Shameless (2 page)

“Just got outta juvie a few days ago,” he said. His voice was gentler than she’d imagined it would be, but still rougher than the guys she was used to. There was a little lilt to his tone, a boyish carelessness that made her feel as though nothing ever really fazed him at all. “I remember you came to visit me.”

“I wasn’t visiting you,” Layla answered, suddenly wishing that she’d worn a shirt. Even though she couldn’t see Jesse’s emerald eyes through the tint of his lenses, she could still feel his gaze settled right on her cleavage.

“No?” Jesse replied. He leaned forward onto his handlebars as he watched her stoop down to wet her sponge in the soapy bucket near her feet. “Then I gotta ask: what was a girl like you doin’ in a place like that?”

She rolled her eyes, squeezed out a bit of excess water and suds, and said: “It was my parents’ idea. They wanted to scare me straight.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Figuratively, or…?”

“Yes,” she answered testily. She wasn’t a big fan of boys just showing up unannounced. She liked to have the control in the relationship, and Jesse barging into her driveway hadn’t earned him any points with her. “I like boys, dumbass.”

Jesse spread his hands wide in a gesture of defenselessness. “Well,
sorry
, beauty queen. How was I s’posed to know?”

“Oh, come on,” she said, glaring at him over her shoulder. “I mean, look at me.”

Jesse grinned ear-to-ear. “Well, if you insist…”

Layla threw her sponge at him. It slapped into the side of his bike, and he roared with laughter.

“You must think you’re hot shit,” she grumbled, planting her hands on her hips.

Jesse leaned down and picked up her sponge. “Well honey, don’t that make two of us?”

He tossed it back into the bucket and nudged his kickstand into the cement. As he dismounted the bike, he shoved his hands into the pockets of his worn jeans and began stalking around Layla’s car.

“What’s that, a Shelby?”

“Yes,” she said proudly, retrieving the sponge. “It’s a classic.”

“Uh huh,” he mumbled, taking a peek through her windows at the mess in the backseat. “Wouldn’t stand a chance against my bike, though.”

Layla rolled her eyes skyward. “Right. Because a roll cage hardly beats getting scalped by the pavement when you lay it down. I’ll stick with four wheels, thanks.”

“Hey, I understand,” Jesse said, feigning sympathy. “Lots’a people are scared of bikes.”

“I’m not scared,” she hissed. “I’m
smart.
And I imagine it’ll be pretty hard for you to be such an elitist when your brains are scattered all over the interstate.”

“That’s what the helmet’s for, princess,” Jesse said with a grin, finally rounding the hood of Layla’s car. He’d snuck up on her during their argument. She wasn’t ready for him to be so close.

The scent of cowhide leather clung to him like cologne, emanating in waves from his studded jacket. It looked so heavy, even on his strong, burly shoulders. She wondered how on earth he could stand to wear it on a hot day like this.

Something about the smell of it intrigued her, though, and as he crossed his arms over his chest, she caught another whiff of its sun-baked fragrance. It curled in her nostrils like the smoke from some kind of exotic incense, and she bit her lip as her toes curled against her cheap, spongy flip-flops. It was a scent she could get used to.

But Officer Maddock’s words lingered in the back of her head:
He almost broke the guy in half. And if he can do that, think of what he could do to you.

Her stomach twisted, and she took a step back from Jesse’s imposing form leaning against the hood of her Shelby.

“Look,” she said slowly. “I appreciate your interest, but…” She trailed off, trying to think of some excuse.

Jesse leaned forward as if interested in what she could come up with, the sunlight glinting off his golden skin as he waited for her to finish.

“…well, you’re in a motorcycle club, right?” she said finally. “What would they think if they saw you hangin’ out in a neighborhood like this with a girl like me?”

“I dunno,” he admitted. Then he smirked. “What kinda girl are you?”

“Not the kind that hangs out with ex- and future cons,” she answered.

Jesse snickered. “You make it sound so dramatic. It was juvie, beauty queen—not the state pen.”

“And you’re telling me that you’ll never end up there?” she asked, picking up the length of hose at her feet. “That you’ll just suddenly stop doing all the things that put you in juvie once you turn eighteen?”

“What I’m sayin’,” Jesse clarified. “Is that I won’t get caught.”

Layla shook her head and strode over to the faucet jutting out of the wall near the garage door. She turned off the flow of water and began winding the garden hose around the rack.

“C’mon,” he called out to her. “You’re not gonna leave me hangin’ on my birthday, are you?”

She looked at him over her shoulder. “I don’t even know you!”

“So
get
to know me!” he answered. “Think of it as my birthday wish.” He pressed his hands together as if in prayer. “I’ll even say please, if you like.”

Layla stood up and faced him. He was looking at her like a pitiful puppy dog, only according to the correctional officer, he had one hell of a bite. She pursed her lips as she looked him over, trying to decide if Officer Maddock had really been warning her, or if it’d been just another scare tactic on her tour of the facility.

“All right, then,” she said, lifting her chin. “Say it.”

Jesse pushed himself up off the hood of her cherry-red Shelby. He took a few steps toward her, his heavy boots thudding against the driveway, and then fell to his knees, arms spread wide as he stared up into her face.

“
Please.
”

Layla looked away, hoping to hide her smile. Other guys would have balked at her command in order to spare the blow to their manhood. But Jesse didn’t seem to care about any of that. He regarded her demands so flippantly, like he was above the alpha male behavior displayed by so many others.
Who the fuck cares what you think about me?
his expression read.

And to Layla, that was hot as hell.

“Whatever,” she sighed, stepping away before he could look up her Daisy Duke shorts. “Let me get a shirt on.”

“No need,” Jesse said, but Layla ignored him as she bounded up the walkway through her front door.

She mounted the stairs to her room, her heart racing as she ascended each step. Agreeing to a date with the head of a biker gang was impulsive, even for her.

But they were just kids. They couldn’t be into anything hardcore. Most likely, they were a bunch of rich boys rebelling against the wealth and status of their parents.

But what if they weren’t? She was eighteen now. If she got caught doing something illegal, it wouldn’t be just a slap on the wrist and a call to her parents. The stakes were much higher. She could get into real trouble.

Oh, for fuck’s sake,
she thought to herself as she reached the landing.
It’s one date, and in the middle of the day, no less. What do you think he’s gonna do—rob a bank?

She looked down over the railing. Jesse was standing in the foyer, looking around at all the nice things Layla’s parents owned. Heat rose in her cheeks. He probably thought she was some kind of rich bitch.

Well, aren’t I?

“I’ll be right down,” she told him and ducked into her room.

She stripped her wet bikini top from her damp flesh, tossing it into the hamper near her bed and flinging open the doors to her walk-in closet. She narrowed her eyes as she scanned the racks for her comfy gray tank top. No way was she dressing up for some biker guy.

She found it and slipped it on over her head, pulling it down over her flat belly as she looked at her own rack through the low neckline. Should she wear a bra?

Fuck that,
she decided as she kicked off her flip-flops in favor of a pair of sneakers.
If he doesn’t give a shit what I think, then I don’t care what he thinks, either.

She laced her shoes up tight, shoved a few twenties into her pocket, and then grabbed her fake ID—the one her parents
didn’t
know about—from the false bottom in the music box she’d bought for that exact purpose. She knew her parents would never suspect her of stashing contraband in something so innocent and precious.

Layla bit her lip. Maybe she should grab a joint or two while she was at it.

Are you crazy?!
the voice inside her head raged.
Do you want to get busted for possession?

Sighing, she closed the music box and pushed it back into place on her dresser. Then she hopped down the stairs and met Jesse at the bottom.

“Let’s go,” she said.

“Cool,” he replied with a wolfish grin. “I know just the place.”

If Layla had known how thrilling being on a motorcycle would be, she would’ve jumped onto the back of one long before now.

The hot air turned cool in the face of their speed, brushing the sweat and water from her body as they raced toward nowhere. That was how it felt to Layla, anyway. They’d been riding for longer than she’d anticipated, and they were so far past the town limits that she no longer recognized any of the scenery around them. The painted rocks all seemed to glow in the harsh light of the sun, and soon, even they gave way to nothing but flat stretches of dusty land and the occasional tumbleweed.

She pressed her cheek to the back of Jesse’s jacket as he navigated the winding dirt road. Every bump they hit sent tendrils of adrenaline through her body. It seemed like she could fall off at any moment.

But Jesse’s stayed strong and still in front of her, and that brought her comfort as they moved through the foreign landscape. She held onto him a little tighter, feeling the heat of his body radiating into her fingers from beneath his shirt. His abs were unyielding under her touch, and as they rose and fell with each of his steady breaths, she found herself having to actively resist the desire to slide her hands up under the hem and explore his body skin-to-skin.

You barely know the guy,
she reminded herself as she stared at the rust-colored rock formations and sparse Joshua trees looming in the distance.

The pleasant rumbling of the bike began to die down, and Layla peeked up over Jesse’s shoulder at the first building she’d seen in half an hour. It looked like some kind of warehouse. She squinted at the sign above the bay door:
Mirage Auto Repair.

“A garage?” she asked over the stutter of Jesse’s bike. “Why here?”

“You’ll see,” he replied, and her heart skipped a beat as she realized he’d dragged her out to an old repair shop in the middle of nowhere. She probably couldn’t even get a cell phone signal.

Fuck.

As Jesse approached the metal door, someone on the other side began to lift it open for him. They passed under it and into the shop proper, where Layla could see at least four other guys were hanging out, drinking beer and playing card games.

Jesse revved the bike’s engine in greeting, and Layla gasped. The vibrations shot all the way through the leather seat and between her legs, teasing her slit between them. She squirmed before she could stop herself and Jesse turned his head slightly toward her. Had he noticed?

He parked the bike and swung off it, pocketing his keys in his jacket before grabbing Layla around the waist and lifting her from the seat. She stole a quick glance at it just before he put her down and sighed in relief when she saw she hadn’t left a wet patch on it.

“Hey, Jesse,” one of the guys said. He was thinner than Jesse was, with jet black hair and a goatee to match. He jutted his chin out toward Layla. “Who’s the girl?”

“I dunno,” Jesse admitted, turning toward her. “What’s your name, beauty queen?”

“Layla,” she said, narrowing her eyes. “Layla Long. And stop calling me that.”

“Whatever you say, princess,” he replied, grinning at the other guy as he clapped his hand on his shoulder. “This is Camel. And this—” He gestured to the whole of the garage. “—is the Marauders MC clubhouse.”

“Nice to meet you, Layla,” Camel said, offering a lopsided smile as he reached out to shake her hand.

Layla returned the gesture, frowning as she looked into his honey-brown eyes. He didn’t look anything like a camel.

“Why do they call you that?” she asked, and he smiled a little wider under his mustache.

“It’s a long story,” he said. “Tell you what—if you decide to stick around, I’ll tell you about it someday.”

“Sure,” she said, releasing his hand as heavy footfalls turned her attention behind her.

An absolute beast of a man was approaching her. He looked like he was almost seven feet tall, and he cast long, inky shadows as he strode between a tire rack and a car up on a lift that she was sure he’d knock over with the span of his massive shoulders. His face was covered with wiry white whiskers that made him look like a giant Santa Claus. He was probably three-hundred-pounds of pure muscle, and when he got close to Jesse, he scowled deeply.