Rough Justice (Sinner's Tribe Motorcycle Club #1)(36)

And then he had her in his arms, his mouth covering her own, his tongue searching, diving deep, his need drinking her dry.

A soft moan escaped her lips and she melted against him, her hands sliding over his broad chest and around his neck, pulling him down for more. God, he even felt safe, warm skin over rock-hard muscle, firm and unyielding. She threaded her fingers through his hair, soft and silky, just brushing the top of his cut. Then she licked her way up his neck, tasting the salt on his skin and feeling the pulse of his arousal against her lips.

“Arianne…” He pulled away, his chest heaving, body shaking as if he was fighting for control.

“Go,” she said. Because if he didn’t leave, she wouldn’t be able to turn him away.

Within a heartbeat, he was gone.

*

He was already on edge when she came down the stairs the next morning and entered.

Lack of sleep, thwarted desire, and the imminent bombing of the Black Jacks’ ice house had wound him up tight. But nothing had caused him more emotional disquiet than the memory of Arianne’s soft, sweet body in his arms, her warm lips pressed against his own. He ached with wanting her, a longing so fierce, he’d had to force himself to walk away. He knew the moment she kissed him, that he had to have her. And once he had her, he would never let her go. He had almost laughed at the paradox. Keeping her meant endangering her, and after Christel, that was a risk he couldn’t take.

She descended the staircase, thick, dark hair fanned out over her shoulders, every curve of her lush body hugged by her skin-tight jeans and even tighter T-shirt, the swell of her breasts visible above the low, scooped neck. Jagger hissed out a long low breath and every sense he had sharpened as he walked across the now partially furnished living room to greet her.

Wheels tore his attention away from the football game on television and wolf-whistled. Gunner, seated beside him on the worn, brown couch, cuffed him on the head. “She’s a guest. Have some f*cking respect.”

“I thought she was a hostage.”

“Guest. Hostage.” Gunner grinned. “Same difference.”

“Go easy on him.” Sparky looked up from the table the executive board had used in their last church meeting. He had taken apart his Ruger MK III and was trying to beat Zane’s time for reassembly. Zane leaned against the wall, arms crossed. He held the record for weapon reassembly in the club and from his bored expression, he clearly didn’t think Sparky was a threat to his title.

“Coffee’s in the kitchen.” Jagger gestured Arianne to the door behind them. “I made bacon and eggs. They’re in the pan on the stove.”

“He cooks, too.” Arianne lifted an eyebrow. “Is there no end to your talent?”

Jagger chuckled. “He does many things. And I have talents I have yet to reveal.”

“But don’t try to talk to him until he’s had his first cup of coffee,” Sparky said. “Unless you want to be chewed out for doing f*cking-dick-all.”

“Sparky. Language.” Jagger scowled. “We have a guest.”

Sparky threw up his hands in mock defeat. “For doing f*cking nothing at all.”

“Better.”

Arianne smiled at their banter, then turned to Jagger. “Did you manage to save my bike?”

“It’s at Sparky’s shop. He’ll take you there after breakfast. The safe house is in the apartment upstairs.” He hoped she understood his meaning. Once she went to the safe house, she wouldn’t be leaving until he’d dealt with Axle.

“How bad is it?”

“Fairing is pretty badly damaged,” Sparky said, “but I didn’t see any obvious mechanical problems. Course, I didn’t give it a thorough check, but I could look at it—”

“I can do it.” Her eyes lit up, and Jagger fought back the urge to knock Sparky around the room. Arianne should be looking at him like that. She should sparkle for him and no one else.

“I’ve got my journeyman certificate, and if the fairing needs to be replaced, I can ride it naked.”

“Fuck. I want to see that.” Wheels jumped to his feet. “Do you ride naked all the time?”

“Wheels.” Jagger gritted his teeth against the mental picture of Arianne naked on her bike. Damn Wheels for putting the image in his head. “She’s talking about riding without fairing. How about you go out and polish all the bikes so you learn something about them, and after you’re done, you can draw a picture of your bike naked and label all the parts.”

Wheels paled. “I didn’t know—”

“Even Arianne knew what it meant,” Zane admonished. “Now so do you. And after today, you’ll never forget it.”

“Even Arianne?” Her hands found her hips.

Zane shrugged, stepping away from the wall. “You’re a girl.”

“I’m not a girl. I’m a woman. And you think women don’t know anything about motorcycles?”

“Generally, no.” He shot Jagger a puzzled look. “If you’re telling the truth, you’re an exception.”

She walked toward him and glared. “What else? I’ll bet you think women are weak and in need of protection.”

Seemingly oblivious to Sparky’s violent head shaking, Zane continued. “Generally, yes. Women need protecting. You needed protecting last night.”