Page 23 of Rough Return

She slammed her glass down. “Mr. Sedotal, look around you.” Her father’s Spanish oak desk had been traded for a glass and steel one that sat in the lower quarter of the office with a new white leather chair behind it. The paintings had been upgraded, the floor polished to a glossy, white shine she could see her reflection in. “Your price isn’t an issue.”

“As your protection, I will be in control. I will screen your guests, your clientele, and I alone carry inside this building. Or no deal.”

She narrowed her eyes. After a moment, she slid open a steel-fronted drawer and slid a pistol, a semi-auto Glock, the one thing of Max’s she’d kept in the office, onto the desk. “Can I call you Tyler?” He nodded, his somewhat bored expression turned on her. The gun sat between them, hopefully a reminder of exactly who was in charge of this meeting. “Tyler, obviously you know this isn’t just any normal business. We deal with some… unsavory product which means we deal with some unsavory buyers and sellers. My guys carry out of necessity, because they’re sworn to protect one another and this club at all costs. I wouldn’t, and you won’t, ask them to put their weapons down and still risk their lives.” She stood and held out her hand, not touching the gun because to show fear was to show weakness. And Fiona Strong-Owen was anything but weak. Not after the month she’d had.

“Can I call you Fiona?” She shrugged and crossed her arms since Tyler didn’t seem in any hurry to end their meeting. And it didn’t matter what he called her so long as he took the job. She had interests to protect. Hers. And the child she would have one way or another. She needed discretion. But more, she needed eyes on the street, someone whose loyalty didn’t belong first to her father and the club which only transferred to her by default. This guy came recommended, and his allegiance would be to her. Because she was more than willing to pay for it.

She watched him, stared hard. He was blond, not like Grier’s honey-blond, but lighter. And he had green eyes. He was older than Grier, not as built, but she would have bet big money he didn’t need strength to be fast enough to stymie an opponent. Fast enough to challenge Grier should the need arise.

She glanced over her shoulder at Hamilton. She wanted to see how Tyler Sedotal took a punch. Without speaking, she tapped her fingers twice on the blotter on her desk. Hamilton remained still. He would wait until the last moment then he would pounce.

“I can’t have you telling me how to do my job. For our relationship to work, for me to be the man in your life who protects you from whatever dangers come to your door, I have to have your total trust and your complete cooperation. When I say no one carries a weapon except me, it’s for your safety.” She cocked her head. “Obviously, with your father’s death, you have questions now about your men trying to overthrow you. Your husband, maybe?”

Word had obviously made it to the street that some of the Demons were less than thrilled with pulling out of the drug game. For years, it had meant big pocket money and not just a couple had been pissy about losing that kind of income. She’d let the ones who wanted to leave go, Bruce, two new guys and Dan, and she’d known there would be blow-back on the streets, but not to the level it had escalated to.

She didn’t answer, and Sedotal continued. “And your husband will need to be briefed on our contact.” He spoke with military precision, a command that meant he’d been in charge somewhere.

“Our contact?”

“I can’t protect you if I’m not with you. Since your husband has taken to sleeping at the club”—and how the fuck did he know that?—“I’ll be staying at your place.”

No, the hell he wouldn’t. She sat back, needed to think for a minute. Anyone she hired for “security” would likely make the same demands. Particularly if Grier wasn’t staying there. Well, she would fix that, and Sedotal could stay at the clubhouse since that was where she needed him anyway.

* * *

Grier parked the bike, dangled the helmet over the brake handle. And he watched. Watched Fiona stalk her way across the lot to him. To stand in front of the bike, hands on hips. As pretty in all black as when she’d worn the yellow sundress in high school and the blue power suit a few weeks earlier.

“Hello, beautiful.”

She crossed her arms, feet apart, eyes narrow. No other warrior ever looked so hot. “You’re staying at home tonight. And every night from here on out. Clear?”

Sage cleared his throat and hid his smirk behind his fist. Grier punched him in the chest. “Beat it.”

He waited until Sage walked into the clubhouse before he turned to her. “Fiona.”

“Grier, I’m your wife. And every damned person here knows you don’t want me and you don’t want to be married to me.” She ran her hand through her hair, flipped it to one side, and sighed. “Could you just pretend for a while that we’re together? Maybe save me some embarrassment?”

“Pretend?” His brow crinkled. Pretend? Well, yeah, but not the way she thought. Not a way he could live with himself if she believed. He swung his leg over the bike, stood and strode to her, tangled his hand in her hair and kissed her. Hard. Desperate. With enough passion, she certainly wouldn’t be able to accuse him of pretending ever again.

When he’d proved his point and before he lost consciousness, he let her go. To his credit, he didn’t sway or stagger or fall to smack his probably goofy-grinning face on the concrete. He stood staring.

“Nice performance. I’d ask for an encore, but we both know…”

Before she could finish, he kissed her again. As much because he didn’t want to hear the rest because he needed to pull her body in, to taste her mouth, feel her skin. His world went dark with Fiona as the only point of light. Every breath came because of her, at her command. And damned if he cared. He wanted her.

“Get on the bike, Fiona.”

“I need to talk to you.”

He handed her the helmet. “There isn’t going to be any talking, Fiona. There will be moaning. A lot of moaning.” He wanted her in the dark, dangerous way that crowded reason out of his head. “Now get on the bike, or I’ll put you on it.”

Their staring contest lasted only as long as it took her to pop the helmet over her hair and adjust the strap. If she wanted proof he wanted her, tonight and tonight only, he’d give her all the proof she could handle.

* * *

Grier wanted Fiona. Plain and simple. But nothing about their relationship was easy. There was too much outside interference from a dead man. It clouded everything, made Grier nothing more than Fiona’s cash cow. But for now, as he drove to her place with her hand rubbing his cock through his jeans, he didn’t give a damn about Max or two-year marriages and the introduction of a baby into this mess. All he cared about was Fiona.

At the stoplight, he twisted to kiss her, just a taste of what was to come. A tongue-swirling tease. Oh, God, this woman. When the light turned, he raced toward her house, her hand still stroking, his dick still standing at attention.