Chaos Bound (Sinner's Tribe Motorcycle Club #4)(48)

“Thanks.” Her face lit up with her smile. “I actually think you mean that instead of just saying it to get into my pants.”

“I do mean it.” His body warmed with the knowledge he had pleased her. “And I wouldn’t try to get into your pants ‘cause you’re wearing a skirt.”

She laughed, her eyes sparkling, like he’d said the funniest damn thing in the world, and Tank felt the first stirring of something akin to pleasure, a feeling he hadn’t had since T-Rex disappeared.

“I have ambitions beyond the local Conundrum news.” She drummed her thumb on the counter. “Getting the scoop on one of the country’s biggest outlaw MCs would open those doors. What if I help you find your friend? I meet a lot of people doing what I do. I’ve made a lot of contacts…”

Aha. So this was what she wanted. He felt a stab of pride at the thought he’d so quickly discovered what Banks had been dying to know, and he imagined Banks’s face when he told him Ella Masters was after a story about the Sinners. But his imaginary pride quickly faded when he thought about telling Jagger and the executive board. No doubt they would do something to ensure that kind of story never made the news, and after hearing about Ella’s loss, he didn’t want her to get hurt.

“Sorry, love. Club business stays in the club. If Jagger ever caught me sharing club information, friend or not, he’d have my head.”

Her beautiful lips turned down at the corners, and she stroked her finger over his knuckles. Damn she had soft hands, and her nails were painted the same hot sunglow red as T-Rex’s bike.

“Not even something small?”

“I’m not the talker T-Rex was … is,” he said, his brain fuzzed by the gentle stroke of her hand and the knowledge that Ella Masters was touching him. “Never had his ability to charm women into my bed.”

“His charm didn’t work with me.” She finished her drink, licked her lips. Tank’s gaze followed her little pink tongue, imagining the things her tongue could do in the same place he wanted her lips to be.

“He wasn’t my type.” Her words came out in a soft murmur that he could feel in his cock.

“What is your type?” T-Rex was every woman’s type so he couldn’t figure out what kind of dude Ella would want.

She leaned closer, and he inhaled her perfume, sharp, bold, intoxicating. “I like the strong, silent type. The ones who sit back and watch. The ones who talk little and feel deep. The ones who see things other people don’t see, who know when their friend is alive even when no one believes them.”

Holy shit. Was she saying what he thought she was saying? What had started out as a bad night had just taken a turn for the better. “How do you know no one believes me?”

“It’s my job to read between the lines. It’s what makes the difference between a good reporter and a great one.” She nudged his beer toward him. “Drink up. You don’t want it to go to waste.”

Tank finished his beer and closed his eyes as a wave of dizziness threatened to topple him off the stool. Damn. It had been a long time since he’d had so much to drink. “Yeah, well it doesn’t matter what people think. I’m going to find him on my own.”

“Sounds to me like you need a friend. My offer is still open. No strings attached.” She finished her drink, licked a drop of Patrón off the corner of her mouth. Tank’s gaze rested on her lips where the drop had been, and he wished he’d been the one to lick it off.

Tank gave her an apologetic smile. “That’s nice of you, but like I said, it’s biker business. We don’t involve reporters.”

Ella’s cheeks reddened, and she dropped her gaze, her voice wavering. “You seemed so sad. I just wanted to help because I know how it feels, and if something comes of it that makes a good story and doesn’t get you in trouble with the MC, then that’s a bonus for me. If not, maybe we’ll just get to know each other better, and I’ll get to indulge my secret love for investigative journalism and maybe get you the happy ending I never had.”

Longing gripped him so hard he could barely breathe. He’d sell his soul to see T-Rex again. And yet he’d be stupid not to heed Banks’ warning—the same warning T-Rex had given him so long ago. Tank wasn’t stupid—T-Rex had cured him of that belief—but he was picking up some signals that Ella might be interested in taking their conversation out of the bar, maybe even to bed. And that’s what he needed right now. A little distraction. He could play along, pretend he was considering her offer, and after they’d had their fun, he would gently turn her down.

“So what could you do to help?”

Ella squeezed his hand and leaned in close. “Why don’t we go to my place and talk about it some more?”

Hell, yes. He was going to score.

Tank’s gaze dropped to her chest where her current position gave him a perfect view of her ample cleavage, the crescents of her creamy breasts, and the edge of her red-lace bra. His cock hardened, and he growled deep in his throat. He must not have had that much to drink because performance clearly wasn’t going to be an issue. Oh, yeah. He could play this game.

“Does that growl mean yes?” she whispered, her lips brushing over his ear.

“Let’s go.” He stood, staggered a step, and then righted himself when she grabbed his hand.