Page 16 of Wild Side
His demeanor has attempted to shift, but I can still hear the bite to his tone, and the sarcasm is right there on the end of his tongue. I don’t really care, though. He can be as sarcastic as he wants. I’m not here to see him. I don’t even know who the hell he is.
“I think I’ll stay right here,” I state.
He shrugs a shoulder, as if it doesn’t mean a damn thing to him, and takes a step backward. “Suit yourself,” he grumbles.
It does suit me. Maverick isn’t here. I don’t know these men, and this guy is acting kind of like a dick. So, I’ll stay right the hell here. In my rented Jeep, in a gravelly parking lot, with my morning muffin and my after-the-drama cupcake right next to me in the front seat.
MAVERICK
My knuckles ache as I ride toward home. The sun sets, and by the time I arrive at the clubhouse, it’s dark. It doesn’t matter. Although I was hoping to be done early enough today that I would have a beer in hand before dark.
But Kyle Alexander and his smart mouth had other things in mind. Things that caused my aching knuckles—things that caused his face to bleed. He’s not dead, even though I wish he were.
I can’t stand people like him, men who talk down to others. Men who think they’re above anyone else. He doesn’t know dick, not about me and not about my position in the club. He also doesn’t realize how powerful we are.
If he did, he wouldn’t have talked shit. I didn’t bother telling him, because a man like him wouldn’t have even listened anyway. I just showed him, and if he thinks about trying me or the club again, no holds barred, I will finish what he started.
As I ride up to the gate, I’m surprised when it doesn’t just open for me the way it usually does. As the Secretary of the club, I can’t even remember the last time I had to check in with whoever was on guard duty. Maybe when I was prospecting…maybe.
Turning my head, I watch as the prospect walks over to me. He seems a bit off. Maybe it’s his smile that’s just a touch too big. I don’t know what it is, but he’s clearly enjoying this shit, and now I need to know what the actual fuck is going on.
“All good?” I ask.
He clears his throat, rocking back on his heels, his lips twitching into a smirk. I’m about to knock it off his face if he doesn’t give me some goddamn answers soon. Luckily for him, he starts talking.
“Woman is here for you.”
My brows snap together in confusion. “A woman?”
All thoughts of slamming my already tender fist into his face disappear as I begin to focus on his words—a woman. A woman is here for me? Who the fuck could it be? If I had a different kind of life, maybe I could guess my mother, but she ran off a long-ass time ago. Never to be heard from or seen again.
He grins. “Pretty,” he says. “Rocked up in a 4-door Jeep Wrangler. Young. Dark hair…” His words trail off, and my mind begins to work. I have no fucking clue who it could be.
“Thanks,” I mutter, my mind now completely occupied with this mystery woman waiting for me ahead.
He dips his chin, then spins around and hurries over to the shack, and I watch as the gate opens. Without another thought, I move toward the clubhouse. I probably ride a little faster than I should, but I’m far too curious to take it slowly.
And there, parked right in front of the clubhouse, is the Jeep Wrangler.
I pull up to the passenger side and kill the engine, then disembark from my bike. Walking around the back of the Jeep, I take in the vehicle, trying to find anything that could tell me who is waiting for me. I don’t recognize it, and when I glance at the sticker on the back half-door, I notice that it’s a rental.
What in the…
Walking around to the driver’s side, I dip my chin and look at the person in the front seat. Dark hair, bright eyes. I recognize her instantly. Mainly because I’ve been thinking about her non-fucking-stop for three months straight.
Taking a step backward, I watch as she pushes the door open and then slides out, her feet touching the gravel, and then she’s standing in front of me. Dipping my chin, I look down into her pretty face. My cock twitches at the sight of her. All thoughts of my aching knuckles completely vanish.
“Zadie,” I say. I try as hard as I can to hide the surprise in my voice, but I doubt it works.
She gives me a small smile. “Maverick,” she whispers.
Without thinking, without asking her what the fuck she’s doing all the way across the country, I cup her cheeks. Shifting slightly, I touch my mouth to hers. I need to know if her taste is as good as remembered, as I’ve been imagining.
As my tongue slips inside her, I swirl it around her mouth, tasting her, and I know it’s not as good as I remembered—it’s better.
So much fucking better.
She whimpers, and I swallow the sound, my hands gripping her waist before I pick her up slightly, pressing her back against the Jeep. Her fingers grip my shoulders as she stabilizes herself. She breaks the kiss, shifting her head backward slightly.
