The Texas Bounty series heats up as a female bounty hunter goes
toe-to-toe with the tantalizing biker who never stopped loving her.
Nora Sutcliffe enjoys having tough guys at her mercy—preferably in
handcuffs. The best fugitive recovery agent in the business, Nora
always gets her man. But when her latest pursuit leads her to a
notorious biker hangout, she's reunited with "Smith": the one man who
was too hot for Nora to handle. Once upon a time, she was a rich girl
and he was a bad boy from the wrong side of the tracks. Now she needs
his help, and she'll do whatever it takes to get it.
Eight years ago, Smith let a pretty little Texas debutante break his
heart. He picked up the pieces, went to hell and back with the army,
then rode out of the darkness with a gang of outlaws at his back. The
last thing he needs is a blast from the past like Nora, who has
reinvented herself as a gun-toting badass with the stones to challenge
him in front of the whole club. But if she thinks Smith will give up one
of his brothers for a single night of pleasure, she's in for a rude
awakening.

Chapter 1
"Fuck," Nora Sutcliffe muttered, staring out through the front
windshield of her Mazda.
Ahead of her, the hubcaps adorning the front wall of the Rusty Nail Bar
and Grill glittered balefully in the Texas summer sun, looking like huge
scratched sequins sewn onto an old, stained horse blanket.
She'd never gone into the Rusty Nail, but she knew exactly what it was:
a biker bar. And if its scruffy, run-down appearance hadn't given it
away, then the line of Harleys currently parked outside it certainly did.
"It'll be easy," Duchess, aka Lily Hammond, aka her boss and owner of
Duchess Bail Bonds, had said when she'd given Nora the job. "Nothing
a woman of your skills couldn't handle."
A woman of her skills...
Nora leaned forward and popped open the glove compartment, taking
out her trusty Colt 9mm, then sat back in the seat and reflexively
checked it over. The familiar routine settled her somewhat. Not that she
needed settling, of course. Like Duchess had said, this was going to be
an easy job. Nothing she couldn't handle and there wasn't much Nora
couldn't handle, especially when it came to picking up people who'd
skipped bail. She was one of the best fugitive recovery agents in the
business and she always got her man.
So why she was feeling all unsettled about this particular pickup she
didn't know. And she was feeling unsettled. The same kind of churning
she used to get when she was first starting out sat in her gut, a nervous
tension that had taken her years to overcome.
Jesus Christ, she wasn't a spoiled little rich girl who didn't know how to
take care of herself anymore, so there shouldn't be a problem. Rhys and
West, also part of the Duchess fugitive recovery team, had offered to
come along and play backup but she'd refused. Men always seem to
screw things up and besides, she liked going it alone. She could handle
herself. She knew what she was doing. Duchess wouldn't have given
her the job otherwise.

Irritated with the way she was second-guessing herself, Nora holstered
her Colt and opened the door of the Mazda, the intense midday heat
rolling over her like the backdraft from a massive forest fire. Ignoring
it, she reached for her black cowboy hat that sat on the passenger seat
and stuck it on her head; another familiar ritual that settled the churning
in her gut. Then she locked the car and turned toward the entrance to
the bar.
Okay, Garrett Brook, aka Dust. Today you're going down.
Giving her hat and black bulletproof vest one last tweak, she threw
back her shoulders and crunched over the gravel, projecting her usual
don' t give a fuck attitude all the way. The one that usually attracted
attention from men while at the same time had them keeping their
distance. Which was exactly where she liked to keep them.
Several dudes were hanging out by the doorway, young guys,
motorcycle club prospects from the looks of things. Probably sent
outside to keep an eye on the bikes. They gave her the once-over as she
approached, their hey, baby expressions fading as they took in her vest
and the Fugitive Recovery Agent badge she wore at her hip.
She almost laughed. Men tended to lose their hard-ons when they
figured out what she did for a living, because it made her tougher than
they were. Being a female in the bail bond business wasn't easy and
played merry hell with her love life—not that Nora had a love life these
days, or minded that she didn't have one. In fact, that was partly why
she liked bounty hunting. Bringing men to justice was number one on
her list of "favorite things to do with the opposite sex," not sleeping
with them.
The prospects studiously ignored her, turning away and chatting like
she wasn't even there.
"Relax, boys," she murmured as she passed. "I'm not after you."
They glanced at her.
She put her hand on the bar door and gave them a grin over her
shoulder. "At least, not today." Then, without waiting for a response,
she pushed open the door and stepped inside.
It was loud in the bar, the sounds of conversation competing with the
hard rock blasting from the jukebox and the rattle of old
air-conditioning. There were lots of large, tattooed men in leather vests

standing around drinking beer, plus a few others who were obviously
not part of the MC. There were also a few scantily clad women
scattered here and there, most of them hanging off the large, tattooed
men. So far, so biker.
In one corner was a pool table with a rickety fan turning the air slowly
above it, while in the other corner were a whole lot of empty tables.
Empty because most of the men were either at the bar right in front of
her or clustered around the pool table.
A silence fell as the door slammed shut behind her and heads turned to
see who the newcomer was. Motorhead blared from the speakers, the
smell of spilled beer, cigarettes, and sweat making the air feel even
hotter than it actually was.
Duchess Bail Bonds hadn't had much to do with the Austin chapter of
the Graveyard Ministry MC, since the club mostly flew beneath the
radar and kept to themselves—the best kind of bikers, in Nora's humble
opinion. But she knew enough to understand that coming into one of
their known hangouts to bring in one of their own—the vice president,
no less—by herself, was pushing things in terms of safety. Then again,
handling herself in a tricky situation was one of her specialties and the
trickier the better. Nora didn't like to compromise and she liked to do
things her way, and if that meant challenging a bunch of dicks in
leather vests, then that's what she'd do.
Besides, in her experience, one small blond woman by herself tended to
be far more successful than when she came in with her male colleagues.
When she was alone, people underestimated her, which could come in
very, very handy on occasion.
She pushed her hat back on her head and gave the combined gazes of
all the men in the room a cocky grin. Putting her hand on her gun would
be way too obvious so she didn't. They could see it anyway, along with
her vest and the badge that proclaimed who she was, a heads-up on
what she was doing here. Rhys often told her she was inviting trouble
with her going-in-guns-blazing approach, that sometimes stealth was in
order.
But Nora wasn't a stealthy kind of girl and guns blazing was what she
preferred. You could always spot a skip better if you didn't hide your

badge anyway, since they were the ones who instantly ran from the
room the moment you walked into it.
You just had to be faster when it came to chasing them.
Luckily, Nora was fast.
She waited there for a second, letting everyone in the place get a good
long look at her, scanning the crowd to see if anyone was moving
toward an exit. But no one did and pretty soon everyone went back to
what they were doing.
How annoying. So, either her skip wasn't here or she was going to have
to ask around.
Letting out a quiet breath, Nora sauntered over to the bar and leaned her
elbows on it, giving the barman a nod. "Hey, you know a guy
called Garrett Brook?"
The barman's gaze was wary. "Nope."
Typical nonresponse. She really needed to stop expecting that one day,
someone was going to tell her everything she wanted to know.
"Otherwise known as Dust?"
"Doesn't ring a bell."
Nora usually had two options when it came to getting info out of
recalcitrant barmen, depending on the situation. The first was dredging
up information about said bar, such as liquor licenses that were expired
or breaches of health regulations. The second was money.
Unfortunately, the Rusty Nail wasn't in breach of its regulations or its
license. Which left money.
Reaching into her back pocket, she brought out a couple of bills and
slapped them down on the bar. "That make it ring any louder?"
Duchess could reimburse her later.
The barman stared at the money and almost licked his lips. Then he
flashed a glance over to the pool table, which was interesting. Did he
want permission from someone? Or was he checking out to see if
anyone was watching him?
Nora followed his gaze to where a bunch of men were clustered around
the table. More beards and tattoos, chains on belts and scuffed boots.
They all wore Graveyard Ministry cuts, with the picture of a skeleton
riding a Harley on the back, and they all held bottles of beer.

They were watching one guy who was bent over the green baize, lining
up a shot. She couldn't see his face, but it was obvious he didn't seem to
find the intense attention of the other men a problem. The pool cue was
unwavering in his long fingers, his posture still.
Was that Brook?
Nora narrowed her gaze. Brook was blond, this guy was dark, so
probably not. Then again, Brook might have dyed his hair. It was
difficult to gauge height from the way he was bending over the pool
table, but he seemed too tall. His hair was shaggier too and. was that a
beard?
The back of her neck prickled, which was always a bad sign.
Picking up her money from the bar—much to the bartender's
annoyance—she moved over to the pool area to take a closer look.
None of the men standing around the table paid her the slightest bit of
attention. They kept watching the tall man bent over the table, lining up
his shot, a beam of sunlight through one grimy window glossing his
shaggy black hair.
The prickle on the back of her neck got worse.
Yeah, he was tall all right, powerful biceps stretching the black cotton
of his T-shirt as he pulled his hand back, sliding the cue between his
fingers. She liked a powerfully built man and those arms and shoulders
of his were certainly something. But it wasn't those she found herself
focusing on, but his hands. Long, blunt-tipped fingers, tanned skin
marred by lots of white scars.
Familiar scars, now that she thought about it. Where had she seen a
man with scarred fingers before? She couldn't remember.
Bullshit. You remember. You just don' t want to.
Nora firmly pushed that little thought out of her head. She'd been
dealing fine with everything for the past eight years. No need to revisit
that shit again. Nope. Never.
Anyway, she wasn't here to stare at a guy's hands. She was here to get
her skip and take him back to Duchess and from there to the police.
She moved closer to the table, checking out the faces of the men around
it. And. well, what do you know? There was Brook, standing beside the
big guy who was currently taking forever to line up his damn

shot.
Nora started toward him, only for the man bent over the table to flick
his hand forward, the cue striking the white ball with a firm click,
which then rolled over to a red nearby, bouncing it off the side of the
table where it hit a blue, both balls rolling perfectly into the pocket.
The men around the table erupted into cheers while the big guy
straightened up with a slow, almost menacing grace. He didn't take one
look at the adoring crowd around him. He looked only at Nora.
And her heart stopped dead in her chest.
Tar-black eyes. A black scruff of a beard highlighting a strong,
stubborn jaw. Bluntly carved features too irregular to be called
handsome yet possessing a kind of rough, brutal masculine beauty all
the same.
He was compelling. Mesmerizing. But then, Smith always had been.
"You want one of mine?" he said in his deep, familiar voice, the one
she hadn't heard in so long, all gritty and soft like gravel in a pile of
velvet. "Then you need to talk to me first, golden girl."
That name... She couldn't move. She couldn't breathe.
After eight long years, the man whose heart she broke was back.
Smith had known it was Nora the moment she'd walked into the bar.
She hadn't even needed to say anything. It was as if the air itself
changed, became charged with that bright, sparking, sunlit electricity
he remembered from years ago. The electricity he hadn't been able to
keep away from no matter how hard he tried.
Until she'd pretty much destroyed him.
Yeah, he'd managed to get over it after that.
He'd had to breathe deep as he lined up that fucking shot, hearing her
light, smoky voice even through the damn noise coming from the
jukebox. Even through the loud conversation of his brothers around
him. Asking for Garrett Brook. Asking for Dust.
He didn't know why she was here asking for his vice president and
ex-army buddy, but that didn't matter. What mattered was that the fact
that she was here. Eight years after she'd hung him out to dry and

destroyed the new life he'd so painstakingly tried to build. Actually
here. In his fucking bar.
Turned out God did have a sense of humor after all.
Smith stared at the woman standing not far from the pool table and no
matter how tough and hardbitten he'd gotten over the years, his
heartbeat was still hammering like a bitch in his head, a fury he'd
thought long dead hazing his vision.
Same small, compact, curvy figure, the shape of her delicious tits in no
way hidden by her black bulletproof vest, her beautiful legs encased in
worn denim. Same warm brown eyes. Same glossy hair, that wasn't
simply blond, not with the streaks of toffee and tawny and caramel and
burnished gold that ran through it. Same wide, sulky, sensual mouth
he'd never been able to get enough of kissing. That had never seemed to
get enough of kissing him.
The impact of her was a sucker punch straight to his gut.
Christ, she still had it.
And you 're still susceptible.
Smith ignored that thought, not letting any of his reactions show. He
couldn't afford to look weak, not when he was only a month into his
new job as president of the Graveyard Ministry MC and already
instituting unpopular changes. There were certain brothers within the
club who were just looking for an excuse to oust him, no matter that
he'd been voted in fair and square, and he'd be damned if he
undermined his own power by drooling over a chick.
There was shock stamped all over Nora's lovely face, her skin pale
beneath her golden tan. And fuck, she should be pale. She should be
shocked.
She should be fucking terrified.
Eight years was a long time to hold a grudge, but he didn't give a shit.
He hadn't forgotten and he hadn't forgiven, and right now she was
blundering into a powder keg and any little spark could set it off.
The keg being him. The spark being her.
Yet, instead of picking up on the danger and maybe turning around and
walking back out again like a good little girl, Nora fucking Sutcliffe
raised an eyebrow, a sarcastic smile curving her mouth. "Smith," she

said, the only name he'd ever bothered with, even now. "Long time, no
see, huh?"
As if she hadn't destroyed him and the life he'd been hoping to create all
those years ago. As if it meant nothing to her.
He leaned on his pool cue, his heart full of fury while his body rang like
a church bell being struck, calling people to prayer. Fuck yeah, he
remembered that particular prayer, worshipping at the church of Nora
Sutcliffe's glorious body...
Slowly, because he had to know if that was a religion he still subscribed
to, he let his gaze rove over her, drinking down the physical reality of
her here in this shitty bar. Beautiful, she'd always been so goddamned
beautiful, and now she'd definitely grown into it. All that wide-eyed,
eighteen-year-old innocence he remembered was gone, replaced by the
certain, tough confidence of a woman out to prove herself no matter the
cost. Something had happened to her, that was for sure. The soft, shy,
pretty little Texan debutante, daughter of one of Houston's richest men,
had disappeared completely, taken over by this gun-toting,
cocky-looking, hard-ass chick.
And damned if it didn't suit her.
"So," she said into the silence, eyeing his cut. "You're a biker
now?"
He gave her a feral grin, letting his anger settle in and get comfortable.
"I'm not just a biker, baby. I'm the fucking president."
She blinked, her gaze settling on his president's patch, her mouth
opening slightly, full and red and delicious, just like an apple.
And desire kicked like a mule inside him, making his muscles tighten
and his dick start to get hard, and sending his anger into overdrive.
Why the fuck did he still want her? After everything she'd done? What
the fuck was wrong with him?
Then he noticed something else about her that sent everything into a
tailspin.
She was wearing a black cowboy hat.
His black cowboy hat. He'd recognize it anywhere. It was the one he' d
bought with his first construction paycheck, a sign of better things

to come. The one he'd then left behind the day they were discovered in
the pool house together and everything went to hell.
Holy shit, she'd kept it. All these years and she'd kept it.
The desire inside him began to gather and rush like a heavy rain down a
dry riverbed. Collecting with his anger, getting heavier, forming a flash
flood.
He'd had plenty of women over the years, went through 'em like a wolf
through a flock of sheep, letting none of them touch him, letting none
of them matter. And he'd felt just fine about that five minutes ago.
Now he felt starved. Like he hadn't had sex in decades.
Jesus fucking Christ.
Nora dragged her gaze up from his patch, back to his face. "President,
huh? Well, alrighty then." There was an acid bite to the words. "Shall
we get the 'hi, how are yous' out of the way first before you break into
Humphrey Bogart from Casablanca? No, I' m not married. Yes, I
really am a fugitive recovery agent. No, my dad doesn't approve. And
no, I haven't seen him in years." Her lovely mouth curved in a brief,
wholly professional smile. "So, now that's over and done with, that man
beside you has skipped bail and I've been sent to retrieve him. So if you
could hand him over to me, that'd be great."
A thick, uncomfortable tension descended on the room like a heavy
blanket. The rest of the brothers were silent, watching him, gauging
him.
Well, this was shitty timing. For Nora. And for a number of reasons.
First, he wasn't handing his VP over to anyone—Dust wasn't just a
friend, he'd been with Smith in Afghanistan, and even if he hadn't been
a brother, ratting out an army buddy just wasn't happening, not in any
universe. Second, demanding he hand over a brother in front of the
whole damn club was tantamount to a challenge and no MC president
worth his salt would allow that, especially not a president in the middle
of forcing an entire club of badasses and criminals to go straight.
Third, no one told him what to do. Ever.
Behind him, Dust shifted on his feet and opened his mouth to say
something, but Smith gave him a warning glance, causing him to shut it
again almost instantly.
Yeah, good plan. His temper was not improved by the fact that this

was the first Smith had heard about Dust getting arrested, not to
mention skipping bail. That it probably had something to do with the
custody hearing Dust had coming up in a few weeks for his son didn't
make any difference. What had the stupid fuck been thinking, getting
arrested? Now? When he goddamn knew what Smith was trying to
accomplish with the chapter, too? And, more to the fucking point, why
hadn't Dust told him about it?
Shit, he was going to have to deal with that later. Right now, he had
more important things to handle. Such as one sassy blond bounty
hunter giving him lip.
Smith glanced back at Nora, holding her gaze again, letting the silence
sit there because sometimes silence was a useful tool when it came to
unsettling people and he sure as hell liked unsettling people.
Clearly she was unsettled since her hand had come to rest on the butt of
the pistol at her hip. The pistol that sat beside the badge that said
Fugitive Recovery Agent.
Good. His little ex-debutante could use some unsettling.
He handed his cue to Dust without looking and folded his arms,
keeping a lid on the worst of his anger for the moment. "Not sure if
you're aware, sweetheart, but the Ministry president answers to no one
but himself."
She gave him a look of polite regret. "Sadly for you, Ace, the law
would disagree."
"I was just trying to—" Dust began from beside him.
"Dust." Smith didn't raise his voice, he didn't have to. The brothers
knew what it meant when he spoke in that tone. "Shut the fuck up."
Nora rolled her eyes. "Look, I don't care why he skipped bail. Fact is he
did, and it's my job to bring him in. If you get in the way, then you're
breaking the law too."
Smith didn' t give a fuck about the law or about breaking it, at least not
when it came to stupid shit. Sure, he was aiming to get his club on the
straight and narrow, but not because it was the right thing to do. He was
doing it because he was goddamn sick of the relentless police attention
that came their way, and an MC was all about freedom from the civilian
world, not being hassled incessantly by it.

This isn' t going to help.
No, it fucking wasn't. Dust getting arrested, then skipping bail, and
drawing unwanted legal attention was definitely not helping. Looked
like he was due a serious talk with his VP later.
Now, though, if Nora thought she could come in here and start
demanding shit from him, in front of his own damn club, she had
another think coming.
Maybe she needs the "who's in charge " lesson.
Interesting thought. In fact, it was starting to give him ideas.
Smith gave her another long look, examining all the changes the years
had made. The faint lines at the corners of her eyes, the firm set of her
mouth. The way her face had thinned out, her features becoming more
distinct, less pretty, settling into stunning.
Hot day, the sun beating down as he' d helped old Pete lay the
foundations on the Sutcliffes' new pool house. And he' d seen her, lying
on a sun lounger in a tiny white bikini. Golden-haired and
golden-skinned, humming tunelessly along to whatever was playing on
her iPod, not even knowing he was there. As the concrete was poured,
he'd stood and watched her, completely unable to look away. He'd
never seen anything so beautiful in all his fucking life....
Someone coughed behind him. The brothers were getting antsy and he
was fucking daydreaming. Christ. Time to show them and this little girl
standing in front of him who the fuck was president.
"Well," Nora said impatiently into the silence, "you can continue the
staring competition on your own. Don't mind me. I'll just go get Brook
here and we can—"
"No." Smith kept his voice flat and hard.
Her eyes widened. "No?"
"You actually think you can come into Ministry territory and start
ordering me around? That I' m actually going to do whatever you say?"
She tilted her head, gave him a long look of her own. "Oh, I don't know.
I thought if I asked nicely enough."
"Then ask me nicely."
"He broke the law, Smith."
"So?"

Nora blinked. "So...I'm guessing you don't want legal trouble,
right?"
He said nothing, staring at her, looking deep into the warm brown and
gold of her eyes, letting the silence answer for him.
Of course he didn't want legal trouble, not while he was still in the
process of shutting down the various illegal businesses the Ministry
had once been involved with.
But by coming in here and doing this publicly, little Miss Nora had put
him between a rock and a hard place.
"No," she answered for him, holding his gaze in a way very few people
ever did. Man, she hadn't done that when she'd been eighteen, either.
"I'm guessing you don't. In fact, I'm guessing there's a whole world of
legal trouble that you don't want, that could potentially become a
problem if you don't give the son of a bitch to me."
Smart girl. She'd given him the rock, now she was reminding him of the
hard place.
Too bad for her that he tended to blow both rocks and hard places the
hell up.
Electricity sparked along his nerve endings, a primitive response to the
challenge she presented. A sharp jolt he hadn't felt for years, not since
he'd come back from Afghanistan, looking to rebuild the life he'd lost
after Nora and war had destroyed it.
Well, he had rebuilt it and now he was just fitting the last few
remaining bricks to it, and he was not going to let her mess with it a
second time.
Hell fucking yeah, let' s blow this shit up.
Nora's firm chin was lifted high, her shoulders square, and there was
absolutely no fear in those pretty eyes, no fear at all. As if she routinely
faced down presidents of motorcycle clubs who were fully a head taller
than she was and armed to the fucking teeth.
This was not the debutante he'd once known, the spoiled, pampered
good girl who'd been the apple of her father's eye.
The electricity in his veins became lightning. Because, hell, he wasn't
the twenty-three-year-old builder's laborer she'd dumped in the shit
either. Not anymore.

"Everyone get the fuck out," he said, not raising his voice. "And don' t
come in until I say." There was a silence.
"Prez?" Dust asked, sounding uncertain.
"I've never had to repeat myself before." Smith didn't take his gaze
from Nora's. "You wouldn't want to break a perfect record, would you,
Dust?"
Another silence.
"Fuck, you heard him!" Dust roared. "Everyone get outta here!" Within
seconds, the bar was completely empty except for Lemmy screaming
from the jukebox.
"Now," Smith said. "You and I are gonna have a little chat."

Chapter 2
Nora didn't move. Outwardly she made sure she showed nothing but
her usual cocky confidence, her breathing level and calm. Inwardly,
though, her heart was racing around inside her chest like an escaped
racehorse.
Goddamn Smith.
Okay, so maybe coming in here and challenging him in front of his
brothers had been a bad idea. Motorcycle clubs were tricky, outlaw
clubs even more so, and she'd thought that being a woman and by
herself might help, but that might have been naïve. Add their ancient
history, not to mention her skip being his VP, and you had a situation so
damn prickly you could put a tail on it and call it a porcupine.
Nora swallowed, grabbing onto the core of titanium she'd gradually
built up over the years in bail enforcement; the hard-won, tough part of
her that kept her strong even when shit hit the fan. Especially when shit
hit the fan.
Smith had his arms folded across his impressive chest, a bearded,
powerful monolith of a man in a black T-shirt and worn jeans, tattoos
flowing along his forearms and curling around his biceps. Dark eyes
like a midnight sky, the expression on his roughly carved features
absolutely unreadable as the bar emptied around him.
But he didn' t need to speak for her to know what he was feeling. It was
all around her in the sticky air of the bar, filling up the space around
them, a raw, humming, violent charge of energy that made her want to
fight for breath.
He was angry. So fucking angry. It had been eight years, though. Guy
could sure hold a grudge.
He has reason, remember?
Well, okay, he did. But it wasn't her fault that their little summer affair
had been discovered by her dad coming home unexpectedly one night.
And sure, when her father had complained to Smith's boss, accusing
Smith of seducing her, she hadn't exactly protested. She'd been young
and stupid and terrified of her father's anger, and she'd thought

Smith would have.
But no, all that aside. Eight freaking years, man. That was a long time.
Hadn't he put it behind him the way she had?
Except the man standing in front of her right now did not look like a
man who'd gotten over anything. Or who forgave or let things go.
There was a presence to him, though charisma was too bland a word for
it. It was like a blast wave before a detonation, a force of nature,
intensely compelling, fiercely dominant, and wholly dangerous.
A total turn-on, in other words.
Nora sucked in a silent breath, willing herself to calm the hell down.
No, Christ, it was not a turn-on. She wasn't into a-holes. She liked men
who didn't want anything from her, just like she didn't want anything
from them, and that suited her down to the ground. Not that she was in
the market anyway. Guys hadn't featured on her radar in any great
capacity for years and she wasn't about to start letting them show up
now.
"I'm not interested in a chat." She hooked her thumbs through her belt
loops, cool and casual. "I'm only interested in bringing that skip in.
Now, if you think you can afford to go up against the law, then be my
guest." Another direct challenge, which was, again, not a good idea.
But what the hell. She was done being intimidated.
Smith didn't say anything. Instead his gaze moved in a slow, lazy scan
all the way down her body to her boots, before moving just as slowly
all the way back up to the hat on her head.
His hat, remember?
Oh. Shit.
"You kept my hat." He said the words in that thick, syrupy drawl that
had made her melt back when she'd been a teenager, mixing with the
gravel-and-velvet timbre of his voice to make a sound that was nearly
as physical as a caress.
It made her want to arch her back like a goddamn cat.
Even more irritating, she could feel heat creeping into her cheeks. God,
she was a dumb-ass. What was she doing getting all hung up on his
voice and blushing like a teenager about his stupid hat? So she'd kept it.
Big deal. It was too good to throw away and she wore it to keep the sun

off. That was the only reason.
"It's a good hat," she said, trying not to sound defensive and failing.
"Didn't seem worth getting rid of, so don't read anything into it."
Smith' s black gaze glittered and she thought it was probably fury. No,
not probably. It was fury. "Don't recall saying you could keep it."
"Yeah, well, since possession is nine-tenths of the law, I guess it's mine
now."
His arms dropped and without any warning, he moved around the side
of the pool table, coming toward her with all the loose-limbed,
predatory grace of a born hunter.
Nora froze. Somewhere in the back of her head, a small voice,
primitive and female, told her to run, to escape, because there was a
threat coming. And Smith was nothing if not a threat. Danger preceded
him like a wave of heat before a brush fire.
But she couldn't seem to shift her feet, couldn't stop staring at him,
watching him move. .
He worked with his shirt off in the midday sun and she couldn' t take
her eyes off him as he went up the ladder into the roof beams of the new
pool house. He seemed a few years older than she was and hot, his
bronzed skin was oiled with sweat, the hard, cut muscles of his chest
and shoulders like one of the works of art she' d been studying in
school. He moved along a beam, surefooted as a cat, then crouched in
a fluid movement to take out his hammer. .
She hadn't thought about that in a long time and the memory struck her
with the same force he'd used to hammer those nails in, stunning her,
making her feel like an animal standing in the middle of the road
watching a truck bearing down, unable to escape because the asphalt
was melting in the sun and the soles of her boots were stuck....
Her heartbeat was way too fast and she had the weird thought that if he
got too close something would happen. Something she really wasn't
going to like.
Hell if she would run, though. She was the best fugitive recovery agent
in the business and anyway, she'd dealt with men worse than Smith on a
regular basis. He wasn't anything she couldn't handle.
She lifted her chin as he approached, squaring her shoulders, trying

not to give away the fact that her mouth had gone dry and it felt like
someone had taken a jackhammer to the inside of her chest. "What?"
She made the word belligerent. "Geez, if you want the stupid hat back,
just take it. I don' t need it that badly."
Smith said nothing, kept right on walking, his eyes glittering sharp and
black as obsidian. And she found she'd taken a couple of steps back
before she could stop herself.
Weren 'tyou not going to be intimidated by men anymore?
Shit. That's right. She damn well wasn't.
Pulling herself together, Nora dug her heels in and stuck out a hand, her
palm connecting with his rock-hard chest. And nearly gasped as a pulse
of electricity leapt between them, a hard charge of energy that jolted
from their point of contact, a great leaping rush that bolted up her arm
and exploded through her entire body.
She tensed in shock and jerked her hand away.
Or at least she tried to jerk her hand away. But before she could, Smith
wrapped his long, scarred fingers around her wrist and kept it exactly
where it was.
She snapped her head back to look up at him. Another mistake.
As soon as her gaze met his, the electricity arcing between them
seemed to double in voltage, stealing all the breath from her lungs and
all the moisture from her throat. She was frozen, paralyzed.
There were black flames in his eyes, so much fury and desire burning
there she wanted to hide.
"You don't get to waltz in here and give me orders, golden girl," he said
softly, menacingly. "You don't get to show me no goddamn respect in
front of my fucking club."
Golden girl...He'd called her that the night she'd finally convinced him
to stop being such a good boy and take her. He'd made her feel golden
too, like she was special in a way her father and all his money hadn' t.
There was a roaring in her head, all her senses in free fall. Her palm felt
seared by the heat of his skin, even through the cotton of his T-shirt,
and she could smell him too, leather and engine oil, plus something else
she couldn't identify....

She' d snuck out of the house to meet him in the dark, bringing the
cushions from the sun loungers into the half-built pool house to create
a makeshift bed. She' d given him her virginity that night and for days
afterward she' d been able to smell him on her, sun and sweat and a
spicy, masculine scent that had always made her want to rub her face
against his neck and inhale him....
God, she hadn't thought about that in years and she should not be
thinking about it now, not when he was still moving, walking forward,
pushing against her palm and forcing her backward, her boots sliding
on the cracked and sticky linoleum of the floor.
"And most especially," he went on relentlessly, "you don't get to walk
away as if what you did to me eight years ago meant fucking nothing."
Ugh. So he was still pissed about that. A damn shame, since she had no
idea what he expected her to do about it now.
Digging her heels in harder, she exerted pressure against the mountain
of six-foot-four male currently trying to bulldoze her, shoving at him as
hard as she could. But it was like trying to move Mt. Everest.
"Smith, you prick!" She shoved again. "Stop!"
But he didn' t, crowding her backward until her spine hit something
hard. The wall.
Only then did he stop, lifting powerful arms and slamming his palms
onto the faded paint on either side of her head.
He was so goddamn close, all heat and hard muscle and that complex,
masculine scent that made every sense she had go haywire. That
intense, burning black gaze that seemed to swallow her whole.
Hell. She should not be feeling this. She should not be so physically
conscious of him still, not after all these years. Not when she'd put him
behind her and moved way, way, on.
Dammit.
"You've just made a very big mistake, sweetheart," he said in that same
softly menacing drawl.
Tell her something she didn't know. He'd always been a take-charge
guy, but he'd never been this aggressive or this. cold, almost. He'd been
kind. Easygoing. A do-the-right-thing type of dude.

Not the man standing in front of her now, in other words.
"Okay." God, she was breathless. She never got breathless over a dude.
"You're still pissed about what happened in Houston, and I get it.
Really. Just... stop being a tool and let me go. Then I'll grab Brook and
get out of here, and you'll never have to see me again."
Smith adjusted his stance, moving closer, resting on his forearms and
leaning in, their faces only inches apart. "You're not listening. This isn't
just about what happened in Houston. And the answer is no, you 're not
grabbing my brother. Don't make me repeat myself."
Another woman might have been scared. Another woman might have
been intimidated.
Nora was neither. Over the past eight years she'd been steadily
stripping away the remains of the shy, timid little rich girl she'd once
been. The spineless sap who'd once thought her father loved her. Only
to realize she was just another business asset to him, like everything
else in his life.
She was so much stronger now, so much tougher. And she was never
going to let herself be intimidated by anyone ever again. Especially not
some dick-bag biker she happened to have some ancient history with.
She shoved hard against his chest, staring into his furious, inky gaze.
"Get. The fuck. Away. From me."
He ignored her, not moving one inch. "You're not getting Dust. And
you're not going to the police. You're gonna turn around and walk out
of here and you're gonna pretend the Ministry doesn't even exist."
Nora bared her teeth at him. "Awww. And here I was thinking we were
actually going to have a little 'chat.' I wonder what the cops are going to
say when I tell them how some tool in a vest stopped me from going
about my lawful business, before threatening, then assaulting me."
"You're not going to the cops." His voice was so soft, that drawl pulling
over her skin, sending prickles of unwanted heat through her. "You're
not gonna say a word."
Pushing at him clearly wasn't going to work. But that didn't mean she
was going to put up with this bullshit. "Oh, really?" She stared at him,
keeping one hand on his chest while she moved the other

surreptitiously toward her Colt. "Why the hell would I do that?"
Damn, he felt good under her palm, so hot and hard she wanted to rub
herself all over him. He smelled good too, reminding her of those lazy,
hot summer nights in the pool house, the first time ever a man had
touched her like that, his callused palms gliding over her skin.
Pity he's such a dick now.
Her throat closed unexpectedly, the weight of an old regret settling on
her chest.
Smith leaned in even further, his breath warm, his gaze so dark and
endless it was like falling upward into a midnight sky. "Why? Because
your mouth is gonna be busy with other things."
A burst of shock went through her. Surely he couldn't be expecting to
pick up where they left off? Just like that? And then, hard on the heels
of the shock, came the anger, because there was no misinterpreting the
look in his eyes; that's exactly what he was expecting.
Goddamn arrogant son of a bitch No. Hell no. She wasn't doing that
again with him, no freaking way.
Her fingers brushed the grip of her Colt, then settled around it. If he
wasn't going to let her go, then she'd give him some incentive. Of
course, if she wanted to draw without him realizing what she was
doing, she was going to need to distract him.
She flexed her fingers on the hard plane of his chest, letting her gaze
drop pointedly to his mouth then back up again. "What things,
Ace?"
Intensity burned in his eyes and once again, she was back again, lying
in the sun, feeling his gaze on her, knowing he wanted her, feeling her
whole body respond to him, basking in his attention.
Her breathing sped up. She couldn't look away.
Would you quit your fucking Daddy issues for just one damn second
and grow yourself a spine?
"I think you can figure that one out all on your own, golden girl."
His mouth was so close it almost brushed hers and she couldn't stop the
shiver that went through her. He was bent over her, their height
differences exacerbated by the way they were standing, and God help
her, but she liked it. Liked feeling overwhelmed and crowded,

overpowered.
Safe.
Hell's teeth, what was wrong with her? She'd left those feelings, those
desires, behind a long time ago. She wasn't going back. Not ever.
Rubbing her thumb over the cotton of his T-shirt, she slowly, carefully
drew her Colt. "I think I got at least one figured out," she murmured,
pleased that her voice sounded smoky and sexual. Not pleased that it
wasn't entirely fake.
"Oh yeah?" His attention had dropped to her mouth, making it
feel...sensitive. "What's that?"
She smiled. "This." And jammed the Colt hard under his ribs.
Smith was intimately acquainted with the feeling of having a gun
pushed into his gut. It had happened many, many times before and
there was no mistaking it.
First time it had ever been a woman holding the gun, though.
First time you didn' t see it coming either.
He'd been too caught up in the remembered heat of her body and the
tantalizing, sweet smell of some kind of flower with the familiar
delicate musk of Nora's skin underneath it. That scent used to drive him
crazy.
Apparently it still did. Crazy enough that he hadn't even noticed her
hand move.
He almost laughed at the sheer balls of her. Most men would think
twice about pulling a gun on him, let alone one little girl. Fucking
ironic, too, that she'd be the one to hold him at gunpoint when what had
happened all those years ago had been her fault.
He'd been good, controlling himself and leaving the client's
eighteen-year-old daughter alone no matter how much he'd wanted her.
But she'd been insistent, seducing him with her innocence and sweet,
timid come-ons. With her shyness, with the way she'd looked at him,
and finally with the way she'd begged for him to touch her. And he had,
ignoring his scruples and all his good intentions, because this smart,
shy, beautiful girl wanted him, no-good, troublemaking Smith Tucker
from the trailer park. Christ, no one had ever wanted him, still less
someone

like her.
He'd paid for it in the end, though. When her father had accused him of
seducing her, he'd expected her to tell the old man that wasn't how it
happened, but she hadn't. She'd clammed up and hadn't said a word,
incriminating him with her silence. He'd been fired after that, and
because her father had put the word round about him, no one else
would hire him.
So really, he was the one who had a fucking right to be pissed, not
her.
The gun pushed insistently into his side. "Come on, Ace. Let a lady go.
I' d hate to get blood all over my shoes."
No. Oh, no. Threatening him was a mistake, a very, very big mistake.
He was a motherfucking MC president and he didn't take shit from
anyone, still less a chick who'd already done the dirty on him once
before.
Ignoring the gun, he didn' t move a muscle, keeping his forearms
braced on the wall on either side of her head and his body so close to
hers he was almost touching. Caging her deliberately. Intimidating her.
Not hard when the top of her head only came up to his chin.
He looked down into her eyes, noting the little gold flecks glittering in
the rich brown depths. God, how they'd used to fascinate him. How
they made her eyes gleam pure gold when she was aroused.
Stop thinking about her fucking eyes. You' re not going there.
"Shooting me would be a stupid move." He kept his voice low.
"Especially with all my men outside. They hear that gun go off, they're
going to come in here and they're not going to be stopping to ask
questions, if you catch my drift." He paused for emphasis. "You're not
that stupid, are you, Nora?"
If she found that frightening, she didn't show it. She didn't even have
the grace to look particularly worried, damn woman. Again, definitely
not that shy little girl he'd caught watching him from over the top of her
sunglasses while she'd been ostensibly studying.
She lifted a shoulder. "You'd still be dead."
"So would you. We could visit hell together."

"Hmmm. On second thought, maybe dead isn't such a great idea." The
muzzle in his gut shifted, pointing down. "I hope you like your balls
hanging where they are. ."
There wasn't a ripple in her golden brown eyes, not a single flicker.
They gazed back at him steady and sure, as if she would have no
problems pulling that trigger, no problems at all.
That electricity and heat shot down his spine, combining with the
warmth of her body so close to his and her subtle, musky scent.
Cranking his libido all the way up to fucking eleven.
He'd always liked a gun on a woman. There was something sexy about
a chick who knew how to handle herself when things turned to shit.
Nora had never been that kind of woman, yet once her innocence and
vulnerability had appealed to the protector in him. There was no trace
of that vulnerability or innocence now, and in her vest and her denims,
fuck-off boots on her feet, and her badge at her hip, playing with her
little gun, threatening him.
She turned him on and how.
He didn't want to want her, but he couldn't deny that he did.
Again, he ignored the gun, shifting his body, crowding her back against
the wall, easing his hips against hers, her heat and that maddening scent
making him even harder than he was already. Yeah, fuck, she felt good.
How had he forgotten this?
Fury sparked in her eyes.
Back at ya, golden girl.
"Seriously?" She pushed the gun harder against him. "I'll shoot your
fucking dick off if you don't get away from me in five seconds."
Oh, so she wanted to play dirty, did she? This was new, not to mention
fucking excellent. Because if there was one thing he loved more than
unfinished business, it was a challenge, and he was starting to think that
Nora damn Sutcliffe might give him both.
Their chemistry was clearly still off the charts and then there was the
issue of payback to consider. He hadn't thought about it before, wanting
to leave that little episode in the past, but now here she was getting up
in his face, pushing him. .
Yeah, opportunity was landing straight in his lap and he wasn't a

man to pass up any kind of opportunity.
The gorgeous little bitch started counting. "One. Two—" "Promise me
you won't go to the cops."
"Sure, I'll promise you that. While you're physically threatening me.
Three. Four—"
"Who do you work for?"
"Fi—" Her eyes narrowed. "What?"
He shifted again, watching her intently. He could guess who she
worked for—there weren't many women in the bail bond business in
this neck of the woods—and if he was right he might have a way to
handle this situation. Oh, she wouldn't like it, but then he didn't much
care whether she liked it or not. After all, she hadn't much cared about
him when she'd hung him out to dry all those years ago.
"You heard me," he murmured. "Who do you work for?"
"Why?" she demanded. "You think I'm not going to actually shoot
you?"
"I think you're not actually that stupid. Shoot my dick off and like I
already told you, fifty of my men will be in here, taking it out of your
hide." He bent his head, inhaling that sweet, crazy-making scent of
hers. "Now, tell me who you work for."
She tried to mask it, but he caught the shiver that went through her. And
he didn't think the shiver was because she was scared. No, judging from
the gold dust glittering in her eyes, it wasn't fear she was feeling at all.
Anger definitely. Desire? Yeah, she was feeling it like he was, he'd bet
his fucking Harley. In which case, the little plan that was formulating in
his head was going to work a treat.
"Duchess Bail Bonds," she said at last. "Not that that's going to make
any difference."
Smith almost grinned. Because she had no fucking idea how much of a
difference that made. Before he'd taken over presidency of the chapter,
Sim, the previous president, had let him in on a few old Ministry scores
in need of settling. Scores that the club had been biding its time over,
waiting for the right moment. Looked like the moment to settle this
particular score was here.
Smith stared down into her pretty golden brown eyes. "How badly

do you want Dust?"
"What's that got to do with anything?" "Answer the question."
"I'll go to the cops." The muzzle jabbed insistently. "I mean it." "You
go to the cops and you'll never get him. Hell, you can only go to the
cops if I let you go anyway."
Her mouth tightened, her jaw getting stubborn.
Impasse.
For her.
"Fine," she said, as if she didn't give a shit. "Then I won't take
him."
Sneaky little bitch. Who knew she had such a stubborn streak?
Slowly, keeping his gaze on hers, he lowered his head even further so
his lips were almost but not quite brushing hers. Her eyes widened and
she went very, very still. And he caught it then, the slight flicker as she
glanced down to his mouth then back up again.
Looked like his Harley was a safe bet.
"I can make life very difficult for you," he murmured. "For example,
did you know that your lovely boss and the Ministry are old friends?
Such great fucking friends that she and her old man scammed us out of
thousands a few years back."
Shock flared in Nora's gaze. Clearly this was news to her. "What?"
"Her old man was a con artist and took our money. Now, we don't like
it when other people take our money. In fact, we pretty much fucking
hate it and tend to track those motherfuckers down and make them wish
they'd never been born. But he got away on us, went out of state and got
arrested in California. Ministry brothers took him down in prison, but
his daughter got away scot-free." He paused for effect. "At least, she's
scot-free now. But...if a certain person were to open their pretty mouth
and start blabbing to the cops, Duchess might not stay scot-free for
long."
The shock in her eyes grew larger as the implications of what he was
saying started to sink in. And then ignited into anger.
She put her head back, lifting her chin. Her hat—his fucking hat—had
slipped off and was crushed against the wall now, the strap

lying against the golden skin of her throat. Her pulse was beating hard,
fast. He was nearly mesmerized by it.
"You prick," she said, furious. "You'd seriously hurt Duchess if I went
to the cops?"
"I don't want to hurt her, baby. I just want the Ministry money her
daddy took from us. But you know, keep your mouth shut and I 'm sure
we won't miss that money anytime soon."
She scowled at him. "I should just shoot your dick off anyway."
"But then you wouldn't get Dust."
"Like you were actually going to give him to me."
Well, no. But he had no compunction about making her believe he
would, not if it got him what he wanted. Because when it came down to
it, he was the prick she'd accused him of being and he was okay with
that. "I might. If you gave me something I wanted."
An expression he couldn't read crossed her face. Shock, surprise, or
something else entirely. Then she snorted, cocky and confident once
again. "Lemme guess. You want sex." She didn't make it a question.
He didn't deny it, because she was right. That's exactly what he wanted.
"I'm thinking one night should be enough."
Her gaze narrowed, as if she was seriously contemplating it. "So, what
are we talking here? One night with me in return for. what?
Dust?"
"Sounds reasonable."
"I thought you weren't going to give him up no way, no how?" "For
you, I'd make an exception."
"You've got to be kidding me." More flickers of golden fury in her
eyes.
Unfortunately for her he hadn't finished. "You stay away from the
police too."
"That's two things I have to give you," she pointed out, unnecessarily.
"That's hardly fair."
"Life's not fair, sweetheart. Deal with it."
"I' m the one with the fucking gun, sweetheart."
"And I'm the motherfucking president with an entire MC army waiting
outside, ready to kill any idiot stupid enough to shoot me in the

balls." He paused, studying her face, watching and waiting for the fear
to appear, for the shy, timid little debutante she'd once been to show her
face. "You really want to play this with me? Because you know I'm
gonna win."
And he would. She wasn't going to fuck with him the way she'd fucked
with him back in Houston. He was harder now, meaner. He'd made
himself into the bad guy, just like her father had always said.
Sure, he was directing the MC on a straight path now with him as
president, but when he'd first pledged himself to the club they'd
specialized in drugs, guns, and whores, and it wasn't like he'd kept his
hands clean.
He'd been a soldier for the US military, fighting a war that hadn't meant
much of a damn thing to him. So he'd come back and joined the
Graveyard Ministry and kept on fighting in a different war. One for turf
and power, and who the fuck cared. He'd done what he'd been told.
He'd followed orders, gotten down into the dirt with the rest of his
brothers.
And whatever soul had been left when he'd gotten back from
Afghanistan had been stripped away in the process.
Nora was silent for a long minute, staring back at him. Still no fear in
her eyes, not a single flicker, only anger. Only rage. And something
else.
Her pulse was beating fast in her throat, getting faster.
"So I spend one night with you and in return I get Dust—if you even
give me Dust—while you don't have to do anything." She screwed her
face up as if considering it. "Hmmmm. Let me think about it." Her face
cleared. "Thought about it and no. Not now, not later, not in a million
fucking years."
"It's not just yourself you have to think about, sweetheart," he reminded
her gently. "Don't forget your boss."
"Yeah, like I' m going to take your word that Duchess scammed a biker
gang. I don't fucking think so." The hand on his chest flexed. "I can live
with you making an asshole of yourself. That's what you did eight years
ago after all."
He wanted to process that last statement, he genuinely fucking did.
But at that moment, Nora pulled the trigger.

Chapter 3
Nora was many things, but one thing she wasn't was stupid.
She knew shooting Smith in the nuts—no matter how badly she wanted
to—wasn't the best of ideas. Especially with all the Ministry guys out
in front of the bar. The club wouldn't be too impressed with her injuring
their president, and that made the chances of her getting back to
Duchess alive, let alone in one piece, very slim indeed.
But she had to do something.
She wasn't going to stand there letting him threaten her boss and loom
over her like he owned her.
Sure. Tell yourself it's about the looming and not because he's the
sexiest man you've ever seen and he always has been.
The voice in her head could just shut the fuck up. Same with her racing
heartbeat and the wash of prickling heat she couldn't seem to ignore. It
was the lack of sex, that's what it had to be. That's what it must
be.
It certainly wasn't because she wanted him.
Nora aimed the muzzle at the floor between his legs and pulled the
trigger.
There was a deafening report and suddenly she was free, Smith having
pushed himself back from her in an abrupt rush.
For a frozen moment, they both held still, staring at each other. And it
was very satisfying to see a ripple of what looked like shock in those
glittering black eyes of his.
Then he gave her a feral grin, white and savage like the smile of a tiger.
"Nice move. But don't think it lets you off the hook."
Shouting came from outside, the door banging open, and Nora found
herself looking down the barrels of too many damn guns as the bar
filled up with bikers all intent on neutralizing the threat to their
president.
"Calm the fuck down!" Smith roared over the shouts. "She's mine to
deal with. Any motherfucker lays a hand on her, they'll answer to me."

Nora didn't look anywhere else, only at Smith. And she had the abrupt,
horrible feeling that somewhere along the line, she'd made a mistake.
Because the violent, furious energy around him had changed. He wasn't
angry anymore, he just looked...intent. Like a hunter fixing on a target.
And it seemed that the target was her.
Be cool. Stay calm.
She raised the muzzle of her gun, blew away imaginary smoke. "Next
time, Ace, those balls of yours are going to be on the ground."
"Prez?" Her runaway skip, Dust, a massive guy with dark-blond hair
and a Chinese full-sleeve tattoo wrapped around his left arm, lifted his
weapon. "You really gonna let her get away with that?"
Smith's gaze didn't leave hers. "I thought I wasn't going to have to
repeat myself, Dust."
He' s not going to let you get away with it. You should have said
yes.
Nora gritted her teeth, making a performance of holstering her weapon
like there weren't already fifty guns pointed directly at her. "Calm
down, boys. Your president is quite safe. I'm leaving anyway."
An angry ripple went through the group of men.
Smith ignored them and she knew that hungry smile was for her alone.
A warning.
Well, he could grin at her like a wolf all he liked, she wasn't going to let
him blackmail her with a threat to Duchess, not when he was talking a
load of horseshit. She didn't know her boss's background, sure, but one
thing she did know was that Duchess was a passionate supporter of
both the law and justice, and scamming a biker gang was just not in any
way, shape, or form something she would do.
Refusing to let him see how furious and rattled she was, she blew him a
kiss. "See you round, Smith."
Then she turned and walked out of the bar. Not too slow and not too
fast. Just enough to show him how much of a fuck she didn't give.
Outside the heat of the sun nearly slammed her flat into the grit of the
parking lot, the adrenaline that had kept her going since the moment

she'd walked into the bar beginning to fade. Her legs felt unsteady, her
heartbeat way too fast, and her mouth way too dry.
Forcing herself to keep moving, she found her Mazda and got in,
jamming the key into the ignition and pulling out of the parking lot,
tires throwing up gravel as she did so.
She half expected someone to follow her as she hightailed it down the
highway, back toward Austin, but no one did. Or at least, no one on a
Harley. Not that it was any consolation. Duchess had been very clear
that getting Brook was a priority, and for the first time ever, Nora was
having to return to the office after failing to get her man.
It rankled. A lot. Because she always brought her skips in, always.
Then again, she wasn't to know her ex would be involved, nor that he'd
turned into a major asshole, nor that he'd use some bullshit threat to
blackmail her.
But if he thought that was going to make her give up on getting Dust, he
had another think coming. She never gave up. If there was an issue with
getting a skip, she usually got around it and if she couldn't get around it,
then she blew that shit the hell up.
This situation was no different. No different whatsoever.
But she couldn't shake the rattled feeling and it was still there by the
time she got back to the Duchess offices, on the fourth floor of an office
block full of accountants, in downtown Austin.
Rose Hammond, Duchess's sister who manned the office and dealt with
the complex process of skip-tracing, looked up as Nora came in,
slamming the office door loudly behind her. "Good hunt, I see," she
commented dryly as Nora strode past her toward Duchess's office.
"Duchess in?" Nora asked, ignoring her.
"Yes, but she's—"
"Good." Nora wasn't in any mood to wait for the "but she's"
explanations. She needed to see her boss and she needed to see her
now.
Duchess's office door was closed, but Nora didn't bother knocking. She
just pushed it open and walked right in.
Duchess herself was standing by the windows, her arms folded. Her
platinum-blond hair was neatly coiled into a bun on the back of her
head and she wore one of her white pussy-bow blouses with a
navy-blue

pencil skirt and blue pumps. A neat little pearl necklace was twined
around her delicate neck.
She looked like she should be in a Manhattan corner office rather than
managing a bail bond business in Texas.
Her pale blue eyes regarded Nora without surprise. "Nora," she said in
her cool, slightly husky voice. "Nice of you to join us. I don't suppose
you could try knocking next time?"
Belatedly Nora realized that there was someone else sitting in one of
the chairs at the other end of the room. Tall and dark, long legs
stretched out, his arms over the back of the chair as if he was at home
watching a game on the couch.
Quinn Redmond. He owned a fugitive recovery agency called Lone
Star Bounty, along with his brothers Zane and Rush.
Duchess Bail Bonds had a bit of a rivalry going on with the Redmond
brothers and it was well known that Duchess and Quinn hated each
other. Duchess herself never talked about him when he wasn't around,
but it amused the rest of the gang no end to see them sniping at each
other whenever they were in a room together.
Which wasn't often. Though only a few weeks ago they'd joined forces
to help out a woman who'd been forced into smuggling drugs for one of
the cartels. That operation had gone pretty well—in fact, Nora had
really enjoyed herself and had upgraded her opinion of the Redmond
brothers from idiots to marginally intelligent morons.
"Sorry," Nora said, completely unapologetic. "But I need to talk to you
ASAP." She glanced at Quinn. "It's urgent. Do you mind?"
Quinn lifted a hand. "Be my guest."
Duchess said nothing for a long moment, staring at Quinn. And Nora
suddenly felt the tension in the room, so thick it was like the pressure in
the air before a thunderstorm.
There was a bet going on in the Duchess offices, about how long it
would take Duchess and Quinn to finally rip each other's clothes off. So
far there was five hundred bucks in the pot and the clothes had
remained firmly unripped.
"In private, Quinn," Duchess suggested gently.
Quinn narrowed his brilliant green eyes at her and another long

moment passed.
Nora, getting impatient now, snorted. "Oh come on you two. Get a
goddamn room already."
"And that's my cue to leave." Quinn pushed himself up from the chair
and strolled to the door, where he paused. "I wouldn't get your panties
in a bunch about it, little girl," he said, looking pointedly at Duchess.
"No one likes a drama queen." Then he pulled the door open and went
out, letting it slam shut behind him.
"Did I interrupt something?" Nora raised a brow. "Sorry. Like I said, it
was urgent."
Duchess shook her head. "No. Just Quinn Redmond being an ass."
"Business as usual then."
"Quite." Her boss moved over to her desk, leaning back against the
edge of it and folding her arms again. "So, what's going on? Trouble in
bikerland?"
Nora wasn't looking forward to explaining her failure with Brook, but
then she didn't have a lot of choice, not when he wasn't in handcuffs at
her side.
She hooked her thumbs into her belt loops. "I didn't get Brook."
Genuine surprise crossed Duchess's face, followed by the briefest flash
of something else that looked a hell of a lot like worry.
"That's...unexpected. What was the problem? Do you need West and
Rhys?"
Nora let out a breath. "The problem is the new president." Duchess
tilted her head, giving her a long look from underneath her pale lashes.
"And what exactly is the problem with the new president?"
The problem is that he' s the man whose heart I broke eight years ago
and he hasn' t forgotten and he hasn' t forgiven and now he' s taking his
revenge. On me.
And unfortunately that means you 're probably going to suffer too.
Yeah, that sounded perfect, didn't it? That sounded superstrong and in
control.
Not.
The words sat there in her mouth and she just couldn't get them out.
Because they weren't Nora Sutcliffe, the toughest fugitive recovery

agent in the entire county. They were Nora Sutcliffe, stupid debutante,
so afraid of disappointing her father, she'd done whatever he told her to,
even betray a man she'd once cared about.
But she wasn't that woman, not anymore. And Duchess didn't need to
know about her ancient history with Smith. Pretty much no one needed
to know that.
"The problem," Nora said flatly, "is that he's a dick. But I guess that's
pretty much par for the course with biker presidents."
A crease appeared between Duchess's fair brows. "That's it? He's
a dick?"
Nora took a small, silent breath. Should she mention this scamming
business? Just to make sure it really was a nonissue, of course. Because
if Smith hadn't been bluffing...Well. If he'd been telling the truth, then
she'd really be in the shit.
You'd have to give him the night he wanted.
Unfortunately, yeah, she'd have to seriously consider it, since it was
either that or let Duchess's past come back to bite her. And there was no
way she'd do that.
Nora had been at rock bottom when she'd first met Duchess. A month
after finally realizing that she was only a cog in her father's
empire-building machine and walking out of her pampered Houston
life, she'd been cleaning tables and taking drink orders in a seedy bar in
Austin, the only job she could get. With no money and no friends, she'd
never felt the smallness and powerlessness of her own existence so
completely. And then Duchess had turned up, all cool intelligence and
tough as nails, despite the whole polished Manhattan lawyer vibe she
had going on.
Nora had instantly been drawn to her, admiring how in control of her
own life Duchess seemed, and they'd gotten to chatting about
Duchess's business. And Nora had decided then and there that that's
what she wanted to be. A bounty hunter. Cool, tough, in control, and
most important—not afraid.
Duchess had helped Nora with her weapons training, sponsored the
certificates she needed for a career in bail enforcement, and then she'd
given Nora a job. And not just a job. Her boss, for all her cool exterior,

was very supportive, running her whole crew like a family rather than a
business, and for Nora, whose mother had died when she'd been born
and whose father had been such a dictator, it had been somewhat of a
revelation.
So yeah, betraying everything Duchess had given her just because her
ex was being an asshole? That wasn't happening.
Though it would be good to know if she genuinely had something to
worry about all the same.
"He mentioned something," Nora said, slowly. "I threatened to go to
the cops if he didn't give me Brook, and he.. .uh.. .well, he threatened to
bring down the Ministry on us." She paused. "Or rather, you
specifically."
The cool expression on Duchess's face didn't change. "Ah," she
said.
Okay, so that wasn't encouraging. "Ah?"
"Damn," Duchess muttered under her breath, glancing down at the
floor. "Damn. Damn. Damn. And fuck for good measure."
Nora went cold. Holy shit, please don't say Smith had actually been
telling the truth. "Something you're not telling me, boss?"
Duchess looked up, meeting her gaze. "Okay, so here's the deal. I need
Brook taken down and in jail, and the sooner the better. And yes, there's
a reason. A reason I was hoping not to have to tell anyone, but..." She
trailed off. "Goddamn bikers. What did he tell you?"
Unease settled in Nora's gut. She had a feeling this was not going to be
good. "He mentioned something about your father and how he
scammed the club out of some money."
"I guess it was too much to hope for that they'd forget." Her boss pulled
a face.
Nora blinked. "You mean.. .it's true?"
Duchess let out a sigh. "Yes, it's true. My dad was a con artist, used to
grift a lot of people, including, unfortunately, the Austin chapter of the
Ministry."
Oh fuck.
"Dad went to prison," Duchess went on. "He died there of cancer. And
I thought the Ministry had forgotten about getting payback, u n t i l . "

She stopped again. "I don't know how Brook found out about the scam,
but he did. He started sending me notes about a month ago, saying if I
didn't pay him a certain amount of money every week, he'd 'remind' the
Ministry of who I was and how much money I owed them."
"Jesus," Nora breathed, shocked. "You're not serious?"
"Sadly, I am."
"But why didn't you—"
"Tell anyone? Because it was my problem to deal with and I dealt with
it." Her tone was flat and it was clear she didn't want any argument
about it. Not that Nora was going to argue since she knew what it was
to want to handle a problem herself. "Unfortunately, I wasn't expecting
him to skip bail."
Nora's already massive respect for her boss grew a little bigger. Had
Duchess engineered Brook's arrest? Kudos to her if so, because they
certainly didn't need scum like that walking the streets. "Wow, okay.
So, you bought his bond."
"Yes, and I was hoping he'd be an easy pickup."
Not so much.
The unease in Nora's gut twisted. "He's the VP, boss. And Smith wasn't
happy with turning him in."
"Obviously." Duchess cursed under her breath and pushed herself away
from her desk. "I can't have the Ministry coming for their money, not
when I don't have it and certainly not when I had nothing to do with
Dad's scam. Which means we're going to have to rethink how we do
this."
Dammit.
Nora's unease twisted tighter, because there was a way out of this little
problem and all it would involve was spending the night with a certain
biker asshole.
A hot biker asshole.
A biker asshole you did the dirty on, not forgetting.
Nora shoved that out of her head. Okay, so that wasn't old news for
Smith, but him being pissed at her about it had no bearing on whatever
decision she made now.
What was important was Duchess and the company who'd taught

her toughness, self-reliance, and loyalty. Who'd been there for her
when she'd needed it.
Sleeping with Smith wouldn't be a hardship anyway. He was hot and
yeah, she was still ...attracted to him. She didn't like being forced into
stuff, it was true, but hey, it was only sex, no biggie.
Yet despite her little internal pep talk, the unease began to morph into
something more, something that felt like trepidation. She ignored it.
If it meant getting Brook back in jail and off Duchess's back, and the
Ministry leaving Duchess alone for good, then she'd do it. Naturally,
Duchess didn't need to know the details, though. No point raking
through the coals of the past, and especially not to a woman as adept at
handling the opposite sex as Duchess was; the kind of woman who
never had any kind of problem with a man, Quinn Redmond included.
"Don't worry about rethinking, boss." She gave Duchess a cocky grin
she didn't feel. "I've got an idea about how to handle Smith. Just give
me a few days, okay?"
Duchess was silent, studying Nora in that sharp, perceptive way she
had. "What's your idea?"
Nora tapped the side of her nose. "Need to know basis only. But don' t
worry, it' ll work."
"On your own?"
"Yeah." She lifted her chin. "Brook's my skip and I want to take him
down just as badly as you do. Can't have that blemish on my perfect
record."
The other woman's pale gaze narrowed. "Don't try and tough this one
out, Nora. Bikers are dangerous."
"Like I don't know that and back at ya."
Duchess gave another sigh. "Dammit. Okay then. But I hope you're
sure about this. I can't afford to screw this one up, not with that kind of
threat hanging over my head."
"I know and I am sure."
"Well, okay then." Duchess rounded the desk and went to sit down
behind it. "Oh, and one other thing. I don't want the others knowing
about this." Her blue eyes were very direct. "They've got enough on
their plate to worry about without my ancient history coming back to
bite

me, understand?"
Oh yeah, she understood completely.
"Sure do." She turned toward the door. "Two days, boss, and you'll
have Brook."
"Of course," Duchess said as she went out. "Nora always gets her man,
right?"
Well, Nora used to. Except getting her man now would mean having to
spend a night with one other man. A man she'd deliberately pushed to
the back of her mind and hadn't thought about for years and years. And
unfortunately, if she didn't want Duchess getting screwed over, it didn't
look like there was any way she could get out of it.
Rose looked up from the computer as Nora came out of Duchess's
office, her blue eyes hopeful. "Did you see anything? Were they
naked?"
"What?" For a second Nora didn't know what she was talking about.
Then the light dawned. "Oh, you mean her and Quinn?"
Rose looked at her as if she was mad. "Of course her and Quinn. Who
else would I be talking about?"
Good point. "No. There was no nakedness happening."
Rose scowled. "Dammit. I was so sure. They were arguing in there for
at least fifteen minutes. Lily actually raised her voice. And then they
went really, really silent."
"Not today, sadly." Nora started toward the office door. "That five
hundred bucks is still mine."
Rose glared at her. "I've still got a week left to run, remember?"
"If you can get those two naked with each other in a week, then you
deserve it."
She didn't wait for Rose to respond, letting the door shut firmly behind
her as she went out. Duchess wouldn't mind her taking the rest of the
afternoon off, especially if it meant figuring out a plan for dealing with
Smith.
She needed some thinking time and there was only one place she went
to for that.
The art gallery.
As expected, they gave him shit. A woman shooting at the

president, showing no respect, blah, blah, blah. Something must be
done. She had to learn a lesson, et cetera.
Problem was, they were right. Any shit dealt to him was shit dealt to the
club, and no one dealt shit to the club. Not if they wanted to live. Not
helping was the fact that proving himself as a new president did not
include having his balls nearly shot off by a tough chick in a cowboy
hat. Neither was letting her walk out of the bar and drive away without
any consequences.
But he already knew that. Luckily for the club, he had a plan. Unluckily
for the club, they did not get to know about it. If they didn't trust him to
deal with his own crap, then they needed to learn a lesson themselves.
"She needs consequences," growled Shotgun, his sergeant-at-arms.
Unwisely, since it was none of his fucking business and Smith was in a
foul mood.
He and his officers were all back at the warehouse in East Austin that
the Ministry had claimed for the chapter clubhouse, in Smith's office,
which overlooked the main club area.
At his desk, Smith reached into the drawer next to him and curled his
fingers around the Glock that was sitting there. "Is that a fact?" He
looked at Shotgun, giving the mouthy fuck one last chance. "And what
kind of lesson are you suggesting?"
"I dunno. Threaten her, man. Bitch maybe needs a slap—"
Without any hurry at all, Smith lifted the Glock, aimed, and pulled the
trigger.
The sound of the gun firing echoed throughout the office, underlined
by Shotgun's shout of pain. Nobody flinched.
Smith lowered his weapon and stared at Shotgun, who was now sitting
on the floor, cursing a blue streak, blood welling in the rip of his jeans
where the bullet had grazed his thigh.
"Any more suggestions?" Smith asked.
Shotgun had gone pale. But all he said was "No."
"No what?"
"No, Prez."
"Damn fucking straight." Smith put his Glock on the desktop,

leaving it there as a subtle warning, then leaned back in his chair,
looking at the other men. "Does anyone else have any issues with what
happened at the bar?"
They fucking better not have. Shooting other brothers didn't look good
and he didn't like doing it, but he couldn't afford to have his authority
questioned and sometimes a hard lesson was the only way.
Really, it was a damn shame he couldn't do that with the rest of the
world too, but then you couldn't have everything.
Dust shifted on his feet, his hands in his pockets. "No issues, Prez. All
we need to know is that it's being handled. Can't have anyone
disrespecting the club, especially not on our own turf."
Oh yeah, and that was another issue he had to deal with. His VP and
this getting arrested bullshit.
However, first he had to be clear with his officers about what was
happening with Nora and her blatant disrespect. Letting her walk had
been all part of his plan, mainly to give her some time to think about his
little offer.
Offer? Don't be so fucking coy. It was blackmail, pure and simple.
So, okay, it was blackmail. But she'd given him crap in front of his
club, threatened him at said club, and then she'd nearly shot him. She'd
been the one breaking the rules, and if she was expecting there not to be
consequences, she was shit out of luck. Once he may have given a fuck
about her feelings, but not now. Not after she'd screwed him over all
those years ago.
Anyway, if he wanted payback, then he'd take it. That was how life
worked for him these days. Sure, he never forced himself on a woman
who didn't want him—hell, why bother when there were so many other
women who did? But Nora did want him, he was pretty fucking sure.
Her pulse had been fast when he'd forced her up against the wall and
her breathing had been ragged. He knew when a woman was turned on
and Nora Sutcliffe had been turned on. Except then she'd refused him.
He hadn' t been expecting that and unfortunately for her, that had only
made him more determined to have her.
"You think I don't fucking know that?" Smith leaned forward again and
put his elbows on the desk, staring at his officers, each one in

turn. "It's private shit, understand me? Which means I'll deal with her
myself." He paused. "Anyone got any problem with that?"
Unsurprisingly, given the example he'd made out of Shotgun, no one
did.
"All of you get outta here," he said, sitting back. "Except Dust. I want a
word."
The rest of them filed out, leaving Dust standing there with his hands in
the pockets of his jeans. The guy's jaw was tight, his shoulders
hunched, but he didn't avoid Smith's gaze. He knew he was going to get
shit all right.
"You got something to say to me," Smith said, making it clear he wasn't
asking.
Dust let out a breath. "It was a bar fight. Some civilian cock showing
disrespect. I tried to walk away, b u t . "
There always was a "but" with Dust. The guy had a temper, always had,
ever since he'd gotten back from Afghanistan, and normally he
managed to keep a lid on it. The problem was that he had a custody
hearing coming up for his son, and he'd gone a little crazy. Not that he
was ever going to get custody, since he was a biker, but his ex was
trying to cut off access entirely.
It fucking sucked, no doubt about it, and Smith was sympathetic. Dust
loved his kid and it had damn near killed him when he 'd gotten back
home from the army only to find that his woman had hooked up with
someone else and was now denying him the right to see the boy.
Still. The club came first. Always had, always would.
"You didn't walk away," Smith finished. "And the prick pressed
charges and now you're up shit creek."
"Yeah," Dust muttered. "That's pretty much it."
But it didn't sound like that was it. Smith narrowed his gaze at the other
man. He knew Dust, knew when something was bothering him, and
there was something bothering him right now, he could see it in his
friend's eyes.
"Tell me the rest," Smith ordered. "And don't fucking deny it. You're
already neck deep in crap, you don't want to get any deeper."
Dust was silent a moment. Then he pulled a hand out of his pocket

and scrubbed it through his hair. "I needed some money. You know, to
get a decent fucking lawyer. I thought she had some and—"
"You thought who had some?" Smith cut him off sharply, not liking
where this was headed.
"Duchess." Dust lowered his hand. "A couple of months ago at a party
Sim told me about her and her old man and that scam they pulled. I
didn' t think much about it, but then. Fuck, I needed some money so I at
least had a shot at seeing my boy." He paused, his gaze flickering away
then back again. "I told her that if she didn't pay me a certain amount
every week, I'd bring the Ministry down on her."
Smith stared at his VP, anger sitting like acid in his stomach. Jesus
Christ, what a clusterfuck. So, not only had the guy drawn some
civilian attention on himself and the club by getting himself arrested,
he 'd also been a stupid sonofabitch and tried a little bit of extortion on
the side.
Remind you of anyone?
Yeah, yeah. But at least he hadn't gotten himself arrested. Yet.
"Fuck," Smith growled. "You're supposed to be my VP, not some
stupid shithead getting into trouble with the cops and extorting fucking
bail bond agencies. Why didn't you tell me all this?" He glared at the
other man. "I should be shooting you, not fucking Shotgun."
A muscle leapt in Dust's jaw. "I know. It was a dick thing to do, but
Christ. I was fucking desperate."
"You could have come to me, asshole. I've got money."
Dust's jaw got even tighter. "And I've got pride. It was my damn
problem to deal with."
Smith's glare became a scowl. "Yeah, and now it's our fucking problem
to deal with. Because you know who's not gonna let you go, right?
Duchess. In fact, I'll bet you a thousand goddamn bucks, she's gonna
hunt you down to the ends of the earth to put your ass in jail." He
snorted. "I'm half inclined to let her."
Dust glanced away again. "I just... gotta see my boy, Prez."
Smith wasn't a father and he wasn't ever going to be one. But he
understood wanting something badly. Wanting something enough you
lost your head and did stupid shit just for the chance to have it.
"You think they're gonna give you access now? After this?"

"No." Dust's voice was flat. "I screwed up my chances, I know that. All
I want is a bit more time with him. It's his birthday in a few days and I
wanted to be there." He looked back at Smith. "Are you gonna turn me
in or what?"
Smith let out a breath. "What kind of fucking question is that? You're a
brother and my VP, of course not. But I want you outta here, got it? Just
take the fuck off somewhere until I tell you to come back."
"What about the bounty hunter? I can deal with—"
"You're not dealing with anything right now, asshole. You made it my
problem, so now I'm gonna be the one to deal with it." Luckily, he
already had a plan in place for exactly how to do that.
"Prez," Dust began.
"No," Smith cut him off. "Not now. I'm not in the mood. Just get the
hell outta here before I shoot you as well."
His friend shut his mouth, gave him one sharp nod, then turned and
went out.
Once he was gone, Smith leaned back in his chair and let out a long
breath.
Fuuuuck. What a mess.
After a moment, he got up out of his chair and went over to the bay of
windows set into the wall that gave him a view of the warehouse floor
down below his office.
A bar ran along one side and there were various old couches and tables
strewn around the massive space. Several pool tables were over by a
long set of windows placed high on the walls, and a massive stereo
system standing on some packing crates nearby. A fair few club
members were sitting around on the couches chatting and hanging out,
some of them with beers, some of them with women in their laps,
giving them their preferred form of tension release.
He'd come to the club after he'd left home, when an old school friend
had found him a job in a construction gang in Houston, and also
introduced him to the Ministry chapter there. He'd been torn at that
stage, liking the sense of belonging he had with club, which he'd never
gotten at home, and yet not wanting to get involved with anything
sketchy. Still clinging to the belief that being good would get him what

he wanted. And then Nora had happened, and afterward, when he'd
been unable to find another job, he'd thought seriously about just giving
it up and becoming a prospect.
But there'd been a small kernel of belief still strong in him, that he
could do the right thing, be a good man. Not turn into a drunken
fucking asshole like his father. So he'd resisted the club and turned to
the army instead.
Yeah, big mistake that turned out to be. He'd found Dust on the tours
he'd done, but he'd also found out what a big lie life all was. Good, bad,
it didn't matter who was who, everyone died the same way. In blood
and in pain, so what was the point?
He knew what he was after Afghanistan, and so when he'd gotten back
home, he and Dust had gone straight to the club. A place where he
could stop trying to be the kind of man he wasn't and be the man he
was. And not only that, be accepted for it.
He loved the club for that alone.
Smith folded his arms, staring down at his brothers having a good
time.
This was what he'd sworn to protect as president and that's exactly what
he was going to do. Protect his club. Protect his brothers. End of. So
you better go deal with your little problem then, hadn't you? His pretty
little problem in a cowboy hat.
That intense, electric charge of desire went through him again at the
memory of her against that wall, all soft heat and musk, golden sparks
of challenge in her eyes.
Refusing him.
He couldn't let that go. Sure, he had to get her off Dust's back then
make sure she didn't go to the cops, be certain she knew he was serious
about raining hell down on her boss.
But mainly, he wanted payback.
Dust had fucked up, no question, but that had led to Nora coming back
into his life and he was not going to miss the opportunity to get a little
something for himself.
No, if she thought he was going to slink away with his tail between his
legs like he had all those years ago in Houston, she had another think

coming.
Turning from the window, Smith strode over to his desk, picked up his
keys, and headed straight for the door. He'd given her a head start. Now
it was time to give chase.

Chapter 4
Nora stepped out of the art gallery feeling frustrated. She'd always
loved art, back from when she'd been a kid. Her father used to collect
it—not because it meant anything to him, but because it was what rich
people did—and she'd loved examining the new paintings or sculptures
that turned up on the walls and shelves of the Sutcliffes' Houston
mansion. As an only child, rattling around by herself in that giant house
while her father was off doing whatever business thing he did, looking
at the art made her feel less alone somehow, gave her a feeling of
connection.
Normally the quiet and the peace of a gallery or museum settled her,
while the art itself seemed to clarify her thinking processes in a way
nothing else did.
But apparently not today. She'd spent a whole hour and a half
wandering around the exhibition and she still hadn't figured out quite
what angle to take with Smith and his little proposal.
She had to do it, that was clear, since the alternatives weren't so great.
Either she gave him what he wanted and spent the night with him, or
she didn't get Brook, which meant Duchess would get royally shafted.
She could, of course, get backup from Rhys and West like she should
have done initially if she hadn't been so stubborn, and maybe they
could get the Redmonds to help too. Go back to the Rusty Nail with an
army.
But she didn't have any doubt that if she did that, Smith would make
good on his threat to set the Ministry on Duchess, which again, meant
her boss getting royally shafted.
It was either that or she found herself a third option.
Nora slid her sunglasses onto her nose, squinting in the late-afternoon
sunlight as she stood on the sidewalk, trying to figure out whether to
visit the museum and see if she couldn't get a bit of inspiration there, or
just head home.
What are you getting so wound up about it? Wasn' t it only supposed to
be sex?
She scowled at nothing in particular. Well, yes. It was only sex and

it wasn't as if she hadn't had any sexual relationships since Smith. It
wasn't as if he was that special. And she didn't have any issues with sex
per se, it was just that she hadn't had any for...well, maybe it was best
not to think about exactly how long, but just because she hadn't had any
in a while didn't mean she didn't want it.
She had a vibrator. She could get herself off when she needed to. She
didn't need an actual man. Then again, since an actual man was offering
to be her vibrator stand-in, so to speak, why was she being such a little
bitch about it?
Stupid question. She was being a little bitch because the man in
question was Smith and there was a whole 747's worth of baggage
attached to him.
Whether you like it or not, he had been special once.
She ignored that thought. Baggage only mattered if you let it and she
wasn't going to let it. The past didn't have to be a part of anything she
and Smith did now. And he only wanted one night, nothing more.
He' s hot too, don' t forget that.
Undeniably he was hot, he always had been. But there was something
different about him now that hadn't been there back then. Eight years
ago he'd been relaxed, easygoing, approachable. He'd treated her shy
come-ons with patience and gentleness, wanting to take things slow.
She'd been the one who'd gotten impatient, who'd been so desperate
she'd pushed for more far too quickly. Yet even then he'd been a
gentleman, concerned for her and her well-being.
That had not been the guy with fury in his black eyes, who'd backed her
up against the wall and held her there. Who'd threatened her,
blackmailed her. That guy had been intense and dangerous, his whole
body humming with that incredible violent, almost sexual, energy.
There was nothing easy and friendly about him now, nothing warm in
the smile he' d given her.
He'd become a man who took what he wanted.
You love that.
Yeah, God help her, she did. And she couldn't deny she was intrigued
by the changes, not to mention more than a little turned on. Men always
liked to prove something with her, that they were tougher,

that they could "handle" her. Either that or they weren't interested.
Mostly those men turned out to be sheep in wolf's clothing who ran at
the first sign of what they were getting into. They didn't want the
challenge after all, because they were pussies who couldn't deal with a
strong woman.
Smith isn' t a pussy.
Nope. That guy was wolf all the way through.
So what was all this weird trepidation at the thought of spending a night
with him? Okay, so she hated being told what to do, especially by an
overly macho dickhead biker president, but something in her had loved
the way he'd so easily overwhelmed her physically. He'd been hot and
hard, and the feel of all that muscle pressing against her, holding her
down, had made her melt. It had been way too long since she'd had the
challenge of a man like that.
Maybe it wasn't him she was wanting, maybe it was just the thought of
sex. Yeah, that was it. She needed sex. With a man for a change and not
a piece of plastic.
Out of the corner of her eye, she caught a glimpse of someone standing
at the edge of the sidewalk by the street. Someone very tall.
The back of her neck prickled.
Fuck.
Nora halted, not wanting to look, yet knowing she had to.
Sure enough, standing there leaning back against a streetlight, his arms
folded, was Smith. By the curb was parked a massive Harley, black
paintwork and chrome shining in the sun.
Her heart gave a jolt, like someone had stuck her with a syringe full of
adrenaline.
The afternoon sun fell over his shaggy black hair, turning it the glossy
blue-black of a crow's wing, the shadows highlighting the closely
trimmed black beard that lined his strong jaw. His eyes were dark too,
like he was a painting composed of different shades of darkness.
Midnight and soot, coal dust and tar. Oil and black smoke.
He was in the jeans and tee she'd seen him in earlier that day, his
Ministry cut over the top, and he looked tall and muscular and
dangerous as hell.

She shivered, unable to help herself. So, she'd been wrong when she
thought she'd gotten away.
Not one to avoid a problem when it was standing right in front of her,
Nora didn't bother acting like she hadn't seen him. Instead, she walked
straight over to where he stood and stopped right in front of him.
"What the hell are you doing here?" she demanded without preamble,
tipping her head back so she could look into his eyes. Perhaps it would
have been safer to be friendly and not quite so confrontational, but
she'd be damned if she pretended to feel friendly toward him. "You're
following me?"
"Just wanna be sure you didn't go to the cops." His gaze did that thing
again, dropping down the length of her body and back up again, openly
appreciative. It made her want to blush like a schoolgirl. "And that you
haven't rethought your position on my little suggestion."
"I haven't gone to the cops, no. And I thought that gunshot made my
position pretty clear."
His mouth, long and sensual, curved. "Yeah, about that. Ballsy of you,
golden girl, very ballsy. But also very stupid."
Nora scowled at him, trying to ignore her unease. The unease that told
her she had, indeed, done a very stupid thing by firing her gun and only
just missing him. "You wouldn't take no for an answer. That's what I do
to men who don't take no for an answer."
He tilted his head, his black gaze sharp. "Is that right? I wonder, is your
father still alive then?"
A small twist of anger combined with the unease, turning into a nasty,
churning sensation. Goddamn, she wished she had her Colt right now.
Nothing like the reassurance of her weapon to make her feel better.
"What the hell has Dad got to do with this?"
"He didn't take no for an answer." Smith's smile turned as sharp as his
stare. "Or no, I forgot. You never said 'no,' did you? It was always 'Yes,
Daddy. Anything you say, Daddy.'" An undertone of bitterness ran
through his velvet-and-gravel voice, and he made no attempt to hide it.
"And sometimes, you didn't say anything at all, right?"
Nora's jaw tightened, tension crawling along her shoulders and down
her back.

They were in the overblown formality of her father' s office. Smith and
herself and Smith' s boss, all standing in front of his desk like naughty
kids before the headmaster.
"He forced her, " her father said in his cold, precise way. "He
brainwashed her. He's a goddamn rapist and I don't want him
anywhere near my daughter ever again. If you want to continue this
contract, he needs to go."
"That's not true, " Smith protested, his voice hoarse. "That's not how it
happened. Tell them, Nora. Tell them!"
But her father was looking at her and she couldn' t get her voice to
work and so she didn 't say a word...
God, she didn't need that crap in her head, not now.
Nora shoved the memories away and briefly debated telling him to go
to hell, but that would be to admit his words had touched her, had hurt
her. Had made her remember things she didn't want to remember. And
she didn't want to do that. It would be a weakness she couldn't afford,
especially not in front of a predator like him.
"Your seduction technique could use some work," she said instead. "If
you want to get me into bed, flowers and a nice dinner is a better
bet."
The look in his eyes gleamed, as if he knew he'd scored a hit. "Bullshit.
Maybe once it was, but you're not a flowers-and-dinner kind of girl
anymore, are you?"
She swallowed, her mouth going dry as an oddly vulnerable feeling
swept through her; the sense that he'd seen something in her she hadn't
even been aware of herself. "How do you know what kind of girl I am
now? You know nothing about me."
"Sure I do," he said with maddening certainty. "You're the kind of girl
who likes a challenge. Who likes nothing better than a fight, especially
with a gun in your hand. And you certainly like being held up against a
wall, that I do know for certain."
Damn him. Damn him to hell. She would have loved to tell him he was
wrong, that she wasn't that kind of girl at all, but of course she'd be
lying and they both knew it. The real irony was that since she hadn't
been on a date in a few years, she'd kind of forgotten the kind of girl she

actually was when it came to men.
Not that she was going to let him know that.
Nora let out what she hoped was a long-suffering sigh. "What's your
point, Ace? I've got a crap-ton of stuff to do this afternoon and you're
getting in the way."
He didn' t answer immediately, staring at her for a moment before
glancing at the art gallery behind her. "Taking in an exhibition, huh?
Not exactly tracking and catching fugitives now, is it?"
The oddly vulnerable feeling deepened. She didn't make a big deal of
the fact that she often went to art galleries or museums, telling herself
no one would be interested. Though it was really because she didn't
want anyone knowing that about her, or asking questions as to why a
tough-ass bounty hunter like her enjoyed art.
It wasn't a secret exactly. She just preferred not having to explain about
her privileged past or her filthy-rich family.
"Say what you want to say, then get the hell out of my way," she
growled, not liking him knowing where she'd been for the past hour.
"I've already said what I want to say. I'm now waiting for your answer."
Ah, crap. Crunch time.
She pushed away the feeling that was definitely not trepidation, then
shrugged for good measure. "Oh, that's right. I'd forgotten. The whole
sleeping with you in return for Brook and the Ministry leaving Duchess
alone thing."
But those night-dark eyes of his were sharper and more precise than a
scalpel. They saw through her. All the way through. "You scared,
little girl?"
She so wanted to lift her hand, flip him the bird, then turn around and
walk away, never see him again. But that would be admitting far too
much and she couldn't do that. Instead she lifted a shoulder. "What? Of
a night with you? I don't fucking think so."
Smith' s smile remained while he searched her face, hungry and white,
that wolfs smile. "Should be an easy decision then. Unless you hate
your boss."
If only that were the case. If only she didn't give a shit about

Duchess. But she did. And right now she had to take charge of this,
because if she didn't, she had a horrible feeling that Smith would. And
once he was in control.
Something that wasn't fear shivered way down deep inside her, but
Nora ignored it. Instead she took a step forward, getting right up into
his space. So close she could feel the heat of his body, hotter than the
noonday Texas sun. Then, like she had back in the bar, she lifted her
hand and put her palm on his chest, letting it rest there to show him just
how scared she was, which was not at all. "You want to spend a night
with me? Then fine." She tried to ignore how the feel of him burned
against her palm. "But I'm going to want a few things from you first and
I' m not taking no for an answer."
"Ballsy, golden girl," he murmured, his voice a soft growl. "But you're
not really in any position to make demands."
Nora stared up at him, holding his gaze. "I'm assuming you actually
want me to be an active participant? And not just lying there thinking of
England?"
"You're assuming you could just lie there thinking of England." His
smile took on a sensual cast. "When I'm touching you, baby, I
guarantee that England is the last fucking place you'll be thinking of."
Arrogant sonofabitch. She flattened her hand on the hot plane of his
chest. "Since you've made it pretty much impossible for me to refuse, if
you want one night, you can have it. But if you want me to actually take
part, I have two conditions. One, I want Brook in cuffs, at the Duchess
offices the next day. Two, it's just sex. The past has got nothing
whatsoever to do with it."
Hunger and darkness, danger and heat glittered in his eyes. "I don't do
conditions, little girl. And you can refuse. I just gave you some
incentive not to."
Her jaw tightened. She didn't have much to threaten him with, not when
he held all the cards. But there was one thing at least she could use: his
male ego. "Well, then," she said, "guess I'll be thinking of England
after all."
Playing these games with him was probably stupid, especially given
what was at stake. But she'd be damned if she let him walk all

over her. A man like him respected strength, so she may as well start as
she meant to continue and she meant to continue strong.
Smith' s gaze dropped to her hand where it rested on his chest, then
back up again. "Sweetheart, you won't be thinking of anything when
I'm through with you. You remember that, right?"
She didn't want to remember, but it unreeled like a movie in her head
all the same.
Lying on the sun lounger cushions, watching the stars through the
half-built roof of the pool house, her body boneless and heavy and
sated. And all she'd been able to think was that if her father caught
them now, it would all have been worth it.
Nora pushed the memory away, determinedly concentrating on the here
and now instead. "I'm not arguing with you, Ace. Those are my
conditions. Take it or leave it."
He gave her a long, intense look. "You realize that I don't have to give
you Dust at all. I could just threaten Duchess and you'd still have to
give me what I want."
Of course she'd realized that. But if that was supposed to make her back
down, he could go to hell. "So why don't you then?"
"Why?" That hungry smile turned lazy, mocking. "Because I'm a
gentleman, sweetheart." Then he laughed, as if he knew how pissed he
was making her and was enjoying it, the bastard. "Come on, seal the
deal, golden girl."
Too busy resisting the urge to kick him in the nuts, she at first didn' t
quite understand. She blinked at him. "Seal the deal?"
He didn' t speak, lifting one hand and sliding it around the back of her
head before she could move. Nora opened her mouth, to say what, she
didn't know, because all the words seemed to die on her lips. He was
cradling the back of her head in his large, warm palm, bringing her
slowly but inexorably closer to him. And she couldn't look away. There
was heat in his eyes, heat in the tall, muscular body suddenly pressing
against hers. Both her palms were on his chest now and no, she
definitely wasn't pushing him away or kicking him anywhere. All the
power in her arms had vanished, along with all the air in her lungs.
Gently, almost tenderly, he brought her close. Then he lowered his

head and she found herself almost trembling, her eyes fluttering closed,
overwhelmed by the sheer closeness of him, flooded with memories
she'd been trying to escape for years.
Of how he'd used to hold her, as if she were a priceless artwork and had
to be handled with care. Of how that had made her feel, precious,
treasured. Not the shy, lonely daughter of a man who preferred money
to anything else.
"Smith," she whispered, his name escaping without her permission.
And like she'd asked a question and he was answering, his lips brushed
hers, so fleeting and light, yet the heat of it seared her in ways she
couldn't have described.
Automatically she opened her mouth, wanting more, wanting so much
more, but then she was free, standing there on the sidewalk swaying
like a drunkard after one too many bourbons.
Smith's smile was even whiter, like he knew a secret she didn't. "Deal's
done, Nora. My place, tomorrow night. I'll text you the address."
She wanted to tell him he could fuck right off with his orders and his
kisses, that she'd be the one to choose when and where. But somehow
her voice had gone.
All she could do was stand there and watch him give her one last grin as
he got onto his Harley and rode off with a roar.

Chapter 5
Smith finished up his workout then strode into the shower area he'd had
installed in the gym of his Lake Austin home. After a brisk, cold
shower, he dried himself off, then he went into the bedroom to find
some clean clothes. A pair of worn jeans and a plain white T-shirt, not
that he was planning on wearing clothes for too long tonight. Neither he
nor Nora would, not with what he was planning.
Dressed, he went back down the hallway and through the lounge to the
kitchen, stalking over to the fridge and pulling out a couple of beers.
Nora would be here any minute and he supposed the right thing would
be to offer her something to drink first.
Though really, this wasn't a date. This was all about sex and nothing
else, and there was no point pretending it was otherwise.
If you want to get me into bed, flowers and a nice dinner is a better
bet.
Yeah, she'd told him that yesterday, but he didn't think that was true. At
least, maybe it had been true once, but not now. Back when they'd been
sneaking around with each other in her father's pool house, he hadn't
given her flowers or a nice dinner, though at the time, he 'd desperately
wanted to. She'd told him they had to keep things secret, that if they
were discovered, her father would kill him.
He hadn' t been scared of her father. Old Don Sutcliffe might have been
big in Texas oil, but Smith hadn't given a shit about business. He'd
given a shit about Sutcliffe's daughter and had been thinking about a
future with her, and he'd been prepared to risk the old man's wrath for
it.
Unfortunately for him, Nora hadn't been.
He put his hands on the black granite of the kitchen island countertop
and leaned against them, a savage satisfaction stretching out inside
him.
Tonight she was going to reap the rewards of that little decision and all
that bullshit she'd fed him yesterday, about conditions and participation
and goddamn England, well, screw that.
He'd have her fucking participation. And too bad if she thought

this wasn't going to involve the past, because he was going to have that
as well. He was going to get an explanation from her about why she'd
left him high and dry that day in her father's office. Why she'd said
nothing, letting Sutcliffe call him a seducer, a rapist, and every other
kind of filthy name under the sun. And if she hadn't known that her
father had ensured he'd never work in Houston again, he'd tell her that
too.
She needed to know because it was her fucking fault.
Sure, but what's it going to change?
Nothing. But it sure as hell would make him feel a lot better.
In fact, he was feeling a lot better already just remembering Nora
coming out of the art gallery in those tight jeans and tank top, her
sunglasses on, cool and tough and untouchable. He'd gone to the
Duchess offices in time to see her walk out of them, and he'd followed
her, vaguely surprised when she'd pulled up outside the art gallery.
He'd debated talking to her right then and there, but he'd decided to wait
instead, watching her walk up the art gallery steps and disappear inside.
Interesting to see she was still into that art shit. She used to talk about it
a lot and he liked listening to her, liked being asked his opinion, as if he
wasn't just some dumb shit troublemaker from a trailer park.
You fucking pussy. Don't go getting soft now.
Nah, there was no chance of that. No chance in hell.
He reached into his pocket and grabbed out his phone, checking the
time. She'd be here any minute.
He'd gotten her number without any trouble from the receptionist at the
Duchess Bail Bonds office, and when he texted her his address, he
found himself almost relishing the thought of an argument about where
to meet. Yet the text he'd gotten in response was muted, merely an "Ok.
Fine." He'd then pushed his luck by instructing her on what to
wear—something tight and no underwear. But even that hadn't drawn
anything from her except a one-finger emoji.
He'd expected more of a fight than that.
The doorbell rang, a stupid-sounding chime he hadn't yet bothered to
replace since construction had finished on his house a couple of months
back, and anticipation coiled tightly inside him.

He could still taste the kiss he'd given her yesterday, a test and a tease
both at once. He'd wanted to see what she'd do, how she'd respond,
whether she'd taste the same as she had all those years ago. And she had
and her response had been everything he could have hoped for.
The way she'd melted against him as he'd cradled her head in his hand,
her eyes closing, the whispered sound of his name. . . He'd had to force
himself to hold back, to not take her mouth the way he'd wanted to,
hard and possessive and deep. To only give her the lightest brush of his
lips, the lightest taste.
He'd been glad he'd gone slowly as he lifted his head after that, to see
the instinctive disappointment in her eyes and know she wanted more.
Better to leave them hungry, right?
Tonight, though, no one was going hungry, not if he could help it.
Leaving his beer on the countertop, he moved out of the kitchen and
into the hallway, going to the massive oak front door and pulling it
open.
Nora stood on the step outside, not, sadly, wearing a tight dress like he'
d hoped. In fact, she looked pretty much the same as she had when
she'd walked into the Rusty Nail the day before, except instead of the
bulletproof vest she wore a black tank. Her hair was still in that tight
braid down her back and his fucking cowboy hat was firmly on her
head. She wasn't carrying, though, at least not that he could see, so
maybe that was something.
However, her pretty face had fuck you written all over it and the tension
in her shoulders was obvious. She had her hands in the pockets of her
jeans and when she met his gaze, he could see the little specks in her
eyes glittering like gold dust.
Clearly, she did not want to be here.
It made his own anger tighten. Because what the fuck right did she have
to be pissed with him? She'd been the one who'd stayed silent when her
father had leveled all that shit at him. She hadn't protested, hadn't
backed him up, hadn't said one goddamn word in his defense, not one.
She had no right to be angry with him, no fucking right at all.
"No dress," he said, unable to keep the growl out of his voice no

matter how hard he tried.
Her chin came up. "A dress wasn't part of the deal, asshole."
"Doesn't matter, you won't be wearing it long enough anyway." He
stood aside. "Come in."
Her eyes flicked him a glance as she moved past him and into the
entranceway, but apart from that she didn't speak. Her boots echoed on
the polished wood floor as she took a couple of hesitating steps then
stopped, looking around her, eyes wide.
He almost smiled. His house would not be what she was expecting.
He'd inherited some money when he was eighteen, from his maternal
grandparents, squirreling it out of reach before his old man could get
hold of it and drink it away. Then he'd kept it in the bank, not thinking
much about it.
Until he met Nora.
The gorgeous only daughter of Donald Sutcliffe, all of eighteen years
old in her little white bikini. He'd held out against her for weeks, trying
to be professional, trying to be good. And then she'd stolen a kiss from
him one afternoon and he'd been lost.
The first night they spent together, he decided. She was going to be part
of the new life he was in the process of building for himself, away from
the dusty trailer park and the run-down single-wide he lived in with his
alcoholic dad and beaten-down mom. A life where he had a good job,
and a nice house, and a beautiful wife who loved him as much as he
loved her.
Nora could be part of that. Nora was the one.
He'd kept that to himself at first, because she was young and he didn't
want to scare her by coming on too strong. Instead he'd talked about the
house he was going build one day, and she'd joined in. They spent
hours discussing that house, lying in that half-finished pool house
together. Hours spent designing it, what it would look like and what
materials they'd use. And then how they would decorate it. Soon
enough it wasn't only his house, it had become their house.
A construction of boxes, built out of wood and glass and stone. With
massive windows that looked out onto a lake or the woods or the desert,
that made it feel like there weren't any walls at all, no boundaries

or separation from nature. There would be a soaring entranceway and
fireplace in the living room. A big outdoor area and a grill. High
ceilings to give a feeling of spaciousness and plain white walls to better
display the art Nora insisted he collect.
This house was exactly that. Exactly what they'd planned together.
Except now, it was his house, not hers. Built with the money he earned
after he got back from Afghanistan and the Ministry took him in. He'd
worked hard for that, gradually accumulating the cash and scouting for
the perfect location, talking to architects and builders. Eventually he' d
found a great bit of land on Lake Austin, with a view over the water and
lots of trees. Fucking expensive, but by then he was on his way to doing
very well indeed and he could afford it.
So he built it. And he could feel a part of him waiting for her shocked
reaction, her awe, her startled exclamation. Wanting it and not really
knowing why, because what the fuck did it matter to him what she
thought of the house? It wasn't hers anymore, it was all his.
The anticipation gathered tighter as he watched Nora tip her head back
and stare up at the soaring ceiling above them, then take in the flowing
staircase to their right that led up to the second floor.
He hadn' t put anything on the stark white walls, because art had been
her thing, not his. Was she noting the absence? Did it hurt her?
You want to hurt her?
A thread of something else wound through his satisfaction, something
he wasn't prepared to acknowledge quite yet, not when he was still so
goddamn angry with her.
Reluctance.
He shook it off before it could take hold.
"This is..." Nora's voice was a little hoarse as she trailed off.
"Remind you of anything?" He stood behind her, watching the evening
sunlight catch the threads of gold and toffee and platinum in the braid
that hung down her back. Would she remember? He fucking wanted
her to remember.
There was a long silence. Then she lifted a shoulder, keeping her gaze
on the ceiling. "Should it?"
Anger prickled through him, overwhelming that small curl of

reluctance.
Jesus. Calm the fuck down. What are you? A kid? So she didn 't
remember that house and she isn' t on her knees in awe at what you
created? Big fucking deal.
Smith gritted his teeth. "You don't remember the house we talked about
building?"
Her shoulders hunched imperceptibly, but she didn't look at him. "Not
really." She sounded so casual, as if she truly didn't remember.
The feeling in his gut, the one he didn't want to acknowledge, twisted
hard.
Why the fuck are you bringing that up?
He couldn't really say. Only that those lazy, heated afternoons with her
had meant something. They'd mattered and he hated the thought that
she'd forgotten.
Unable to stop himself, he said, "The pool house. You and me. We
talked about it, remember?"
The tension in her posture increased, her shoulders hunching even
more, as if she was bracing herself for a blow. "Oh yeah, maybe I recall
something like that," she said in that same casual voice. "Anyway, it's
very nice." Then she turned to face him. Her expression was hard,
warm brown eyes dark, the look in them flat. "Let's get started then."
Her hands went to the hem of her T-shirt. "You want to do me here or
would you prefer a bedroom?"
Oh, no, that wasn't happening. She couldn't just dismiss the past like
that, all those conversations they'd had, all the dreams he'd shared with
her. And if she thought she could just lie down, spread her legs, and the
past would all go away, she could fucking think again.
He wanted her to know how badly she'd screwed up his life.
And he wanted her to be sorry.
She was pulling her tank out of her jeans, slowly peeling it up, and he
reached out and gripped her wrists, stopping her.
"No." He didn't bother hiding how pissed off he was, his voice rough
with anger.
Nora eyed him warily. "What? I thought this was what you wanted."

"Sure. But first we're gonna have a little chat."
Her expression hardened. "That wasn't part of the deal, Smith."
"I don't give a shit whether that was part of the deal or not." He stared at
her, letting her see his anger. "You owe me, golden girl. You fucking
owe me. And you're gonna come into my kitchen, have a goddamn
beer, and we' re gonna talk."
He didn't wait for her to respond, turning on his heel and going through
the doorway to the left of the front door, stalking down through the
light-filled hall to his kitchen, taking the extra couple of seconds to get
a grip on himself.
Jesus. You need to calm the fuck down. It happened a long time ago.
Why are you still holding onto this shit?
Because she'd ruined his goddamn life, that's why.
And then you built it again. So what' s confronting her going to
change? Apart from making you feel better? Fuck her and forget her,
that' s what you need to do.
Smith stalked into the kitchen and reached for the beers he'd left on the
counter, ignoring the voice in his head. Sure, he was going to fuck her
and forget her. But after they had their conversation.
"Here." He turned, leaning back against the kitchen island, holding out
the other bottle. "You want one?"
Nora stood uncertainly in the doorway, her gaze darting around at the
kitchen then coming back to him again. Was she impressed? What did
she think of it? Why the fuck did he even care? Jesus fucking Christ. He
was crazy.
She took the bottle from him, attention flicking to the long counter on
the other side of the kitchen island, the big, massively expensive stove
he' d had brought in, the expensive red tiles of the backsplash, the row
of halogens set beneath the cupboards on the wall and above the
kitchen island so he could see without ineffective ceiling lights. He
hadn't spared any expense on the kitchen, buying only the best
materials and appliances, while at the same time keeping it completely
functional.
"You use this?" She gestured around at the room with her beer bottle
and, yes, this time her surprise was actually obvious.
"Do I use the kitchen? Yeah, of course I use it." He lifted his bottle

and took a sip of his beer. "How else would I eat?"
Color had crept into her cheeks and he suddenly realized that she'd
been quite pale before and he hadn't noticed. Why? Was she scared?
Of course she's scared, asshole. You blackmailed her into sex and now
you 're acting like a self-righteous douchebag.
He didn't like that thought. Didn't like it one bit.
She was scared back then too, the night they first made love, all
nervous and awkward and timid despite the fact that she'd been the one
to convince him it was a good idea. He'd asked her a dozen times
whether she was sure, and she' d gotten that look in her eye, the first
glimpse of just how stubborn Nora Sutcliffe could be when she wanted
something, and told him of course she was damn sure. So he took things
real slow and gentle, soothing her, calming her. She' d been so fucking
beautiful as her fear had fallen away, so fucking passionate. She
wrapped her arms around him and looked at him like he' d
gift-wrapped the moon and the stars and handed them to her...
An old, half-forgotten feeling caught inside him. Something like regret.
"I guess I didn't imagine you cooking," she said, interrupting his
thoughts. She hadn't taken a drink, holding the bottle in one hand while
she hooked her thumb of the other through her belt loop.
He shifted against the counter, those old memories still replaying in his
head, right where he didn't want them. Because, Jesus, he didn't want to
feel regret or sympathy, or any of the stupid, soft emotions he'd cut out
of his life the moment he got back from Afghanistan. They belonged to
a different man. A man he no longer was.
"What?" It sounded belligerent but he didn't care. "You think I sit
around all day eating pizza and burgers and shit?"
Her gaze dropped down his body as if she couldn't help herself and for
some reason that made his anger fade a little. "I guess not. You'd
probably be a lot bigger if you did."
"There's a lot about me you don't know, golden girl." He took another
sip of his beer, watching her. Hunger pulsed inside him, made sharper
by the memories of that first night they spent together. Of how good it
had felt to calm her fears, to be the one to hold her, to show her

the pleasure her body could give her, to watch passion unfurl over her
lovely face.
You could have that now, make you both forget about the past. No, fuck
that. He wanted a reckoning and he was goddamn well going to have it.
Nora's gaze flickered away again as she lifted her bottle, finally taking
a small, nervous-looking sip. Her throat moved as she swallowed and
he watched that, too, almost mesmerized by the long, elegant line of
it.
"So. ," she said into the silence, shifting on her feet. "Apparently I owe
you. Are you going to tell me what that's about or are you just going to
stand there glaring at me, expecting me to guess?"
His muscles tensed, anger twisting in his gut. Did she really not have
any idea? Not one fucking clue? "I don't expect you to guess, I expect
you to know," he said flatly. "I expect you to fucking remember."
She didn't look away. "You're angry about that stuff that went down
with Dad."
" 'That stuff?" he echoed, keeping his voice deceptively mild. "You
mean him calling me a rapist and you not saying one fucking word? Is
that the 'stuff you're talking about?"
She paled, though the red in her cheeks remained. "So, I made a
mistake. I'm sorry. Are you happy now? Can we get on with this,
please?"
Jesus. What kind of fucking apology was that?
"Say it again," he growled. "And this time like you goddamn mean
it."
"I did mean it." She let out a breath then, slowly, came toward him, her
hips swaying as she walked, stopping right in front of him so they were
almost touching. "Shall I show you how much?" She stared into his
eyes, putting her beer bottle down on the counter, making a production
of brushing against him as she did so. "Like this, maybe?" And she slid
a blatant palm down over the zipper of his jeans.
His stupid dick hardened immediately, the predictable fuck, a fire
beginning to blaze in his gut. She was very close, the soft curve of her
tits brushing against his chest, her heat seeping into him, the tantalizing

scent of her curling around him.
So easy to reach for her, to pick her up and set her on the counter, pull
her jeans down, and spread her thighs. Slide right into the tight, liquid
heat of her pussy, and forget all about the past. So easy...
Then again, this wasn't her show. It was his. And he knew a
diversionary tactic when he saw one. She didn't want to talk, she'd
made that plain. She wanted to get to the fucking, get it over and done
with, get Dust and fuck off, no harm, no foul.
Not gonna happen.
No, it goddamn wasn't.
Smith looked down into those pretty brown eyes of hers and didn't
move, ignored the warmth of her palm seeping through the denim of his
jeans, ignored the throbbing of his dick. Instead he took another long,
slow sip of his beer, as if none of that touched him in any way. "You
think that half-assed apology is gonna work? That all you need to do is
put your hand on my dick and I'll forget everything else?"
She blinked, an expression he couldn't read flashing in her eyes before
disappearing. "I. I guess not."
"Goddamn right. Don't worry, I know you want my cock and you'll get
it, I promise. But we're gonna do what I said we're gonna do first."
Smith put down his beer, leaned back on his hands as if he had all the
time in the world, and gave her his very best feral smile. "Let's talk
about what happened after you let your fucking dad accuse me of being
a rapist."
Oh no. Hell no. He couldn't do this to her, he couldn't.
Tension pulled in Nora's shoulders, fear crawling down her spine, and
she had a sudden vicious urge to squeeze the hard ridge pressing
against her palm. Not that it would do anything. Hell, he'd probably
like it, the contrary bastard.
She didn't move her hand, though, kept it there, trying to detach herself
from the effect of his hard-muscled body brushing against hers. Trying
not to pay attention to the clean soap smell of his skin, the warm, spicy
undertones that were all Smith.
He'd taken her breath away when he'd opened the door, in worn

jeans that sat low on his lean hips and a plain white tee that showed off
his tan and his tattoos and clung to the cut lines of his chest and
shoulders. His hair had been damp from the shower he'd obviously just
had and his black eyes were brilliant, and she'd been flooded with
memory about everything he'd once been. He was more than that now,
though, because now he had that danger, that menace he wore like a
second skin.
And God help her, that made him even more compelling.
Yeah, he'd taken her breath away and it was still gone, and now the
bastard wanted to talk about the past. Which was the last thing on earth
she wanted to do.
She'd come here primed and ready to take off her clothes, to enjoy
some hot, sweaty, sexy times before grabbing her skip and getting out.
That was all.
But now he was changing things, bringing up subjects she didn't want
to think about. At all.
You knew that' s what he wanted.
Yes, but she'd been counting on him being too desperate to get her into
bed to bother with stupid, pointless things like talking. Obviously, she'd
been wrong.
She swallowed, trying not to let show her sudden uprush of what surely
couldn't be fear. God, this was all such ancient history. She'd put it
behind her, why couldn't he?
Putting one hand on his chest while keeping the other over his fly, she
leaned in, pressing delicately against him. "You want to talk now?
Really?" Gently, she squeezed him. "Are you sure about that?"
There was a dark, fierce anger in his eyes and it hit her once again,
more forcefully this time, that he wasn't the handsome, easygoing
young laborer she'd once dared herself to kiss; the gentle guy who'd
soothed the wildness of all those intense new feelings that had burst
into life inside her the moment she'd touched him.
This man wasn't gentle or easygoing and he sure as hell didn't give a
shit about her feelings. "I wouldn't have said it if I wasn't."
"But you're hard."
"So? I don't let my cock make my decisions for me." He paused.

"At least, not these days."
She could feel her flush deepen, remembering how she'd begged him to
touch her, to take her. How badly she'd wanted him and how terrible his
resistance had felt at the time. She'd been so lonely. She'd only wanted
to feel close to someone. .
You forced him into it and then you hung him out to dry.
Nora pushed the thought away. No, she hadn't forced him. She'd made
the first move, sure, but he'd wanted her, he really had. And as far as
her father went, she'd been young and scared and stupid. Surely he'd
understand that, right?
She removed her hand and took a breath, stepping away. Then,
rethinking her "no beer" stance, she reached for the bottle. Might as
well, if he was going to drag this out. She was probably going to need
it.
"Fine, your call." She tipped the bottle up and took a long sip, the cold
liquid feeling good against her dry throat. "Talk away."
Smith took another drag on his beer, his gaze on hers, looking at her as
if he'd never seen her before in his entire life.
A tense silence fell that he made no move to break.
Dammit, if he wanted to talk, he should say something, not stand there
staring at her. Irritated and trying not to take any notice of the sudden,
cold feeling in her gut, she turned away and walked over to the huge
kitchen windows that looked out over the rolling lawns and trees of his
property. She could see the lake sparkling not far off. There must be a
fantastic view from the front of the house if this was what she could see
from the kitchen.
An echo of the gut punch she'd felt when she first walked through his
front door hit her again, softer this time but no less intense.
She remembered the house they'd talked about together, no matter the
lie she'd told him. The house they'd both planned for him. Where he
was going to live and raise his kids and have a good life. A life she'd
always secretly dreamed she'd be a part of.
Come on, like you' d ever be part of anything like that.
Nora's fingers clenched tight around the bottle. No, she wasn't going to
give in to that kind of thinking. Not anymore. Anyway, whatever had
happened to that dream and whatever she thought about

Smith, she couldn't help but be impressed that he'd done what he'd said
he would. That the dream was now a reality.
Unlike your own dreams.
"So, uh, you built this yourself?" she asked, drowning out the voice in
her head.
"Parts of it I did. Had a builder for the rest."
She wasn't surprised he'd done some of it himself. He'd always been the
kind of guy who preferred that to paying someone to do it for him.
"How long have you been in here?"
"The builder finished a couple of months ago, so not long."
"It's..." Beautiful. Perfect. Everything we thought it would be. "Nice."
No, she didn't feel like she'd missed out on something. No, she wasn't
disappointed that this wasn't hers to share with him. She'd long since
put aside those kinds of feelings.
"Nice?" He gave a low laugh, the rough velvet in the sound like a caress
down her spine. "Yeah, nice is one word for it."
Nora lifted her beer and took another long sip, thinking about the shitty
one-bedroom apartment she lived in. "Damn sight nicer than my
place." She stared out the window, at the lake sparkling in the distance.
"How did you get the money for all this? I mean, it must have been
expensive...." She trailed off, realizing suddenly that perhaps that
wasn't the best question. He was the president of an outlaw motorcycle
club, after all. Any money he earned was going to be via some illegal
means.
"I won't have my goddamn kid throwing herself away on filth like him.
He' s trash, Nora. Always was and he always will be, and the sooner
you realize that, the better. " Her father, looking at her from behind his
desk, so cold and remote. "We'll be meeting with his boss tomorrow
and when we do, I don't want to hear a word out of you. Not one single
word. Not if you know what's goodfor you, understand? "
She shivered, realizing that as she looked around she was pricing
everything, seeing the expense in the polished wood and gleaming
steel, in the expanses of plate glass and the glitter of tiles. Measuring
everything up just like her father used to do, to see if it was worthy.
The way he used to do to you, right?
"Yeah," Smith said from behind her, his slow, sexy drawl sounding

even more pronounced. "It was fucking expensive. So what are you
thinking? That all this comes from drugs and guns and whores?"
She hated how he seemed to read her thoughts without even looking at
her face. "That's...not what I was thinking." The lie was so obvious, it
was embarrassing.
Smith gave another of those low, rough laughs. "Sure it was. You're
looking around my house wondering how a lowlife like me could
afford all this shit. And then you remembered what I do. What I am.
Guns and drugs and whores, like I said."
She stared through the glass at the rolling lawn outside, green and lush
even at the height of a Texas summer. "Well, was it?" She couldn't
think for the life of her why it was important she know that. But then, if
she was honest, maybe she did. Because whether she liked it or not, this
house had been part of her dream too and it contained a piece of her,
and the thought that it had been gotten with bad money was. shitty.
"What's it to you?" The question sounded casual, but she didn't think it
was. "After all, it's not your house."
Gotcha.
She took a silent breath, trying to figure out what to say. The truth
would reveal a whole lot of things she didn't want to reveal, not even to
herself. Yet, as he'd already proved, he'd be able to tell if she was lying.
Dammit.
Turning around suddenly, Nora gave him a tight smile. "Why don't you
show me around?" A graceless and obvious change of subject, but hey,
she'd take it. "I'd like to see the rest of it."
He turned to face her, leaning his hip against the counter. He had his
hands in the pockets of his jeans, his posture loose and easy, and she
couldn't seem to drag her gaze from the powerful length of his
forearms, from the black ink on his skin.
She hadn't fully paid attention to the tattoos she'd half noticed back in
the bar the day before, but she saw them now. On both of his arms were
intricate, tribal-looking bands of curved lines and squares and triangles,
and what looked like the petals of flowers. They were beautiful. He
definitely hadn't had them when they'd been together.
"What's the matter?" He lifted one dark brow. "Don't like talking

to me?"
She shrugged. "Hey, you were the one who wanted me to come here.
Might as well show me the place, right?"
He didn' t move for a long moment. The expression on his face was
unreadable, but from the way he narrowed his eyes, he was clearly
weighing something up. "Well, I was considering having a little chat
about how you dumped me in the shit back in Houston, but. I guess that
can wait." Finally, he pushed himself away from the counter. "Come
on, I'll show you the downstairs area first."
Smith's house was beautiful, she had to admit. Everything they'd talked
about together was there: the huge plate-glass windows, the warm,
polished wood floors, the plain white walls, the natural, stone fireplace,
the huge living area scattered with comfortable-looking couches and
chairs covered in rich, cinnamon-colored leather. She'd always
imagined paintings and sculptures on the walls and on shelves, but
there weren't any in this house. And, strangely, it didn't make it seem
impersonal or sterile, like she'd always imagined a house without art to
be, but more a plain backdrop to set off the view of the lake and the
trees beyond the windows. In fact, the whole place gave off a
comfortable, lived-in vibe that she couldn't help warming to.
Smith may not have had art or sculptures in his house, but there were
little things scattered about that made this place undeniably his. A
couple of photos propped up against a shelf, one of a Harley, the other
of a group of men in vests and beards, holding beers and grinning like
maniacs. A tin of screws and bolts sat on a windowsill, a wrench beside
it. On the low coffee table that looked like it had been carved whole out
of the trunk of a tree, was a stack of bike magazines. A huge stereo was
arranged with obvious care against the wall on a long, low console
table. From the lack of buttons and the featureless black-slab quality of
the electronics, it was clearly very expensive.
As she'd thought back in the kitchen, the view from the living room was
spectacular.
Skirting one of the couches, she wandered over to the windows again,
trying to ignore Smith at her back, watching her intently. "Nice view,"
she managed, a strange thickness in her throat.

"Get a great sunset from here, that's for sure."
Another silence, even heavier this time.
She swallowed. This was ridiculous. "And upstairs?"
"A couple of bedrooms, including mine. Another bathroom too." A
pause. "You wanna see them?"
"I guess I'll see them eventually, right?" She turned from the view, back
to face him. "Now's a good time."
His intense dark gaze didn't flicker from hers, not even for a moment.
"Talk to me, Nora."
It sounded like an order, sending a bolt of weird electricity down her
spine, stiffening it. "Talk about what?" she snapped. "The house you
built with guns and drugs and whores? The stunt you pulled back in that
bar, holding Brook over my head to get me to fuck you? Sure, let's talk
about all those things right now."
He stood in the middle of the room, tall and dark and immovable, the
high, vaulted ceiling soaring above them, and folded his arms. "Oh, no,
you don't get to be angry about that, no fucking way." His gaze settled
on her, hot and dark and implacable. "No more distractions. Let's talk
about what happened eight years ago instead."
Nora wanted to look away. Wanted to look anywhere but at him. But he
was standing there, all six foot four of muscled male hotness, blocking
her escape. Not that she could walk out anyway, since she had a
horrible feeling he'd just reach out and stop her.
The only thing she could do was confront him head-on, the way she
should have done from the beginning. Pretend it didn't matter, that it
didn't hurt. Pretend the way she'd been pretending for years.
Lifting her chin and squaring her shoulders, she looked straight back at
him. "All right. So talk. You're obviously still really mad, so why don't
you get whatever it is off your chest?"
He said nothing, staring at her, and she had no idea at all what was
going on in his head. But there was something flickering in his eyes and
she couldn't tell whether it was anger or desire or a mixture of the two,
only that it was hot, intense. Burning.
"You know what's funny, Nora?" he said after a long moment, his
gravel-and-velvet voice a low rumble in the silence. "The fact that
you're

getting all angry and self-righteous about this house, about Dust, about
what I want from you in return, and yet you didn't have a fucking
problem with treating me like shit all those years ago."
She'd spent a long time ignoring what she'd done to him, ignoring all
the lies she'd told herself. Telling herself the past was over and done
with, that she couldn't repair the damage she'd caused so what was the
point of even thinking about it? It had happened. She couldn't change
the behavior of the scared, needy little girl she'd once been. All she
could do was try to be different now, so that's what she'd tried to do. Be
independent. Be strong. Take no crap. Think for herself and not give a
rat' s ass what anyone else thought.
And gradually, she'd managed to convince herself that she'd gotten
over it. That she was fine, that it didn't hurt anymore. That the past was
dead and gone.
But of course it wasn't.
Pain blossomed in her chest, his words a bullet ripping through all the
defenses she'd carefully built for herself over the years, the walls of
denial and justifications she'd surrounded herself with.
Her past wasn't dead and gone. It was right here, staring at her with
those intense black eyes. Confronting her in ways she'd never
imagined.
She swallowed, feeling small and vulnerable, and completely unlike
herself. She was supposed to be cocky and confident, a smartass. She
wasn't supposed to be angry and defensive and shrill.
Yet eight years of protecting herself was a habit that she couldn't easily
get out of.
"I already said I was sorry," she said belligerently and lifted her chin.
"What more do you want me to say?"

Chapter 6
Nope, that fucking awful excuse for an apology had sounded like shit
ten minutes ago and it still sounded like shit now. And if she thought
that was the end of it, thought she could keep distracting him by
playing off his pride in his house, making him show it off like a proud
little boy to his mommy, she was wrong.
Smith prowled closer to her, watching her tense as he got nearer. But
she held her ground and didn't flinch away from his gaze. Evening sun
was streaming through the windows, gilding her beautiful hair,
glowing on her golden skin. But her cheeks were pale and there was an
unexpected darkness in her brown eyes.
Beneath his anger, came the faintest twinge of sympathy, the need to
take her in his arms and soothe her, comfort her the way he once had.
But he forced it away.
The anger inside him wouldn't be denied. An anger that hadn't faded
but turned in on itself, fermenting over the years like bourbon in a cask
and yet, unlike bourbon, it hadn't gotten more mellow with age, it had
only gotten stronger and more raw.
Even now she was denying him, just like she denied him that day in her
father's office. He'd stood there waiting for her to back him up, to tell
her old man the truth, that he hadn't forced her or seduced her or any of
the shit Sutcliffe kept spouting. But she didn't. She just put her head
down and stared at the floor instead.
Remind you of anyone? She's not the first to leave you high and
dry.
There had been his drunken prick of a father, sure, and that night in the
emergency room. But, shit, that had been years earlier.
He'd broken his arm after getting into a fight at school, because
apparently having an alcoholic for a dad was funny and kids liked to
tease him, pick on him about it. He always tried to ignore them, tried to
be good and not hit them back, because his dad didn't like it when he
got into trouble. But that day he forgot and they pushed him too far, and
so he retaliated and got his arm broken for his trouble.

His father had been pissed, had hated the attention it drew onto their
family and onto his own failings. "Fucking useless waste of space, " he
spat at Smith. "If you can't keep out of trouble, you can damn well
suffer. I'm not spending my hard-earned cash on you. "
Then he'd turned around and left him in the ER with his arm still
broken.
He'd been only ten.
"You're sorry, huh?" He stopped not far away from her, shoving
thoughts of his father right the hell away since that sorry incident had
nothing to do with this. "That's all I get? After what you did?"
Her jaw was stubborn, her expression angry and defensive. "After
'what I did'? I didn't do anything. Stop making me feel like I killed your
firstborn or something."
His anger twisted, cutting him like razor wire. "Yeah, nothing is
exactly what you did. After that summer we had together, after I poured
out my fucking heart to you, when the shit hit the fan, you fucking
dumped me straight into it."
Angry heat flared in her eyes, golden sparks leaping high. "Okay, so I
didn't speak up. I didn't tell Dad the truth and yes, I should have. But
Christ Almighty, Smith. I was eighteen years old. I was a kid. And Dad
told me if I said a word, I'd—" She stopped all of a sudden, biting her
lip.
"What?" he demanded, not taking his eyes off her face. "He told you
what?"
Her throat moved, her gaze flicking away then back again. "That.. .I
wouldn't be his daughter anymore."
A cold shock moved through him, though he did his best to ignore it.
Because of course Don Sutcliffe would have manipulated Nora to get
her to do what he wanted, that's what guys like him did. But he'd
thought she was stronger than that. That he would mean more to her.
Shit, even just one word from her, just one fucking word.
You stupid fuck. Like she would have gone against her dad for you.
He ignored that thought too, taking another step toward her. "So that' s
your excuse for ruining my goddamn life? You wanted to stay your
daddy's favorite little girl so you threw me to the fucking wolves?"

Her chin firmed and suddenly she was the one coming toward him,
getting right up in his face the way she'd been doing since yesterday. As
if she wasn't scared of him and wasn't intimidated. It made something
even hotter join his anger, adding petrol to an already blazing fire.
"What do you mean I ruined your life?" she demanded. "I'm sorry you
got fired, I really am, but that's no excuse for acting like a douchebag in
the bar yesterday, or for blackmailing me into bed. I was only trying to
do my job, which, FYI, has nothing to do with what happened eight
damn years ago."
She didn't know. She really didn't. Because if she did, surely she'd be a
hell of a lot more sorry than she was now. Unless she really doesn't
care...
But he didn' t want to think about that, or why he was pushing her so
hard. What he wanted from her or why the past mattered so very much
to him. All that seemed important now was getting some fucking
satisfaction out of her.
Smith stared into her dark eyes. "Hate to disappoint you, golden girl,
but it has everything to do with what happened eight years ago." He
took another step, so they were mere inches apart. "You wanna know
what happened after your daddy got me fired? He put it around that I
assaulted you, that I was a rapist, that I couldn't be trusted. I couldn't get
another job after that, not even cleaning toilets at a truck stop. No one
would hire me, not one single goddamn person."
She blinked, golden lashes fluttering, the cotton of her tank stretching
over the perfect curves of her breasts as she took a sudden,
sharp breath. "What?"
He could feel his mouth stretching in another feral grin, something
inside him taking primitive pleasure in her obvious shock. "You heard
me. I couldn't get a job. So it was either start again somewhere else, or
became a Ministry prospect. But you know what?" He leaned in even
closer. "I couldn't face starting over somewhere else. I wanted to be
good, show your dumbshit dad I wasn't the trailer-park-trash kid he
thought I was. So I joined the army, did a couple of tours." He let the
feral grin on his face become savage. "I guess I should thank you.
Fucking Afghanistan showed me there's no such thing as good or bad,

that people die the same way, angel or devil. It's a kill-or-be-killed
world out there, golden girl, you showed me that and I should have
remembered. Good guys die just as easy as bad so what's the fucking
point of trying? So I came back, joined the Ministry and the rest, as
they say, is history."
She didn't say anything, but she'd gone very white, her eyes huge.
A heavy, intense silence settled over the room.
"What?" He kept his voice low and harsh. "Got nothing to say? Nothing
to say at all? Guess nothing's changed then. When push comes to
shove, you're still a fucking disappointment."
In some dim part of his brain, the part that wasn't entirely made of rage,
he knew he' d gone too far. And when she flinched, a thread of shame
wound through him.
But what could he say? She had disappointed him. The night they'd
been discovered, she'd told him she loved him, and he'd been going to
tell her the same thing. Yet he'd never gotten the chance. And when he
was hauled into her father' s office to face the music the next day, he'd
fully expected her to tell her father that he was a lying sack of shit.
Smith hadn't known much about love, but he'd thought that's what
people who cared about you were supposed to do. They were supposed
to back you up, support you. But she hadn't then and the fact that she
was silent now felt like she was rubbing salt in the wound.
And? This is all old ground you 're going over. What the fuck are you
expecting to get out of it?
An apology, some hot sex, and then moving right along with his
goddamn life, that's what he'd been expecting to get out of it. He
just...hadn't thought he'd feel this angry, this bitter. Even after all this
time.
Nora had turned away, looking down at the floor, her shoulders
hunched, her arms crossed protectively over her chest as if his words
were blows, hitting her.
The thread of shame wound deeper and, along with it, that soft, stupid
need to reach out to her, pull her into his arms and hold her. She'd
always melted against him, burrowing her head against his chest as if
she needed him, and he'd loved that. Loved feeling like he was her
go-to

guy. The guy who could give her comfort and protect her no matter
what.
But he couldn't give in to that kind of shit. He didn't do comfort, he
didn' t do soft. And anyway, he was still too goddamn angry to go
hugging anyone.
Great. You 're all butt-hurt about it and now you 're taking it out on
her. Excellent move, a-hole.
Well, that's what he was, wasn't he? An asshole. He didn't care. He'd
embraced it long ago.
"I didn't know," she said after a long moment. "I didn't know Dad had.
done that."
Her voice was small and vulnerable sounding, and for a second he
regretted what he' d said. "Bullshit," he muttered roughly, both to
himself and to her. "How could you not have known?"
She turned to look at him, her face white, eyes glittering. "Dad told me
I wasn't to contact you in any way so I didn't. I just.. .put you out of my
head, because that was easier."
Jesus. For days after he'd been fired, he'd waited in his one-room shitty
apartment. For a call or a visit or any sign at all that she was thinking
about him. That she was sorry. But a whole week had gone by before he
finally admitted to himself that he probably wasn't going to hear from
her again. It had been such a fucking bitter moment, because as far as
he was concerned, there was only one explanation for her silence: she
didn't give a shit.
It had crossed his mind that maybe her father had forbidden her to
contact him, but he'd thought that if she cared enough, she'd find a way.
The fact that she hadn't told him everything he needed to know about
that.
"So, you just put me out of your head," he said, bitterness staining the
words. "Just like that, huh?"
Anger and something that looked suspiciously like pain glinted in her
eyes. "No, actually, not 'just like that.' It was hard."
"Yeah? And you know what else was hard?" His fingers curled into
fists. "Sitting in my apartment waiting around to see if you'd call,
waiting for one goddamn sign you were thinking about me. That you

were sorry about all the lies your bastard father said about me. But you
didn't call. I got fucking nothing from you."
Her face twisted and she looked away again, biting down hard on her
lower lip, the way she used to do when she was concentrating or when
she felt deeply about something. "He wouldn't let me, I told you. And
he would have found out if I had in any case. I couldn't do anything,
Smith. I had to.. .let you go."
For some reason, that just made him even angrier and before he was
even aware of it, he'd moved over to where she stood, gripping her by
her upper arms and turning her to face him. She went stiff, her body
taut with resistance, but he ignored it. "You could have gotten out," he
said angrily. "You could have come to me. Jesus Christ, you knew
where I lived. Why didn't you?"
"Because I was eighteen, asshole. Eighteen! I hadn't even graduated
from high school. Going to you would have meant giving up my whole
life f o r . " She stopped suddenly.
His grip tightened on her. "Go on. Say it. Giving up your whole life for
a piece of trailer trash like me."
"No, that's not what I was going to say." The gold in her eyes glittered
with anger. "Stop putting words in my mouth. I meant giving up my
whole life for a guy I'd only known a couple of months. I never thought
you were trailer trash, Smith. Not once, so I have no idea where you got
that idea from."
Jesus, she has a point. Where did that come from?
He had no fucking idea and he didn't want to stand around analyzing it
now. In fact, he was sick of thinking about this. Sick of the heavy mass
of emotion sitting in his gut, emotion he couldn't figure out and didn't
know what to do with.
What was important, though, was the feel of her bare skin beneath his
fingers and the delicate musky flower scent wrapping itself around
him, making him almost dizzy.
Yeah, shit, arguing about the past was a waste of time. Talking about
feelings was a waste of time. He was over it. All he wanted was her
under him, that was all that mattered now.
He tugged her toward him, pulling her up against him, watching

her eyes widen as their bodies made contact, her irises receding to a
thin rim of gold around the black of her pupil.
"So that's it?" she said breathlessly, her gaze dipping to his mouth as if
she couldn't help herself. "That's all you want?"
"No, of course that's not all I want." He let go of her arms, settled his
hands on her hips, then slid them down over the curve of her butt,
hauling her closer, fitting her tighter against the rapidly growing ridge
of his cock. "I'm just bored of this stupid fucking conversation."
"You were the one who wanted to talk about it." Her voice had gotten
husky, the pallor in her cheeks fading, lost under a stain of red.
"Yeah, and now I don't want to talk about it anymore." His hands
tightened on the sweet, giving curves beneath his palms. The tension
had gone out of her, the stiffness in her posture ebbing as she uncrossed
her arms and put her palms on his chest. There was a slight resistance
there, but only slight.
"Well, amen to that," Nora muttered with feeling. Then she slid her
palms up his chest, up to his shoulders and into his hair, and she pulled
his mouth down on hers.
Kissing Smith was an explosion, a burst of wild heat in her veins,
igniting every cell in her body, setting the whole world on fire.
Nora curled her fingers into the black silk of his hair and flung herself
headfirst into the flames. Because this was better than anger, and
certainly better than the guilt that twisted inside her like a giant snake.
She was furious with him for that alone. Absolutely fucking furious.
For bringing back all those old memories, all those old feelings. For
confronting her with what was basically her worst nightmare.
All these years she'd been telling herself that he was fine. That he' d
probably gone off and found himself a great new job, with a great new
girlfriend, getting himself the life he'd always talked about. That he' d
probably forgotten about her and how she left him hanging that day in
her father's office. Which was great, because then she didn't have to
think about him, didn't have to worry about what had happened to him.
Didn't have to let the guilt eat her alive. And if the fact that it hurt he

hadn't somehow known about her father's manipulation and come to
find her afterward, then she didn't let it show.
Sure, she'd loved him, but she'd been too young to throw away the life
she knew for an unknown future with Smith anyway.
Keep telling yourself that. It's better than the alternative.
What alternative? Telling her father to go to hell? Being kicked out of
home, with no money and no qualifications, all for a man she'd only
known a couple of months? Yeah, that wasn't an alternative.
But she hadn't thought it would all go so horribly wrong for him, that
her father would be so terribly vindictive.
Didn 'tyou? Didn 'tyou really?
There was a reason she didn't want to think about the past or her role in
it. It hurt too much. It was far too painful and it needed to stay in the
box she'd shoved it into.
She clung on tight to him, wanting to lose herself, heat leaping through
her entire body, like she'd brushed too close to a million-volt electrical
cable. Her lungs seized, every muscle taut, her skin feeling like it had
been washed with boiling water.
She trembled, honest to God trembled, part of her wanting to let go, put
distance between them, pull away before he realized what he was doing
to her.
But then that large warm palm of his slid around the back of her head,
holding her gently, inexorably, where she was. Keeping her lips right
where they were, beneath the light pressure of his own. Then his tongue
touched her, a light, insistent taste. And she couldn't stop the helpless
sound that escaped her, her mouth opening under his, allowing him to
deepen the kiss.
It happened very slowly, the sweet, liquid glide of his tongue inside her
mouth, the taste of him so intensely familiar it made tears start in her
eyes. Like the very first time she'd convinced him to come swimming
with her, and he'd kissed her in the shallow end of the pool, hot mouth
and cold skin and the bite of chlorine...
She hadn't had a kiss like it before and she hadn't had one like it
since.
Another large hand slid up from her butt to the small of her back,

exerting a gentle, inexorable pressure. Easing her more fully against
him as he continued the slow, maddening seduction of her mouth.
A second tremble went through her as the hard-muscled heat of his
body joined hers, and she found herself tensing up in denial, in
negation. Telling herself sex with him wasn't going to be a big deal was
one thing, but being faced with the actual reality of it was quite another.
It had been too long and she hadn't realized until now how much she
wanted it. And if this went any further she didn't know what would
happen to her, whether she'd fall apart or scream or, worse, turn into the
eighteen-year-old she'd once been, desperate for a man who was and
who' d always been far too much for her to handle.
You 're scared, just like he said.
A burst of determination shot down her spine. No, she goddamned well
wasn't. She was tough as nails and she was going to prove it.
So she ignored the urge that told her to push him away and protect
herself however she could. She made herself stand there instead, with
her fingers curled into his hair, letting his big warm hands hold her,
cradling her head and resting on her back, his lips moving on hers.
Letting his tongue explore the inside of her mouth as if he had all the
time in the world and wasn't in any hurry.
He tasted good, of those long, hot summers and the dark, alcoholic bite
that was all Smith. That taste had kept her coming back for more over
and over again, unable to get enough. God, she'd never forgotten how
intoxicating she'd found his kisses. Better than anything in her father' s
liquor cabinet. Better than the chocolate brownies Mrs. Jacobs, the
Sutcliffe housekeeper, used to make. Better than anything.
Nothing had changed. It was still there, that madness. That intensity.
The thing that had made her give her heart to a man who had no
business taking it. A man she should have known better than to be with.
But she hadn't. She'd been eighteen and lonely, and he'd been hot and
intense and so into her she hadn't be able to help herself. She'd fallen
for him in the way only a teenage girl can, with everything in her.
And everything she'd felt was still there, hiding underneath the veneer
of toughness she'd cultivated over the years. Still there in all its painful
glory.

She shuddered against him, the desperate, needy part of her she'd tried
to repress all these years suddenly wanting more. Because he was
deepening the kiss, his tongue sliding further into her mouth, licking a
response from her and then she was kissing him back, giving him the
answer he was looking for.
She felt the pull on her scalp as his fingers curled abruptly in her hair,
not so gentle now, his other hand pressing her hips more firmly against
him, the long, hard ridge of his cock pushing insistently against the
zipper of her jeans. Her lungs constricted as he gave a subtle roll of his
hips, her zipper hitting her clit, sending a shockwave of pleasure
through her.
"S-Smith," she whispered, her voice sounding hoarse. "You should...
You sh-should..."
His hips did another roll and another shockwave washed through her. "I
should what?" God, that rough gravel-and-velvet voice. It was a caress
all on its own. "Tell me what you want, golden girl. Tell me what you
like, I'll give it to you. You know I will."
Oh, she knew, but she wasn't going to tell him. She'd given him an
apology and she'd meant it, she really had. But the only other thing she
was willing to give him that he wanted was her body.
So she turned her head, claimed his mouth again, kissing him
aggressively, ramping up the urgency in both of them. The quicker they
did this, the sooner it would be over. Then she could get back to her life
and pretend this had never happened.
Smith gave a low growl deep in his throat, the sound echoing through
her, and the hand at the small of her back slid lower, his fingers
spreading out, curving over her butt, gathering all that soft flesh of hers
into his palm. He squeezed, not hard but enough that all the remaining
air in her lungs expelled in a sudden rush. And he fitted her tighter
against him, the firm press of his cock against her zipper insistent, the
movement of his hips rubbing at her clit through the denim.
She gasped, the sound muffled by his hungry mouth, the desperate
pleasure intensifying, waves of heat rushing through her. An
inexplicable fear tangled with it and she found herself pushing at him,
panicking for reasons she couldn't name.

But he didn't let her go, didn't let up that exquisite movement of his
hips, the gentle, relentless friction. One hand kept squeezing her butt,
the other gripping tight to her hair. And he kissed her, slow and intense
and hungry. Inexorable, inescapable.
Nora shuddered, trying to push at him and yet unable to stop herself
from kissing him back, from tasting him, from arching against the
incredible, muscular heat of his body. She'd been wanting fast, but not
this fast. She didn't want to be standing here, on the brink of an orgasm
not thirty seconds after he'd touched her. It would reveal...
What? The truth? That you're desperate? That no other man has been
able to do this to you but him?
No, Jesus Christ, no. That was a truth too far.
The air rushed back into her lungs and she pushed hard against him,
trying to get away, but again, he wouldn't let her, holding her tight.
Rocking against her, the hard ridge of his cock hitting her clit over and
over again, making her shake uncontrollably and moan into his mouth.
She fought the climax that began to gather at the base of her spine in a
great dark wave that built and built. She tried to hold it back, to not let it
break over her, crush her, wash her away, but it was impossible. It was
like trying to hold back the tide. It rose inside her, unstoppable,
unrelenting. Drawing sounds from her, sounds she didn't want to make.
Her fingers curled in the soft, warm cotton of his T-shirt and she
squeezed her eyes shut in a desperate bid to hide as those wicked hips
of his gave one last, delicious glide. And then the wave broke inside
her, helpless pleasure crashing through her.
She gave a sobbing cry, trying to pull away yet again, but he only held
her tighter, crushing her mouth to his as she convulsed, trembling and
shuddering under the pressure of the sensation, the hot, liquid ecstasy
that pulled her under and drowned her.
It took her a long time to come down from the high and when she did,
she found herself held firmly against his chest. He still had one hand on
her butt, the other back to cradling her head like she was a child. He
didn' t speak, only held her, surrounding her in heat and that spicy,
masculine scent she'd always loved.
She didn't want to move. Her head was pressed to the cotton of his

T-shirt and she wanted to keep it there, letting the aftershocks move
through her, leaving her warm and sated and almost blissfully empty.
The tension seemed to have left her and she thought if he let her go, she
might just float up into the air and away.
Smith said nothing and for a long time there was only the strong, steady
beat of his heart against her ear, the sure grip of the big, strong hands
holding her, the furnace of his massive, sleekly muscled body pressed
to hers, and the scent of leather and spice and musk. Then he moved,
his fingers tangling once more in her hair, drawing her head back so she
had no choice but to meet his dark eyes.
The expression in them stole her breath, desire burning bright and hot
in the black depths. "Jesus, you want me as badly now as you did back
then, don't you?"
What was the point in answering him? He knew the truth already and so
did she. It made her feel ripped apart; torn open and vulnerable.
Making her want to defend herself the only way she could: with a
challenge.
"Don't flatter yourself." She pulled away from him, her knees feeling
rubbery, and this time he let her go. "Rub a girl in the right spot the
right way and she'll come. Doesn't make you special." She was pushing
him hard, maybe too hard. She knew it. He knew it. But she couldn't
seem to stop. "So does that cock of yours actually work or are you
going to stand around talking the whole goddamn night?"

Chapter 7
She couldn't drop it, not for one fucking second. He'd given her a
quick-and-dirty orgasm simply by rubbing up against her, making her
go all soft and desperate in his arms, and yet the moment it was over,
she was pushing him away, all her tough-girl bullshit firmly in place.
As if it hadn' t touched her in any way.
And that fucked him off, because he knew it had gotten to her just like
it had gotten to him. The shocked, vulnerable look in her eyes when he'
d tipped her head back had virtually screamed it.
Well, she could stop all this pretending crap right now. He'd been
nothing but honest, letting her know how angry he still was, how much
the past still mattered to him even when it shouldn't. And he wasn't
going to give her all of that only to let her walk away without giving
him a piece of herself in return.
She'd thrown a lighter on the bonfire back when she was eighteen, and
all these years later, he was still burning. But he wasn't going to burn
alone.
Her face was flushed, the gold dust in her dark eyes brilliant, full of that
tough-girl challenge mere moments after she'd moaned against his
mouth. Acting like nothing had happened, as if she did that with every
guy she fucked.
Yeah, not this guy. Not tonight.
Smith reached out and hooked her around the neck with his arm,
pulling her close and not gently. She gave a startled gasp, but didn't
flinch away, her chin lifting instead, staring up at him, stubborn to the
last.
Oh, she was a piece of work, Nora fucking Sutcliffe. But he had an idea
how to take her apart. How to dismantle her until she was nothing but a
moaning and panting puddle at his feet. He would change her, ruin her
the way she'd ruined him. He'd make certain of it. She wasn't walking
out of here tomorrow morning as if he was just another fuck, not if he
could help it.
He gave her a smile that promised all kinds of things, satisfaction

moving deep and strong inside him as her gaze flickered away and then
back, as if she couldn't hold his gaze for too long. "You want a
challenge, golden girl?" he murmured. "I'll give you one."
Then he let her go, reaching for the hem of her tank and, without
waiting for her to speak, hauled it up and over her head. She said
nothing, letting him do it, unresisting. Underneath she wore a plain
white bra and he'd soon gotten rid of that too.
She made no move to cover herself as the fabric fell away, the last of
the evening sunlight gilding the smooth satin of her skin, but a deep
flush that started at her throat was now moving over her chest.
A good man would have looked away, given her some privacy.
He wasn't a good man.
He looked, stared, drinking down the sight of her bared curves like an
alcoholic downing a bottle of vodka. Her tits were beautiful, perfect
little handfuls of soft flesh, her nipples a deep pink, hard and ready for
his mouth. He wanted to start in right there and then, but he wanted her
naked before he touched her first.
No, on second thought, he wanted her naked and begging before he
touched her. He wanted her to be as desperate as she'd been in his arms
just before, desperate and moaning and completely open to him.
He said nothing, reaching for the catch of her jeans, undoing it, then
pulling down the zipper. Sliding his hand inside the waistband, the
smoothness of her bare skin tantalizing against his fingers, he gripped
the denim and tugged it down, taking her panties along with them.
A soft exhalation of breath was the only sound she made.
Well, soon she'd be making other sounds.
He didn't let himself look just yet, putting his hands on her hips and
maneuvering her over to the sofa, pushing her down on it. Then he
kneeled and dealt with her boots, pulling them off so he could finally
get rid of her jeans and panties.
Only when he'd finally finished with her clothes did he rise to his feet
and look down at her.
His breath caught hard.
She sat on the deep rusty red leather of his sofa, a pretty little picture
in amber, pink, and gold. Satiny golden skin, those

delicious-looking nipples a pale rose, and a cluster of golden curls
between her sleek thighs.
Her cheeks were deeply flushed, her dark eyes glowing with what
looked to be a combination of anger and defiance, but again, she made
no move to cover herself, letting him look.
So he looked. For a long time. Making sure she knew he was enjoying
the view.
She shifted on the couch, bright red and obviously embarrassed yet
trying not to show it. "Well? Are we going to do this or what?"
Ah, so she wanted this over and done with, did she? Yeah, he'd gotten a
sense of that earlier, when she kissed him, as if she was trying to make
him go faster. Sadly for her, he'd decided that slow and easy was the
way to go.
"This is my night, baby," he said softly. "And we're doing it my way,
got it?"
Her gaze flickered away from his then back again and she folded her
arms. "Fuck's sake. You got a control problem or something?"
"You could say that." He zeroed his gaze on the curls between her
thighs. "Drop your arms so I can see your tits. Then spread your legs. I
wanna see that pretty little pussy of yours."
Her jaw tightened and it looked like she was about to say something.
Then, clearly thinking better of it, her mouth firmed and she let out a
breath, dropping her arms back down at her sides. Turning her face to
the side, away from him, she let her knees fall slowly open.
He didn' t bother to hide the low rumble of appreciation that escaped
him. Remembering another time, another place. On the cushions of a
sun lounger, in the darkness of the half-built pool house, when she'd
taken off the little tease of a white bikini with nervous, trembling
fingers, finally revealing that delicious body he'd begun to dream
about. He'd stared then, unable to help himself, running his hands all
over her. She hadn't been embarrassed. She'd stared at him,
mesmerized, as he'd shown her all the things he could do that would
make her feel good.
She'd been a virgin then and although physically he hadn't been,
emotionally he had. It had been the first time he'd touched a woman he
felt deeply about. The first time he'd made love instead of fucking.

But this was different, wasn't it? This wasn't some tender reunion. This
was about nothing but the chemistry that flared between them. Tonight
was all about the fucking.
She was pink and soft between her spread thighs and he could see the
faint gleam of moisture from where he stood. She was wet. Ready.
Christ, he wanted to go down on his knees, push her legs apart even
further, bury his face between them and taste her. Make her scream and
cry.
And he would. He was just going to make sure she was begging
first.
Smith pulled his own T-shirt off and over his head, chucking it
carelessly onto the floor beside him, and he didn't miss the flicker of
Nora's gaze as she glanced back at him. And looked away. And then
back again.
He gave her a slow, wicked smile. "You like what you see?" Instantly
she looked away. "No."
Little liar. He'd seen the hungry look in her eyes, the way her gaze had
followed the line of his chest and down. Back in Houston, she'd never
made a secret of the fact that she'd enjoyed his body and she clearly still
did.
Smith went to his knees in front of her and leaned forward, placing his
hands on the couch cushions on either side of her hips. Then he dipped
his head between her thighs, bringing his mouth almost but not quite
touching her pink wet flesh, exhaling softly so that his breath washed
over her skin, watching as goosebumps rose and she gave a helpless
shiver.
"Wh-what are you doing?" Her voice didn't sound quite so confident
now, a husky undertone to it.
He didn't answer. After years of taking what he wanted when he wanted
it, not just diving in and tasting that delicious pussy was an exercise in
self-restraint he'd seldom had to practice. But he was determined. He
wanted her to beg.
Still, he lingered, inhaling salt and musk, the delicate scent of aroused
woman. Goddamn, she was hot. And his dick ached, pressing against
his zipper, reminding him that it didn't want to be stuck in his

jeans. It wanted to be right where he had his face. All in good time.
He turned his head, letting the rough stubble of his beard brush against
the tender skin of her inner thighs and she gave a jerk, the sound of her
breath catching loud in the silence. He turned his head to the other thigh
and did it again.
"Smith." She sounded breathless now. "For God's sake. Stop playing
around."
He lifted his head and met her gaze. She was deeply flushed and her
eyes had gone dark, apart from those fascinating sparks of gold. "I'm
not touching you until you beg me, Nora," he said softly.
She blinked, shifting on the couch. "You'll be waiting all night then,
won't you? I'm not begging for anything."
"Oh, I don't think I'll be waiting all night." He dipped his head again,
this time brushing his jaw against the silky skin of her stomach, feeling
her shiver yet again. "I think you'll be begging long before then." And
he went higher, giving her hard little nipples the gentlest of brushes.
Another sharp indrawn breath.
Fuck yeah. She wasn't going to make him wait, he'd bet his entire
fucking house on it. Nora had always been passionate, and no matter
what bullshit veneer she used to cover it, that passion was still there. It
was in her anger at him. In the way she'd melted in his arms yesterday,
in the way she'd gasped his name just before.
It was in the way she pretended to him so defiantly and so certainly that
the past didn't matter.
He brushed his beard over her nipples again, just to torment her, and
she made a soft inarticulate sound, her back arching. Yes, she wanted
this, but she was fighting it.
Well, let her fight him. He'd win. He always did.
He lifted his head, finding her dark eyes on him, watching. "Had
enough yet?"
Her mouth firmed and she pushed herself up straighter on the couch.
"This is stupid. Fuck me or don't. Stop playing stupid games."
"Oh come on, you're enjoying the stupid games." He sat back on his
haunches, letting his gaze trail over her body, all flushed and shaking

though she was trying to hide it. "You're getting off on it. I can see it."
He lifted his gaze back to hers. "I can smell it."
Her thick golden lashes lowered at that and she looked away. "Don't be
disgusting."
He laughed. "Getting all prim now? Doesn't suit you, golden girl. You
used to love it when I dirty-talked you."
"Yeah, well, maybe I don't now."
"Bullshit." He glanced pointedly down at her spread thighs. "At least
one part of your body is telling the truth."
She made an impatient sound and pulled her legs together. Oh, hell no.
He wasn't having any of that.
"Did I tell you to close your legs?" he demanded. "No, I don't think I
fucking did. So keep them open."
Her gaze settled on him, full of defiance and will. "Make me, Ace."
That familiar, intense, electric charge bolted down his spine, the one
he'd felt at the Rusty Nail the day before, when she'd challenged him.
The one that went straight to his dick. Fuck, he didn't know why her
defiance turned him on. Maybe it appealed to the hunter in him, the
competitive part of his personality. Maybe it was simply that this was
new and different and unexpected. A reminder that this woman wasn't
eighteen years old anymore, that she'd changed, had had experiences he
didn't know about and wasn't part of anymore.
You want to know what they are. You want to know all about them.
A hand closed around his heart and squeezed hard.
He couldn't deny it, couldn't pretend like she did. He accepted what he
wanted and he took it, that was the biker part of him, the one that didn't
give a shit what anyone thought of him. So yes, fuck yes. He wanted to
know. He wanted to know how this woman came to be. What had made
her leave her father behind finally, what had drawn her to hunting
fugitives. What had shaped her. He wanted to know everything.
Smith didn't smile this time, he'd gotten beyond that. He simply met her
gaze, letting her see that if she was a mule, he was a fucking tank.
He was the unstoppable force to her immovable object. He was going
to break her.

Smith' s eyes went a deep, impossible black and Nora felt like her heart
had stopped beating.
She'd been stupid to push him. He wasn't that good-boy construction
worker anymore. He was a biker president and not a man to be pushed
around by anyone.
And yet... She couldn't deny the thrill deep inside her. The one that
loved that dark, dangerous look in his eyes, the one that was a storm, a
hurricane, and she was directly in his path.
The one that made her want to stand there and take it, match herself
against it.
You've been searching for years for a man to really challenge you. And
all this time, he's been right here...
But if he'd been the man he was now back then, she wouldn't have been
able to handle him. He would have been too much for her, too scary,
too dangerous. Too everything. Eighteen-year-old Nora would have
been terrified of him.
She wasn't eighteen now though, and now, she was perfectly equipped
to deal with a man like him. She'd had a couple of years of being the
toughest bitch in the business, and taking on the toughest bastard?
Yeah, she wanted it.
She wanted to fight him.
And she wanted to win.
She couldn't drag her gaze away from him as he kneeled between her
thighs, his hands on the couch cushions on either side of her. He'd
always been beautiful but now he was even more so, if that was
possible.
His shoulders were wide and powerful, the muscles of his chest and abs
perfectly delineated, like a sculptor had taken to him with a chisel,
carving out the ideal shape of a man. She wanted to touch his smooth,
tanned skin, wanted to run her hands over the strong masculine lines of
him, feel those hard muscles tense and flex beneath her fingertips.
His shirt had hidden more tattoos and she wanted to touch those too.
The eagle with its wings spread gracefully out on his chest. Another
tribal-looking design of curving lines and inked black triangles on his
left forearm and shoulder, and another of a similar design on his right.

They were simple, beautiful. She wanted to know what they meant.
But then he was rising back up to his feet in one of those fluid
movements of careless grace that told of a man perfectly comfortable in
his own skin and with his own physicality. He straightened and her
mouth dried, because he was so tall and massively built, looming over
her, making her feel small and vulnerable and achingly feminine.
She shouldn't like that, she really shouldn't. But she kind of did.
One hand dropped to the fastening of his jeans, flipping open the
button. He kept that dangerous black gaze of his on her, not looking
away, his own challenge to her burning in the depths.
She shivered. If he touched her, she would win, and she knew he
wanted to touch her, wanted to desperately. It was there in the glitter of
his eyes, in the stain of color on his high cheekbones. In the big, hard
line of his cock beneath the denim of his jeans.
He took hold of the tab of his zipper without any hurry at all, leisurely
drawing it down as he stared at her.
Her breathing had gotten faster and her skin felt somehow tight, as if
someone had wrapped her in plastic wrap. She could still feel the soft
prickle of his beard against her inner thigh and across her sensitive
nipples, and she couldn't help shifting restlessly on the couch, moving
to try to get rid of it.
He watched her every movement with the intensity of a hunter and she
knew she'd given herself away.
"What are you doing now?" she asked breathlessly, attempting a
distraction. "If you're trying to make me do something, staring at me
isn't going to work."
"Uh-huh." His jeans were open now, her gaze helplessly drawn to the
trail of black hair that led down beneath the waistband. "Maybe you
should try staring at me instead."
Nora swallowed, her heartbeat loud in her head. She didn't want to stare
at him. She wanted the fight.
"I thought you wanted me to open my legs. " With an effort, she lifted
her gaze from his zipper to his face. Not that that was any easier, not
when the look in his eyes made her nearly self-combust. "Perhaps you'd
better think about it some more since you're clearly having

problems making your mind up."
He smiled, another one of his dark, hungry smiles that made heat break
out all over her body. "Oh, I have no problem with making my mind up.
I know exactly what I want. I think it's you who's got the problem,
golden girl. You want to fight me, you want to win against me, you
want me to make you do what you're telling yourself you don't want
because you can't bear to admit it to yourself." His hands dropped to the
waistband of his jeans. "Admitting what you want isn't a failure,
sweetheart. It isn't a weakness. But if you want me to make you do it so
you don't have to blame yourself later, then I'm okay with that." That
smile of his gleamed white. "You can fight me, Nora. But you won't
win." Then, as if to prove his point, he shoved down his jeans and
underwear and stepped out of them.
She blinked, struggling to get a breath.
Smith had been absolutely magnificent naked before. He was even
more magnificent now. Powerful thighs, long lean calves. His cock big
and hard and ready for action.
He stared at her without any self-consciousness at all, a man who was
glorious and knew it. Either that or he just didn't care.
"You're kind of a dick," she said, trying and failing to keep the hoarse
edge out of it. "An arrogant dick."
That smile of his only grew wider. "Yeah. And you love it."
She did love it. That was the problem. And she loved it even more
when his hand slid down to the base of that magnificent cock and his
fingers slid around it, and he gripped himself hard.
She didn't want to look, but she couldn't drag her gaze away as he
began to move his hand up and down, pumping himself in a lazy
movement. Holy shit, she'd never thought watching a man touch
himself would be hot, but it was.
His smile was wicked, his eyes glittering. "Feels good, Nora. But I bet
your hand doing this would feel even better."
"You seem to be handling things all on your own." Her voice sounded
scratchy and not at all like hers. She needed to look away, she really
did. But her gaze remained firmly on the long, slow movement of his
hand, on the flex and release of his abs, on the tension in his forearm,

and the hard, hot length he held in his palm.
What's the point fighting him? Sure, you want to win, but winning isn't
everything. Not when losing means he gets to make you feel good...
And he would make her feel good. He'd make her feel so good.
The throb between her legs intensified, an ache that seemed to pulse in
time with the movement of his hand on his cock, making her want to do
exactly what he said, spread her legs so he could see.
He made a low sound of pleasure in his throat. "I can keep doing this all
day, believe me. Stamina is something I'm not short on."
He wasn't short on anything anywhere else either.
Nora dragged her gaze away from his hand, up over the hard planes of
his chest, up to his magnetic, intense face. In his eyes heat flamed,
pleasure and hunger a bright, burning fire. There was a stain of red
along his high cheekbones, his breathing coming faster, harsher in the
silence of the room.
He would get himself off without her, she could see it in his face.
This was stupid. Denying herself what they both wanted for her pride's
sake was stupid.
Is it pride, though? Or are you just scared?
She caught her breath. Maybe she was. Maybe she was afraid that all
those old feelings she'd thought she'd long since gotten rid of were still
there, bubbling away under the surface. And that passion would make
them break free.
You know they' re still there, you can feel them.
Okay, so maybe they were. But she was different now. She was
tougher, and those old feelings were no longer part of the equation, not
if she didn't want them to be. Except for lust, of course, and she had
plenty of that going on right now.
And apart from all of that, losing one fight didn't mean losing the entire
war.
Slowly, Nora let her legs fall open, giving him the view he'd asked
for.
A low growl escaped him, his attention dipping down, and maybe the
deep and obvious satisfaction that flared across his face would have
irritated her if she hadn't noticed the way he seemed as much in thrall to

what she was doing as she was to him.
It only increased the pressure of that nagging ache.
Smith's hand didn't stop and he didn't move, his gaze flicking back up
to hers. "You're gonna do what I tell you to from now on, hmmm? Is
that what you' re trying to tell me?"
"If you say so."
He gave a low, husky laugh that whispered all over her skin, making
the heat inside her double. "Oh, no, gimme the words, golden girl. I
wanna hear them."
Dammit. He was going to make her say it, the bastard.
Nora shifted on the couch, made herself meet his brilliant gaze. "Yes.
I'll do whatever you say, Smith."
His mouth turned up. "Well, that wasn't so hard, was it?" His hand
dropped away and he was coming forward and kneeling in front of her
the way he had before, his hands on the couch cushions on either side of
her hips, the intense heat of his beautiful, perfect body hotter than the
midsummer Texas sun.
She trembled at that and the hungry look in his eyes, unconsciously
digging her fingers into the leather of the couch. Her heart was raging
behind her ribs and she didn't know what to do or what to say. Her body
felt like it was on the brink of something and the slightest touch would
push it over.
"Keep still," he murmured, his gaze dipping down between her thighs
again. "That's all I want you to do. Don't move."
"A-And if I do?" Goddammit, she hated that stutter.
"If you do?" he echoed softly. "Well, then.. .I'll stop." He lifted his
hands from the couch cushions and gently laid them on her inner
thighs, applying pressure, easing them wider apart, making her heart
beat even harder. "And you won't want me to stop, I guarantee it."
She tried to keep still, she really did. But it was almost impossible when
he bent his head, when his hot breath whispered over her aching flesh.
Her fingers dug into the leather even harder and she tried to moderate
her breathing. But that, too, was impossible.
Then he slid his fingers closer, spreading her delicate flesh and holding
it open, and he bent closer, touching his tongue lightly to her

throbbing clit and every muscle in her body tensed like she'd been
touched with a live cable.
He did it again and again, his tongue swirling around the sensitive bud,
making her jerk, making her gasp, making lights burst behind her eyes.
Pleasure was an electric current, shocking her over and over, the
sounds of her short gasps loud in the room.
She fell back against the couch, her whole body shaking as he kept up
the movement of his tongue, licking and licking and licking.
"S-Smith." His name was a hoarse whisper in the back of her throat and
she didn't know why she said it.
"I know." The words a rough, heated growl, making her shiver
uncontrollably. "I' d tell you I' m gonna make it all better soon, but that
would be lying. I' m gonna torture you, baby girl. You taste so good, I
don' t want this to end."
Those big, warm hands pressed harder, spreading her wider, and she
couldn't stop the groan that escaped her; the feeling of being held open
to him was so erotic she almost couldn't stand it. Then he bent and ran
his tongue straight up the center of her pussy and she just about
levitated off the couch. "Smith!"
He didn' t stop. His hands were hard on her hips, holding her down, and
his tongue was there, on her wet, aching flesh, licking her up and down,
long and slow. She groaned, arching helplessly, lifting against his
imprisoning hands.
Why the hell had she resisted this? Why had she resisted him, when
what he was doing made her feel so unbelievably good? She was
clearly insane.
He pushed his tongue inside her, shifting one hand to her stomach and
placing his palm there, pressing her down at the same time. Which
increased the intensity of the sensation.
"Oh, my God..." She arched again, trying to urge his tongue deeper or
higher, she wasn't sure which. She just wanted more, Jesus, so much
more.
But he seemed to be in no hurry, keeping up those slow, leisurely licks,
then changing it up with some nips and kisses to the soft, sensitive skin
of her inner thighs. The heavy hand on her stomach didn't move,

but when he eased a thumb down to brush nearly-but-not-quite against
her clit, she just about exploded.
Apparently he hadn' t been kidding when he said he was going to
torture her.
Everything began to narrow, the world fading away until there was
only Smith's tongue on her pussy, licking her, licking into her. Feasting
on her as if he was a food critic and she was a dish he'd been longing to
taste. Taking his time, savoring her.
Her pride slid from her grip and she began to beg him, shifting
restlessly under his hands. The only thing that mattered was the
building pleasure and the end that was going to come. The end she was
desperate for.
He murmured things to her, whispering soft, filthy things against her
slick flesh that added yet more erotic layers to the sensations.
There were tears in her eyes, and somehow her fingers had wound
themselves into the thick, black silk of his hair, gripping him for dear
life. She kept saying his name, kept begging, because now she had no
shame and this was getting to be too much for her.
Eventually, he shifted, sliding his hands beneath her butt and lifting
her, gathering her close. The soft prickle of his beard brushing over her
tender skin was almost painful, and when he began to sip at her gently,
like she was a cup of wine, the pleasure become an agony.
She said things, she didn't know what they were. She sobbed. She
begged for mercy.
But he didn' t give her any. He kept sipping, licking, and only when
she'd lost the power of speech entirely did he push his tongue deep
inside her, pressing down on her clit with his thumb as he did so.
Nora screamed, her whole body convulsing as the pleasure detonated,
sending a shock wave through each and every nerve ending, the
intensity of it blinding her.
She couldn't speak, could hardly breathe. All she could do was lie there
with her eyes tightly closed, her body shaking so much it was amazing
she hadn't shaken herself apart, as he eased her butt back down onto the
couch, his hands sliding out from underneath her, stroking down her
thighs as if to calm her. The echo of her cries throbbed in the air

around them, her own breathing loud and way too fast.
Oh, Jesus. He'd ruined her. The bastard had ruined her.
She didn't want to open her eyes, didn't want to look at him, so she kept
lying there unmoving, trying to put herself back together again.
He didn' t say anything, but she felt the withdrawal of his heat as if he'd
moved away. There was no other sound—God knew how such a big
man managed to move so silently—and she was tempted to open her
eyes just to see where he'd gotten to.
But then came a familiar rustling sound and she realized what he was
doing. A wash of heat went through her.
"Come here." His voice was soft, but implacable, his arms sliding
beneath her, lifting her, the solid heat of him under her.
She opened her eyes to find him kneeling on the couch with her sitting
astride him, her legs on either side of his lean hips. His expression was
tight with hunger, his eyes black and hot. He held her gaze and leaned
forward slowly, gripping the back of the couch. "Put me inside you," he
ordered roughly. "Do it."
"Say please." Jesus. She was an idiot. What had made her say that?
There was a devil in her that made her push and she couldn't resist.
"You do not want to fuck with me right now, little girl. " His voice was
taut, harsh, almost a growl, and there was a feral glitter in his eyes. "Put
me inside you. Now."
Another shiver racked her at the demand, at how close to the edge he
was.
You made him like that. You pushed him there.
She wanted to smile, but even she knew that would be a step too far. So
she reached down between them, finding the hard length of his cock
and wrapping her fingers around him. He hissed as she touched him,
his muscles tensing, and a deep satisfaction unfolded inside her. She'd
never guessed she'd still have this power over him, not after what she'd
done to him and not after so many years.
It was good to know.
Lifting her hips, Nora guided him to her, spreading herself open for
him. Then it was her turn to tense, because it had been a long time since
she'd done this with anyone and he was big.

"Look at me."
The rough, raw note in the words was impossible to resist and she met
his gaze, holding it, trembling a little as he flexed his hips, pushing
slowly into her. He didn't say anything, pinning her there with the look
in his eyes as he pushed deeper, her flesh at first protesting then
stretching around him, letting him in.
It was nearly too much; her breathing was ragged, quivering, and she
was unable to help herself as the burn of him inside her intensified. He
slid deeper, his hips pushing insistently against hers, pressing her back
to the couch.
"Fuck, you feel so good," he said thickly. "Even better than I
remember."
She was panting now, her hands reaching for his shoulders, wanting
something to hold onto. He was so hot, surrounding her with smooth
skin and hard muscle, the slight prickle of crisp hair. The eagle on his
chest flexed with his movements, the tattoos on his biceps moving as
his fingers closed on the back of the couch.
She groaned, sliding her hands up the powerful column of his neck,
cupping his strong jaw with her hands, his beard soft against her palms.
Had it been like this before? Had it felt this good? This overwhelming?
A weird panic rose up inside her and she leaned forward, suddenly
needing to do something, take charge of this in some way, pressing her
mouth to his in a desperate kiss.
He gave a rumbling growl, meeting her kiss with his own as he pulled
his hips back and drove them forward, slamming back into her.
Pleasure was an electric shock, a jagged bolt of lightning, and she
tightened her legs around his waist, kissing him harder as she held on
tight to his jaw. Again, and again, driving deep and hard, he pinned her
to the leather as he stroked in and out.
She couldn't believe how quickly the sensation began to build,
especially given that she'd had two orgasms already that day, and it
made her weird panic intensify. Her fingers pressed hard against his
skin as she struggled to ground herself, gripping him tighter, kissing
him deeper, with more hunger as he slammed her back into the couch,
over and over.

It was desperate, intense, the sound of flesh meeting flesh an erotic
counterpoint to the harsh pants of their breathing.
God, he was right. This was so much better. Because she was stronger
now, more sure of herself, more confident, and it was less about the
wonder of discovery and more of how much she could take. How much
they both could take.
Nora found herself arching to meet him in a way she hadn't before,
moving with him, being demanding in a way that her shy, nervous
eighteen-year-old self wouldn't have. She flexed her hips in time with
his, bit his lower lip, then pushed her tongue inside his mouth,
exploring him insistently.
He made a feral sound deep in his throat, his movements becoming
even more powerful, kissing her back as hungrily as she was kissing
him. This was the fight she'd wanted, a subtle fight for dominance, and
she thought he was probably letting her get the upper hand, but she
didn't care, not when the pleasure he was giving her was this good.
Perspiration made their skin slippery and she had to release him, her
hands sliding down his throat to dig into his powerful shoulders and
hold on. Not that he was going to let her go anywhere, not when each
driving thrust held her pinned.
She panted, staring up into his tar-black eyes, watching pleasure light
them, glorying in the knowledge that this was her doing. That she was
breaking him apart as much as he was breaking her.
"You want me," he said roughly, his hips slamming into hers, biceps
flexing, taut intensity in his face. "Tell me, Nora."
She couldn't deny it, couldn't bring herself to lie. "Yes. I...want
you."
"You always have." Another powerful thrust. "You always will."
"I...always have. I always... God... will." Somehow he'd found another
angle, the base of his cock hitting her clit in a way that made her see
stars. She arched back, her hips shifting in time with his, riding him.
"Yeah, you do." His head dropped, his mouth against her skin, teeth
brushing the delicate cords of her neck. "It'll always be me, golden girl.
Always."
She heard him dimly, the driving pleasure insistent, demanding.

And nothing seemed to matter but the movement of their bodies
together, the push of him inside her.
Her thighs squeezed tighter around him, holding onto him as he upped
the pace, moving faster, deeper, harder. She groaned and put her head
back, gasping aloud, her nails digging into his skin.
"That's right," he whispered, hot and dark against her neck. "Scratch
me, baby. Bite me. I wanna see your marks in the morning."
So she did. She scratched him, all the way down his long, powerful
back as the pleasure squeezed her in a vise. As each stroke seemed to
turn her inside out. And when it felt like she couldn't take it anymore,
when she felt like nothing more than a never-ending cresting wave that
only got bigger and never broke, he moved one hand, slipping it down
between their bodies. And he touched her, a light brush of his fingers
that sent her off the edge of the world.
And out into space.

Chapter 8
Smith buried his face against her neck, biting down again, unable to
help himself as the orgasm shot up his spine and just about blew the top
of his head off. She was trembling in his arms, her body convulsing,
that sweet, tight little pussy of hers gripping him like it never wanted to
let him go.
Christ, he could die now and he'd be a happy man.
The intensity lessened after a while and he lifted his head, looking
down at her. Her eyes were closed, thick golden lashes lying still on her
flushed cheeks, her golden skin gleaming with sweat. Her heavy braid
was over her shoulder, half of it starting to fray, small locks of hair
sticking to her.
Beautiful. Everything about her was beautiful. That he'd never
forgotten, at least.
After a moment to get himself back together, he shifted, pulling out of
her, then moving her off his lap and onto the couch. Getting to his feet,
he went out of the room and headed to the small bathroom just off the
hallway. Inside, he dealt with the condom and then went back into the
living room.
Nora hadn't moved, curled on the leather of the couch, one arm flung
over her face as if to hide, which gave him a certain amount of
satisfaction. Yes, he'd pushed her and pushed her hard, but he'd gotten
one truth out of her at least. She did want him. Three orgasms in a row
didn' t lie.
He went over to the couch and bent, gathering her up into his arms. Her
eyes opened with a shock as she realized what was happening, her
hands coming to rest against his chest.
"What are we doing?" Her voice sounded scratchy from all the
screaming she'd been doing, which only intensified that satisfaction.
"We're going upstairs," he said, moving through into the hallway and
over to the stairs. "We both need a shower and then we're going to
bed."
She didn't say anything to that, her body relaxing in his hold. One

hand lifted to his shoulder, feathering lightly over his skin. "I scratched
you."
"Good. I told you to."
"I haven't done that before."
An insistent feeling of possessiveness swept over him and he let it.
Jesus Christ, he didn't want her to have done that to anyone before. He
was going to be the only man who carried her marks, that was for damn
sure.
One night. Remember?
He scowled. Yeah, he fucking remembered. But that didn't make him
any happier about the thought of her doing what they'd just done
downstairs with anyone else. And of course she would have. A
passionate woman like her would hardly have been celibate all these
years and God knew, he hadn't.
"What's wrong?"
He glanced down to meet her golden brown gaze as they got to the top
of the stairs and he started toward the bathroom. "You got a
boyfriend?" He couldn't make it sound like anything less than a
demand.
Annoyance flickered over her face. "No. I'd hardly be here with you if I
had."
That should have made him feel better, but it didn't. "Have you had one
before?"
"What do you mean, 'have I had one before'?" Her gaze narrowed.
"Please don't tell me we're going to have the 'how many men have you
slept with' conversation? Because if so, right back at you, Ace. And I'm
guessing your numbers are going to be insane."
Truth was, he didn't know, because he hadn't kept track. They hadn' t
seemed to matter to him. As long as his partner got off and so did he, he
didn't give a shit. He'd never felt bad about it—that was just the way it
worked in the club, and both the brothers and the women were okay
with it—but for the first time in years, he found himself bothered. And
irritated that he was bothered.
"Yeah," Nora said, her tone acidic. "That's what I thought."
Damn fucking woman.
Smith stepped into the bathroom and put her down on the black

granite of the vanity. Then he leaned both his hands against the edge of
it and stared down at her. "Another night," he demanded, not even
realizing he'd been going to say it until it came out.
She blinked. "What are you talking about?"
"You and me. Another night together."
"But.. .this one isn't even over yet."
He didn't want it to be over and that was the problem. He wanted
answers from her, about what she'd been doing with herself all these
years. Why she'd broken with her family, how she'd become a bounty
hunter, shit like that. And then there was the fact that one night to do all
the things he wanted to with her wasn't nearly enough. Not if he wanted
to sleep, though quite frankly, he could do without that.
"So?" God, the scent of her was driving him insane, all warm and
musky and so fucking sexy it made his mouth water. Already his dick
was wanting more and he couldn't see any reason to deny it.
A crease appeared between her brows. "So. we only agreed on one
night."
"Yeah, I know. Now I want another one."
She let out a breath and he could almost see her gathering irritation. Her
shoulders had gone tight, tension around her lovely mouth. "Why?
What brought this on?"
He didn' t want to have to explain himself, he just wanted her to say
yes. But of course, with Nora, things had never been that simple. "You
enjoyed what we did downstairs, don't try to deny it. I've got the marks
to prove it, not to mention being deaf in one ear from the way you
screamed."
Her cheeks went pink, but she didn't look away. "And?" "And it was
good. Very good. So, why not do it again?" "Well, sure, we can do it
again. Isn't that what tonight is all
about?"
Her reluctance annoyed him. He didn't like being denied and he
couldn't kid himself it didn't matter to him if she said no. It did matter.
He'd decided he wanted more than sex in his living room and he wasn't
going to take no for an answer.
"It's not just sex I want, Nora," he said, going for straight up. "I

want to hear about you, what you've been doing with yourself, shit like
that."
A flicker of trepidation crossed her face and then it was gone, the doors
closing behind her eyes, her expression shutting down. Goddammit.
"Your memory must be really short, Smith. Because I'm pretty sure our
agreement was sex and that's all."
"Yeah, well, now I' m changing it," he said belligerently, his temper
beginning to rise. "I want more than that." Her jaw took on a stubborn
angle. "Why?"
Christ, was he going to get twenty damn questions again? After that
showdown they'd had already? "Because I just fucking do, okay?"
"Well, and what if I don't?"
His jaw tightened, his muscles tensing. Right, he'd changed his mind.
He didn't like this stronger, more stubborn Nora after all.
He glared at her, sorting through options. Not that he had many. He
could force her, use that blackmail against Duchess again or think of
another lever he could push to make her do what he wanted. Or you
could try something different.
Different. What the hell did that mean? He was used to getting what he
wanted without all this bullshit and when he didn't get it, he was happy
using force if necessary, depending on the situation. The more subtle
approach didn't work in his world, not with a bunch of men who were
all nearly as bad as he was. The only thing they respected was strength,
especially of the physical kind.
Nora's not a brother. She's not a club girl either. So either you convince
her another night is what she wants or you walk away.
Yeah, that was the problem. He didn't think he could walk away. Not
when her mouth was soft and red from his kisses and her skin was pink
from the bristles of his beard. When that strength and stubborn will was
like a flame in her eyes.
That was a side of her he hadn't seen that summer by the pool, and he
didn' t like it.
Turns you on, though. Unfortunately, it did.
Letting out a breath, he pushed himself back from the vanity,

conscious of Nora's gaze on him. He didn't look at her right away,
turning a few things over in his head, reaching out to the thick, tawny
gold braid that lay over her shoulders. Pulling the elastic hair tie off the
end, he began to carefully unravel the braid, her hair silky against his
fingers.
She frowned. "What are you doing?"
"What does it look like?" He kept his gaze on what he was doing. Her
hair was so soft, the delicate strands catching on his fingers.
Maybe he did need to do something differently. He'd come on strong
downstairs, no question, and she'd taken everything he'd thrown at her.
But there had been flashes of vulnerability that reminded him of the shy
teenager she'd once been. And of the guy he'd once been himself.
"Smith." She inclined her head away from his fingers, the braid pulling
tight.
He held on. "Quiet," he said. "And hold still. I'm thinking."
Nora gave a soft snort. "I imagine that's quite difficult."
Ignoring that, he ran his fingers through her hair again, pulling apart
more of her braid. He'd been gentle with her once. Maybe he could try
doing that again. "What about if I asked you nicely?" he said slowly.
"What about if I said... please?"
Her eyes widened. "What?"
He didn' t stop what he was doing. "I want another night with you,
Nora." A hesitation because, shit, he didn't ask, he told. And he
definitely didn't beg. "Please."
She'd gone quite still and he could feel her staring at him. He lifted his
attention from her half-unraveled braid to meet her gaze. And yeah, she
looked shocked. Well, so she should. He never gave anyone a fucking
please.
"What?" he demanded grumpily.
"You." She was staring at him like he was a complete stranger. "Saying
the P word. Do bikers actually ever use it?"
He looked back down at her braid, unraveling more of it, trying to
ignore the discomfort sitting inside him. "I'm not saying it again, so
don' t get used to it."

There was another silence.
"Was that really so hard?" It sounded like a genuine question. "You
don't say 'please' to a bunch of hardened motherfuckers. You pull a gun
and say, 'Do whatever I tell you to or you're dead.' "
"I suppose so." She was quiet a second. "Is that why you're like
this?"
He frowned. "Like what?"
"Like this. I mean, you never used to be this hard. This. mean."
Her braid was finally all undone and he raised his other hand, pushing
his fingers into the soft mass, getting out the last few knots, combing it
gently so it fell over her shoulders in a fall of toffee and gold and
caramel silk.
Hard. Mean. Yeah, that's what he was and he'd accepted that a long
time ago. Yet for some reason he didn't like the way it sounded when
she said it out loud. "I'm an MC president, Nora. You can't be a fucking
pussy when you're in charge of a club. And you don't make it to being
president without getting involved in some serious shit along the way.
Drugs. Hookers. We're not Boy Scouts." He looked at her finally.
"Besides, you're not exactly the sweet, biddable little girl you once
were yourself."
This time it was her turn to look away, her hands gripping the black
granite of the vanity as if she was trying to keep herself from falling off.
"Yeah, well. You can't be a pussy when you're in the bail bond
business, either."
"About that." He coiled some silky strands of her hair around one
finger. "Seems a strange career option for a spoiled little rich girl. What
did your old man have to say about that?"
Reaching out, she made an attempt to pull her hair out of his grip, but
he merely held on tighter. She made an exasperated sound, letting him
have it. "Dad doesn't know. We had an argument a few years ago and I
walked out. Haven't heard from him since."
Okay, she'd said she didn't have anything to do with her father these
days, but considering how in his pocket she'd always been, he hadn' t
believed her. He could barely believe it now. "You walked out?
Bullshit."

She lifted a shoulder. "Whether you believe it or not, it's true."
Fuck. So she'd made the break at last, but it hadn't been for him.
It's like you keep expecting that should matter to her. And it obviously
doesn't, so stop acting like a whiny little bitch about it.
No, screw that. He could accept she'd been too scared of her father to
do anything for him back then, but to hear that she had eventually
walked away later? Why? Had it been for some other sonofabitch?
The anger that had died to a sullen smolder burst into life again, though
he tried not to let it. "Why?" He couldn't seem to make it sound like
anything less than a demand. "What happened?"
Maybe she heard the angry note in his voice, because her eyes
narrowed. "It wasn't anything to do with you, if that's what you're
thinking."
No. It's what he'd been hoping, though quite frankly he wasn't going to
let her know that. "What then? He not buy you a pink Porsche or
something?"
"Asshole." She reached up and jerked her hair out of his grip. "He
wanted me to marry one of his business friends. And I decided I didn't
want to. He didn' t like it so I. walked out."
But he hadn' t missed her hesitation or the briefest flicker in her eyes, as
if the memory had held some kind of pain. "No, you didn't walk," he
said slowly. "He kicked you out, didn't he?"
Nora looked down at the lock of hair she held in her fingers, examining
it as if it was the most interesting thing in the entire world. "It doesn't
matter. I didn't want to be one of his chess pieces so I left."
Right, so he'd definitely kicked her out. What a prick. Smith wasn't an
expert on what made a good father, not when his own had been such an
asshole, but he did know that Don Sutcliffe had never really cared
about his daughter. Because if he had, he wouldn't have been absent
ninety percent of the time, leaving Nora in the care of various
housekeepers and nannies for most of her childhood. At least that's
what she'd told him, and he'd believed her. Certainly he'd never met
another person as lonely as she was.
Except maybe himself.
Smith put his hands on the vanity on either side of her thighs and

leaned forward. This time his anger wasn't directed her at her, but her
no-good prick of a dad. A fairly familiar target. "So, what? You just
decided bail enforcement was a good idea?"
She shook her head, her attention on her hair. "I wanted to get away
from Houston, so I came here, to Austin, and got a job in a bar instead.
I wasn't very good at it."
"No kidding."
An annoyed flash of gold caught his eye. "Hey, it was my first job ever.
I tried."
He really couldn't see his shy, nervous Nora serving beers and chatting
happily at the bar with customers, but he didn't doubt she'd tried.
"That's a long way from that art gallery you wanted to work at."
She stared at him. "You remembered that?"
"Of course I did." He shifted, for some reason uncomfortable. "You
wouldn't shut up about it." And she hadn't. She'd been so into her art,
talking about how she was going to college and getting some kind of art
degree, going to work in a gallery. It had been so far beyond his own
dreams and desires, he'd just kind of listened to her and marveled.
Nora abruptly looked back down at the silky rope of hair she held in her
hands. "Yeah, well, never got there, obviously. Duchess came in for a
drink one night and we got to talking, and. I decided bail enforcement
sounded a whole lot better than serving drinks."
Was that. regret in her voice? Sure sounded like it.
He reached out, put a finger beneath her chin, and tipped her head back
so he could see her eyes. "Why? Bail enforcement's not exactly what I
would have picked for you."
The gold flecks in her eyes gleamed, like she was angry. "You don't
know me as well as you think you do." She pulled her head back from
his finger. "And bail enforcement suits me just fine. Now, are we done
chatting?"
No, they fucking weren't. Not by a long stretch. She'd given him some
answers, but all they'd left him with were more goddamn questions.
Such as why she'd given up her college dreams. Why she'd decided the
bail business was where she'd wanted to be. And what had happened to
make her decide she didn't want to be under her father's

thumb anymore.
Smith leaned forward so they were almost nose to nose. "No," he said
quietly. "We are not done chatting. Another night, Nora. I want it."
Her eyes were gleaming, her mouth soft. He almost forgot himself and
nipped it.
"I didn't hear the P word."
"I already said it."
"Say it again."
"Fuck, no."
"Come on, Ace."
"Stop calling me that."
"Nope." Her gaze dipped to his mouth and then back up again. "As an
added incentive, if I hear it again, I might even kiss you."
A growl escaped him. "You're gonna be kissing me anyway,
baby."
"Stop stalling. Or is the big bad biker afraid of one tiny little
word?"
Fucking sexy, sarcastic little witch.
Smith lifted his hands and cupped her face between them, lowering his
head so his mouth was almost brushing hers. "Give me another night,
golden girl. Please."
Her golden brown eyes glowed. "I'll think about it."
Then she leaned forward slightly and kissed him.
Nora woke up with the sun full on her face and absolutely no sheets
anywhere on the bed. Beside her, Smith was sprawled on his front, his
arms folded beneath the pillow he was apparently hugging, his head
turned to one side. As she slowly sat up, he didn't move, his big body
still and relaxed in sleep.
She felt. good. Better than she had in weeks, which was annoying.
Because if it had only been the sex that she'd needed—and since they
hadn't done anything else all night but have sex—then she should have
broken the drought a long time ago.
It wasn't just the sex, idiot. It was him as well.
But she wasn't ready for that thought quite yet, so she ignored it,

studying instead the tattoo that stretched across his broad shoulders. A
skeleton riding a Harley with the words Graveyard Ministry MC
curling along beneath it.
She wanted to touch him, wanted to run her hand down that powerful
back, feel all those muscles tense, watch them move as he shifted. He
was a beautiful, beautiful man, no mistake.
But she didn't touch him, contenting herself with looking at him
instead, because she wasn't quite sure what she'd do if he woke up and
reached for her.
She wasn't quite sure if she was going to give him another night, either.
He hadn't been pleased when she'd told him she'd think about it, that
was for sure. In fact, he'd pulled her off the vanity and dragged her into
his massive, glass-walled shower with the amazing shower head, lifting
her up against the white tiles in a casual display of strength, then
pushing inside her. He'd been demanding, intense. Making her scream
his name again and again.
Better than talking to him about the past, though. Especially her past.
She still wasn't certain why she'd told him about leaving Houston. He'd
picked up on her little lie about walking out on her father fairly easily;
then again, she'd never been the world's best liar.
You lie to yourself pretty damn well.
Nora pushed her hair back from her face and sighed. Yeah, she'd lied to
herself about a lot of things, and Smith bringing them all back again
didn't help. So why she was even contemplating another night with him
was anyone's guess.
Maybe it was the fact he'd actually said please.
Or maybe once isn' t enough for you either.
She pulled a face. Well, maybe it wasn't. But it was more sex she
wanted, not deep and meaningful conversations about their lives. And
regardless of what he wanted, that's all she was prepared to give him. If
he wanted another night of sex, fine. But they weren't going to damn
well talk, that was for sure.
Slipping off the bed as quietly as possible so as not to wake him, she
spent a moment looking around for her clothes before remembering

she'd left them downstairs.
She padded down the stairs and into the lounge, finding her clothes
strewn all over the floor near the couch. Her phone was near her jeans,
having fallen out of her pocket, and she could see already a number of
texts from various different people on the screen.
Holy shit, it was ten a.m. No wonder people were texting her.
She dressed quickly, then sat down on the couch and texted Duchess
straightaway, telling her boss she'd slept in and she'd be there in half an
hour. Dammit. She hated being late.
"Not leaving already?"
The deep, rough sound of his voice made her go instantly hot. She
swallowed, standing up, pocketing her phone as she did so.
Smith stood in the doorway, his arms folded, his shoulder hitched
against the frame. He was completely naked and clearly fine with that.
Hell, she was fine with that, because, damn, the man was pretty much
perfect.
"I have to go," she said, her tone husky, trying to keep her gaze very
firmly on his face and not drift lower to. other parts of him. "I'm late for
work."
A wicked grin curved his mouth. Obviously he could sense the effect
he was having on her and was pleased about it. "Hey, if you're already
late, staying another half an hour won't matter."
God help her, she was actually thinking about it. But no. She needed to
get back to Duchess and let her know that the Brook/Dust issue had
been dealt with, because no doubt her boss would be getting antsy
about it.
"I need to get back to the office," she said, bending to pick up the
cowboy hat that had once been his from where Smith had tossed it on
the couch. "Duchess is expecting me."
The expression on his face turned skeptical, but he didn't insist. "Fine,
tonight then."
"What about tonight?" Nora put the hat on her head, adjusting it,
pretending not to know what he was talking about to mess with him a
little.
His black gaze narrowed. "You've forgotten already, huh?"

"Oh, you mean about another night?"
"Yeah. What did you think I was meaning?"
She grinned, enjoying his irritation. "Hey, don't get your panties in a
twist." Moving over to where he stood in the doorway, she halted in
front of him. Getting close to him was probably a mistake, because she
wouldn't put it past him to reach out and grab her, convince her to stay
another half an hour, with those magic hands of his. But she couldn't
leave without at least a kiss goodbye. That wouldn't be right after the
kind of night he'd given her. "What a grumpy boy you are," she
murmured, leaning in. "Okay, another night it is. But you'll have to give
me a couple of days."
Heat flared in his eyes. "No. Tonight."
"Not going to happen." She needed to show the damn man that he
wasn't the only one who got to call the shots. Besides, she could do with
a bit of processing time. "A girl likes her space."
Smith let out an irritated breath. "This is bullshit."
She wanted to smile at his annoyance and then remembered something
else, and all her amusement fled.
Dropping her hand from his chest, she took a step back, wanting to put
a bit of distance between them. "Oh, and about Brook..."
The look on his face hardened. "What about him?"
"You promised you'd give him to me." She felt a little weird about
bringing it up, especially after the night they'd had together. But still,
that had been the agreement between them. And Duchess needed the
guy safely out of the way. "Not to mention dropping the threat to
Duchess."
Smith' s gaze turned opaque, the black of his eyes like obsidian.
"Oh, yeah," he said flatly. "That."
She tried to ignore the small sliver of doubt that slid between her ribs.
"You are going to give him up, aren't you?"
He scowled, suddenly looking every inch the dangerous biker
president. "Of course. I promised you Dust and you'll get him. Gimme
some time to sort it out."
He wouldn't break his word, of course he wouldn't. And she didn't
know why she'd doubted. "Well, okay then. I'll tell Duchess I'm
handling it."

An awkward silence settled between them.
Smith abruptly pushed himself away from the doorframe, reaching out
with an easy movement and hooking an arm around her waist, drawing
her in close. Then he slid one hand into her hair and tugged her head
back, bending and covering her mouth with a hot, hungry kiss.
She couldn't resist the urge to lean into the delicious heat of his body, to
inhale the warm, masculine scent of him, to kiss him back as hungrily
as he was kissing her.
But he was the one who ended it, and way before she was ready.
Lifting his head, he released her and stepped back, making no move to
hide his obvious arousal. "You better get going," he said shortly. "Or
else I'm going pick you up, take you back to my bed, and to hell with
your fucking job."
Not needing to be told twice, Nora went.

Chapter 9
"Ah, Nora, there you are." Duchess was lounging behind her desk as
Nora pushed open the door to her office, at least two hours late for
work. A woman in a cop uniform turned to look at Nora. "Do you know
Officer St. George?"
The cop had a scattering of freckles across her nose and the kind of
glowing, wholesome prettiness that would be more at home in a butter
commercial than in a uniform. Copper-gold eyes gave Nora a quick and
surprisingly sharp once-over, the kind of look that automatically made
her middle finger want to turn up.
Restraining herself, she walked over and stuck out her hand instead.
"Sorry I'm late. No, I don't think we've met. I'm Nora
Sutcliffe."
The cop ignored Nora's hand, her eyes narrowing. "You're responsible
for the delivery of Garrett Brook, I'm told?" Okay, no handshake then.
Fine.
Nora ignored the sudden churning in her gut at the mention of Dust and
flicked a glance at Duchess, who raised a questioning eyebrow.
Well, of course. She'd told Duchess she'd handle it and since she didn' t
actually have Dust with her, her boss probably wanted to know what
was going on.
Putting her hands in her pockets, she looked back at the cop. "Yeah,
that's me."
"Ms. Hammond mentioned that you were having difficulties locating
him."
"I was having difficulties. But I've just come back from a meeting with
the Ministry president, who assured me he's going to hand over Brook
in the next couple of days." No need to tell them exactly what kind of
meeting it was.
Duchess was frowning. "So, you just took his word for it?"
There was a note in the other woman's voice that made Nora feel
instantly defensive.
Luckily you have a plan B already worked out.

True, she did. Maybe once she would have believed Smith, would have
trusted him to keep his word absolutely. But he wasn't that guy
anymore. He was a biker president whose first loyalty was to his club
and his brothers. Which meant that if he wasn't on the level, she needed
to find Dust herself and without somehow dragging down the Ministry
threat onto Duchess.
It was tricky, but she thought she'd come up with at least a vague plan
that should mean Duchess herself would stay out of it. Unfortunately, it
involved asking one of the Redmond brothers for a favor in locating
Dust, and that wouldn't make Duchess happy. Then again, beggars
couldn't be choosers and they didn't have a lot of choice.
A great reason to keep this secret from her boss. Duchess would flip if
she knew Nora was planning on calling on the Redmonds to help solve
this particular dilemma.
Ignoring her own defensiveness, she met Duchess's skeptical look. "He
gave me his word. I believe he'll honor it."
Officer St. George's expression was openly doubtful. "How do you
know? He's a biker, they look after their own, and I'm sure he'd tell you
anything you wanted to hear if it meant protecting his brother."
"And what's your interest, if I may ask?" Nora shot back, because she
really didn't want to get into this discussion. "We're the agency with his
bond. We'll do the job."
The cop blinked, clearly not expecting the question. "He could be of
assistance to various.. .inquiries."
That sounded vague as hell. Had Duchess told the cop about the
extortion maybe? Then again, probably not. The last thing Duchess
would want is the cops looking into her father's scam, whether she'd
actually been involved or not.
Clearly Duchess thought the same thing, "Leave this with me, Ava,"
she said with her usual calm. "I'll let you know as soon as we locate
him."
The cop's sharp copper gaze shifted to the woman behind the desk.
"Fine." The word was swimming in whole oceans of disbelief. "If you
manage to locate him."
"We will." Nora gave her a grin, because one way or another, she

certainly would. "I'll make sure of it personally."
"You do that, Ms. Sutcliffe." Officer St. George gave a short nod in
Duchess's direction, another dubious glance at Nora, then strode to the
door and went out.
"Wow," Nora muttered. "Uptight much?"
The frown hadn't left Duchess's face. "Sit down, Nora."
Nora sat and tried not to fidget.
There was an uncomfortable pause.
Duchess's gaze narrowed and she leaned forward, elbows on her desk,
clasping her hands in front of her, her blue eyes sharp. Here it comes...
"I have to ask," Duchess said. "What's the story with you and the MC
president? Do you know this guy or what?"
Hell. She didn't want to talk about this, especially not with Duchess. It
was her secret, no one else's. "That's kind of not relevant. Just know
I've got it in hand, okay?"
It sounded lame even to her own ears. "Look," she went on, trying to
sound stronger. "I've never let a guy get one over on me before, and I'm
not going to start now. I've got a plan B tucked up my sleeve if
President A-Hole doesn't come to the party."
Duchess kept staring, her gaze suddenly zeroing in on a spot on Nora's
neck. "Right," she said, slowly. "And I suppose it's not relevant in
much the same way as that hickey on your neck isn't relevant."
Shock ran an icy finger down Nora's spine and she only just stopped
herself from putting a hand to her neck. Damn Smith. God, what an
idiot. She should have checked herself out in the mirror before she'd
gone to work.
"So?" She went for nonchalance. "I got laid last night. No biggie."
Duchess didn't even blink. "Anyone we know?"
Nora shifted on her seat. "Do we really have to have an interrogation
about my love life? I've got some criminals to catch and—"
"We do if it concerns your job," Duchess interrupted. "You've gotten
all tense every time I mention this guy, which leads me to suspect
there's something about him that you're not telling me."

Ah, crap. She wasn't going to get away with another subject change,
was she? Duchess was going to get it out of her one way or another,
because the woman was uncannily perceptive. Might as well be up
front, get it out of the way.
Sitting back in her seat, Nora folded her arms. "Okay, okay. So I do
know him. He and I used to. have a thing a few years ago. When I went
to see him the day before to get that skip, we kind of got to talking and,
well, one thing led to another, et cetera."
Her boss did not look in the least bit surprised. "I see. So you're
sleeping with him?"
"I 'slept' with him. Past tense. It was a one-off thing." Apart from the
second night she'd promised him. Which she would give him at some
point, just not right now.
Duchess frowned. "I'm not sure I'm happy with you mixing business
with pleasure. Especially not with bikers and a skip we need to put
away."
Put like that, it didn't sound good. Guilt sat in Nora's gut, solid and
heavy, making her feel like she'd swallowed a lead weight. "Yes, I
know that." And how. "Like I said, it was a one-off thing. He's going to
get me Dust, so that's the—"
"Please don't tell me you slept with him in order to get the skip?"
The question was so fast and sharp that for a second Nora couldn't
process it. Then, when she had, shock made her blink. Did Duchess
know about Smith's little blackmail attempt? Because she couldn't, not
when they hadn' t told anyone.
Of course she doesn't know. It's just a guess so calm the hell down.
Nora forced out an are you serious laugh. "Come on, do I look like a
woman who needs to sleep with a man to get him to do what she
wants?"
But her boss's sharp gaze didn't waver. "It's not you I'm concerned
about. It's him. Because if he's threatening you—"
"He's not threatening me," Nora interrupted before Duchess could
really get going. "I promise." And he kind of wasn't. The person Smith
was actually threatening was Duchess, and fundamentally that hadn't
been the reason she'd slept with him.

No, she'd slept with him because she'd wanted to. Because she'd
wanted him.
Duchess gave her a dubious look, but Nora met it levelly. Her boss's
heart was in the right place and she couldn't be faulted for wanting to
take care of her employees. However, the situation with Smith wasn't
what Duchess thought, and Nora wasn't about to explain it to her. Not
when all she and Smith were going to have was a couple of nights of
hot sex and that's it.
"We done here?" she asked, her hands on the arms of the chair in
preparation for standing up. "Because I've got some paperwork I need
to finish." And a Redmond brother to contact.
Duchess let out a slow breath, obviously reluctant to let the subject go.
"You'll come to me if you need anything, won't you?"
"Yes, I promise. I can handle myself, Duchess, you know that."
Her boss gave her another one of those skeptical looks she'd perfected,
the one that often made Nora feel a bit like a naughty kid. But all she
said was, "Go on, then. Let me know when the situation changes."
Nora didn't argue, fleeing Duchess's office before her boss could
change her mind.
Back at her own desk, she managed to get hold of Rush Redmond, the
middle Redmond brother and an ex-con, who had a veritable who's
who of the criminal underworld at his fingertips. He was, as predicted,
an asshole about using those contacts to track down Brook, but when
she reminded him of the Redmond job she'd helped out on a month
back, rescuing Zane's woman from a drug cartel, he soon saw the light.
Then she spent the rest of the day doing laborious paperwork, a task she
normally loathed. But she was thankful for it since it kept her out of the
way, and God knew, she didn't need yet another person pointing out the
mark on her neck and giving her shit about it. Luckily, though, West
and Rhys were on jobs and were out for most of the day. Rose was too
busy doing something on her computer and didn't even look up when,
come 5 p.m., Nora dumped some files on her desk and headed toward
the exit, not even bothering with a goodbye.
God, she'd gotten off lucky, all things considered.

Now what she needed was a tub of ice cream, a few episodes of
Antiques Roadshow, and a night off from thinking about goddamn
Smith.
"So, you managed to get that bounty hunter bitch off my tail?" Dust's
voice on the other end of the phone sounded a little rough.
Smith, lounging back in his chair in his office in the clubhouse, his
booted feet propped on his desk, scowled. "Call her that again and I'll
cut your fucking balls off. You treat her with goddamn respect." There
was a brief silence.
"Yeah, sure, Prez," Dust said, sounding about as pissed off as Smith
felt. "And why the fuck would I do that?"
Since his VP wasn't actually present to glower at, Smith glowered at
the wall opposite his desk instead. Perhaps a lack of respect toward
Nora shouldn't have gotten him so pissy, especially since she wasn't his
old lady or anything. Yet he felt pissy about it anyway. Getting all
possessive, huh?
Well, and why the fuck not? The night before had been good. No,
scratch that, it had been the best he'd had in years, and sure, that made
him possessive. He didn't want any other motherfucker getting in on
that action, nor would he stand by and let any other motherfucker insult
her.
"Because she's someone I know from way back," he said, keeping it
vague because he hadn't told Dust about his and Nora's history, and he
wasn't going to. "But to answer your question, yeah, I got her off your
tail."
And he had. Sleeping with her had been a fine distraction
technique—except of course when she remembered his promise to give
her Dust that morning. A promise he'd had no intention of keeping and
still didn't.
You should tell her the truth.
Great idea. That would ensure he'd never get another night with her and
that shit just wasn't happening. Stringing her along for as long as he
could so he could get his fill of her wasn't a great idea either, all things
considered, but if that's what he had to do, then that's what he'd
do.
She'd be pissed when she eventually found out he'd been lying to

her, but he'd cross that bridge when he came to it. By that stage, with
any luck, he would have worked out this insane chemistry with her, and
he' d be ready to move on anyway.
"Thanks, Prez," Dust muttered.
"Sure. You keeping a low profile?"
"Yeah. Staying with a buddy in Waco."
"All right. And the emails to Duchess? You stopped sending those
like I told you?"
"That too."
"Good. We don't need any of that shit making things worse."
Too bad the damage was done anyway. Duchess wouldn't conveniently
forget about Dust until the threat he presented to her was neutralized,
which was a pity. Especially considering that Nora was involved with
the neutralization.
Awww. Going soft, asshole?
No, but lying to her made him uneasy for some reason. Maybe it had
something to do with the look she'd given him as he told her he was
going to give her Dust. Kind of like she doubted him, which was totally
fair since she should doubt him. He wasn't the guy she'd once known.
He was bad news. A troublemaker, just like his dear departed dad had
always said, and she should trust him as far as she could throw him.
Still. He didn't much like how that doubtful look had crawled under his
skin, but it looked like he was going to have to live with that, since if he
wasn't giving up a friend and brother because of some bullshit civilian
law, he certainly wasn't going to be doing it for pussy.
"I hear you," Dust said. "Don't worry. She won't be hearing from me
again."
"Better not. I got enough on my plate with all the rest of these
whiny-ass motherfuckers complaining about going straight, let alone
trying to handle your shit."
There was another silence on Dust's end of the line. "I should be there,
helping out."
"Yeah, you should. But you fucked up, and until this situation is dealt
with, you're going to stay exactly where you are, understand?"
Smith finished up the call and then sat there for a good ten minutes,

staring at the wall, trying to get rid of the restless, antsy feeling coiling
inside him.
He picked up the knife lying on top of his desk and began toying with
it. The steel blade glinted as he turned it in his fingers, hard, cold.
Deadly.
Usually when he felt this way, he got one of the club girls to help him
let off a bit of steam, but the thought of doing that right now left him
cold. Even imagining getting Bobbi, who could suck cock like a dream,
up here didn' t get him interested.
Because you don't want her. You want Nora.
Oh yeah, Nora on her knees in front of him. Naked, with her hair all
down her back and over her shoulders. He'd push his hands into it and
hold on tight, guiding that soft red mouth of hers to his dick. And she'd
take him in, swallow him down. She'd suck him dry, make him forget
how he'd promised her something he was never going to deliver and all
the stupid fucking feelings of doubt that went along with it. Then they'd
have a conversation and he'd get some more answers out of her, and
after that? Well, after that they'd start all over again.
His dick hardened instantly at the thought, in a way that it had never
done for Bobbi or any of the club girls. Jesus. One night with Nora and
already he couldn't wait to get back into bed with her.
It's kind of pathetic.
He scowled, taking the knife by the blade and aiming at an empty spot
on his desk. No, it fucking wasn't. He just wanted sex and to find out a
few things about her, and once his curiosity had been sated, he 'd be out
of there. A couple of nights of fucking wasn't going to turn him into the
lovesick asshole he'd been years earlier, pouring out his heart to girl
who couldn' t have cared less.
Smith pulled his hand back and threw the knife with a flick. It spun
through the air, the blade catching the light before embedding itself
with a satisfying thunk into the wood of the desk, exactly where he'd
aimed it.
And as for that doubt about lying to her, well, he'd just ignore that too,
because he was done giving a shit about anything but the club. That
was all that mattered to him these days. The club and his brothers, the
family that had his back and always would, unlike the fucker who'd

fathered him and the mother too tired and beaten down to care.
Unlike the girl he thought he could count on who'd let him down when
he'd needed her the most.
Smith grinned at the knife still vibrating in the desk.
She'd told him she liked her "space" tonight, but screw that. He wasn't
done with his payback. He'd take his second night and he wasn't
waiting.
Nora's apartment was east of the city center, in a featureless brick
building with a raucous bar on one side and a gentrified café on the
other. It was clean, if boring, and the best she could afford on her
bounty hunter wage. That her father would have been appalled if he
knew where she was living had always given her particular satisfaction.
Sure, it was a generic, one-bedroom apartment, in a sketchy area, but it
was hers, in the place she'd chosen, and if she sometimes thought
wistfully about how nice it would be to be somewhere with a bit of a
view or where she couldn't hear what her neighbors were doing through
the paper-thin walls, that was okay. She couldn't afford to move
anyway.
As Nora parked her car and then got out and locked it, a stray memory
of Smith's beautiful house with the view of the lake replayed itself in
her head. Yeah, she wouldn't mind something like that one day.
Maybe when you win the lottery or find yourself a sugar daddy.
Which meant never.
Her place was on the upper floor and it wasn't until she was
approaching the outside stairs leading to the second story that she heard
the sound of a motorbike engine behind her.
Oh, hell no. That better not be who she thought it was.
She turned, just in time to see a familiar big, black motorcycle pull up
beside her car. The man riding it put down the kickstand and got off,
sticking the keys in his pocket as he came toward her, black eyes intent.
Smith.
In jeans and a T-shirt, with his cut over the top emphasizing the broad
width of his shoulders, he looked powerful, dangerous, moving with all
the lazy, assured arrogance of a man who knew exactly who was in
control of any given situation: him.

She didn't know why she found that so incredibly hot, but she did. He
made her breath catch and her heart flip over in her chest.
Annoyed at the wild burst of physical attraction that instantly flooded
through her, she glared at him as he approached. Fuck's sake, had he
followed her? Hadn't he listened to her when she'd said she needed
some space? Because she sure as hell needed some space right now,
especially after this morning's confrontation with Officer Uptight and
Duchess.
Goddamn, give the man an inch and he wouldn't take just one mile, he'd
take a hundred. Well, too bad. She hadn't spent eight years learning
how to stand up to people only to let some dick walk all over her the
way her father used to.
If Smith was hoping his second night would be tonight, he was shit out
of luck.
"What the hell are you doing here?" she demanded, as he came to a stop
in front of her. "Did you follow me?"
"Yeah, and?" He didn't even try to look ashamed. "I told you I didn't
want to see you tonight." "I know you didn't. But I wanna see you."
His hungry, black gaze flicked down her body before returning to her
face, and God help her, she could feel her nipples tighten and her sex
clench hard.
Dammit.
"I don't give a shit what you want," she said flatly. "Not tonight means
not tonight."
Smith only folded his powerful arms and cocked his head, staring at
her. "What's the deal, golden girl? Have a bad day?"
Nora gritted her teeth. "No, I just don't like assholes who don't listen
when I tell them I don't want to see them."
He didn' t respond, his gaze assessing. Then abruptly he looked up at
the building in front of them. "This is where you live?" It was clear he
was unimpressed. "Gotta say, it's not what I imagined."
Oh, that was it. She'd had it.
She turned to the stairs. "Goodbye, Smith." Without waiting for a
response, she went quickly up them, trying not to go too fast so it

wouldn't look like she was running away. Because she wouldn't do that,
of course she wouldn't.
"So what's with this place?" Smith's voice came from beside her, his
long legs easily keeping stride with hers as she rounded the turn in the
stairs and went up the next flight. "Are you trying to make a point or
what?"
Her jaw tightened. "I've got no idea what you're talking about."
Stopping in front of her door, she hauled around the army backpack she
used as a purse, fumbling for her keys in the front pocket. "Also, why
are you still here? Because I'm pretty sure I said not tonight."
He now had one shoulder hitched up against the wall next to her front
door, standing there with his hands in his pockets. He was close enough
that she could scent that delicious smell of him, warm leather, engine
oil, and some masculine spice that made her mouth water and her
fingers grip her keys way too hard as she hauled them out. "I want my
second night. Plus that crap about needing 'space' was bullshit."
"Wow, was that respect I heard? Or just another sexist asshole being a
jerk?" She jammed the key in the lock and turned it, pushing open the
door. "Wait, I already know the answer to that question. Just another
sexist asshole being a jerk."
She began to step into her apartment only to come up short as one
muscular arm blocked the doorway. Furious, she glared at him. "What
the fuck are you doing? Get out of my way."
His dark eyes were hot, fierce. "Stop running away from me, golden
girl."
"I'm not running away. I told you I'd give you a night, just not tonight."
"Why not? You enjoyed what we did yesterday. It's just more of the
same. You invite me in and we'll have a beer or two, get some dinner,
talk. And then I'll take you into your bedroom and fuck you senseless.
Everybody wins."
Another of those delicious electric shocks jolted down her spine. Damn
her stupid body for being so into it when her head definitely wasn't.
Don't be such a drama queen. Of course you 're into it. And he's

right. You are running away.
She swallowed, the truth of it settling down inside her. Because
beneath the anger she'd wrapped around herself like a warm,
comforting blanket ran a small, cold current of fear. A fear she didn't
want to think about.
You 're very good at not thinking about things, aren't you?
Yes, but she had reason. And it had been far easier to pretend that part
of her life was dead, to cut it off completely, than to carry around the
pain of it forever.
Until he came. Until he'd shoved the past, and all the things she'd
conveniently packed into a box and thrust to the back of her mind, back
in her face again.
Such as the betrayal she'd felt when her father had kicked her out. The
terror when she'd realized that she was on her own, with no money and
no support. The grief of knowing that despite doing everything he'd
asked of her, it still hadn't been enough for him.
She'd spent years trying to come back from that. To be strong and
independent, not that needy, desperate-for-love girl she'd once been.
She didn' t want to fall back into that, make those same mistakes. To
want something from someone, especially not from someone as
strong-willed and arrogant as her father had been.
"It's just a night, golden girl." Smith dropped his arm from the
doorway, his voice unexpectedly quiet. "It's not life or death."
She let out a long, slow breath. He was right, it wasn't. And she was
kind of turning all of this into a drama it didn't need to be.
Nora glanced up at him.
The light fell over his features, highlighting the strong bone structure of
his forehead, nose, and jaw, shadowing his eyes. His hard mouth was
uncompromising, yet one corner had curled up slightly, lightening the
look on his face, making him even sexier than he was already.
She wanted him so much she ached.
It was a night, only one more night. And then she could go on
pretending just the way she always did.
"You're an asshole," she said, just to make it clear.

Smith shifted, the scrape of his boots on the concrete loud in the narrow
space of the walkway. "Does that mean I can come in?" Nora sighed.
"Yeah."

Chapter 10
Smith didn't know what exactly he'd been expecting from Nora's
apartment, but the beige, boring little box he stepped into wasn't it.
It wasn't that it was dirty or run-down or in a crack neighborhood or
anything. Apart from the loud bar next door, there wasn't anything
particularly sketchy about it. In fact, the worst that could be said about
it was that it looked like the place suits went to die after eight boring
hours in a cubicle in some downtown high-rise.
The apartment was a small, featureless room with beige walls, an
inoffensive beige carpet, and beige curtains on the windows that looked
out over the brick yard of the building beside it. She had a tiny
two-seater couch covered in some kind of cheap brown velour printed
with flowers. There was one matching chair—equally hideous—and a
small glass coffee table. A TV was in one corner, a tiny dining table
and two chairs in the other. Through a doorway to the right he caught a
glimpse of an extremely compact kitchen and through the doorway on
his left, a short hallway that presumably led to the bedroom.
The whole place was hotel-room bland and so completely unlike the
passionate, artistic Nora he'd once known that he didn't know what to
say at first. He'd expected some kind of upmarket loft, full of colorful
art and rich, textured fabrics, the way her bedroom in her family's
mansion had been the one time she'd brought him up to see it.
Everything had been so perfect and expensive looking, he'd been afraid
to even sit down in case he somehow left dirty marks everywhere.
This was.. .not that. There wasn't even one picture on the wall, not
one.
Nora dumped the army backpack slung over one shoulder onto the
floor beside the couch, took off her cowboy hat, and left it on the table.
Then she took out her Colt, experienced fingers running over it in a
reflexive check before putting it on the table beside her hat.
His dick twitched. Fuck, he loved a chick with a gun.
"So, are you gonna tell me what's with this place?" He took a few steps
into the middle of the room and looked around. Nope, it still looked

just as boring as fuck from this angle as it had from the front door.
"It's my apartment," she said shortly. "There's nothing 'with' it." She
was standing beside the table, her hands in the back pockets of her
jeans, the cotton of her plain blue T-shirt stretching beautifully over her
tits.
He stared at her. Nah, there was something "with it." Just like there'd
been something with her getting all shitty with him downstairs and not
wanting him to come up. He'd known he'd get a little pushback for not
paying attention to her need for "space," but not quite that much. She'd
been really pissed.
He didn't quite know why, not when he'd caught her checking him out
like crazy then trying to hide it. Could still be the blackmail thing
annoying her, of course, but he didn't think it was. There was
something else going on here.
"What's going on, baby?" He kept his gaze on her face, watching the by
now familiar glitter of annoyance spark in those pretty eyes of hers.
"And don't try and give me that 'nothing' shit. I can see you're pissed."
Her chin had lifted in that stubborn way and he found himself slightly
distracted by the curve of her neck and the faint bruising at her throat.
His marks.
Satisfaction and pleasure clenched tight in his gut, and he wanted to
tear the T-shirt off her, examine all the other places on her body that he'
d also marked. But no, there was plenty of time for that. He had all
night. First he wanted to see what the hell was bugging her.
"You really don't know?" she said with some annoyance.
"Do I look like a fucking mind reader?"
She all but rolled her eyes. "I told you. I don't like you ignoring what I
said this morning and basically inviting yourself over anyway." "So? I
didn't want to wait."
"Well, I did." She glared at him. "You bikers go on and on about people
not showing you respect, but you sure as hell don't give that respect
anyone to else."
Briefly he debated telling her that it probably wasn't the best idea

to comment on what bikers did when she knew fuck-all about them, but
then discarded the idea. Because he had a feeling this wasn't about
bikers and lack of respect. This was about something else.
"That's not what you're pissed about," he said flatly. "Wanna tell me
what' s really going on?"
But she turned away, heading in the direction of the kitchen. "There's
nothing 'really' going on, Smith. How many more times do you want
me to say it?"
He followed her, stopping in the doorway to the tiny space, watching as
she went to the fridge and pulled it open. "If this is about Dust, he's out
of town at the moment. But I've sent a couple of brothers after him and
they'll be back in the next day or two." It was close enough to the truth.
She pulled two bottles out of the fridge, some fancy boutique beer from
the looks of things, and put them on the counter, pulled open a drawer,
and got out a bottle opener. "It's not about that. It's just..." She paused,
eyeing him. "Like I told you before, you're a dick and you never used to
be quite so.. .I don't know, dickish."
That annoyed him for some reason. "Back at ya, babe. You never used
to be as much of a bitch."
"Yeah, well. I had to change, didn't I?" Nora pulled the caps off the
beers and handed him a bottle, then turned around and leaned back
against the counter, lifting her own bottle for a long sip. "Can't exactly
be a shy doormat when it comes to collecting bail bonds."
He hitched his shoulder against the doorframe and took a sip of his
beer, curiosity biting deep. "So what happened to all that art history shit
you wanted to do? I thought you were gonna go to college?" At least,
that's what she'd told him, which had always impressed the hell out of
him. He didn't know anyone who'd even thought about college.
She snorted and glanced down at the floor, taking another sip from her
beer. "Can't go to college if you can't pay for it. And after Dad
kicked—" She stopped, then started again. "After I left Houston, I just
didn' t have the money."
"When was that? When did he kick you out?" Okay, so saying it out
loud was painful for her, but just because it was painful didn't mean

it should be avoided. Sometimes a wound had its own power if it was
left to fester for too long.
"I was nineteen. About a year after. us. I pretty much had nothing. He
cut off access to my bank account, canceled my credit card. I only had a
couple of hundred in my purse and that's it."
Jesus Christ, that prick. The Nora he remembered had known nothing
about the real world. She'd been raised all alone by a man who paid
people to do his dirty work for him—including dealing with his own
daughter. To dump her out on the streets with nothing and no support
wasn't exactly good fatherly behavior, and shit, he knew what that felt
like.
"I never told you about my dad, did I?" He shifted his shoulder against
the doorframe. When they'd been together, he'd never told her much
about his childhood, mainly because at that stage he'd wanted to forget
all about it himself. But now felt like a good time to share, to make her
not feel so alone.
Her head lifted, dark eyes meeting his. "You said he was an alcoholic."
"He was. Used to blame my mother and me for our situation, for how
we lived in a trailer park with no money. I tried to be good for him, you
know? I didn't wanna make things worse. But one day I got in a fight at
school and broke my arm. Had to go to the ER. Dad was called to come
and get me, and when he did, he told me what a no-good piece of dirt I
was and he wasn't going to spend any more of his hard-earned cash on
me. Then he walked out."
Nora's mouth opened, a look of shock crossing her face. "Holy
shit, Smith."
He shrugged, because it had happened years ago and he'd decided he
wasn't going to let anything his dad had done touch him. "It was okay.
My mom paid for the treatment in the end, even though she didn't have
the cash either. But the point is, I know what it's like to be dumped in
the shit like that. Fathers, man. They're pricks."
"Yeah," she murmured, her voice husky. "They are."
"So what about now? You must have some cash these days. What about
a community college?" He didn't like that she'd given up on that.

After all, he hadn't given up on his dreams after what had happened
between them. He'd gotten himself out of the trailer park and built
himself a house. Okay, so he didn't have the traditional kind of family
he'd once thought he'd have, but the club was family nonetheless.
Nora's gaze returned to its contemplation of the floor. "A bail agent
with an art history degree? Don't be stupid. What use would it
be?"
"Who gives a shit about whether it's useful or not? That's what you
wanted to do."
"So? I changed my mind." For all her relaxed-seeming posture, he
could see the taut line of her shoulders, the tension in her neck and jaw.
Okay, no. This was wrong. He remembered the way her eyes would
light up whenever she talked about art. He'd never understood what she
told him, but he liked asking her questions about various famous
painters just to hear the passion in her voice when she spoke. To see her
lose that pale, nervous look that had seemed to be always a part of her.
"Why?" he asked flatly, because there had to be a reason. "You used to
love that shit."
She only shook her head, the braid over her shoulder curving around
one breast. He couldn't see her face, but there was something small
about her. Something vulnerable. She looked suddenly. tired, and he
had the suspicion that it had nothing to do with the fact that they'd had
no sleep the night before.
An unfamiliar, intense protectiveness closed like a fist around him and
he found he'd pushed himself away from the doorway, taking one step
over to her where she stood. Putting his untouched beer down on the
counter beside her, he took her face between his hands and turned it
toward him. Her brown eyes were dark, the gold in them tarnished with
anger and something like pain, though why that was there, he didn't
know.
"That was what you wanted, golden girl," he said. "What the fuck
happened? Was it your dad? What?"
"Does there have to be a reason?" There was pain in her voice too, like
this conversation was hurting her. "I didn't have the money. And

then. it just seemed." She trailed off, shadows shifting in her eyes. And
then she was rising up on her toes, pressing her mouth to his in a kiss
that was all sweet desperation and hunger.
There was nothing he wanted more right then than to let her use that
kiss as the change of subject it was. Because there was sweetness in it,
and even though it had only been twelve hours since he 'd last been
inside her, it felt like years and fucking years. It felt like the first time.
But, no, he wasn't going to let her do what she'd done the day before,
get out of this conversation by using her body.
Gently but firmly, Smith eased her away from him, the honey taste of
her mouth lingering on his tongue. Her eyes had gone huge and dark,
the gold completely swallowed.
"What?" she asked huskily.
"Not happening, Nora. You're not getting out of it that easily."
"Getting out of what? Come on." She ran a finger down the front of his
chest, the light touch sending sparks everywhere. "Isn't that the only
reason you're here?"
He covered her hand with his, stopping it from progressing any further,
holding it flat to his abdomen. "Answer me."
"Smith." His name was a hoarse murmur as she tried to rise up again,
her mouth trying to find his.
But he was far taller than her and all he did was lift his head, staying out
of reach. "Come on, baby." He kept his voice soft, even though he felt
anything but. "You had a dream and you let it die."
Abruptly she looked away, pushing at him, obviously wanting
distance.
He didn' t let her have any, remaining obdurate as she tried to shove
him, not pressing forward, not crowding her more than he was already,
only standing there like a wall, letting her know she couldn't move him.
"God, you're an asshole," she muttered. "I kind of hate you."
He said nothing, just watching her.
Then slowly, like air escaping from a balloon, she let out a long hissing
breath and leaned forward to rest her forehead against his chest.
He stared down at the top of her head, her hair in all its brilliant shades
of gold contrasting starkly with the black of his T-shirt, and he

found himself lifting his hand and placing it gently on the back of her
head, soothing her.
"I had to let it die," she said after a long, long time, her voice slightly
muffled. "I had to let everything about that part of my life die. I didn't
want to remember it, didn't even want to think about it. I had to become
someone new because that was the only way I could move on."
Perhaps it had been that light, gentle touch on the back of her head.
Perhaps it had just been the way he' d stood there, immovable, as she'd
pushed at him. Letting her know there was no escaping him.
That there was no escaping the truth or the feelings that poured out of
the box she'd shut them in. A box that Smith had flicked open so
casually.
Anger. Betrayal. Grief. At her father for treating her like the pieces of
art he used to buy, the precious Sutcliffe daughter kept high on a shelf
where people could look at her, but not touch her. Only to get rid of her
when she was no longer useful.
At herself for all the years she'd spent doing everything he'd wanted in
the hope of some crumb of attention, a hug, a kiss. Even a simple
conversation. She'd always thought that if she was good enough,
obedient enough, he might finally give her a sign that he loved her. But
he never had. Because the truth was, he didn't want a daughter, he
wanted a yes-man, an employee. Someone who did what he told them
to and never questioned him.
She'd tried to be that person and in the end had failed. Which meant she
had to be someone else. Someone who didn't care as much. Who didn' t
get hurt. Who could turn up a middle finger at anyone expecting her to
be something different.
But, unfortunately, becoming that person had meant killing who she'd
once been, and everything associated with her, including all the dreams
she'd once treasured.
Smith' s hand began to move, stroking the back of her head lightly, a
gentle, warm pressure. "You can't let it die, Nora." His voice was a
deep rumble echoing through her, taking hold of the emotion in her
chest and twisting it hard. "You can't let it go. You gotta hold onto it as
tight

as you can. 'Cause it's those dreams that get you through."
She closed her eyes, her throat constricting. She'd thought it had been
simple to let go of her past, to put it behind her and not think of it again.
But it wasn't. "Easy for you to say. You've always been strong, and I
don't have an MC—"
"Bullshit," he interrupted calmly. "It's not easy. Listen, I wanted to
make my old man proud of me. I wanted to be good for him just like
you did with your dad. But when he left me in the ER like I didn't even
matter, I thought screw it. Got myself a plan that night, got myself a
dream, and I never let it go. And hey, am I still in that fucking trailer
park? No, I' m fucking not."
The hard wall of his chest was warm, strong, the scent of him wrapping
around her and making her throat tighten even more for what she'd lost.
Like an ex-alcoholic faced with a bottle of wine, she allowed herself
only a few sips, a few visits to the gallery and no more. She didn't buy
the art books she'd once loved, or hang her walls with the art she'd
collected. Everything that had once given her pleasure, she'd denied.
So what have you got left?
She was horribly afraid that she had nothing.
"It's not as simple as that," she said thickly, though part of her knew it
kind of was.
"Sure, it is." His hand on her head stilled. Then his fingers slid down to
the back of her neck, wrapping around her braid and exerting a light
pressure, tugging her head back. She resisted, but he didn't let up so she
had no choice but to go with it, opening her eyes and looking up at him
reluctantly.
She couldn't read the expression on his face or the look in his black
eyes, but the fingers wrapped around her braid were firm.
"You loved art." His voice was quiet, intense. "You wanted to study it,
you wanted to work in a gallery, talk to artists, all that shit. That kind of
passion doesn't just die and you can't kill it, either. It's still there,
whether you like it or not."
A burst of an unfamiliar feeling shook her, which took a couple of
moments for her to realize was hope. Weird. Why should she hope for a

dream that was dead and gone? That she herself had killed and happily?
The feeling glowed in her chest, strong and true, making a lie of the last
eight years of pretending. "How do you know that?"
Smith didn' t let go of her braid, something fierce glittering in his dark
eyes. "Because of you and me last night, golden girl. You can pretend
all you like that you're this tough, strong woman who doesn't do what
anyone says, but you spread your legs for me when I told you to. And
then you came apart in my arms all the same."
She flushed. "Yeah, and all that says is that—"
"It says," he interrupted, "that the passion you once had? It's not dead,
baby. You didn't kill it, no matter how much you wish you did. It's still
there, like a light inside you. Why else did you spread your legs for me?
Why else did you scream when I made you come?"
"No," she said thickly, not wanting it to be true, not wanting that part of
herself to still be there, no matter the glow of hope burning in her chest.
"It was only because I hadn't had sex for a long time, that's all."
"It's not all. It was you and it was me. It was us together, baby. This
chemistry between us is insane and you know it." His grip on her braid
was tight, little pinpricks of pain erupting everywhere. "I don't know
why you keep wanting to deny it, but I'm not going to let you,
understand?"
Oh, yeah, she did. But denial had pretty much been her natural state for
the past eight years and letting go of it was hard. After all, it was easier
to deny herself what she truly wanted than to have someone else do it.
"I don't want to go back to being that woman, Smith. I don't want to be
that weak, that scared again. Doing everything Dad said just to get him
to acknowledge me. God, I hurt you. I ruined your life."
"Do I look ruined to you? Shit, you're not that woman, Nora. Sure, you
may have seen last night as going back to being that good little girl for
your daddy, but that's not what I saw. I saw a strong woman taking the
pleasure she wanted."
Really? Had he really seen it that way? Not her being too afraid to
resist, but her being strong enough to take?
But the look in his eyes was undeniable. That's exactly what he'd

seen.
"I just wanted you so badly," she said faintly. "I was needy and
weak—"
"Christ, baby, you wanna talk about needy?" Smith's dark eyes
glittered. "You had a club president on his knees in front of you,
desperate to taste you. What the fuck were you so afraid of?"
She knew. Because in admitting those desires, she had to accept the
fears as well, and they were still there too. "I think. ..I was afraid you'd
tell me no." Her voice was hoarse. "And I was just weak enough, just
needy enough, that I would have done exactly what you told me to. I
would have replaced one controlling man in my life with another.
Another man I was too scared to oppose because I couldn't imagine my
life without him."
Something in his eyes flared. "Fuck, seriously? You really think I
would have just run you over like that?"
"Why not? I hurt you, I destroyed us, because I was too scared to tell
my father no. Why would it have been any different with you? Why
would I have been different? Him kicking me out was probably the best
thing, because at least I learned to stand on my own. But that doesn't
matter now. I'm not the same person, and I can't just pick up where I left
off."
"No." The word was absolute, unequivocal. Smith at his most arrogant.
"Just fucking no. It's not too late for you. You deserve everything, Nora
Sutcliffe. Everything you fucking want."
Her heart squeezed tight, like he'd taken it in one of those big warm
hands of his and curled his fingers around it. "I was just so goddamned
pathetic. I don't want any part of it. I can't. Maybe I'm still that person,
Smith. Maybe I'm still just a spoiled little rich girl under it all who'd fall
right back into letting herself get ordered around."
Smith' s fingers closed hard on her braid, pulling tight. And his mouth
was suddenly on hers, hard and hot and demanding. A kiss that called
to all the passion she'd been denying inside herself. A promise of more.
She didn't want it to end, but he pulled away before she could stop him,
his black eyes brilliant, his breathing as fast as hers. "You're not,"

he said roughly. "You're not spoiled and you're not weak or scared.
You honestly think I could tell you what to do? You don't do a damned
thing I say. You're tough, strong, and so fucking stubborn it drives me
crazy. You're also so fucking sexy I can't stop thinking about being
inside you. You've got all that passion inside you and I gotta have it,
baby."
The words shuddered through her, flipping a switch deep inside
her.
Denial was exhausting and it didn't get her anywhere. It only left her
hollow, empty. And looking at Smith, feeling him against her, so strong
and warm and vital, she only now realized just how empty that was.
Maybe he was right. And maybe she was too. Maybe back then she
really would have just gone from being under the control of one man to
the control of another, because she hadn't known another way to live.
But she did now. She was more than that, stronger than that. But she
was tired too. So tired of fighting this thing between them.
She wanted him. She wanted the passion, the chemistry that burned
between them. And this time she wasn't going to take no for an answer.
Smith didn't move, but his black gaze was so intense it almost devoured
her whole. And as if he read her mind, he said, "Why don't you tell me
what to do, Nora? Tell me what you want to do, right now."
You know. You know exactly.
She swallowed, her mouth suddenly dry. "I want. ..I want to have
you."
"Come on, golden girl." He lowered his head, those mesmerizing black
eyes inches from hers. "Tell me."
She took a breath. "I want.. .to suck you off."
Smith' s eyes went even blacker, the half-smile on his face turning
feral. "Then what are you waiting for?" He released her braid and
stepped back to give her some room. "Do it. Take what you want."
She didn't hesitate this time, going to her knees on the scuffed linoleum
in front of him and reaching out to the front of his jeans and stroking
gently, feeling him harden beneath the denim. He leaned forward, his
hands braced on the kitchen counter in front of him.
He was looking down at her, she could feel it, his gaze like the pressure
of his hand on the back of her neck. But she didn't raise her

head to meet it. This was about what she wanted, not him, and she
wanted to look.
Concentrating on that hard ridge pushing against his fly, her fingers
traced the length of it. Then she undid the top button and tugged the
zipper down.
Smith said nothing either to hurry her along or slow her down, and he
kept his hands exactly where they were. Waiting.
Her heartbeat was loud in her head, the pulse of her own desire slowly
building. Spreading apart the denim of his jeans, she paused for a
moment to look at him. At the stretch of his cotton boxers over the rigid
length of his cock, because it was just so fucking sexy. She touched him
through the cotton, trailing down the material, feeling the heat of him
beneath it. God, he felt so good. Strong and hard and just for her.
"Stop playing," he growled. "Suck my fucking cock, Nora."
There was an edge to his voice, a note that made her suddenly
conscious of her own power right in this moment. A power she'd had
the night before yet had been too afraid to acknowledge it.
Not now.
"I' m only doing what you told me to do, Smith," she murmured,
running a light finger over him again, loving the idea she could do this,
could touch him and make him crazy the way he'd done with her the
night before. "I' m taking what I want. Which means you get to keep
quiet and if you're a good boy, you'll get what you want too."
"Last time I fucking do that," he muttered.
So sulky. She loved it.
She pulled down the cotton of his underwear and drew him out, her
hand wrapped around the base of his dick. God, he was something else.
Long and smooth and so very hot. So very hard. His skin felt velvety
and she wanted to just stroke him over and over. Maybe she should, just
to drive him even crazier. Then again, she wanted to taste him more.
She gripped him tight and leaned forward, inhaling the scent of musk
and male, bending her head to him and giving the head of his cock a
light, exploratory lick.
He stiffened, his breath escaping in a rushing hiss that had something
inside her wanting to arch like a cat in pleasured satisfaction.

So she did it again, running her tongue around the head, touching on the
little slit in the center before swirling around once more.
A low groan came from above her, a muttered, vicious curse. "Yeah,
fuck that's good. Keep it going, baby. Keep it the fuck going."
And she did, sucking him hard, gripping tight to the base of his cock,
reveling in his salty taste. The sounds she was drawing from him were
so delicious and so damn erotic she found herself shifting on her knees,
the pressure between her legs growing with each low growl, each rough
curse. She nipped him, licked him, gripped tight to his thigh with her
other hand as she increased the suction, sucking harder.
"Jesus Christ," he whispered hoarsely. "Jesus fucking Christ, Nora."
There was so much desperation in her name, it made her heart
somersault over and over inside her chest.
This was for her, and yet it was for him, too. Because he'd given her
back herself.
Nora closed her eyes and let the feeling sweep through her, pouring it
all back into what she was doing, giving him pleasure. Making him feel
good.
Eventually he groaned and his hands dropped to her head, holding on,
guiding her movements.
"Look at me," he ordered raggedly. "I want to see you fucking looking
at me when I come."
And because she wanted to look at him too, to see what she'd done to
him, she lifted her gaze finally to his, her whole body scorched by the
flames that burned in his dark eyes. And she kept on watching him as
he thrust into her mouth, over and over, giving him whatever he
wanted, until he went absolutely rigid, pleasure igniting in his face.
Then he thrust hard one last time and came, her name a rough, hoarse
sound echoing in the space between them.

Chapter 11
Smith sagged forward, bracing his hands on the counter, his head bent,
his eyes closed, the aftershocks of one of the most intense orgasms he' d
ever had ringing him like a fucking bell.
Through the roaring in his ears, he could hear Nora's ragged breathing,
feel her hand still clutching his thigh like it was a lifeline she was afraid
of letting go of. There was a slight pressure against his stomach, the
soft warmth of her breath against his skin.
He took a harsh breath, fighting to pull himself back together again.
Jesus. She and that beautiful mouth of hers had wrecked him.
No. She wrecked you long before she got down on her knees.
His fingers tightened on the counter, the thought stark in his head.
Because she had. First he'd gotten insanely protective of her, hating that
tired, defeated look on her face, and then the way she'd dropped that
tough-girl front and put her head on his chest, revealing her fears to
him, had just gone ahead and made everything worse.
He hated that she' d been denying herself what she wanted all these
years, because she thought she didn't deserve it. Because if there was
anyone who deserved all the good things, it was Nora.
Why? Because she gives good head?
No, shit, it didn't have anything to do with that. It was all about the shy,
lonely teenager he'd met all those years ago. The girl who'd chosen him
to give her virginity to, as if he was worth the gift of it. The girl who' d
listened to him talk about the house he wanted to build and the life he
wanted to have, and had encouraged him to go for it. The girl who' d
trusted him with her own dreams in return.
That girl was still there, still part of her. And she deserved everything.
She wasn't weak and she never had been, whatever she thought.
I ruined your life....
No, fuck, she hadn't ruined anything. He'd achieved all the things he'd
set out to achieve. He had the house he'd always wanted, the job that
gave him freedom, a family at his back, yeah, pretty much

everything.
Except one thing... Yeah. He didn't have her.
Smith didn' t move as the realization washed over him in a hot
wave.
This was supposed to be one last night to work out his curiosity and the
chemistry between them, and then he was going to fuck off out of this
goddamn beige excuse of an apartment, never to see her again.
And yet, he found that that was the last thing in the entire goddamn
world he wanted to do. He didn't want this to be their last night. He
wanted more.
Her head was against his stomach, her breath on his skin and his cock
already hardening for a second go. Christ, a second, third, fourth go.
More.
She was the only thing he didn't have and he wanted her. So take her.
His heart pressed hard against his ribs and he opened his eyes, looking
down at the woman kneeling at his feet. He could only see the top of
her head and the golden spikes of her eyelashes. She had her cheek
turned against his abdomen, one arm wrapped loosely around his thigh.
Smith reached down and gripped her braid again, pulling her head back
so he could see her face.
She was flushed, the gold in her eyes glittering bright, full of heat and
desire. And she smiled as she met his gaze, a very female, self-satisfied
smile. A woman confident of her own power to bring him to his knees.
Fuck, she was beautiful. Sure, he'd loved the girl she'd once been, but
that was a long time ago, when he'd tried being a good boy. He wasn't a
good boy now, though, and he needed a strong woman. A woman who
could match him and wouldn't take any shit. The woman she was now.
Hell, yeah, screw this one night bullshit. He wanted her and he was
going to take her, and not for a night or two or whatever. He wanted her
for as long as he could get.

Smith let her go and pushed himself away from the counter with a hard,
sharp movement, doing up his jeans in the process. Then he reached
down and did what he should have done the moment she'd first walked
into the Rusty Nail. He gathered her up into his arms.
She melted against him, her hands on his chest, spreading her legs as he
sat her on top of the counter, giving him space to stand between them.
When he wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling her in close, she
gave a little shiver.
"Smith," she said huskily, her hands flat to his chest. "I don't—"
"Quiet," he ordered, sliding a hand up to the back of her head and
cradling it in his palm. "I've got something to say."
Her gaze dipped to his mouth. "I hope it's something along the lines of
kissing me. Though I'd really prefer you just to do it rather than talk
about it."
He ignored that. "I want you," he said fiercely, instead. "And not just a
night or two. I want more than that."
She blinked at him, her brow creasing. "What? What do you mean?"
"I mean, I wanna see where this leads, Nora. You and me, together. I
wanna try again."
Her mouth opened, shock crossing her face. "You and me as in. ?"
"As in you being my girlfriend. Hell, maybe even my old lady." No,
he'd never thought he'd want an old lady, pretty much because he had
all the pussy he needed already and without the complications.
But shit, if that old lady was Nora, then why not?
Nora's gaze searched his. "But.. .why?"
"I'll show you why." Smith dug his fingers into her hair, tilting her head
back, staring down into her dark eyes. Then he covered her mouth,
holding her still so she couldn't pull away, kissing her deep and hard,
and hungry.
She made a soft sound in her throat, her arms sliding up and around his
neck, her lips parting under his, kissing him back as hungrily as he was
kissing her.
Jesus, but she tasted sweet, and he wanted to keep on exploring her hot
mouth, yet he pulled back, staring down into her eyes, watching the

gold lights shimmering in the darkness and the color that had risen to
her cheekbones.
Yeah, this was what he wanted. Tough and sassy on the outside, hot
and passionate on the inside.
"Get the picture now?" he demanded.
A shadow moved in her gaze, but before he had a chance to figure out
what it was, it had gone. Then she was leaning forward, her arms tight
around his neck. "Maybe," she murmured. "Though you might need to
do a little more convincing." And then her mouth found his again in a
long, deep, sweet kiss that felt like it went on forever.
He let the kiss go on, sliding down to cup the curve of her butt and
bringing her close to the edge of the counter, fitting the heat between
her thighs to where his rapidly hardening dick pressed against his
zipper. She shivered, her hips rocking, trying to get even closer.
Reluctantly, he lifted his mouth from hers and reached around to his
back pocket, pulling out his wallet and deftly extracting the condom
from it. Then he dropped it back on the counter beside her and reached
down to undo his jeans.
"You don't want to do this in bed?" She wasn't looking at him, her gaze
following his movements as he ripped open the packet and took out the
condom, easing his cock out and rolling the latex down.
"No." He didn't have the patience to move anywhere else, not right
now. "I'm gonna fuck you on your kitchen counter. You got a problem
with that?"
She met his gaze, tilting her head slightly to the side. "Um. let me see.
do I have a problem with that?" The beginnings of a wicked smile
turned her mouth. "What if I do?"
Little witch was teasing him and shit, he liked it.
"Then that would be too fucking bad." He flicked open the button on
her jeans and pulled at her zipper.
Her breath caught sharply but she made no attempt to stop him. "You
mean I don't get a choice? Is that what you're saying?"
"The only choice you get is whether to come now or whether I take my
time and torture you." He spread open the denim, his pulse thudding
hot and hard in his head at the glimpse of her black lace panties. "So

what's it to be?"
"Wow, Ace." There was a dry note in her voice. "You really know how
to seduce a girl."
He gripped the waistband of her jeans. "I thought we'd discussed this.
You love it when I'm being an asshole."
"Sadly, I do," she agreed. "And you love it when I'm being a
bitch."
He grinned. She was right. He did. "Stop complaining, then. You'll get
what you want, don't worry."
"And what is it exactly that I want?" "Lift your butt up and I'll show
you."
She leaned back on her hands, obliging him, and he tugged down her
jeans, taking her panties with them, pulling them right off her until she
was sitting on the counter naked from the waist down.
"Better," he murmured, taking in all that smooth, bare golden skin.
"Yeah, so much fucking better. Spread your thighs, baby. I wanna see
where I' m going."
She obeyed without hesitation, giving him the most perfect view of
soft, golden curls and wet pink flesh.
The breath escaped him in a rushing hiss. "Fucking hell, golden
g i r l . "
Nora gave a husky laugh, the sound stroking down his back like a
caress, and reached out a hand, wrapping her fingers around his aching
dick and squeezing him until he groaned. "You're talking too much,
Smith. I' ve decided I want to come now. So how about you shut up and
get on that?"
Smith was hot and hard in her palm and there was nothing she wanted
more than him inside her right goddamn now. Because thinking about
what he'd just asked her, let alone giving him an answer, felt too
difficult.
You and me, together...
Did she want that? Did she want to try again?
She held him tightly in her hand, stared into his dark eyes. They weren't
actually black, but a deep brown, the color of very strong espresso. The
kind that gave you an intense hit of caffeine, that kept you

wired and awake for hours. That buzzed in your veins and made you a
little crazy.
He still makes you crazy, even after so long.
He did, no escaping it. The young man she'd known back in Houston
hadn't had all these hard edges. He'd been softer, more forgiving,
gentler. He wasn't that now. Now, he was rough, blunt, powerful, and
there was nothing soft or forgiving about him.
Yet, it seemed that echoes of the man he'd been were still there, in the
gentle way he held her, in the things he'd said to her, about dreams,
about not letting them die. About her being strong.
He's nothing like your father.
The realization hit her hard and for a moment she just stared into
Smith's eyes, hardly able to breathe. Was that why she'd been pushing
against him all this time? Why she'd been holding back? Because she
was expecting him to be just as controlling as her father had been?
But he wasn't. Okay, so he might act like he was king of the entire
world, but there was a difference between him and her father and the
difference was that Smith seemed to actually care about her. Smith
actually wanted her.
Her. The woman she was now. Stronger. More certain. He had
changed, but so had she. Maybe back then she wouldn't have been able
to handle him, and maybe he wouldn't have known what to do with her.
Maybe she would have lain down and let him walk all over her, and
youth and inexperience would have made it so he didn't even realize
what he was doing.
But not now.
One black brow rose. "What's up, golden girl? Lost your nerve?" No.
But you could lose your heart.
It would be so easy, too. After all, she'd lost it once already to him. It
could happen again without her even trying. Maybe it's already
happened.
She shivered at the thought. No, she couldn't think about that and what
it would mean right now. Later, when the insistent hunger had maybe
faded a bit.
Pushing herself to the edge of the counter and spreading her legs

wide, Nora ignored the bittersweet pain that had her in its grip. Then
she guided him to her, watching him as she did so, seeing his eyes
widen, hearing his breath catch as he slid inside her. "Fuck," he
whispered. "Nora."
She shivered, tilting her hips, letting him slide deeper until he was as
deep as he could get and she closed her legs around his waist, pressing
her body right up against his. Then she reached up and took his face
between her palms and held him. "Look at me," she ordered. "Eyes on
me, Smith."
She wanted to see what she did to him. She wanted to see him come
apart the way she'd come apart with him the day before.
She held him gently, keeping his gaze locked with hers as he began to
move. His hands were hard on her hips, his movements at first slow,
then becoming harder, faster.
His pupils expanded, swallowing all that delicious brown, making his
gaze truly black now. And yet it wasn't dark. It was full of heat and
flames. Full of pleasure and passion. For her.
She kept her hands on that strong, powerful jaw, holding him, watching
him as she rocked her hips, moved with him, the pleasure in his eyes
the perfect mirroring of her own. And her poor battered heart began to
swell, inflating like a balloon, the feeling intense, inescapable. It kept
building, deepening, becoming overwhelming, and she let it.
He was right. She would damn well take what she wanted without fear.
Because if getting kicked out of home, if losing everything was going
to be worth a damned thing, then she had to get something she wanted
out of the deal.
And what she wanted was him.
So when he whispered her name desperately a second time, she pulled
him close and covered his mouth with her own.
And when the orgasm burst like a firework along every nerve ending
she had, she found the courage to say, Yes. Let's try again.
But only in her head.

Chapter 12
Smith sat on the edge of Nora's bed the next morning, listening to the
sound of the shower through the open door of the bathroom. He'd tried
to join her, but the practicalities of a tiny shower when there were two
people, one of them six foot four, had defeated them. Much to his
annoyance.
Really, this place was shit. They should be at his, where at least he had
a shower that could take both of them without any problems. In fact, he
should suggest that. He could pick her up after work, take her home
with him. They could have dinner, talk about stuff, and then they could
spend the rest of the night in bed. Or in the shower. Or anywhere,
really, as long as she was naked, he didn't care.
You don't know if she wants this. She hasn't said yes yet.
Well, sure, but after what had happened between them out in her
kitchen, he was pretty confident she would agree. What was there not
to
like, after all?
In fact, now he thought about it, she could even move in with him since
that would solve a number of problems. She'd be there for him 24/7,
with the added advantage of a bigger shower, a bigger bed—hell,
bigger everything. And she'd love living there, he knew she would. Far
better than this shithole. Hell, he had all the walls she'd ever need to
start her very own art collection.
Uh, you 're forgetting one thing. Dust.
Smith let out a breath, trying to ignore the sudden lurch in his gut.
Christ, he couldn't pretend that wasn't a problem, not anymore. Acting
as if it had all been about one good fuck was one thing, but
unfortunately, Nora was quite another.
Because it wasn't just about a good fuck. He could get a decent screw
from any number of women, but Nora was Nora. Smart, tough,
vulnerable. Sexy as hell.
He wouldn't have obeyed orders from just anyone, not the way he' d
obeyed her out in her kitchen, keeping his gaze on hers the way she'd
told him to.

And the way she'd looked at him...
The way she always looked at you. Like you weren't the piece of dirt
Dad always said you were.
He scowled. No, shit, he'd never believed that. Anyway, it was his
father who was the piece of dirt, not him. Because what kind of father
turned his back on his injured kid? A shitty one, that's what kind.
The problem was and always had been Tucker Smith Senior, not his
son.
The water shut off in the bathroom and he lifted his head as Nora came
to the open doorway, wrapped in a small, white towel. Her hair was wet
down her back, her skin glistening with moisture, and his dick was
immediately interested, despite everything they'd done to each other
the night before.
"Finally," he said, pushing thoughts of his asshole father out of his
head. "I thought you'd never come out. Get over here."
She smiled. "Sorry, Ace. I've got to be at work in a half hour. Duchess
will be pissed if I'm late again."
Well, that was a pain in the ass. "I'll write you a note." "I don't think
that's going to work. Pity." "Fine. Tonight. You and me. My place. I'll
even cook." Something flared in her eyes, something that wrapped
around his heart and didn' t let go. "This was only supposed to be an
extra night, remember?"
"Have you forgotten what I asked you already?" He didn't hide the
rough edge of demand in his voice. "Or do you need a reminder?"
She leaned a shoulder against the doorframe, her mouth curving in a
smile that somehow wrapped around his dick as well. "Wow, you're a
bear in the mornings."
"And you're a teasing bitch." Impatient, he came off the bed and
prowled over to where she stood, grabbing her by the hips and drawing
her close. "Answer me, dammit." She smelled of soap and
flower-scented shampoo, and he wanted to push her up against the
wall, fuck all this talking bullshit quite literally.
Nora laughed, her hands coming down to cover his on her hips. "If you
weren't so easy to get a rise out of—in both senses of the word,

ahem—I wouldn't be a teasing bitch."
"Nora." He leaned in to nip at the side of her neck in warning. "If you
don't want me to make you very late for work, you'd better give me a
fucking answer."
She shivered deliciously against him, making him contemplate pulling
her towel away and giving her another reminder of why this was an
excellent idea. "So. what? You want to start dating again?"
He let out a short laugh. "Baby, I don't 'date.' "
"Then what exactly do you mean about trying again?"
He tightened his grip and looked down into her wide brown eyes.
"How's this for an example? You ditch this shithole and move in with
me, and we see how it goes."
She blinked rapidly. "Uh. hang on. You mean you want me to move out
of my apartment and move in with you?"
"Yeah."
"When?"
"Now's good."
"Seriously?" A crease appeared between her brows. An unwelcome
crease. "That's.. .uh...one hell of a jump, Smith."
Her less than enthusiastic response irritated him and he found himself
glaring back. "I want you, Nora, so what's the point of pissing around?
Hell, we' ve wasted eight years already."
"I suppose so." She let out a little breath, her body warm and relaxed
against his. "We could discuss the whole moving in together part,
though, right?"
"We can discuss it, sure." And by "discuss" he meant screwing her silly
until she came around to his way of thinking.
"Well, I guess there's no reason not to at least try." Her hands smoothed
over his bare chest, cool and light. "There's just one other little
problem."
Every muscle in his body tightened, because he knew damn well what
that little problem was.
Nora tilted her head back and looked up at him. "What's happening
with Dust, Smith?"
Ah, Christ. Fucking reality.

Remember what you said about how much you loved her stubbornness?
He gritted his teeth. Maybe he didn't love it as much as he thought.
"This isn't about Dust. This is about us. This is about me asking you if
you wanna move in with me." He didn't love asking either, not now that
he was beginning to realize how much he actually wanted her to say
yes. Not now that there was a possibility of "no." He forced a grin.
"Hey, I can make it worth your while."
She stared up at him, searching his face as if she was looking for
something. "I know it's not about Dust. But that doesn't change the fact
that we have a conflict of interest. I really need to have that sorted out
before I make any decisions."
A cold, sharp thread of unfamiliar disappointment wound through
him.
Double fuck. Now he was left in exactly the same place he had been the
previous day. Except it was worse, because now he knew what he
wanted.
He wanted Nora. He wanted her to move in with him.
Guess you'd better figure out what's more important to you: her or your
fucking club.
"Doesn't have to be a conflict of interest," he said, easing her closer to
him as if that would stop her from slipping away. "I've got enough
money for you to quit working with Duchess. You could go back to
college and get that art history degree you wanted, go work in a
gallery."
She stiffened. "Please tell me you didn't just suggest that I give up my
job for you."
Good move, asshole.
He ignored the thought. "Hey, I only meant if it's a conflict of interest
you're worried about, then that's easily fixed."
"Or, here's a thought." She was scowling now, her body rigid against
him. "You could just give Dust up."
The disappointment became sharper. Because that was the one thing he
couldn't and wouldn't do. Dust was his friend and his VP. His brother,
both in honor and in the club. And brothers always came first.

Always.
Why not just lay it out for her? Maybe she'd understand.
Yeah, and then she'd find out he'd been lying to her, that he'd never had
any intention of giving her Dust. That would go down real well. About
as well as a lead balloon.
Smith let her go and turned away abruptly, going over to where he' d
left his jeans and underwear, pulling them on.
Come on. She laid it all out for you. Can't you do the same?
"Well?" she asked into the tense silence. "You are going to hand him
over, aren't you?"
He kept his back to her as he zipped up his fly and reached for his
T-shirt, tugging that over his head and down, using the act of dressing
to give himself a moment.
There was no way to avoid this. Sure, he could string her along for
another couple of days maybe, but if he wanted them to try being
together again, he was going to have to come clean.
Jesus, he was a stupid bastard. He should have told her earlier and he
hadn't. He'd just wanted her and had been willing to do anything to
have her, even lie. He hadn't ever thought he'd want more, but the past
few days had showed him that not only had he been lying to her, he'd
been lying to himself.
One night was never going to be enough.
"Smith?"
Stop being a little bitch and tell her.
He took a breath and turned, meeting her pretty golden brown eyes.
"No," he said flatly, so there was no room for doubt. "I'm not."
She blinked, as if she didn't quite understand. "What do you mean
you're not?"
He didn't want to explain himself, to air club business, but he'd told her
last night she deserved everything and an explanation was the very
least of it. "Dust was in my unit in Afghanistan. He's an army buddy.
He's also my brother and my vice president." Smith held her gaze so
she understood completely. "I'm not turning a brother over to the cops.
Not for you. Not for anyone."
She blinked again, like she still didn't get it. "But.. .you said you'd

give him to me."
He didn't like the look on her face, that shock. "I know what I said. I
lied."
Color was slowly leaching from her cheeks, her eyes going dark.
"Why? Just to get into my pants?"
A feeling slid through him, that somehow he was destroying something
important, had deliberately put his boot through one of the paintings
she loved, ruining the canvas beyond repair.
His jaw tightened. "No, shit, if it had just been about that, I wouldn't be
standing here right now. And I fucking wouldn't be asking you to move
in with me."
She pulled her towel closer around her, staring at him as if he'd slapped
her. "Why didn't you tell me about this before? Why did you let me
believe you'd make good on your promises?"
"Because you wouldn't have fucking listened." Defensive anger had
begun to gather inside him now. "You were ready to shoot me,
remember?"
"So you thought lying to me was better?"
"Yeah, because you would have walked the fuck away."
Nora stiffened even more. "That's you all over, though, isn't it? It's
always about what you want. It's always your way or the highway."
His anger knotted tighter. No, he didn't want this. He didn't want a
fight, not here, not now. He wanted her in his arms and in his bed.
Living with him.
He started toward her, aiming to stop the argument from escalating in
the time-honored way—with his mouth—but she suddenly backed
away, as if he was a dangerous dog. "Don't."
Smith stopped. "Look," he said, trying to keep his voice calm, "if I
hadn't done that, we'd never have had those nights together. We'd never
have talked, never have sorted out the shit from the past. Don't you
think it's worth it for that alone?"
She'd folded her arms across her chest, all defensive. "But you lied,
Smith. You lied to get your own way. You could have just told me
straight up that you couldn't give me Dust. You could have let me make
my own decision and you didn't."

Smith moved, unable to help himself, propelled by anger and
something else he couldn't name, a need to somehow close the distance
he could sense opening up between them. Coming right up to her,
getting in her face. "Oh no, don't put that on me, sweetheart." He
crowded her back against the bedroom wall. "We both know what your
decision would have been. You're too good at ignoring what you really
want. You would have run the fuck away."
She stared at him, in no way cowed, anger and something that looked
like hurt glittering in her eyes. "You have no idea whether that would
have been my decision or not. You didn't give me a choice."
Christ, why couldn't she back down? Just this one time, that's it. But no.
She had to fight. She had to make an easy decision complicated.
You liked that about her.
No, he didn't. Right now he hated it.
He curled his fingers into fists, as if doing that would help him hold
onto his patience. "This doesn't have to be a big deal. Get Duchess to
hand his bond over to someone else and then it's not your problem
anymore."
Her eyes went wide. "What? That's your answer? Jesus, Smith.
Duchess is a friend and that prick was blackmailing her! I'm not going
to let him get away with something like that. He needs to be damn well
locked up and I want to be the one to put him in a fucking cell."
"Then you're gonna have to lock me up too," he snarled, losing patience
entirely. "Because you can have him over my dead fucking
body."
The look in her eyes flared. "That can be arranged, Ace, believe
me."
A blistering silence fell as they stared at each other, anger pulsing in the
air between them.
Nora put a hand to her forehead, rubbing at the skin there as if she had a
headache, and he had a sudden desire to put his hand there too, to
soothe her.
"Okay," she said in quieter voice. "There has to be a way around this. I
m e a n . " Her gaze caught his. "I want you, Smith. I feel like there's
potential here. Like we could have what we had before, only

better."
Yeah, and they could. If only she wasn't being so fucking stubborn.
She' s not the only one.
He gritted his teeth, trying to be calm and not do what he was desperate
for, which was to pick her up, take her down to his bike, go back to his
place, and keep her there, no matter what she wanted. "Yeah, and we
could," he growled, "if you leave Dust out of this."
Her jaw got tight, which was a bad sign. "I can't, asshole. He broke the
law. He has to answer for that."
"And I don't give a fuck about the law." Frustration gathered inside
him. "Dust was with me in Afghanistan. He was my buddy, he had my
back. And I have his. That's the way it fucking works. Why can't you
understand that?"
"Sure, I understand. The way you feel about Dust, I feel about Duchess.
She was there for me when no one else goddamn was. She got me out
of the crappy bar I was working in, gave me a better job. Christ, she
believed in me, Smith." The gold in Nora's eyes glittered with the same
frustration. "And now it's my turn to help her. She wants Dust put
away, so I'm going to put him the hell away."
Jesus, she was so close. She smelled of soap and the delicate scent of
her shampoo, and there were still droplets of water on her skin. He
wanted to lick them off, taste her. He wanted to bury his fingers in her
hair and kiss her, make her forget this stupid fucking argument.
"So what you're saying is that your job is more important?" he
demanded, wanting to be absolutely clear. "That Duchess comes first?"
Her mouth, normally so soft-looking, had flattened into a hard line.
"Well, isn't that what you're saying too? That your buddy, your club,
come before everything else?"
"Yeah, of course they do. That's just the way it is." He couldn't believe
she was actually questioning this. The MC was the MC and that' s how
it worked.
Her throat moved as she swallowed, something liquid shining briefly in
her eyes. "Just the way it is," she echoed. "Sure. I get it."
He went still, because it wasn't anger in her gaze now, it was pain.
"What? What do you 'get,' Nora?"

"I get that there's nothing I can say that's going to make you change
your mind."
Every muscle had gone tight, tension crawling up his back and
shoulders. "Right back at ya, baby."
She was silent a moment, staring up at him, the anger and hurt in her
face twisting like a knife inside him. "I want what we could have
together, Smith." There was a husky edge to her voice. "I want to try.
But if I'm going to let down a friend for you, I need a reason."
He didn't know what the fuck she was asking for. Hadn't these past few
days with each other given her all the reasons she needed?
Don't be such a tool. You know exactly what kind of reason she wants.
Of course he did. She wanted the best reason of all, for him to tell her
that he loved her. But that was the one thing he couldn't and wouldn't
give her. He'd done that once and he wasn't doing it again.
Love was for pussies. For good boys who tried too hard and cared too
much.
And he wasn't either of those things, not anymore. "Fine." He pushed
himself away from her abruptly. "Have it your way."
Turning his back on her, he stalked over to where he'd left his wallet
and keys on the dressing table and collected them, shoving them down
into his pockets, his fingers clenching with a rage that didn't quite make
sense.
"Wait." There were little cracks running through her voice and he
couldn't pretend he didn't hear them. Couldn't pretend he didn't know
what they meant. "What are you doing?"
He turned back to her, pretending to be all casual even though his jaw
was so tight he could probably have taken off beer caps with it. "I'm
leaving, what does it fucking look like?"
Her dark eyes searched his face and he ignored the pulling in his chest,
the pain where his heart was. "You can't give me a reason? Not even
one?"
"I gave you two damn nights of reasons," he said flatly, ignoring the
voice in his head telling him to shut the fuck up and stop making it

worse. "And if that's not enough for you, then too fucking bad."
Something glittered in her eyes, shiny and liquid. Tears. He tried not to
see them.
"No." She blinked fiercely and looked away. "It's not enough."
His heart tightened in his chest, almost as if he'd expected her to say
something different, almost as if he'd wanted her to say something
different.
But she didn't.
"Suit yourself," he said and stalked to the door. And she didn't say a
word as he stalked out.
Nora wrapped her arms around herself, as if she could keep herself
together. Which was odd, because she wasn't falling apart, no fucking
way.
The sound of Smith's footsteps faded, the door slamming after him, and
it wasn't pain she felt, no, not at all. It was only relief that the stubborn
bastard was finally out of her life.
Good riddance.
Her throat hurt, but she ignored it as she went over to her chest of
drawers and started rifling through it for clothes.
Okay, so that was that. Time to go back to her normal life. Hell, maybe
it was for the best anyway. She'd tried, she really had, but he wasn't
willing to back down, not on anything, so screw him. If he was
expecting her to come crawling after him, he had another think coming.
Did you really try, though?
Of course she had. She'd told him she needed a reason to let Dust go, a
reason to dump her boss in the shit. All she'd wanted was one. A little
one, like maybe he understood the position he'd put her in with
Duchess. That he'd listen about why this was so important to her. Or
hey, even something like he cared about her feelings.
That he loves you?
Her vision swam and she blinked, hard.
No, no point in thinking things like that. Because he hadn't said it.
Which means he didn't feel it. He didn't love her, didn't listen to her,
didn' t give a shit about her.

Just like every other fucking man in her life.
Anyway, what she actually needed to be thinking about right now was
getting plan B under way, because regardless of what happened
between her and Smith, Garrett Brook aka Dust had to be brought to
justice and she was just the woman to do it.
Smith, on the other hand, could go screw himself.

Chapter 13
"Sit down, Nora," Duchess said, eyeing her from behind her desk. "No,
thanks." She didn't want to sit down. She felt antsy and restless and
sitting would only be annoying.
"Sit," Duchess insisted, frowning. "For God's sake. You look like
hell."
Nora stubbornly remained standing. "It's nothing. I've picked up a cold.
Do you want to hear about Brook or not?" She'd gotten in touch with
Rush and he'd told her that his contacts had located Brook up in Waco.
Which was great. Hell, she'd go up and grab him, take Rhys and West
just to be certain, then have him back this evening if she was lucky.
Duchess was silent, icy blue stare disturbingly perceptive. "Something
went wrong with Smith, didn't it?"
Oh, shit. How had she picked up on that?
"What do you mean?" Nora asked, hoping the question sounded way
less wary than she was afraid it did.
"Because I know you were sleeping with him and now you're looking
like your best friend just died."
"I don't have a best friend."
"Nora."
"It's nothing," she said, ignoring the pain in her chest at the mention of
his name. Because it was nothing, wasn't it? "It was only a casual
hookup."
Duchess put down the small stack of papers she'd been holding and
leaned her elbows on her desk, her gaze narrowing. "You've got dark
circles under your eyes, you're pale, and your eyes are red. It was not a
casual hookup."
Dammit. She hadn't cried in the car on the way to work. It had been her
allergies playing up again. Stupid pollen. "Look, me and Smith isn't
important. What's important is that I've managed to track Brook down.
He's up in Waco. If I grab West and Rhys, we can go get—"
"I thought you said Smith was going to hand him over?"
The pain in her chest deepened, her heart feeling like someone had

gone over it with a butcher's mallet. Smith. All she could think about
was how she'd woken up this morning, with her head on his chest and
her arms around him, holding him like he was her favorite pillow....
"Yes, well..." Her voice had gotten a little hoarse. "That didn't quite
work out."
Duchess sat back at her desk, her blue eyes somehow managing to be
both sharp and understanding at the same time. "It was more than just a
hookup, wasn't it?" she asked quietly.
Nora sucked in a breath.
You can't keep pretending it didn't happen. You can't keep pretending,
period.
Yes, she could. She could keep pretending for the rest of her life if she
had to.
But it wasn't a shrug and a casual "Nope" that came out of her. "You
know how I told you I didn't sleep with him to get the skip? Well...he
told me he'd give me Brook if I slept with him. So I did."
Duchess opened her mouth. Shut it. Then she clasped her hands on the
desk in front of her. "Are you talking blackmail here?" Her tone was
carefully neutral.
"Kind of. I told him he could go to hell at first, that I'd call the cops on
him, and he said if I did that, he'd bring down the MC on us. Because of
what your dad—"
"Yes, I get it." Duchess looked furious, but only said, "Go on."
"Anyway, the blackmail wasn't exactly the problem." She took a
painful breath. "The real problem was that I wanted him. You
remember I told you we had a thing years ago? Well, turns out we still
have a...thing. And I believed him when he told me he'd give me Brook
in exchange for a night." Another painful breath. "This morning I found
out that he'd lied to me. That he never had any intention of giving me
the skip. Luckily I had a plan B already, b u t . " She stopped, bracing
herself. "You can tell me 'I told you so.' I probably deserve it."
But Duchess was silent, staring at her. "You're in love with him, aren' t
you?"
Nora didn't move, all her muscles locked up. Of course there was a
reason this all hurt so very much, no matter how she tried to deny it.

She'd just done her usual thing of pretending it wasn't there.
But even now, she didn't want to say it. Didn't want to even think about
it. Because she had a horrible feeling that if she did, she'd fully realize
the magnitude of Smith walking away from her. And then she'd just fall
apart completely.
She couldn't fall apart. She had to be tough, stay strong.
There was a long, painful silence.
Then at last Duchess sighed. "Men," she said quietly and with great
conviction. "They' re bastards. Every single one of them. Bikers not the
least of them."
"Complete bastards," Nora agreed thickly.
"If it's any consolation, and I know it probably isn't, he's the one who's
missed out." Duchess's gaze was steady. "You're loyal, steadfast, and
one of the best in this business. And I knew you would be the day I first
hired you."
Nora found her stupid throat tightening. "Thank you. That means a
lot."
A small, wistful smile turned the other woman's mouth. "Don't let the
bastards grind you down, okay?" No, she wouldn't.
She'd spent the last eight years making sure she was diamond hard. She
wasn't going to let anything crush her into dust and bones now. Least of
all one hard-ass biker asshole.
The sky was darkening, the night closing in on yet another MC
party.
From inside the clubhouse music blared, the sounds drifting through to
the empty space out back. It had once been a parking lot, bounded by
chain-link fences, but now the club used it as an outdoor party space,
with giant barbecues and picnic tables and a couple of old sofas
chucked here and there for fun.
One of the brothers had rigged up some flashing colored lights,
illuminating the space with reds and greens and blues. Shining on the
large group of people, some dancing, some drinking, some fucking.
Some doing all three.

The usual party, in other words.
Now Smith stood on the edge of the crowd, a beer in his hand, watching
everyone else have a good time, while one of the club girls wound her
arms around his waist, her hands reaching down the front of his jeans.
He should have been into it. Hell, at the very least, he should have been
hard. It was only polite, after all. Yet he wasn't into it, he wasn't hard,
and he didn't give a shit if that wasn't polite.
He didn't want her touching him, end of story.
Irritated with himself, he tried to get his head back in the game, while
she did her best to get him interested. But after five minutes of pawing,
his irritation deepening, he finally brushed away her wandering hands
and said curtly, "Sorry, baby. Not now. Go find someone else."
She pulled a face and tossed her hair, but then obediently moved
away.
This was bullshit. This whole fucking situation was bullshit. And it was
all Nora Sutcliffe's fault.
Anger sat just behind his breastbone, burning like a hot coal, his stupid
fucking brain going over and over the scene in her apartment the day
before. The way she'd looked up at him, something yearning in her
eyes. "Give me a reason.... "
Christ, the reason she wanted he was never, ever going to give her.
Didn't she know that? Didn't she understand? Even apart from the fact
that the club would always come first for him, the very last thing he
was going to do was get down on his knees and pour out his fucking
heart to her.
Not that he had a heart these days. He'd cut that fucker out of his chest
years ago, taking out all those stupid, weak emotions that went along
with it. Emotions like love. Like gentleness. Tenderness. Sympathy.
Emotions he had no use at all for.
Bullshit. Tell yourself that all you like, asshole, but the truth is you 're
just afraid of them.
Smith glared at the partying crowd. The music blared louder and the
crowd of dancers roared, all lit up in those stupid colors.

No, fuck off. Fear was just another of those useless fucking emotions
he'd cut out of his life.
Abruptly the phone in his pocket buzzed and instantly he thought Nora.
But when he dragged it out and looked down at the screen, it was Dust.
His heart tightened inexplicably, making his anger burn hotter.
He hit the Accept button and growled, "What the fuck do you
want?"
"I need to talk to you, Prez," Dust said without preamble. "Got a
minute?"
"You are fucking talking to me."
A brief pause down the other end of the phone. "Party going on?"
"Yeah." Smith moved away from the music blaring over the speakers.
"What do you want?"
"I've been thinking about stuff."
Smith took a sip of his beer. "Christ, why are you thinking? Nothing
good ever comes of thinking, asshole."
"I'm serious." He sounded serious too, his voice quiet.
Smith gritted his teeth, trying to rein in his bad mood. "Okay, sure. So
what's all this about?"
"It's about all the shit I pulled." Dust let out a long breath. "I'm not
happy with how it' s gone down, Prez. Not happy at all."
"Yeah, well, you're not the only one."
"I need to make it right." There was a flat note in his friend's voice. "I
drew heat down on the club at a time when we don't need it. In fact,
that's the whole reason we're going straight in the first place, so we can
avoid all that civilian shit, right?"
Smith turned away from the party, looking out through the fence, into
the darkness. "What are you saying?"
"Like I said, I wanna make it right. Club comes first and I lost sight of
that."
"You had your kid—"
"I know. But that's no excuse. I need to set an example, Prez. Both to
him and to the brothers. And running away like I did is not the example
I wanna set."

Smith scowled at the fence in front of him. "What do you mean you
want to set an example?"
Dust was silent a second. Then he said, "Avoiding shit doesn't solve it.
And me avoiding jail is just gonna make things worse for my club and
it sure as hell isn't going to help my son."
Something shifted in Smith's chest, making everything go tight. "If
you're talking about jail, you can fucking think again. I told you, I'm not
giving you up. You're my brother. Fuck, you're my friend and—"
"You don't have to give me up," Dust interrupted calmly. "I'm going to
turn myself in."
It had been a long time since Smith felt surprise, let alone shock, but he
felt both like a blow to the gut right now. "What?"
"Don't make me repeat myself, Prez." There was amusement in Dust's
voice.
Fucking hell. The guy was actually serious. "Don't be so damn stupid,"
he growled into the phone. "What about your boy? I said I'd keep you
out of this and I meant it."
"My boy needs a father who doesn't run from his responsibilities." The
amusement had vanished. Dust's voice was flat and hard with certainty.
"My president needs a VP who doesn't fuck up. And my club needs a
brother who can take the consequences of his actions." There was a
sound in the background, the creak of leather. "I appreciate what you
did for me, Prez. You're a good friend. But I gotta do what I gotta
do."
The tightness in Smith's chest wouldn't quit and he didn't know why
that was. He didn't know why he wanted to argue with his friend either.
Because he couldn't deny that Dust turning himself in would get the
cops off their back, which would only be a good thing for them right
now, because the last thing they needed was the long arm of the law
reaching in their direction.
You dick. You know why you want to argue. Because if Dust turns
himself in, there goes your only excuse to keep away from Nora.
Bullshit. He didn't need excuses. He just wasn't prepared to give her
what she wanted. And anyway, she hadn't exactly been tripping over
herself to stop him from walking out. She'd let him go without a word.

So, no, they were done. Over. The end.
"Fuck," Smith said. "Nothing I say's gonna change your mind, is
it?"
"No." Dust didn't sound all that upset about it. "I've made my decision.
I'll take whatever's coming to me. But stay away from Duchess Bail
Bonds, okay? This has to come from me and you can't be involved."
An emotion Smith couldn't figure out was pumping through him,
locking every muscle. He was holding tight to the phone like that piece
of shit was going to spring out of his hand and yet he couldn't think of a
fucking thing to say.
There was another long silence. "You're a good friend, Smith," Dust
said at last. "That means a lot."
Smith was sure the metal in his hand creaked under the pressure of his
grip. "You start talking like a fucking pussy and I'm not gonna come
visit you."
Dust laughed. "Sure, Prez. Sure."
Then the prick ended the call.
For a long moment, Smith stared out into the darkness, ignoring the
beer in his hand and the party going on around him.
He couldn't work out what the fuck was going on with him. This was a
good thing, because everything Dust had said was true. Avoiding shit
didn't work, he'd seen that over and over again with his own father, who
preferred running away through a river of vodka to actually facing up
to the mess of his life.
Dust was facing up to the consequences of his own actions, setting an
example for the good of his club and for his son, and Smith had to
respect that.
His fingers tightened around the neck of his beer bottle. What the hell?
Of course he was doing the same. He was setting an example. He'd
decided on what he wanted out of life and he went the fuck out and got
it.
But you don' t have the one thing you' re missing. Smith turned abruptly
from the fence, looking out over the party, over his brothers having a
good time. Drinking and dancing and fucking.

Being true to their bad selves. He was part of this. This was his family.
So why isn 't it enough?
The realization hit him hard, like a mortar shell straight to the chest.
And he didn't understand because it should be enough. This was what
he wanted, what he'd always wanted. A family, a house, a job, freedom
to be who he was. To do whatever the fuck he wanted without some
asshole always telling him what a troublemaker he was, what a piece of
dirt, what a piece of garbage.
It should be enough and yet... Why was there still this big hole in his
chest? Why did he keep on feeling that there was something missing?
You know why, stop lying to yourself.
He took a breath, his chest expanding painfully. Yeah, okay, so what
was missing was Nora. He could accept that and he had. Shit, he'd
accepted it for the past eight years, hadn't he? And that wasn't going to
change. It couldn't. Because she wanted something from him he
couldn't and wouldn' t give her.
Why? Because she broke your heart? Stop being such a fucking little
bitch and man up. Dust did. Why can't you?
He turned from the bonfire and the partying people, shoving his way
through the crowd, back into the clubhouse and toward his office.
Needing space, needing quiet, needing just a bit of damn peace.
It was dark when he stepped inside, but he didn't bother with the lights,
walking over to the windows that overlooked the warehouse below.
There was a smaller party going on beneath him, mostly brothers
relaxing on the couches and talking or playing pool, some with girls,
some without.
The mortar felt like it had exploded in his chest, shattering everything,
the shards of his ribs cutting into him from the inside. The pain
wouldn't let him go and neither would the memory of the hope in
Nora's gaze as she'd looked up at him, that gold dust in her eyes
glittering. Wanting something from him, hoping for it, yearning for it.
But he hadn't given it to her. He hadn't wanted to. He'd done it once
before and she'd left him hanging. Just like his own fucking father had
left him hanging.

And now you 're doing to her what your father did to you. What her own
father did to her. Is that what you really want?
That wasn't even a question. Because no, that wasn't what he wanted.
At all. He'd told her she deserved everything, and he'd meant it.
Because she did. She was courageous and determined and stubborn and
strong, and she deserved everything good the world could give her.
She deserves love too.
He raised the beer in his hand for a swallow then realized his hand was
shaking.
Of course she did. She deserved that most of all. But he didn't know if
he could do that. Didn't know if he could open himself up like that
again. It was like handing someone a loaded gun and then telling them
they could shoot you whenever they felt like it.
He was a bad guy and he knew it, accepted it. Hell, she 'd sensed it back
then. That he might just end up controlling her like her father had done.
And back then he'd been trying hard not to. So fucking hard.
But he wasn't the good boy trying to do the right thing he'd once been.
So why the fuck wouldn't she just pull that trigger and put him out of
his misery?
Being a bad guy sure gives you a lot of excuses to do fuck-all. Didn' t
see Dust doing that, huh?
His jaw ached, his chest felt like it was full of knives.
Fucking Dust. That prick was always showing him up. And now the
stupid fuck was setting an example, trying to do the right thing.
Jesus. He'd always sworn to himself he wasn't going to do that again,
was going to accept himself as he was, a bad man, just like his daddy
had always told him. Because what was the point trying to be better
when it never got you what you wanted?
But then...he didn't have Nora. He'd told her she was strong. He'd told
her she deserved everything. But here he was, treating her like she was
made of fucking glass. Keeping the one thing from her he knew they
both needed.
He just couldn't let that stand.
Smith turned sharply from the window.
Being bad was easy. It was being good that was so goddamn

fucking difficult. But he'd do it for her. Because in the end, he loved
her, he always had.
He'd just been too stupid to realize it.
"Nora!"
Buried deep in some work, Nora jerked her head up as the door to the
office she shared with Rhys and West banged open.
It was Rhys standing in the doorway, his habitual blank expression
replaced with something that looked a hell of a lot like. amusement.
Which was shocking enough in itself since she couldn't remember the
last time she'd seen Rhys amused.
"What?" She put the pen she'd been holding down. "Has the world
ended or something?"
"Not quite. But you have a . " He glanced behind him, back out into
the reception area, an almost-smile tugging at his mouth. "Visitor."
She really didn't need the interruption right now. Rush had given her
the details of the Waco address where she'd apparently find Brook, and
she'd just been checking out the lay of the land and trying to decide
whether or not to rope in her colleagues for the trip.
Despite all that though, her heart gave a peculiar little leap. "What
visitor?"
There were voices coming from the reception area, West saying
something and Rose laughing. And then someone else unfamiliar
saying something.
Her heart sank. Not Smith.
Rhys stood back from the door. "Go and see for yourself."
Not in the mood for games, Nora was tempted to tell him to go to hell.
But in the end she pushed her chair back, and got up, since why not.
Getting Brook could wait five minutes. "This had better be good," she
muttered as she came to the doorway. "I've got a hell of a—"
The words died in her throat as she looked into the main reception
area.
Sitting on one of the couches, his legs outstretched and his arms
crossed across his broad chest, in his Graveyard Ministry cut, was
Garrett Brook, aka Dust.

Nora blinked. "What the hell?"
West and Rose were over by the reception desk, standing there
grinning.
"Hey," Dust said and gave her a jerk of his chin in greeting.
Nora blinked again. "Like I said. What the hell?"
"What does it look like?" The expression on his face was belligerent.
"I'm turning myself in."
Nora didn't know what to say. "But I thought..."
"This has got nothing to do with the prez," Dust said flatly. "This is all
on me. Club doesn't need the heat so here I am."
Jesus. This was the last thing in the world she'd expected.
The main office door suddenly opened and Duchess came in, a tall
muscular man with golden brown hair and unusual, turquoise blue eyes
sauntering along at her heels.
Both of them stopped dead as they spotted Dust sitting on the couch.
He stared back, the belligerent look on his face not fading one iota.
"Well," Rush Redmond said with some amusement, glancing at Nora.
"I thought I'd come to offer some help, but clearly you don't need
it."
Duchess said nothing, staring at the man on the couch. A brief look of
shock had crossed her face, but now it was gone, her lovely features
smooth. "Mr. Brook," she murmured. "Fancy meeting you here. To
what do we owe the pleasure?"
"Like I said to her"—he jerked his head in Nora's direction—"I'm
giving myself up."
Rush wandered over to where Dust sat, grinning. "Dust man, how's it
hanging? Long time no see, huh?"
Dust didn't reply, but the look on his face was all fuck you.
Rush didn't seem to notice, giving him a companionable slap on the
shoulder anyway. "Always great to see you, bro, I agree." He glanced at
Nora. "You want me to help bring him in?"
But Nora shook her head, looking straight at Duchess. "I think
someone else might want that honor."
A slight smile turned Duchess's mouth. Oh yeah, she wanted that

honor all right, Nora could tell. Duchess was all about justice,
especially when it came with a side order of personal.
But clearly the day wasn't finished getting any weirder, because right
then, like a damn stage comedy, the door opened again and Officer St.
George strode in.
Rush's eyes widened, then he grinned at her. "Hey, sweetheart, great
timing. Coming to join the party?"
The cop, who looked like the stick jammed up her rear was giving her
trouble, gave him a dubious glance. "Rush. What are you doing
here?"
"Came to see Nora." Rush's grin widened. "And no, it's not what you're
thinking. Sadly."
Duchess sighed. "Can I help you, Officer?"
"I was told I had someone to pick up." Her stern copper gaze shifted to
where Dust sat. "That him?"
"Yeah," Dust said. "It's him."
There was more cheerful banter from Rush, needling the cop as the
paperwork was completed. Clearly they knew each other and clearly
she found him annoying.
Half an hour later, Dust had disappeared into the tender care of the
police, while everyone else had gone back to work, leaving Nora
searching around for something to do since Dust's sudden appearance
had left her without a skip to pick up.
She was back at her desk, fiddling around with an Internet search that
somehow had turned up results on art history degrees in Austin, when
her phone buzzed on the desktop beside her keyboard.
And her heart just about stopped when she realized who it was
from.
Smith.
I got some things I need to say. If you want to hear them, meet me at the
art gallery at 5. If you don't want to hear them, you don't have to come.
I' ll understand. Smith.
She stared at the screen until the words went fuzzy, her throat tight and
her chest feeling like someone had wrapped their hands around it and
was squeezing hard.

No, of course she shouldn't go. Because what did she care that he had
something to say to her? He hadn't said anything the day before, back in
her apartment, right when she'd needed him to, so what was the point of
listening now?
Guess you know now what it must have felt like for him when you didn
't speak up eight years ago.
She swallowed.
Shit. That was a point, but still. She didn't care. She really didn't.
Oh, bullshit. You care. You care a lot. Just be honest with yourself for
one goddamn minute.
Nora let out a breath and slowly tipped her head forward so it was
resting on her keyboard. Her computer made an offended beeping
sound, but she ignored it.
She didn't want to be honest with herself. She didn't want to care. And
yet. pretending was hard. It was painful. It was pushing everything
away and keeping her distance and somehow that was supposed to be
better than admitting what she wanted. Admitting that Smith had once
been everything to her and he still was.
Admitting that she loved him and him walking away had cut her to the
bone.
And now he wanted to see her and she was scared, so fucking scared.
Because she didn't think she could handle him walking away from her
again.
The computer beeped again so she lifted her head and grabbed her
phone, and before she could think twice, she texted him a reply. Give
me one fucking reason.
The response seemed to take forever to come and she felt like she was
being pulled tight, getting drawn thinner and thinner.
Then her phone buzzed again. How about because I love you?
Her whole body went still, the sounds of a typical day at the office
fading. Everything fading but the words on her screen. The words she
felt like she'd been longing for years now.
Her eyes were all prickly and she felt like crying, but fuck that, she was
tough and she swallowed them back, hitting Call instead of Reply.
He answered immediately. "Don't say a word," he said in his

rough, deep voice, all gravel and honey. "Meet me at five and don't be
late. I'll tell you everything then. And yeah, I got a reason." Then the
bastard ended the call.
She didn't know how she got through the rest of the day. Quitting time
seemed to take forever to arrive and when it did, she couldn't get to the
art gallery fast enough.
As she approached the entrance, one of the gallery staff, who was
standing outside, gave her a glance. "Sorry, ma'am. The gallery is
closed for the evening."
Nora stopped in surprise. "What? But I'm supposed to meet someone
here."
The man gave her a more focused look. "Are you Nora Sutcliffe?"
"Yes. I am."
He smiled and pushed open the door for her. "In that case, ma'am,
please go on through."
Her heartbeat sped up. "But. wait. You said it was closed." "For a
private function."
Okay, what the hell was Smith planning? "What private function?"
"Please, go on through, ma'am."
Right, so she was going to get nothing out of this guy, obviously.
Taking a breath, Nora stepped through the doorway into the cool,
echoing foyer.
There was no one around, which was kind of a weird experience since
whenever she visited the gallery, it was always full of people. But the
quiet was nice, she had to admit.
Her boots echoed as she took a couple of steps forward, looking
around.
Ahead of her was a sign pointing the way to a new exhibition from an
artist she'd always admired, one she'd been meaning to go and see but
hadn' t gotten around to yet.
On the sign was a piece of paper. All it said was Nora.
Her throat went tight, stupid tears threatening.
She forced them back, walking down a few familiar corridors,
following the signs toward the new exhibition, until she finally found
herself in a large room hung with paintings, couches here and there for

people to sit on and contemplate the art.
A man was standing in the middle, his hands in fists at his sides, staring
at the doorway like a damned soul before the pearly gates, hoping for a
glimpse of heaven.
Smith.
His eyes were so dark, intensity in every line of his face. And when she
started toward him, he held up one hand, stopping her. "Wait," he said.
She didn't want to. She wanted to cross the distance between them, hurl
herself into his arms, and it was almost a physical pain to hold back.
"Why?"
"I told you." He didn't smile. "I got something to say."
Her pulse beat heavily in her head, her blood rushing through her veins
at the familiar gravel and velvet of his voice. It had only been a day or
so since he'd walked out of her apartment, but somehow it felt like
forever.
"Okay," she said thickly and put her hands in her pockets to keep from
reaching out to him.
The look in his eyes burned. "I hear Dust came to visit."
"Yeah. He turned up this afternoon. Was that. anything to do with
you?"
Smith didn' t look away. "No. He called me last night and told me that'
s what he was gonna do. And you have to know, I tried to talk him out
of it."
Her throat felt thick and painful. "Oh."
"I tried to talk him out of it, because I was a fucking dick," Smith said
flatly. "Because once Dust wasn't between us, I had no excuse for being
a tool."
Despite everything, despite the fact that her eyes were full of liquid, she
almost smiled. "That doesn't sound like something you'd want at all."
His mouth twitched. "No. It's not. I mean, I'm generally the world's
biggest prick, but..." He stopped and let out a breath. "That's an excuse
I've been using for a long time. Ever since my dad left me in the ER.
Because... well, it's easier to accept you're bad than to do things

differently. Than to try, you know?"
She did know. Oh, how she knew. "You're talking to the woman who
tried for years to get something from her dad. So yeah, trying is hard.
Especially when you don't get anything back from it."
Something in his face changed, a flame in the dark intensity of his eyes.
"I know what you wanted, Nora. I know what you were hoping I'd say.
And I'm sorry I didn't give it to you. Fuck, you don't know how sorry I
am. But. ..I was angry. I've been letting what happened with us get to
me and I swore I'd never pour my heart out to you like I did all those
years ago...." He stopped. "I'm not good with this shit. I'm not good
with talking about my feelings or, hell, even thinking about them. But,
when Dust called me to let me know he was gonna give himself up, I
thought about that. And I thought about you and what you deserve.
What you can handle, because I'm a lot to handle." He took a step
toward her. "And I meant it when you said you deserve everything.
And I meant it when I said you were strong. Strong enough to have
every fucking thing, including me. Including love." He took another
step toward her and she found she was trembling. "I loved you the
moment I saw you lying by the pool that day in Houston, in your little
white bikini. Jesus, I don't think I ever stopped. And I wanna give that
to you. I wanna spend my life giving it to you. I wanna try being a good
man for a change, because shit, Nora Sutcliffe. You're the best woman I
know. And now I can't even turn Dust over to you as a big-ass gesture
because he turned himself in. Prick."
A tear escaped, rolling down her cheek, and she just let it. And it was
she who crossed the distance between them, going straight up to him
and reaching out, taking his face between her palms, his beard soft
against her skin. "You stupid idiot," she said thickly. "You don't have
to try to be a good man. You don't have to prove anything to me. You
not turning Dust in...that's part of who you are. He's your brother, and
that matters to you. It means something. I don't need your grand gesture
to know you're a good man. You always were. I wouldn't have fallen in
love with you if you weren't."
He didn' t deserve it, he knew that. Not her, standing right in front

of him, her soft palms against his skin, telling him he was a good man
and always had been while tears streamed down her face.
And he certainly didn't deserve her telling him she loved him.
"You can't," he said roughly. "You can't do that, golden girl."
"Sure, I can. Just watch me." She took her hands from his jaw and
wrapped her arms around him, burying her head against his chest. And
he found he couldn't stop his arms from coming around her in return,
holding her like he never wanted to let her go. Fuck, he didn' t want to
let her go.
She'd told him to give her a reason to meet him at the gallery and it had
taken him at least five seconds to man up, to send the text out into the
ether, telling her he loved her. It had been easier than he thought. But
standing in front of her? Letting all that emotional crap spill out of him?
Ten thousand times harder.
But he'd done it. Because he had to. Because she had to know how
he felt.
Because he'd told her he wanted to try and he was going to. If it fucking
killed him.
Actually, it might fucking kill him. The pain in his chest certainly felt
like a goddamn heart attack.
He looked down at the top of her golden head. "You know I'm no good
for you, baby. I blackmailed you. I—"
"No," she interrupted, her head jerking up, her gaze meeting his. "Don't
say those things. Of course you're good for me. You called me on all
that crap I was telling myself about the dreams I had for college. How I
let all of that die."
"I hurt you." Because he had, and right now, that's all he'd felt like he' d
done.
Nora lifted a hand to his face, her fingertips finding his lower lip,
tracing along it like she couldn't get enough of touching him. "Yeah,
you did. But I kind of needed it. I forgot who I was, Smith. And you
reminded me. Sure, it was hard and it was painful, but.. .I'm so glad you
did. Because if you hadn't, we wouldn't have this."
He took a breath, his hunger for her roaring to life just the way it always
did. "No, you're right. We wouldn't."

She touched him again, another stroke of her fingers along his mouth.
"So it was Dust who changed your mind, then?"
He nipped her fingertips gently, unable to help himself. "Yeah.
Bastard's always been hell on my conscience."
She grinned, pulling her hand back just a little, teasing him. "Why the
art gallery?"
"Because this is your place." He looked down into her gold-dust eyes,
the warmth of her seeping into him, deep into his bones. It felt familiar,
that warmth. It felt like it had always been there, not gone, just waiting
to come to life again. "Because I wanted to give you something."
"Give me what?"
Though it took a shitload of willpower, he managed to let her go and
stand back. "Choose a painting, golden girl." He gestured around the
room. "Any one you like. It's yours."
Her eyes widened and it was the sweetest thing he'd ever seen.
"Why?"
He grinned. "An art collection has to start somewhere, right?"
For a long moment she just stared at him, and he recognized it. It was
the look she used to give him all those years ago, the one that used to
make him feel like a hero. That used to make him feel like one of the
good guys.
Then she flung herself at him, her arms around him, squeezing him
tight. "I love you, Smith."
"Of course you do. I gave you a painting." He gathered her close, so
close there was no more distance and never would be again. "I meant
what I said, golden girl. I don't want a night, or a week, or a month. I
want forever. Understand?"
She looked up at him, her cheeks flushed, her eyes gone a soft caramel.
"I want all of you." There was no hesitation at all in the words. "And I
want forever too."
He wanted to smile, but he couldn't. This was too important. "You'll
move in with me? Be my old lady? I don't know how that's going to
work with Duchess, but we can figure something out."
"Yeah, we can." She pressed against him, leaning into him. "If it means
you're mine, I'll do anything."

"Oh, golden girl, I'm all yours." He flexed his hips against her.
"Especially this part."
Nora's husky, dirty laugh was everything he'd ever hoped.
And much later, back at his house, in his bed and in his arms, she was
everything he ever needed.

Epilogue
Nora put the painting on the wall and stepped back, looking at it. She'd
chosen a wall in the entranceway, because the light was good and it was
the first thing people would see when they walked in the door.
"What do you think?" she asked, frowning slightly.
A pair of strong arms wrapped around her, pulling her in close, a wall
of hard muscle and heat at her back.
"Fucking great," Smith said, nuzzling against her ear.
She squirmed in response, laughing. "We're going to need more, I hope
you know that. This house is perfect for art."
And it was. She couldn't wait to fill all the white walls with color and
the shelves with various sculptures. She already had her eye on a piece
in a gallery not far from the Duchess offices, one that didn't cost the
earth, unlike the one hanging on the wall in front of her now. She'd
chosen it the night Smith had closed the gallery for her.
The first piece of her collection.
It had taken a month to get here because they couldn't have it until the
exhibition had finished, but finally it had arrived that morning. She'd
barely been able to wait till Smith got home that evening, desperate to
unpack it and hang it.
But it had been worth waiting for.
"I know," she said, leaning back in his arms. "You don't give a crap, do
you?"
"Not about art, no. But I give a crap about you."
Nora grinned. "That's the most romantic thing you've ever said to
me."
Smith' s deep, husky laugh sounded in her ear. "What can I say? I'm a
romantic kind of guy."
A sudden thought struck her and once it was there in her head, she
couldn't seem to get rid of it.
She turned in his arms and looked up into his dark eyes. "You told me
once, but I've forgotten. Is Smith your last name or your first?"
"Both."

"I know that, but was it your given name?"
"No. My first name was Tucker, but it was Dad's idea so I dropped
it."
She relaxed against his hard chest, glorying in the feel of it. "So you
don't have anything against last names per se."
"I guess not." His hands slid lower, over her butt, easing her against
him. "Why?"
Her heart was beating faster. Dammit, she was nervous.
Swallowing it down, she held his gaze. "What do you think of the name
Smith Sutcliffe?"
It took him a couple of moments to understand, but then it appeared, his
rare, wide smile. Full of warmth. Full of love. "Smith Sutcliffe," he
murmured. "Hmmm. I like it." Then he raised an eyebrow. "Is that a
proposal, golden girl?"
She could feel herself blushing, a fizzing happiness beginning inside
her, bursting and bubbling like freshly poured champagne. "I think it is.
Should I get down on one knee?"
His smile turned wicked. "Get down on both knees and we'll go from
there."
Nora laughed. "Is that a yes?"
Smith leaned down, heat flaring in his eyes. Heat and so much more.
"What do you think? That's biker for Fuck, yeah."
She didn't know what to say, there didn't seem to be any words for the
feeling that overflowed inside her. So she didn't say anything. Instead
she rose up on her toes and kissed him.
Which was Nora for I love you.

To the Deacons of Bourbon St. ladies. You b****es are the best.

Acknowledgments
Thanks go to my editor, Shauna Summers, and to my agent, Helen
Breitwieser, and to all the usual suspects.

BY JACKIE ASHENDEN Take Me Deeper Hold Me Down Make It
Hurt

JACKIE ASHENDEN has been writing fiction since she was eleven
years old. Mild-mannered fantasy/SF/pseudo-literary writer by day,
obsessive romance writer by night, she used to balance her writing with
the more serious job of librarianship until a chance meeting with
another romance writer prompted her to throw off the shackles of her
day job and devote herself to the true love of her heart—writing
romance. She particularly likes to write dark, emotional stories with
alpha heroes who've just gotten the world to their liking only to have it
blown wide apart by their kick-ass heroines.
Jackie lives in Auckland, New Zealand, with her husband, the
inimitable Dr. Jax, two kids, two cats, and two rats. When she's not
torturing alpha males and their stroppy heroines, she can be found
drinking chocolate martinis, reading anything she can lay her hands on,
posting random crap on her blog, or being forced to go mountain biking
with her husband.
To keep up to date with Jackie's new releases and other news, sign up
for her newsletter at her website and follow her at:

jackieashenden.com

Facebook.com/j ackie.ashenden
@JackieAshenden

Love stories you'll never forget By authors you' ll always remember
eOriginal Romance from Random House

randomhousebooks.com

What's next on your reading list?
Discover your next great read!
Get personalized book picks and up-to-date news about this author.
Sign up now.