The Biker's Wench (7 page)

"Where the hell have you been?" He reached out and grabbed her wrist, pulling her against him as he slammed the door behind her. "Do you have any idea how long I've been looking for you? I can't protect you if I don't know where you are, Monica. When I tell you to wait for me, wait, dammit!" He locked his arms around her back and looked in to her eyes, the genuine worry reflected there belying his angry expression. He leaned in and covered her lips with a punishing kiss that inflamed both her body and her pride.

She pushed at his chest, turning her head when he refused to release his hold. "You don't own me," she said, pushing at his chest. His arms only tightened around her and she struggled, needing to get away before her baser instincts took over. "Let me go! Just because we're married doesn't give you the right to man-handle me."

He let go abruptly and she stumbled backward into the wall. He crossed his arms over his chest, watching as she regained her balance. "I suppose you think this is funny," she said, brushing off her skirts and pushing her hair back.

He shrugged. "Not particularly. I do think this whole thing would go a lot better if you'd stop fighting me. Especially since I've put my whole livelihood on the line for you. You could show a little respect."

"No one asked you to put yourself out," Monica said, regretting the words even as she said them. He was right. He didn't have help her - he could have just handed her over and not gotten involved. He shook his head and turned toward the kitchen, walking away. As she stared at his retreating back, she knew that if she didn't do something, she'd lose whatever this thing between them was. In that moment, she realized it wasn't being with him that she was afraid of. It was losing the one person who truly seemed to care about her.

Monica's soft words tore at Harley's controlled facade. Forcing himself not to turn around, he kept his back to her until a tentative hand slid down his shoulder blade to the small of his back. Her touch was like a spark to the smoldering fire just underneath his skin, and when she came around to face him with wide, fearful eyes he couldn't hold back any longer.

Grabbing her arms he hauled her up against him, kissing her lips, her jaw, her forehead, her neck. Her scent intoxicated him, warm and sweet even though the scent of stale beer lingered in the background. She shuddered as he suckled the spot where her neck and shoulder met, her hands sliding up his chest to the top button of his shirt. Exploring her smooth skin inch by inch, he slowly worked lower, tracing the low-cut neckline down to where her cleavage began. Reaching behind the thin fabric he lifted one perfect breast, running his thumb over the taunt peak several times before he moved to the other. Suckling both briefly, he straightened, moving half-a-step back as she slid his shirt off his shoulders and down his arms.

"You're beautiful like that," he said, staring at her lovely round globes supported by the snug corset and framed by the edges of her shirt collar. Raising his stare he looked into her eyes, glassy with arousal. "I'll accept your apology on two conditions," he said, cupping the side of her face with one hand. "First, you stop fighting me. If we're gonna get through this and beat your father at his own game, we need to work as a team. No more running off, no secrets. Agreed?"

He let his fingers drift down her neck, across her chest and over each breast in turn, rolling the pert tips between his thumb and forefinger. "On your knees, wench."
Harley could tell his words chafed, but he merely raised his eyebrows as she stared up at him. He knew the only reason she was resisting was because it had been a demand rather than a request. Judging from the flush of her skin and those huge, dilated eyes, she wanted it just as much as he did. But did she want it bad enough?
Slowly she eased down in front of him, reaching out to unsnap his jeans. He nearly sighed in relief when she unzipped his pants and took him in hand. Leaning forward, she slowly ran her tongue over the tight flesh then looked up at him as she sucked him into her mouth. The sight of her pretty lips framing his cock sent heat spiraling through his balls, and he ran his fingers through her hair as she licked and bobbed, holding his gaze and driving him wild. So beautiful.
Her hands smoothed over his thighs, light, tickling, and she closed her eyes, shutting him out. He felt the loss keenly, wishing she'd give him -
them,
a chance. But she wouldn't let herself stay. Wouldn't let herself be happy with him. He growled low, pulling away from her sweet mouth and pulling her to her feet. Pressing a quick, hard kiss to her neck, he spun her around and bent her over, tossing her skirt over her back as she used the wall for support. She widened her stance in silent invitation and he pulled the scrap of fabric between her legs aside, plunging into her warm, wet heat. Grabbing her hips, he thrust in and out, over and over, pushing her against the wall as he took out his frustration between her legs.
The tension rose between his legs, and he leaned over, one hand sliding down to find the sensitive nub between her legs. He moved his finger in tiny circles, increasing the pressure until she cried out, grinding her luscious bottom against his groin. He thrust once, again, then pressed hard between her legs as he came hard, his semen coating her inner passage.
"Fuck." He quickly pulled out, stumbling backward in his haste. "I'm sorry...I..."

Monica kept her hands on the wall to steady herself, straightening on shaky legs. Harley cussed a few more times under his breath, and she straightened her skirt, knowing she should do...something, but not wanting to just walk away. She knew he hadn't forgotten the condom on purpose, but there wasn't really anything to say. It wasn't okay, and she found herself shaking at the thought of what could happen. She needed to get away.

Clearing her throat, she forced herself to look at him. Braced for anger, she was unprepared for the raw fear and anguish reflected in his face. Fighting the urge to reach out and pull him into her arms, she swallowed hard. "I know you didn't mean to. It's not a good time anyway, so maybe nothing will happen. I...need a shower, if that's okay."

"Monica..." he reached for her, but she stepped around him, walking quickly toward the bedroom. It would be okay. It had to be.
Stepping into the shower she reached for the soap, hesitating before she pressed it against her skin. His scent clung to her, and as much as she didn't want to be pregnant, she also didn't want to wash the early, masculine scent away. She closed her eyes, breathing in deeply before finally lathering ample suds over her breasts, her stomach, and between her legs. She knew there was no going back now, no way to take back what had happened. But she did a thorough job anyway then stood underneath the hot stream, trying to hold back the tears.
It was obvious from his reaction that Harley didn't want her any longer than she had to stay, and who could blame him? But she couldn't dwell on that now. The only way to put an end to this and give him back his freedom was to find out what her father was hiding, and put him away for good. Somehow she'd find a way to pay Harley back for going through all this with her - it was the least she could do.
Turning off the water she stepped out and wrapped a towel around herself. Quickly dressing in the jeans and sweater she'd worn earlier, she took a deep breath and went to find Harley. In all the confusion, she hadn't told him what she saw in the apartment building, and they needed to talk about what to do next.
She sensed the suite was empty as she walked down the hall, but checked in all the main rooms just in case. He must have gone back upstairs to her father's company dinner
- she'd forgotten he was supposed to attend in all the chaos. There was a shiny key lying on the counter, with her name on a note underneath. Slipping it into her pocket, she let herself out, determined to find him and tell him what she'd seen.
Half-way to the elevators, she heard a sound from the other end of the hall. Betsy's apartment was that way, and Monica decided to go thank her for the clothes. As she got closer she could see the other woman's profile as she leaned against the wall, shoes in hand. It sounded like she was crying.
"Betsy? Are you okay?" Monica asked, frowning at the flushed skin and streaked mascara on Betsy's face as Harley's sister nodded.
"I...yes," Betsy said with a nervous laugh, blinking quickly. "Just some guy trouble. You know how men are."
Monica nodded. "Yes I do," she said quietly. "Come on, let's talk."
"It's kind of messy," Betsy said, sliding the key into the door of her suite. I've been working extra shifts lately, and--" She stopped abruptly, looking down at the floor. "What's this?" Monica glanced down to see a manila envelope with a brass clasp.
Monica shrugged. "Were you expecting something?" Betsy turned the envelope over, but there was no address.
"No," she said, bending the metal tabs up and lifting the flap. "I thought maybe you left it. No one else is supposed to be down here, not even the staff." She held it open and looked inside. Sliding out a single piece of paper, she stared at it for a long moment.
Monica reached for the page, gasping at the image of Betsy on it. Disturbing didn't really do justice to the photo - someone must really hate her. "Lock the--wait, this was inside the door, right?" Betsy nodded, still stunned. "Come on," Monica said, grabbing her hand and tugging her quickly back out into the hall. She slammed the door behind them and pulled Betsy back down the hall. "Whoever left that could still be in there...we need to call Harley."

* * *
"Maybe it's just a practical joke," Betsy offered from a stool by the kitchen counter. She couldn't seem to look away from the image. Monica took the paper from her, turning it face down on the counter as she dialed Harley's number. Hopefully he wouldn't ignore the call when her number came up.

"Harley, it's me," she said as soon as she heard his wary greeting. "We have a serious problem - you need to come down here right away."
"I can't - I'm with your father. It will have to wait for later." His voice was low, and she frowned. Her father was just going to have to wait. His sister's life was in danger.
"Want me to talk to him?" Betsy said.
Monica shook her head, looking down at the floor. She took a deep breath. "Harlan Majors, get your ass down here right now. There's something you need to see." She disconnected the call and tossed her phone on the counter, letting out a long sigh as she rubbed her forehead, glancing at Betsy. "Was he always this pigheaded?"
Betsy met her gaze with a sympathetic look. "Worse, I'm afraid. He's always wanted to do exactly the opposite of what anyone tells him to do, which made for some interesting high school days." She grinned. "Not many people have the balls to talk to him like that though. I'll bet for you, he's on his way down."
Right on cue, the front door opened and then slammed shut. Harley came around the corner two seconds later, a scowl on his face as he glanced from one woman to the other. Finally he focused on Monica, his jaw tight. "What the hell is going on? Why didn't you tell me Betsy was here?" The venom in his voice surprised her. She'd thought he would calm down once he saw his sister, but it seemed to be making things worse. He turned to Betsy, his voice softening slightly. "Ian called just before Monica. He left a message saying Derek might be here at the ranch. Is that true? Why didn't you tell me he was out of jail?"
Monica struggled to keep a neutral expression, watching as Betsy shook her head, blinking hard. "I was going to tell you about Derek, but you've been so busy with getting married and all - I didn't want to distract you. Then I thought I saw him tonight and sort of freaked out, so I went to Ian's but we had a fight and I came home and that's when I found this." She flipped the paper over and slid it in front of him. "Monica was with me and wanted to call you so here we are."
Harley stared down at the image, his phone jangling from his pocket. Without taking his eyes off the page, he held the phone up to his ear and answered with a terse, "Yeah."
Monica glanced down at the photo again. It was a picture of Betsy, taken recently in the same French maid outfit she still had on, so whoever had gotten it either was here or had been. Whoever left it had photo-shopped her image with a noose around her neck, hanging from the banister of the grand double staircase on the main floor. Her wrists looked like they'd been slit, and her blood pooled on the floor below. Monica tried to imagine what it would be like if it was her in the photo, and couldn't. Whoever had done this was one sick individual. She shivered at the thought that he might be here at the ranch.
"We're all in my suite, Ian...come on over." Harley disconnected the call, and shoved the phone down in his front pocket. Looking thoughtfully at Betsy, he reached across the counter and took one of her hands. "He sounds pretty bad, sis - what were you fighting about? Did you hit on him again?"
Monica felt bad for the other woman as she squirmed on the seat, avoiding Harley's gaze. "I'm sure it doesn't matter," she said, earning a grateful look from Betsy, and a scowl from Harley. "Whatever the problem, I'm sure they'll get over it."
Harley shook his head, a chuckle of disbelief escaping. "Darlin', you don't know what you're talking about. Why don't you run upstairs and make sure
our guest
isn't foaming at the mouth because I'm not there. I'll be up as soon as I'm done here."

For a moment, Monica couldn't move. Could barely breathe as anger hit hard and fast. Had Harley really just dismissed her like a misbehaving child? She searched for words, some statement that would adequately express her feelings, but shock and disbelief had frozen her vocabulary.

"Harlen Majors." Betsy's stern voice broke through Monica's brain fog, and she blinked. Apparently the disappointed tone had gotten through to Harley too, his expression softening. He reached out to her, but she shrugged away from his touch. Not trusting herself to speak around the lump in her throat, she turned and ran out of the suite. He didn't want her around? Fine. She'd check in on her father, and then she was going back to the dorm to find out what was going on in room three-twelve. If she could get the information needed to put her father away, she could end this whole thing once and for all.