The Biker's Wench (6 page)

Monica released her grip on his arm like it was a hot pan, pulling as far away from him as she could get within the confines of the chair. "No," she said, her arms crossed over her chest. "No. I'm not having kids, ever. So he can just go straight to hell. Straight. To. Hell."

She was trembling, hot red anger rising in her face. Harley was glad he'd decided not to tell her the rest for now. He'd known she'd react badly, but this was far more dramatic than expected. He wondered if she knew more about her father's criminal activities than she let on.

"Do you want to talk about it?" he said softly, reaching out to lay one hand on her knee.
She brushed it aside, launching herself out the chair and slipping past before he could blink. "There's nothing to talk about, I just don't want kids." She walked over to the fireplace then turned suddenly, her intense gaze burning into him. "You said you had a plan?"
He nodded. "Like I said, I've almost got enough saved up to pay off the ranch. I say we play along for six months. Then when I've got the money, we trade the ranch for our silence and your freedom."
"It seems too simple." She frowned, shaking her head. "I just don't
know...something's off about all of this. Why didn't he just call in the note? Why play with us like this? It doesn't make any sense."
Harley felt a twinge of guilt as he watched her pace with furrowed brow, trying to make one plus one equal three. Burns had no intention of ever giving up the ranch - he was certain of that. Harley had been about to tell him just where he could stick his demands regardless of the consequences when one of Burns' bodyguards had interrupted them with a call. Burns stepped out of the room to answer it, and the bodyguard left behind had identified himself as undercover FBI agent Austin Daniels. He'd asked Harley to play along and find out exactly what was in those
packages
. The FBI suspected he was abducting and smuggling women out of the country to sell as sex slaves, but he normally stayed far enough away from the day-to-day operations that Daniels hadn't been able to connect him to it. Yet.
He wanted Harley to confirm his suspicions and collect any evidence that might connect Burns to the smuggling ring. Since Monica was at the ranch there was a possibility that Burns would spend more time there now, having expressed an interest in getting to know his daughter better again. If he happened to oversee a hand-off or two, that would go a long way toward putting him behind bars.
Daniels had assured him the ranch would be turned over free and clear after Burns was taken into custody, and Harley had reluctantly agreed. He hadn't really seen a choice, since any legal proceedings against Burns at this point could close down the ranch for months or even years, and this way they had a chance to get Monica's father out of her life forever. Not to mention the women, if that was indeed what Burns was smuggling.
He stood up, meeting Monica's troubled gaze. "I don't know, sweetheart. But like I said before, I'm working on a way to get us out of this mess, and get your father out of your life for good, if that's what you want."
She nodded, slowly. "What do we do now?"
A loud buzzing from Harley's pocket filled the space between them, and he dug his phone out of his pocket to answer. He listened intently to the frantic voice on the other end, feeling her tension surround him as she watched and waited. "Just hang on a few more minutes, if you can. We'll be right there," he said and disconnected the call. She raised her eyebrows, and he grinned.
"Ready to play the wench again, darlin'?"

"Saloon girl," Monica corrected automatically, guilt edging in as she remembered she had been scheduled to work this morning. It hadn't mattered when she'd thought she wasn't coming back. "Just let me change..." She turned to go, halted by warm fingers closed lightly around her upper arm. Looking up, she met his concerned gaze.

Swallowing hard, she nodded. "It will be good to do something mundane for awhile. Everything's been so...intense," she said, pulling gently out of his grasp. "I could use the break."

He nodded, stepping aside. "I'll take you down on the four-wheeler. I have some things to get done this afternoon, but I'll be back in time to bring you home."
"Thanks." She went down the hall to her -
his
room, and after a brief search found the costume hanging in the closet right next to all of his things. Whoever had washed her under things must have cleaned it too, and she was grateful. Shimmying out of the jeans and shirt she'd put on just under an hour ago, she dressed quickly then used the bathroom mirror to fluff her drying hair. As she lowered her hand, a glint of gold flashed in the mirror, and she looked down to examine the ring Harley had given her. It was probably the most symbolic thing she'd ever owned, and yet it seemed to mock her from its place on her finger.
Staring into her own eyes, she waited for the urge to run, the one she would have listened to last night if she hadn't been so tired. She held up her left hand, wiggled it in the mirror to remind herself she was well and truly married. Trapped. Caged, even if it was only supposed to be short term.
Nothing.
Fear prickled under her skin as she contemplated what that meant. She couldn't afford to be comfortable, to settle down. To trust. This feeling of belonging couldn't be real, she wouldn't let it. Belonging to someone - with someone - always ended badly.
She went back to the bedroom and laced her feet into the tall leather boots, then went to find Harley, skirt swishing around her ankles. As she neared the kitchen, the sound of his voice drifted through the doorway.
"No, Burns specifically said not to use a room near his. Use three-twelve. It should be clean and empty. I'll be there in about 20 minutes."
Monica entered in time to see him hang up the phone, and shot him a questioning look. "My father is still here?"
"Only for tonight," Harley said, looking her up and down. "Nice," he said, a grin playing at his lips. "Very nice."
She shook her head, trying to hold back a smile. "Don't even go there," she said, following him to the front door. "Why is my father still here?"
Harley pulled the door shut behind them, his expression stiff as he walked past her down a long, undecorated hall. "Apparently he booked a dinner party here at the mansion for tonight before he knew you were here," he said, leading the way to a small bank of elevators and pushing the call button. "Some conference his company was hosting in Reno. That's why your ex was here too - he skipped out on a couple meetings to scout out our security ahead of time. It was just chance that he decided on the saloon to drink in that night instead of the Double D."
"He's not my ex." Monica stepped onto the elevator, only vaguely remembering having been on it the night before. "I guess he was bound to find me anyways then, from the sounds of it. The universe is trying to tell me something. Maybe I should have just gone--"
Harley pushed the hold button and the elevator jerked to a stop. Wary, Monica backed away as he advanced, until her shoulders were pressed into the corner. Heat radiated off his body as he braced his forearms on either side of her head and leaned in. "The universe isn't telling you anything. Common sense is telling you it's time to quit running and fight back, so fight, damn it! Don't let him or anyone else tell you how to live your life." He leaned closer, his breath hot on her face and she knew in another second, he'd be kissing her. And she wouldn't be able to resist.
His muscles flexed instinctively under her hands as she looked him in the eye and pushed him away. "That's rich coming from someone who lives his life on the advice of his lawyers."
Harley stared at her for a long moment and then pushed the button to start the elevator again. "I listen to my lawyers when they give good advice - and I pay them to give good advice," he said, crossing his arms over his chest. "But they don't run my life. I'm sure there are at least a dozen women out there they would have preferred I married instead of you." The doors opened and he walked out without so much as a backward glance.
Monica followed, practically jogging to catch up as he strode through the back half of the mansion. She'd succeeded in pushing him away but it hurt to know she'd hurt him. Biting back the apology on her lips, she swung onto the seat of the four-wheeler behind him and held on as he turned over the engine. She could feel the disapproval coming off him in waves and wondered if this was what her life would be like from now on.
A minute later, he pulled up outside the saloon, not bothering to turn off the engine. She got off the machine, resisting the urge to glance at him before walking away. She'd only taken a step when strong fingers circled her wrist and pulled her off-balance. She stumbled back against him, at his mercy as he pulled her across his lap and against his chest, lowered his head and seared her lips in a strong, branding kiss.
As quickly as it had started, it was over, and without looking directly at her he set her on her feet and gunned the engine. She watched him drive away, her body shaking at the powerful emotions warring inside her. Taking a deep breath, she exhaled slowly, composing herself as much as she could before she went inside.

Several hours later, Monica took a seat at a back table, her shift almost over. She sipped a soda and watched the last of the patrons packing up to leave, finally allowing herself to think about that kiss. Harley had been hungry, desperate - she had felt it all the way to her toes even in the few seconds before he'd left her. Thinking back, she revisited every expression, every nuance from the conversations they'd had. He hadn't once suggested she leave. Hadn't even blamed her for all the trouble he was facing now, when most men would be railing at her or tossing her out on her ear. Why? The only possible answer both scared her to her core, and excited her like nothing ever had. Could it be that he really cared for her?

She checked her watch. It was just past six and the mansion was probably being prepared for her father's dinner party. She had no desire to run into him or his cronies tonight, but she'd slip in the back door they'd used that morning and find her way down to Harley's suite without being seen. First though, she wanted to stop by her old room. She'd left in hurry the night before and wanted to make sure she hadn't left anything.

An engine roared outside and she looked out in time to see Harley on the fourwheeler, remembering what he'd said earlier about taking her home. Not ready to deal with him again just yet, she quickly made her way down the back hall again, just as she had the night before. Slipping out the back door, she ran down the alley toward the main entrance to the ranch, took a left and went past the medieval-looking castle to the large building just beyond that served as a dorm for the staff.

After she'd checked her room on the fifth floor, she went out the side door and around the castle to the VIP Hotel. Entering the lobby, she stopped short when she heard her father's voice from around a corner.

"Three-twelve," he said, pausing for a long moment. "That's correct. The clients will be waiting at the address in Reno tomorrow. Don't be late." A short high beep signaled that he'd disconnected the call. Monica waited until she heard the elevator doors open and close before she peeked around the corner at the now-empty corridor.

Three-twelve. That was the room number Harley had said on the phone that morning, she was sure of it. The first package must be here, but why hadn't he told her? So much for working together.

She walked to the stairwell and went up three floors, then slowly opened the door, looking both ways down the hall before she entered. Moving quickly, she found room three-twelve on the other side of the building. Unsure of what to do next, she found a hiding spot behind a tall fake plant in a small alcove twenty feet away, and settled in to wait.

Twenty minutes later, Monica's feet were numb. She stretched them gingerly, wincing at the sharp prickling sensations that shot through her ankles as circulation returned. She needed to get back - Harley would be wondering where she was, a thought that both scared her and gave her an unfamiliar sense of belonging that she wasn't quite sure she liked.

Peeking out carefully through the fake branches she scanned the hallway, listening for any noise that might indicate that someone was coming. Hearing and seeing nothing, she eased out of the alcove and walked toward room three-twelve. She'd go past just one time, and then be on her way. Maybe Harley would bring her back tomorrow if she asked nicely.

Just ahead a door opened on the right and she froze. Male voices rumbled into the silence along with a softer, mewling sound that made her frown. Animals weren't allowed in the building. Had someone been keeping a cat in their room?

A tall man stepped into the hall and Monica instinctively lowered her head, letting her hair fall across her face. Trying to appear as though she belonged there, she kept walking, forcing herself to maintain a normal pace instead of the sprint every muscle in her body was primed for. She walked past, noting the child carrier being passed to the man in the hall on her way by. Not a cat after all, but a baby, and a very young one at that. Odd, considering children weren't allowed at the ranch.

She heard the room door close as she reached the corner, and once around it she glanced back over her shoulder just in time to see the man and baby disappear into another room on the other side of the hall. The same room she'd been watching for nearly half an hour.

Quickly she ran to the stairwell and hurried down to the first floor. Stepping out into the near-darkness, she took a few deep breaths and then walked casually between the buildings to the back of the mansion. She'd slip in the back, find Harley and tell him what she saw. He'd assigned the room this morning, so he had to know something about what was going on there.

Entering through the same door she'd left by that morning, Monica retraced her steps to the private elevator, realizing only when she reached the long hall in the basement that she didn't have a key to Harley's suite yet. She reached the door, thinking to look around for a spare key that might be hidden when the door swung open. Startled, she gasped, his silhouette stark and imposing against the light coming from behind him.