onto hers. Chaste and quick, his lips barely brushed across hers. But she still caught a hint of his heated breath and felt the tension in his body. She wanted more.

They emerged in the main room, the smell of freshly brewed coffee in the air. But no one appeared to be in the kitchen or in the living room.

A short while later Tina was seated at the dining room table, Vincent serving her a plate of scrambled eggs and sliced cantaloupe. Not exactly her breakfast of choice, but she liked him in domestic mode. Two young sons had molded him into a capable caregiver.

“Where is everyone?”

“Doc left early, the Prospects are already at work, and the old ladies are still asleep. We're alone again.”

“Are you taking me home after we eat?” she asked.

He claimed the spot next to her, sliding her cup of coffee within reach. “Unless you'd rather take a ride to Portland with me.”

She mixed a spoonful of sugar and a splash of milk into her java and took a sip. “Pleasure or business?”

“Both.” He leaned closer. “It's a beautiful morning; we can stop at Sunset Lake and go bird-watching.”

“On crutches?” She could see the sun through the wall of windows on the backside of the clubhouse. Maybe a day of sightseeing and relaxation was exactly what she needed.

“We can stay on the boardwalk and search for shorebirds on the tidal flats. If you have any trouble getting around, I'll transport you.” He smiled.

So this behemoth enjoyed the outdoors? She'd have never guessed. Maybe fishing or hunting, but bird-watching? It just didn't fit. “What species do you like most?”

“Great blue herons are my favorite, but I enjoy black skimmers, northern pintails, and brown boobies.”

“Brown boobies?” she repeated on a giggle like a kid saying a forbidden word.

“Absolutely.” He presented her with a well-worn copy of the
National Audubon Society Field Guide to North American Birds
. He flipped it open and pointed to a picture. “See? Get your mind out of the gutter, Tina.”

Squat with chocolate and white feathers and yellow feet—he hadn't made it up. “Okay, I'm in. Do you have an extra pair of binoculars?”

“Sure do.”

Finished eating, Vincent cleared the dishes, then brought over the aluminum crutches. “Let's give these a try. I can adjust the height if you're uncomfortable.”

She stood up and he handed her one at a time. She tucked them under her arms and took off across the room, happy to be mobile again. “Thank you,” she said, returning to his side. “Doc said it might take a few days to get better.”

“Sprains suck,” he commented. “Worse than a clean break sometimes. But this one isn't too bad.”

“I need to grab my sandals from my car before we leave. I don't think my stilettos are appropriate footwear for the park.”

“Why don't you give me your keys? I'll grab your shoes and park your car inside the gates.”

“Okay. My purse is in your bedroom.”

They walked down the hallway together and Tina went straight to the nightstand. She dug out her keys. “Here.” When she turned around, Vincent was standing inches away, his lips parted, clenching his hands.

His intense look made her nervous and she could feel her own heartbeat. “Did I say something wrong?” Their chat over breakfast had lightened her mood, giving her hope for a chance to reboot their friendship. But if he couldn't control his feelings…

“No.” He forced a smile. “Maybe we need to avoid bedrooms.”

She snorted. “How about horizontal surfaces in general.”

Trying to hold in his laughter, Vincent snagged the keys from her hand. “Take a shower. I'll be back soon.”

“Wait.”

Already at the doorway, he turned. “Yes?”

“Aren't you going to wash my back?”

He blew out a frustrated breath. “You know you're killing me, right?”

She let his words hang in the air before she responded. “I never pegged you for a prude.”

“Prude?”

“Yeah.”

He twirled her key ring around on his finger a few times. “You like to bait guys, don't you?”

“Only you.” Though she meant it playfully, underneath it smacked of the truth. Maybe if she persisted, he'd give in and just throw her on the bed. Because as far as she was concerned, Vincent just became her newest conquest.

“Cut me some slack, woman. If I didn't like you, I wouldn't spend the day showing you my favorite place to unwind.”

She tilted her head, evaluating his body language and expression, trying to understand why he continued to deny his feelings, why he went hot then cold whenever she got too close. “It's a fair start, Vincent Ramos.”