Page 59 of Ruthless

Chapter 23

Ginger

For the first time in as long as I could remember I was glad to let someone take over and make the decisions for me. I was emotionally exhausted and slightly brain dead from too much happening in such a short time. Rebel's presence was a peaceful balm that soothed more than one need. He was taking care of me. I recognized it because he'd done the same thing when we'd first met. I hadn't recognized it then, I’d been too frightened by being thrown into a situation that was beyond my control. But looking back, I understood that he'd taken care of me then, too, in the only way that he could.

Why? I decided the only way I was going to find out was if I simply asked him. We'd stopped at a small country kitchen, the kind that was known more for the food then ambiance, and was open all night. We'd just settled into one of the worn vinyl booths and had ordered our food. I was watching the waitress walk away when Rebel reached across the table and snagged my hand.

Our gazes met and held. His strength and his concern for me registered in his sapphire eyes, the tautness of his jaw, and the firmness of his lips. There was something else there, too, but it was hard to identify what exactly it was. His thick hair brushed against his shoulders, long enough for him to pull it back with a tie if he'd wanted to. I wanted to run my fingers through it, I wanted to smooth my hands over his rugged features to draw from his strength.

"Why are you doing this, Rebel? Why are you taking care of me?" Please, God, I silently prayed, don't let him say that it’s because I owe him money. I wanted him to have feelings for me, the same feelings that I had for him, even though I wasn't sure what those feelings were just yet. I only knew that he was important to me and that I wanted him in my life.

He took a long time to think about his answer. Leaning against the backrest of the booth, he exhaled a deep breath and released my hand. This was not a good sign in my book. I swallowed the disappointment and schooled my features to hide how devastated that small move had left me. I forced a tiny smile on my lips, hating myself when I couldn't control the tremble.

"Because I owe you money?" There, I'd said it, but I could see right away that my comment had angered Rebel, and I was suddenly glad that he wasn't holding my hand any longer. I could almost feel him squeezing it hard enough to cause me pain. I felt the need to apologize, but then reminded myself that owing him money was the only thing we really had between us.

Apart from smoking hot sex.

The muscle twitched in his clenched jaw, and it was obvious that he was struggling not to lose control. "Forget about the money. It's not about that."

"What else is there?" I found the courage to ask.

He leaned forward so fast that a frightened gasp escaped me, and I sank back against my own booth. "I'll tell you what else, angel--ever since the first fucking day you entered my life, there's been something about you that I haven't been able to forget. You are so sweet, so tempting, and so fucking pure. I wanted to claim you and keep you as mine alone from the moment I met you. Taking your cherry . . . it did something to me, knowing that I was the first man inside your tight pussy. I owned it. And the more I fucked you, the more I became addicted. I helped you escape because you were mine and no one else was going to touch you, especially not Wildman's sick fucks."

"That doesn't explain why you're going to so much trouble to help us now." Including Della in the mix made it easier to say the words.

I wasn't expecting the sexy grin to move across his face. "Oh, baby, it explains everything. Seeing you again, tasting you, it's like the years apart never happened. You're mine, angel, and I take care of what's mine. That includes the people who are important to you."

The waitress appeared with our hamburgers and fries. I made sure that she was far enough away before asking, "What happens when you leave?" I began to nibble on a fry, dreading his answer.

"What makes you think I'm leaving?" he asked around a crooked grin.

I shrugged. "You're a nomad, Rebel, isn't that what nomads do?" I took a bite of my burger, moaning with pleasure around the mouthful of juicy meat. I was suddenly ravenous.

"I admit that I hadn't come here with the intention of staying, but Daytona is my hometown, and being a nomad now, I think I'd like to have a place to come back to when I'm in between jobs." He took a huge bite of his burger, but his eyes remained on me. "I’d like to have someone waiting for me here."

Wow. The hope that his words gave me quickly went from thrilled to misery as I reminded myself that Rebel was a hard-core biker and lived like one. He wasn't the kind of man to settle down. Sure, he wanted some place to return to in between jobs, but that didn't mean that he wanted a family. He wanted a woman to relieve his sexual needs, and any woman could do that for him.

"As opposed to ‘someones’?" The bitter words were out before I could stop them. I knew enough about MCs to know what went on in them. There were club girls and groupies who hung around bikers for the thrill of being with them, and made themselves available for whatever the bikers wanted. Being a nomad meant that he was welcomed at most MCs, and I was sure that he took advantage of that perk.

"Baby, I’m sure you’re hinting at the existence of club whores. Yeah, they're a part of my life." Are, not were. "They're there because they want to be, no one forces them to do anything. They keep the men stress-free and happy."

"With sex," I clarified with disgust.

I wanted to slap the grin off his face. "Can you think of a better way to provide relief?"

Nothing else came to mind, but I wasn't going to respond to that. Instead, I focused on finishing my meal, and Rebel seemed content in doing the same. Every so often our eyes met, but I was always the first one to look away. I couldn't stop myself from thinking about him with those other women. I didn't want to think about it, but it was an all too easy visual that conjured up in my mind. I hated the image, along with the jealousy that reared its ugly head over the thought of him touching, kissing, and fucking countless women, giving them pleasure in the same way he gave it to me.

I wanted to be the only one.

The waitress came back and asked with a polite smile, "Would either of you like anything else?"

"No, thank you," I said, pushing my plate aside.

Rebel finished his beer and set the glass down. "Just the check."

She ripped off the top sheet on her pad and placed it on the table. "I'll take it when you're ready." She started to turn around.

"I'm ready now." Rebel got to his feet, picking up the check and glancing at it at the same time. He dropped it and a couple of twenties down on the table, never taking his eyes off me. "You ready?"

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