Take Me Deeper (30 page)

Eight years was a long time to hold a grudge, but he didn't give a shit. He hadn't forgotten and he hadn't forgiven, and right now she was blundering into a powder keg and any little spark could set it off.

The keg being him. The spark being her.

Yet, instead of picking up on the danger and maybe turning around and walking back out again like a good little girl, Nora fucking Sutcliffe raised an eyebrow, a sarcastic smile curving her mouth. “Smith,” she said, the only name he'd ever bothered with even now. “Long time, no see, huh?”

As if she hadn't destroyed him and the life he'd been hoping to create all those years ago. As if it meant nothing to her.

He leaned on his pool cue, his heart full of fury while his body rang like a church bell being struck, calling people to prayer. Fuck yeah, he remembered that particular prayer, worshipping at the church of Nora Sutcliffe's glorious body…

Slowly, because he had to know if that was a religion he still subscribed to, he let his gaze rove over her, drinking down the physical reality of her here in this shitty bar. Beautiful, she'd always been so goddamned beautiful, and now she'd definitely grown into it. All that wide-eyed, eighteen-year-old innocence he remembered was gone, replaced by the certain, tough confidence of a woman out to prove herself no matter the cost. Something had happened to her, that was for sure. The soft, shy, pretty little Texan debutante, daughter of one of Houston's richest men, had disappeared completely, taken over by this gun-toting, cocky-looking, hard-ass chick.

And damned if it didn't suit her.

“So,” she said into the silence, eyeing his cut. “You're a biker now?”

He gave her a feral grin, letting his anger settle in and get comfortable. “I'm not just a biker, baby. I'm the fucking president.”

She blinked, her gaze settling on his president's patch, her mouth opening slightly, full and red and delicious, just like an apple.

And desire kicked like a mule inside him, making his muscles tighten and his dick start to get hard, and sending his anger into overdrive.

Why the
fuck
did he still want her? After everything she'd done? What the
fuck
was wrong with him?

Then he noticed something else about her that sent everything into a tailspin.

She was wearing a black cowboy hat.

His
black cowboy hat. He'd recognize it anywhere. It was the one he'd bought with his first construction paycheck, a sign of better things to come. The one he'd then left behind the day they were discovered in the pool house together and everything went to hell.

Holy shit, she'd kept it. All these years and she'd kept it.

The desire inside him began to gather and rush like a heavy rain down a dry riverbed. Collecting with his anger, getting heavier, forming a flash flood.

He'd had plenty of women over the years, went through 'em like a wolf through a flock of sheep, letting none of them touch him, letting none of them matter. And he'd felt just fine about that five minutes ago.

Now he felt starved. Like he hadn't had sex in decades.

Jesus fucking Christ.

Nora dragged her gaze up from his patch, back to his face. “President huh? Well, alrighty then.” There was an acid bite to the words. “Shall we get the ‘Hi, how are yous' out of the way first before you break into Humphrey Bogart from
Casablanca
? No, I'm not married. Yes, I really am a fugitive recovery agent. No, my Dad doesn't approve. And no, I haven't seen him in years.” Her lovely mouth curved in a brief, wholly professional smile. “So, now that's over and done with, that man beside you has skipped bail and I've been sent to retrieve him. So if you could hand him over to me, that'd be great.”

A thick, uncomfortable tension descended on the room like a heavy blanket. The rest of the brothers were silent, watching him, gauging him.

Well, this was shitty timing. For Nora. And for a number of reasons. First, he wasn't handing his VP over to anyone—Dust wasn't just a friend, he'd been with Smith in Afghanistan, and even if he hadn't been a brother, ratting out an army buddy just wasn't happening, not in any universe. Second, demanding he hand over a brother in front of the whole damn club, was tantamount to a challenge and no MC president worth his salt would allow that, especially not a president in the middle of forcing an entire club of badasses and criminals to go straight.

Thirdly, no one told him what to do. Ever.

Behind him, Dust shifted on his feet and opened his mouth to say something, but Smith gave him a warning glance, causing him to shut it again almost instantly.

Yeah, good plan. His temper was not improved that this was the first Smith had heard about Dust getting arrested, not to mention skipping bail. That it probably had something to do with the custody hearing Dust had coming up in a few weeks for his son, didn't make any difference. What had the stupid fuck been thinking getting arrested? Now? When he goddamn knew what Smith was trying to accomplish with the chapter, too? And, more to the fucking point, why hadn't Dust told him about it?

Shit, he was going to have to deal with that later. Right now, he had more important things to handle. Such as one sassy blond bounty hunter giving him lip.

Smith glanced back at Nora, holding her gaze again, letting the silence sit there because sometimes silence was a useful tool when it came to unsettling people and he sure as hell liked unsettling people.

Clearly she
was
unsettled since her hand had come to rest on the butt of the pistol at her hip. The pistol that sat beside the badge that said
FUGITIVE RECOVERY AGENT
.

Good. His little ex-debutante could use some unsettling.

He handed his cue to Dust without looking and folded his arms, keeping a lid on the worst of his anger for the moment. “Not sure if you're aware, sweetheart, but the Ministry president answers to no one but himself.”

She gave him a look of polite regret. “Sadly for you, Ace, the law would disagree.”

“I was just trying to—” Dust began from beside him.

“Dust,” Smith didn't raise his voice, he didn't have to. The brothers knew what it meant when he spoke in that tone. “Shut the fuck up.”

Nora rolled her eyes. “Look, I don't care why he skipped bail. Fact is he did, and it's my job to bring him in. If you get in the way, then you're breaking the law too.”

Smith didn't give a fuck about the law or about breaking it, at least not when it came to stupid shit. Sure, he was aiming to get his club on the straight and narrow, but not because it was the right thing to do. He was doing it because he was goddamn sick of the relentless police attention that came their way and an MC was all about freedom from the civilian world, not being hassled incessantly by it.

This isn't going to help.

No, it fucking wasn't. Dust getting arrested then skipping bail and drawing unwanted legal attention was
definitely
not helping. Looked like he was due a serious talk with his VP later.

Now, though, if Nora thought she could come in here and start demanding shit from him, in front of his own damn club, she had another think coming.

Maybe she needs the “who's in charge” lesson?

Interesting thought. In fact, it was starting to give him ideas.

Smith gave her another long look, examining all the changes the years had made. The faint lines at the corners of her eyes, the firm set of her mouth. The way her face had thinned out, her features becoming more distinct, less pretty, settling into stunning.

Hot day, the sun beating down as he'd helped old Pete lay the foundations on the Sinclair's new pool house. And he'd seen her, lying on a sun lounger in a tiny white bikini. Golden haired and golden skinned, humming tunelessly along to whatever was playing on her iPod, not even knowing he was there. As the concrete was poured, he'd stood and watched her, completely unable to look away. He'd never seen anything so beautiful in all his fucking life…

Someone coughed behind him. The brothers were getting antsy and he was fucking daydreaming. Christ. Time to show them and this little girl standing in front of him who the fuck was president.

“Well,” Nora said impatiently into the silence. “You can continue the staring competition on your own. Don't mind me. I'll just go get Brook here and we can—”

“No.” Smith kept his voice flat and hard.

Her eyes widened. “No?”

“You actually think you can come into Ministry territory and start ordering me around? That I'm actually going to do whatever you say?”

She tilted her head, gave him a long look of her own. “Oh, I don't know. I thought if I asked nicely enough…”

“Then ask me nicely.”

“He broke the law, Smith.”

“So?”

Nora blinked. “So…I'm guessing you don't want legal trouble, right?”

He said nothing, staring at her, looking deep into the warm brown and gold of her eyes, letting the silence answer for him.

Of course he didn't want legal trouble, not while he was still in the process of shutting down the various illegal businesses the Ministry had once been involved with.

But by coming in here and doing this publicly, little Miss Nora had put him between a rock and a hard place.

“No,” she answered for him, holding his gaze in a way very few people ever did. Man, she hadn't done that when she'd been eighteen, either. “I'm guessing you don't. In fact, I'm guessing there's a whole world of legal trouble that you don't want, that could potentially become a problem if you don't give the son of a bitch to me.”

Smart girl. She'd given him the rock, now she was reminding him of the hard place.

Too bad for her that he tended to blow both rocks and hard places the hell up.

Electricity sparked along his nerve endings, a primitive response to the challenge she presented. A sharp jolt he hadn't felt for years, not since he'd come back from Afghanistan, looking to rebuild the life he'd lost after Nora and war had destroyed it.

Well, he had rebuilt it and now that he was just fitting the last few remaining bricks to it, he was
not
going to let her mess with it a second time.

Hell fucking yeah, let's blow this shit up.

Nora's firm chin was lifted high, her shoulders square, and there was absolutely no fear in those pretty eyes, no fear at all. As if she routinely faced down presidents of motorcycle clubs who were fully a head taller than she was and armed to the fucking teeth.

This was
not
the debutante he'd once known, the spoiled, pampered good girl who'd been the apple of her father's eye.

The electricity in his veins became lightning. Because, hell, he wasn't the twenty-two-year-old builder's laborer she'd dumped in the shit either. Not anymore.

“Everyone get the fuck out,” he said, not raising his voice. “And don't come in until I say.”

There was a silence.

“Prez?” Dust asked, sounding uncertain.

“I've never had to repeat myself before.” Smith didn't take his gaze from Nora's. “You wouldn't want to break a perfect record would you, Dust?”

Another silence.

“Fuck, you heard him!” Dust roared. “Everyone get outta here!”

Within seconds, the bar was completely empty except for Lemmy screaming from the jukebox.

“Now,” Smith said. “You and I are gonna have a little chat.”

Love stories you'll never forget

By authors you'll always remember

eOriginal Romance from Random House

randomhousebooks.com