Biker Chick Campout (Rebel Wayfarers MC) (3 page)

Of
course,
this trip
had been forbidden, but she had ridden off anyway, knowing her
father would order men after her.
That was why she
was late to the gathering today, having barely evaded yet another
friendly snare set for her, hearing the dismayed and angry shouts
from above as she passed underneath a bridge on a small country
road.
She knew it would be miles before her father’s men
could exit the highway they were on, and by that time, she was long
gone, making up for lost time on the final portion of her ride.

She settled, leaning against the side of the
van and listening to the playful shouts from her friends. Watching
the gathered women in the light from the fire, seeing how their
faces glowed against the darkness, Jess running wild through the
group; it felt as if she were observing delight and joy in motion.
Flickering flames cast a luminous glow across them, contrasting
against the
dark
shadows forming along the
edges of the encircling trees. Those shadows larger than life,
beaten back by the light’s embracing arms stretching wide to
promise support and love.

Lost in her thoughts, she
didn’t realize for a minute there had been no movement from within
the van. Her weight against the side had rocked it in place, which
should have announced to the occupant that he had a visitor.
With a sigh, she shifted the cup to her other hand, stretching out
her arm to quietly knock on the door.

After a couple more minutes with no
answering movement or noise from inside the vehicle, she
knocked
again, slightly louder. Same
non-result. “Oh for fuck’s sake,” she sighed, “I’m hungry.”
Twisting to open the door, she called, “Hello the
van”
—
the panel moving soundlessly as it
glided through the grooves
—
“it’s time to rise
and shine”
—
smiling in expectation of
surprised questions
—
“sleeping beauty.”
The interior lights remained dark, either
disconnected or burned out, leaving only the light from the fire to
illuminate the inside of the vehicle. Her gaze dropped, seeing a
man asleep, stretched out on a thin mattress. A threadbare sheet
twisted low around his legs his only cover, leaving most of his
naked body on display.

“
Madre de Dios
,” she whispered, her
gaze drifting slowly from his face to his body, down to the
juncture of his thighs, then back up to his face. He was beautiful.
There was no other word for it, the man was
beautiful
. Even in the uncertain light, she could see his
hair was long and blond; it looked sun-bleached, slightly curly
where the ends escaped from a rude ponytail, carelessly tied back
with a leather thong. His face was handsomely symmetrical, arched
eyebrows over almond shaped eyes,
sharp
cheekbones, and a square chin.

He had attractive black and
gray
half-sleeve tattoos, and on the shoulder facing
her,
she saw a
Dia de
los
Muertos
sugar skull, inked with
impressive detail. His arms and body were sleekly muscled, not
bulked outlandishly,
but toned
in a way that
let you know he was strong because he worked for a living, not a
gym rat. Trailing her gaze lower, she let her eyes linger there for
a moment, studying where his soft, but still impressive cock curled
in a bed of dark blond hair.

He didn’t move, didn’t react, but his
stillness subtly changed in a way that brought her gaze back to his
face, mortified to find his eyes now open and staring at
her
. With a silent
groan,
she turned
away, giving him her back. “
Dios
lo
siento
!
I’m so
sorry,” she muttered, feeling her cheeks blazing with
embarrassment. “I was…I mean I meant…came to…wanted…”
Puta
mierda
, she thought,
pull it together, Mela
. “Dinner’s
ready.” Rattled, she finally got her words out, discomfited even
more by hearing him moving around behind her, probably pulling
jeans up those long, muscled thighs…
Mela
, she scolded
herself,
he’s a prospect, no matter how
fine
. He would never look at you that
way
.

You gotta be fucking kidding me
.
Hurley barely kept his mouth shut as the girl ogling him whipped
around, turning and giving him her back. Just a girl; not an old
lady,
surely
. She was mature enough to
consider a woman, but only just, even if she had curves for days.
Jesus
. Where she stood framed in the open door, the
firelight cast a halo around her, letting him pick out all the
enticing places on her body that so fascinated him at first
glance.

He’d woken as soon as the van’s door opened,
an initial thrill of fear following him up out of his dreams. Had
feigned sleep to try and evaluate the situation, and instead of a
threat…found her. So Hurley lay still and observed, enjoying
watching her look at him, eating him up with her eyes before she
realized he was aware. He’d savored the
unguarded
expression of raw hunger that played across her
face, and even now his cock would be willing to stand up and salute
her.

Worn jeans cinched tight at her waist, that
soft fabric covering every inch of her south of those luscious
hips.
Bet with an ass like that, she never lacks for
attention
. She’d have an old man, must have, given the company
in the clearing beyond where she stood.
Doesn’t matter how much
she looked at the merchandise. Never mind what she might have been
thinking, ain’t no way a sweet piece like that is for me, not if
she’s here with this crew
. The stumbling apology she’d given
was cute, and he knew if she didn’t have that gorgeous brown skin,
there’d be a fiery-red blush racing up her cheeks.

Bitch ain’t for me
.
Hurley
reached down, giving himself one slow, firm stroke
before abandoning the grip on
his
hard cock.
Man can dream, though
. And he would tonight, would be doing
some hard dreaming while lying on the
paltry
mattress that Ruby threw at him before she basically locked him in
the van.

Gotta
find
a way to get that woman to let up on me
, he
thought as he dressed, laying his leather vest near the door. That
symbol of everything he wanted was heavier now than it had been a
week ago, because in giving him this honor—and that was how he’d
tried to look at it, at least after his dressing down—Slate had
also handed him a center patch, bringing him more officially into
the fold.
Fucking finally
. Missing a bottom rocker yet, but
that would come in time.

His eyes trailed across the form of the
woman still with her back to him, and he allowed himself a moment
to dream right then.
Good
woman on the back of
his bike, a solid chick. The one he chose would
get
the club
and the life in a way that meant he wouldn’t have to explain
everything to her.

A woman like the ones going crazy, dancing
around the bonfire; real women. An old lady, a partner, someone he
could lean on. The honey-skinned beauty in front of him was the
perfect example of what he’d be looking for. A
woman
not afraid of her own appetites—he grunted when his
cock began to fatten, his flagging erection rekindling—or his.
Strong
, not a weak flower that needed
protecting. Like DeeDee told him, a woman who understood the life
would have her man’s back in every way she could.

He let his gaze trace this
woman
’s body again, lingering on those hips. Shapely as
they were, it was as if those curves were calling for his hands to
grip and pull. Hold on tight, riding hard as he wanted.
A woman
like this one, stacked and full-figured, she
could take some rough handling. A dream worth having. She
shifted,
and he saw the delicate angles of her
features, eyes a dark shimmer glimpsed only from the side as she
resolutely kept her face averted. Could take anything, but God…he’d
give her the world if she were his old lady.
My old lady will be
my queen
.

Hurley shook himself, scooting to the edge
of the opening as he dropped his boots out the door.
Not ready
for that yet
, he thought,
need to pay attention to
business
. Get that rocker. Get solid in the club, make it so
every brother knew he had their six, no matter what. Only then
could he start looking for his queen.
Man can dream,
though
.

Two hands settled on her
shoulders,
and she nearly shrieked at the unexpected
touch. They gently moved her sideways a step, fingertips trailing
softly down the slopes of her shoulders and upper arms. “Okay,” he
said, and as soon as she heard it, she immediately thought his
voice was beautiful, too. That single spoken word caused her to
shiver,
and she felt gooseflesh
rise
all along her arms in response. He asked, “Need
anything from inside the van?” She turned to look at him and became
mesmerized, watching him slip socked feet into boots.
So
beautiful
, she thought. He finished and sat on the edge of the
doorway
looking up at her for a moment. He had
put on jeans, but no
shirt
and she could see
the dark swirls of those tattoos on his upper arms. “Well?”

Startled, she must have looked as confused
as she
felt
because he laughed
softly, corners of his mouth curling up slightly
before
asking a second time, “Need anything from inside the van?” That
laugh
caused the same kind of shiver to flow
through her, and
this time,
she felt a
clenching low in her belly. Shaking her head, she answered him
wordlessly, not
confident
she could still
speak. Most of her thoughts were jumbled, the only coherent ones to
do, again, with his beauty.
How could someone so beautiful be
called Hurley
, she mused, then shook her head, not caring,
because the evidence was right in front of her. “Got that in one,
doll.” She must have looked
confused
because
he laughed. “You already said ‘no,’ honey.”

“Oh,” she forced out, trying to mask her
embarrassment by lifting the cup of tequila and taking a drink.
Dios, he must think I’m an idiot
, she thought.

“Whatcha got?” he asked and reached out,
casually plucking the cup from her grip. Sniffing, he made a face
and turned his head sideways, then lifted the cup and sipped. He
made
a rough
noise in the back of his throat
as he lowered the cup, then
raised
it and
sipped again. “Mica’s good stuff,” he said with a grin, passing her
the cup back. “I have my own stash I don’t tell her about. If she
knew what I liked to drink, she’d lecture me about fermenting
practices and aging properties.”

“Umm hmm,” she agreed, still watching his
face.
Beautiful
.

“I’m Hurley.” He gave her
a
chin
lift, and then unfolded fluidly and stood next to her,
so close she could feel the heat rolling off him.
An
intimate
distance, one that could be eliminated if she
swayed only the slightest amount.
“I’m with the
Rebels out of Fort Wayne, but they use me to slog shit here and
there”
—
he swung an arm out, indicating the
van behind them
—
“such as food and amenities
for hen’s parties in the middle of fucking nowhere.”

Rolling her lips between her teeth, she
clamped down on them and nodded.
Say something
, she thought.
You’ve been around men like him all your life. Why has this
hermoso
gringo stolen your
voice, chica?

“Normally when one person of a group or
gathering introduces themselves, it’s courteous for the other
parties
present to reciprocate,” he said with
another grin, this one sly, drawing his lips sideways as he openly
teased her. “Let’s try this again, honey. Hi there, I’m
Hurley.”

Cheeks blazing hot, she dropped her gaze to
the ground. Forcing her mouth open, she took in a breath, and then
murmured
, “Mela.” She cleared her throat. “I’m
Mela. Carmela, actually, but my friends call me Mela. Like mellow,
but with an
aah
sound. Mela.”

She heard him move and saw his feet shift
closer, that heat raging hotter all along her body, her awareness
of him intensifying. A bold move, he wasn’t making any effort to
hide his interest. His voice deepened and grew husky as he let the
sounds of her name roll off his tongue, “Mela.” Darting a glance at
him, she saw he was looking down at her with a soft smile on his
face. “My pleasure, honey.”
His hand gripped hers and
in an instant, the scene in front of her was gone and in the place
of the beautiful young
gringo,
her mind showed her an older
Mexican man. Angry, his hard, sweaty hands reaching out to grasp
her wrists.
It was only a moment until with a jolt, she
jerked free and closed her eyes, opening them just in time to see
Hurley take a step back, probably assuming her reaction was to his
touch. Which it was, just not in the way he imagined. Not a
rejection of him, but of her memories. “So…” —his voice trailed off
uncertainly, then picked back up, the look on his face lost in the
deepening shadows
—
“you said dinner was
ready?”

She nodded and her movement
seemed to be his exit cue. Before she could say anything else he
had reached behind her, bringing out and putting on his cut. Then,
carefully and obviously not touching her, he closed the van door
before wordlessly turning and walking towards the fire. Away from
her and her fears, leaving her standing alone.