Page 19 of Rough Patch

She leaned in and put her arm around his waist to slip her finger through the belt loop on his opposite hip. The warmth of her breath tingled in his ear. “I have this fantasy about you.”

And now she had his attention. “Yeah? You want to tell me about it?”

She nodded and rubbed her tits against his arm. His dick twitched. She laced her fingers with his and pulled. “I want to show you.”

And because he couldn’t have said no if he had wanted to, he let her lead him out of the bar, through the shop and to the car she’d driven there. “Car sex?”

“Nope.” She climbed in the driver’s side. “I have to show you something. Take me home.”

He drove. She left her hand on his leg, stroking with one finger as he raced the car toward their place. He smiled at the thought. Their place.

There was nothing about Fiona he didn’t love. Her beauty, her wit, her charm, the way she’d stood toe to toe with Jim and dared any one of the club to try to remove her as their leader. The fact she carried his baby without complaint, complaints she would have been entitled to make, like swollen ankles, fatigue, whatever aches came along with pregnancy.

He glanced at her, reclined in the seat next to him. “I love you.” He wanted to say it, needed her to know he didn’t only tell her when it suited his purpose or when it could benefit him somehow.

She smiled. “We’ll see in a minute.”

He pulled into the driveway and shut off the car. She reached into the glove compartment and pulled out a flashlight then opened the door. “Come on. I have something to show you.”

Instead of going to the house, she walked around the side and opened the back gate then clicked the button on the light. A triangle of light in front of her led them to a small garage at the back of the property, a garage he didn’t even know belonged to her. She pulled a key from over the doorframe, unlocked the door and pushed it open. Before he could walk through behind her, she stood in the doorway. “Please understand I was angry at you, and I’m sorry.”

Oh, God. If she had a body locked in the garage it was going to be a very long night. “I thought this was about your fantasy.”

“It is. But first…” She flipped a switch and moved out of the doorway as an overhead light shined down on his bike. Not the spare he’d been riding since she’d brought him back from Belize, but his bike… the one he’d spent hours building under Max’s guidance.

She’d told him it was gone. Parted out then burned. “Well, you little liar, you.” He couldn’t decide whether to be angry or whether he wanted to kiss her. Instead of doing either, he walked inside, closer, mouth hanging open, so damned glad to see his bike he could’ve cried with joy. “You already told me you had it.” A while back even and he’d waited patiently for her to return it. Patient to the point he’d forgotten about it.

“Yeah. But I thought it was time to give it back.” She breathed in deep. Aside from the ass kicking and the fact every guy in the club probably still wanted him dead, this had turned out to be a great day.

He watched the uncertainty play across her face. “Come here.” His smile was pretty easy to hide behind the busted lips and bruised face.

Fiona straddled the bike in front of him, her hands on his shoulders, her ass on the gas tank. He leaned in to kiss her gently then drew away. “Now, about that fantasy…” He had a fairly good idea, but waited for her to strip off her shirt, and lean back so her head rested between the handlebars. “On the bike?”

“On it, over it. Since you took me to school that last day senior year, all I could think about was your cock sliding in and out of me while the bike roared underneath us.” She sat up and sealed her mouth to his, pulling him forward as she laid back.

Finally, after a lifetime of having nothing, Grier Owen had everything he’d ever wanted. And god damned if he’d let anything come in the way of it.

Grier Fucking Owen was taking this pampering his wife thing a bit far. He’d been at her side for weeks. If she shopped, he drove, carried her bags, helped her to the car. When she got her nails done, he read a magazine in the waiting area. If she took a shower, he washed her back. Although, she didn’t mind that one so much. But she hadn’t had a moment alone since she couldn’t remember when and she just needed some time.

Now he stood in her bathroom, waist wrapped in a towel. “What do you think about naming the kid Max?”

Of course she planned to name her son Max. Certainly she wouldn’t be naming him Kermit, Grier’s actual first name. But that he’d brought it up irrationally irritated her. “I’ll pick his name when he’s born.”

Grier shrugged, unbothered by her words or the tone with which she spat them at him. “I just thought it would be nice to name him after your dad. Or her. It could work for a girl, too.”

She jerked her magazine, certain to make sure the rustle of paper was loud enough for him to hear. Then she growled when the page tore and tossed the book onto the foot of the bed. After a quick punch to her pillow, she flopped down and closed her eyes. Hopefully, he would take the hint.

“To be honest, I promised Max before he died.”

He promised Max. Her father. “Well, you didn’t have the right.”

He put his razor down and walked out of the bathroom to sit next to her on the bed. He still had shaving cream on half of his face. “I’m sorry, Fiona. I just wanted to give him a little joy in however long he had left.” He brushed her hair off her face and let his hand linger on her back.

And now she felt like a shit. Again, Grier’s fault. She couldn’t tell if the anger was from the hormones or because he’d really pissed her off. And she couldn’t figure it out with him hovering. “I haven’t been sleeping well. I can’t get comfortable with you in here.”

What? The only time she was comfortable was tucked into his side with her leg over his.

“I can sleep on the sofa.” She didn’t miss the flash of hurt in his eyes as he stood and went back to the bathroom to finish shaving.