DEVOUR ME: A Dark Bad Boy Romance (The Wicked Angels MC) Page 3
So why am I so attracted to her? She’s nothing like the women I usually go for.
Because even now, when I’m on the prowl for pussy I go for women who remind me of Michelle. Petite blondes without much to say outside of complimenting me. Women who don’t fit that profile might as well not exist. Even when I first saw Amanda in the shop, I noticed that she was cute. But it didn’t go further than that. Because she’s not my type.
So why do I want to take her upstairs and fuck her senseless?
I don’t think she’d be the kind who’d go for just a one-time deal, though. And that’s all I’m interested in. No strings, no commitment. Not even a cuddle. Just sex. A basic human need. I won’t open myself up to anything deeper than that ever again. It’s not worth the pain.
She’s fun, though. Now that I know it’s so easy to get her riled up, I wanna find new ways to do it. She’s pretty enough when she’s just sitting there across from me, looking at the fire. When she’s pissed off, she’s gorgeous.
“What made you decide to buy the shop?” I ask her. “That’s a pretty big step for someone who’s practically new in town.”
“How did you know I was?” She’s on edge and I have to wonder why.
I just shrug, to show her it’s not a big deal. “You’re new here. I’ve lived here all my life, and I’d never met you before I walked in for a quick breakfast. You were nice to me, which, like I said, isn’t the norm. And you were totally unprepared for a freak storm, which we get around here at this time of year. There wasn’t even a blanket in your car.”
Her eyes narrow. I guess she wasn’t expecting me to have a brain in my head.
She doesn’t argue. “I’ve only lived here for eight months,” she admits. “I didn’t know winter was so weird.”
“Yeah, winter’s pretty weird.” I can’t help grinning. It’s just natural to tease her, though I don’t know why.
“How come I’ve only seen you once in eight months? Like you said, you’ve lived here your whole life. Why did you never come in before?”
“I was…away.” I wish I’d never asked in the first place. I don’t feel like getting into this with her. “And I’m not such a big fan of a lot of the town. I only go there every once in a while. Usually I’m out here, or working with my clients.”
“Clients? What do you do?”
“I’m a corporate attorney.” She smirks at me. “What? A corporate attorney can’t have ink?”
“If you’re not going to answer me seriously, don’t bother answering at all. I’m only trying to make conversation.”
“So you do judge books by their covers.” Now she’s scowling. “I’m a landscaper, actually. And you never answered my question. What made you decide to buy the shop?”
She’s shy now. I watch thoughts go through her head. She’s wondering if she can open up to me. Can I be trusted? Will I judge her? Why does she care? She has absolutely no poker face at all.
Finally, she settles on, “I’ve always loved baking. Since I was a little girl, I’ve dreamed of owning my own bakery. The coffee shop is the next best thing. I mean, it was like a sign, you know? I moved here because I thought it was nice, quiet. Peaceful. And then, bam! Coffee shop goes up for sale. Like it was meant to be. I couldn’t pass on the chance.”
“And you like it?”
“I love it. I really do.” She’s not only gorgeous when she’s pissed off, but she’s also gorgeous when she’s talking about the things she loves. Her eyes light up.
But she’s sexiest when she’s pissed.
I look out the window, noticing the wind isn’t howling the way it was before. “It’s slowed down a little,” I say, standing and stretching. I feel my tee ride up when I do, and I see her glance over to take a look when she thinks I won’t notice. I manage to hide my grin and keep that little bit of information in the back of my mind. The way she looked at me.
“I think it might not be a bad idea to go out and clear at least some of the snow,” I say. “It’s gonna keep snowing but I wanna get a jump on it, so there’s not so much to do all at once.”
“You trust me to stay in here all by myself?”
I can’t help smirking. As if she’s some sort of threat. “I think the house can handle it. Unless you’d rather come out and help me. Maybe those leather boots will keep your feet warm.” Even with a disgusted look on her face, she’s beautiful. And so easy to set off. I think saving her from the storm was a good move on my part.
My eyes move down to her body before I turn away. Yeah. It was a very good move.
Chapter 5
Amanda
Who the hell is this guy?
I watch him as he puts that massive parka back on, shoving his feet back into his thick boots, his hands back into heavy gloves that he left to dry on the radiator. I didn’t expect him to be witty. He’s not really funny or even extremely charming, but he’s smart. He makes me smile even when he’s pissing me off.
“Try not to burn anything down while I’m out there,” he says, and I scowl at him in disgust.
“Try not to get buried in a snow bank,” I snap.
“If I did, you’d be good and fucked, wouldn’t you?” He laughs a little before disappearing outside, slamming the door shut against the wind.
Ugh.
He’s so sexy I can’t stand it.
I don’t know what it is about him. Yeah, he’s hot. I knew he was handsome the minute I first saw him. Anyone with eyes could see that. But there’s something else. Something deeper. A magnetism. He has tons of it.
I get up and walk to the window, still a little unsteady from the whiskey. At least I’m conscious, though. He didn’t drug me. I feel slightly bad for doubting him so much.
He’s out there, shoveling away like a machine. The snow is nothing to him, the shovel like a toy in his massive hands. If I hadn’t already learned he worked outdoors, I would have guessed it once I watched him clear away the snow. He’s used to this kind of work. Before I know it, he already has a clear path to the driveway, where I can just barely make out the indents that used to be the path we cleared when walking up here from the main road. Has it really snowed so much since then that I can hardly see where our footsteps fell?
I crane my neck, standing on tiptoe, trying to see my car. There’s nothing but snow as far as the eye can see, though. I’d have been buried alive for sure. I shiver at the thought. Imagine if he hadn’t noticed me. I still don’t know how he happened to see me in the first place. I just didn’t think to ask him. Maybe it would be better not to. Maybe not knowing how much of my life, at this moment, has to do with chance is for the best. Otherwise I might go crazy.
I look around the room. It’s like a picture from a book, right down to the hound dog curled up in front of the fire. Two rocking chairs, facing one another on either side of the hearth. A rug between them. Copper pots and pans hanging from a rack over an old stove. A small table with an old-fashioned lamp suspended above it. I would never in a million years see a man like Christopher living here. A little old lady living on a pension? Sure. Not a heavily inked, muscular roughneck.
I pace back and forth in front of the fire long enough to get the dog’s attention. He jumps up and wags his tail at me.
“Sorry, old boy,” I say, scratching him behind the ears. “I didn’t mean to disturb you. Just wondering what to do with myself now. Any suggestions?”
He walks over to his food bowl and noses around inside. “Feed me,” he’s saying.
Well, that’s just about as good an idea as any. I open a few cabinets, looking for food. Finally, I find a stack of cans, one of which I empty into his bowl. Meanwhile, now that I’ve looked around some, I see this kitchen is better stocked than I expected. Once again, Christopher is surprising me.
I impulsively start pulling out ingredients: butter, eggs, flour, sugar. I turn on the oven, checking to make sure the pilot is lit before mixing up a dough. There are no chocolate chips, but there’s peanut butter. Peanut butter cookie
s it is. Before long, I’m rolling balls of dough, coating them in sugar and making crisscross patterns in them with the tines of a fork. I put them in the oven and go back to the window, checking on Christopher’s progress. He’s still working out there. I can’t believe he hasn’t collapsed yet, honestly. Nearly the entire driveway is cleared. He has to be ready to collapse at this point.
The timer I set over the oven goes off, telling me the cookies are finished. I pull them out, then put on the kettle in case he wants something hot to drink when he comes in. It’s the least I can do, considering he saved me from freezing and is giving me somewhere to spend the night.
The door opens, a blast of cold air making me shiver. He leans against it to shut it, then takes off his coat and boots. I hear him sniffing the air. “Cookies?” That’s all he says, and the word is heavy, like he’s disgusted.
“Yup,” I reply, trying to sound casual, as though I didn’t just invade this man’s kitchen. Jesus, what the hell was I thinking? It must be the whiskey. What else would have driven me to make myself at home like this? I wish I’d never gotten out of the chair by the fire.
I glance at him, his face unreadable. There’s tension in the air. Is he going to flip out on me? Maybe he’s really sensitive about people going through his home and treating it like their own. I know I would be. God, how could I have been so stupid?
The kettle whistles, breaking the moment. I turn to pull it off the burner. “I thought maybe you’d want something hot to drink, to warm yourself up,” I say, feeling insanely lame now. I wish I could sink into the floorboards and never come back.
He moves for the first time since noticing the cookies, putting his gloves back on the radiator. Steam rises as they drip onto the hot metal. He hangs his coat over his boots, which sit on a pile of newspapers to catch the melted snow. Then he crosses the room, his large body moving smoothly. I tense up, waiting for his reaction. By the time he reaches me, standing directly beside me, I’m holding my breath.
He reaches past me, taking a cookie from the sheet. He takes a bite. I steal a glance at him from the corner of my eye and see that he’s chewing with a thoughtful expression on his face. “You know,” he says, still chewing, “you’re gonna make some guy a terrific little housewife someday.”
“Oh, screw you.” I lean against the sink, arms crossed. I’m relieved he’s not murderously pissed, naturally. But he doesn’t have to be a dick about it.
“I mean it. Some guy out there is gonna be pretty damn lucky. I mean, homemade cookies after coming in from shoveling all that snow? The only thing better would be a blowjob.”
“You’re disgusting.” I take a cookie and stomp over to the chair by the fire, slamming myself into it. I’d almost rather he be angry than disgusting, the pig.
“Touchy, touchy,” he murmurs, fixing himself a cup of what looks like instant coffee. “You want a drink? Maybe some more of that spiked tea. I liked you better when you were buzzing.”
“I liked you better when I was buzzing, too.”
He has his back to me, and I can tell from the way it shakes that he’s laughing. This only enrages me further.
“You know, just because you did something nice for me doesn’t mean you get to talk to me like this.”
“What, like a normal human being?”
I laugh harshly. “If that’s your idea of the way normal human beings talk to each other, I can see why you live out here alone.” I’m watching him, and I can tell from the way he freezes that I hit a nerve. But then his head drops, his chin to his chest. I’m flooded with guilt almost instantly. “Oh, hey. Hey, I’m sorry. That was a low blow.” I realize I don’t know the first thing about this person. I don’t know why he’s actually by himself. Maybe he has anxiety. Maybe he’s just a recluse. Maybe there’s some tragic backstory I’m unaware of. “Really. I mean it. That was a shitty thing to say. I’m sorry.”
“I deserve it for picking at you,” he says quietly before coming back to his chair by the fire and holding his hands out toward the flames. “By the way, the cookies are really good.”
I feel like something has broken now between us. How is that even possible, I ask myself, when there was really nothing between us in the first place? The light from the fire dances over his face, lighting his troubled eyes. What’s he thinking? What ugly memory did I just stir up? I don’t know this guy at all, and I have to keep that in mind. I need to tread more carefully.
“Thanks. I mean, thanks for saying the cookies are good,” I say, feeling lame but needing to repair whatever I just screwed up. Why do I care so much?
He nods, staying quiet.
“Did you mean it?” I ask, trying to draw him out of his silence.
“Did I mean what?”
“That they’re good?”
This gets a smile from him, at least, and he turns his head toward me. “I would never lie about something as serious as cookies.”
I can’t help noting to myself how handsome he is when he smiles.
Chapter 6
It’s getting late now, so dark outside that there’s no way to see whether the snow is still falling. But I’m sure it is. Because that’s just my luck. I try to stifle a yawn, unsuccessfully.
“You must be tired. I know I’m beat.” He stands, stretching again. Again, I can’t help admiring his body, the way his shirt rides up to reveal his torso. His jeans sit low on his hips, and the two diagonal lines leading to his groin are so clearly defined I have to stop myself from trying to lick them.
Wow. I must be exhausted. Either that or the cold and the whiskey got to me more than I thought. Why else would I be looking at him this way? A good night’s sleep would be the best thing for me. Alone. By myself. Would a cold shower be out of the question?
“It’s been a long day,” I agree, forcing all these flustering thoughts out of my brain. That line of thinking has only gotten me into trouble in the past.
“I’ll show you to your room,” he offers, and to my surprise he holds out a hand. A gentleman, even if he doesn’t always act like one. I stand close to him. He looks down at me, but I can’t bring myself to meet his eyes. Damn, damn, damn.
“It just occurred to me that you don’t have anything to sleep in.”
Oh? That just occurred to him? Why was he thinking about my clothes?
“Um, yeah. You’re right.” I decide not to ask, choosing to avoid another fight. It’s not worth it, and besides, he has a point. A sweater and jeans aren’t the most comfortable pajamas.
“I’m sure I have something that wouldn’t be too huge for you,” he says, finally moving away from me. I can breathe normally again. I can also stop tingling in my nether regions. He puts out the fire, which gets me thinking about the way his nearness makes me feel warm. Jeez. I need to snap out of this, fast. Otherwise this could be a really uncomfortable night.
“You okay?” He looks up at me from where he’s bent over the hearth, and he looks amused. As though he can read my mind. I’m annoyed with him. He thinks I’m staring like I’m swooning over him. Asshole.
“I’m fine. Are you okay?”
“Uh, yeah. Sorry. Just thought you looked funny.” He turns back to the hearth, and I watch the way his muscles move underneath his shirt. He’s sure he has something that wouldn’t be too huge for me. Was that some sort of double entendre I missed? I blush, then feel angry with myself for blushing and with him for being so crude.
It would be different if he weren’t so damn hot, but he is. I can’t deny it. I wish he weren’t. I wish I could just ignore him, brush him off as being unimportant. But I can’t. He’s gorgeous and magnetic and I can’t stop thinking about what he would look like naked. A cold shower really is starting to sound like a good idea right now. Or a jump into a snow bank.
The fire’s out now, and the room is dark. I sense the tension between us. If there were a spark somewhere nearby, we might explode. The dog comes up and nudges my hand. I jump, then laugh softly, grateful for a change of subject.
“Scout. After a dog I had when I was a kid.”
Sweet. “A perfect name for a handsome boy. Yes, he is a handsome boy, yes he is.” I scratch harder. Scout obviously loves the attention, judging by the way he licks my hand.
“He doesn’t like baby talk,” Christopher informs me sourly.
Even in the darkness, I can imagine what his face looks like, and I want to punch it. “Really? And he told you this? How articulate for a dog.”
I hear him snort softly. “Come on. I’ll find you something to wear.” In the dim light, I can just make out the stairs leading to the second floor. There are two bedrooms, I see, separated by a bathroom. I can just make out an old-fashioned claw foot tub and wonder if it would be gauche to request a soak.