For Martin, Sophie, Eddie & Myles.
I finally stopped talking about it and just bloody
well did it!
“Fuck, fuck, fuck! I fucking hate Texas.” I sling
my backpack down, and it lands on my toe.
Shooting pain bursts from my foot. “Bollocks.”
Kicking the stupid thing, I mutter angrily, “Stupid
fucking bag. Stupid fucking bus.”
A raspy chuckle makes me freeze.
I brush down my shirt, straighten, and spin. My
eyes start at the tarmac under my feet and slowly
track upwards, devouring the biker god in front of
me. Jesus, he’s huge. His tight white T-shirt
stretches taut over his bulging chest. Tattoos cover
his arms down to his knuckles and peak
tantalizingly out of the neck of his shirt. His strong,
thick thighs are spread astride a badass Harley
motorcycle, the polished chrome sparkling in the
morning sunlight.
His hair is dark, almost black. Short at the sides
but longer, shaggy and tousled on the top. God, I’m
tempted to run my fingers through it. I force my
hands into my pockets to stop myself from reaching
out.
I finally focus on his face. Wow, he’s beautiful.
Perfectly chiseled cheekbones and full lips
showcase his amused grin.
“Can I help you?” I ask.
He pulls a long drag from his cigarette and
lazily blows the smoke into the air. “No thanks,
darlin’, I’m happy watching.” His gaze glides up
and down my body, and my skin heats under his
appraisal.
I raise my eyebrows. “You having fun over
there?” Blatantly mimicking him, I rake my eyes
over his ripped jeans, pausing on the visible bulge
beneath his zipper.
The corner of his mouth twitches into a cocky
grin. “Sugar, I’m enjoying every minute.”
His southern drawl as smooth as whiskey, my
panties dampen and instant arousal pulses in my
stomach. I pull in a deep breath, hoping enough air
will put my brain back in charge. “Okay, show’s
over, buddy, so buh-bye,” I say sardonically.
He doesn’t move.
I sigh deeply. “For God’s sake. I’m having the
day from hell, so can you please just fuck off and
let me be pissed off in peace?”
He leans forward onto the handlebars and
chuckles indulgently.
Incredulous anger ignites in my stomach. “Are
you serious? Where the hell is all this Southern
charm and Texas hospitality I was promised?”
Grabbing my bag, I turn to leave, but his hand
on my elbow stops me. My flesh tingles where his
skin touches mine. Biker Boy’s off his bike and
beside me. He’s so close his woody, clean scent
surrounds me as his body heat warms my skin.
“I’m sorry, sugar. Tell me what’s happened, and
maybe I can help,” he drawls.
I glance down at his tattooed hand and thick
fingers wrapped around my arm. His thumb strokes,
caressing circles across my skin. I lift my head, and
our gazes lock. Intensity sparkles in his sea-green
depths. The stroking stops, and he slowly trails his
hand down my arm, reluctantly freeing me at the
tips of my fingers.
Stepping back, I release the breath I hadn’t
realised I’d been holding. “My bus broke down this
morning. I went to get coffee, and now it’s gone
and I’m stuck here. Wherever the hell here is?”
Biker Boy drags his fingers through his hair,
further dishevelling it. “Shit,” he hisses.
I close my eyes, a short, bitter laugh escaping
me. “Yep. Shit. That pretty much sums it up.”
The warm sun beats down on the barren
roadside. Crickets chirp, and the small town behind
us bustles with life, a low hum of noise buzzing all
around.
“Where you headed, sugar?” His voice pulls my
attention.
Staring at his full, pouty lips, my mind blanks.
Shaking my head, I clear the haze his presence
creates. “El Paso,” I reply.
“You on vacation or is El Paso home?” he asks.
“Neither, I’m travelling,” I reply.
“Travelling where?” he probes.
I smile cheerfully. “Wherever takes my fancy.
It’s all part of my great American adventure.”
Biker boy rubs his bottom lip with his thumb.
His lazy movements are so effortless, I can’t take
my eyes off him.
God, he’s the hottest thing I’ve ever seen. The
cheeky tilt of his head and the twinkle in his eye
says he knows exactly what I’m thinking.
He smirks at me. “Well, sugar, welcome to
Archer’s Creek.”
I feel an unwelcome blush spread across my
cheeks.
His smirk changes into a predatory grin.
“What’s your name?”
I copy his body language and tilt my head.
“Olivia.”
He smiles and stepping towards me, reaches out
to gently trace my jaw with his fingertips. “Well,
Olivia, you need to stop looking like you wanna
lick me. Else I’m gonna strip you naked and spread
you out like dessert in about two seconds.”
My brain shouts at me to beg him to do just
that. But I can’t fuck a random biker I just met, can
I?
Stepping backwards, I slowly edge away from
his magnetic pull. “Okay. Well, Biker Boy, it’s been
interesting. I’m gonna go now and see if there’s any
way of getting to El Paso by the end of the day. So,
er, thanks.”
I turn, but his hand on my elbow stops me. Like
a moth drawn to a flame, I look over my shoulder
and my gaze meets his.
“Echo. I’m Echo,” he says.
Fuck.
My cock’s so hard it’s trying to force its way
out of my jeans.
I should have ridden past and ignored the crazy
person screaming and swearing like a sailor on the
side of the street. One look at her never-ending legs
and those perfect fucking tits and I couldn’t keep
my eyes on the road. The first time “Fuck” fell
from her lips in that sexy British accent, I was
hitting the brake and pulling over to watch the
show.
This woman is a walking wet dream. She
screams sex. Angry attitude and fire. It’s been a
long fucking time since I’ve seen pussy this hot.
Her dark hair is curly and kind of a mess—
perfect to pull while I pound into her from behind.
Her body was built to fuck. Her curves are begging
to be touched, and my mind overflows with all the
dirty things I want to do to her.
She’s hot for me. Her pupils are dilated. Her
nipples are rock hard and straining against the
fabric of her shirt. Her body is screaming at me,
showing me just how turned-on she is.
I’ve got to fuck her.
She wants me, and I want her; it’s simple. Just
how I like it. Get in, fuck, get out. No strings, no
drama, and no commitment.
I’m not against relationships. I see the boys at
the club who are still hot for their old ladies ten
years on. Some so hot for each other we find them
fucking all over the club.
I’ve never found pussy who can keep me
interested enough for a second round, let alone a
permanent commitment.
But this is one seriously hot fucking bitch, and I
want her in my bed as soon as fucking possible.
My fingers are wrapped around her arm, her
scent and potent arousal surrounding me. Leaning
into her, I breathe her in deeply, committing the
smell to memory.
I ask her name.
“Olivia,” she replies.
Her voice is breathy and soft. The British
accent makes my already hard cock kick against
my jeans. Apparently, my dick wants to introduce
himself too.
I’ve got to have her.
But not on the side of the road. Turning her, I
try to steer her towards my bike, but she tenses and
tries to pull from my grip.
I’m moving too quick, so I drop her arm and
speak quietly. “I’m sorry, sugar, but there isn’t
another bus heading anywhere until tomorrow
afternoon.”
“Fuck,” I hiss.
“Hell, sugar, anyone ever tell you that you’ve
got a foul mouth?” he mutters angrily.
I pull in a lungful of air and exhale slowly.
Clenching my fingers into my palms, I turn to face
Biker Boy, aka Echo, and force my lips into a
sardonic smile. “Look, Echo, thanks for stopping,
but it looks like I’m stuck here until tomorrow. I’d
lined up a free ride to California if I could get to El
Paso today, but it appears that won’t be happening
now, and I’m pretty fucking pissed off.” Taking a
breath, I lace my voice with sarcasm. “I’m so sorry
if my language is offending you, but my quota for
polite conversation’s been used for the day.”
Echo’s face darkens, and I step back
instinctively. “Sugar, you need to watch your tone
or I’m gonna find something better to do with that
mouth of yours,” he growls.
I shudder. The low rumble of his voice vibrates
straight to my clit. He steps towards me, closing the
gap between us. His eyes narrow, and pulling back
his broad shoulders, he towers over me. His body
language screams dominant, alpha male, and I
should be intimidated. Shouldn’t I?
My mouth waters. I lick my lips and stare at
him. I can’t move. Frozen in the heat of his gaze,
my mind floods with erotic images. I imagine taking
that final step to him, until we’re touching chest to
chest. I sink to my knees at his feet and look up,
watching the excitement dance in his eyes. His
fingers stroke my cheek lovingly before his thick
cock slides into my mouth.
“Olivia.” At the sound of his voice, I close my
eyes, and the filthy daydream evaporates like mist.
I feel the heat of embarrassment bloom in my
cheeks. “Come on, sugar, let me buy you a drink,
and we’ll see if we can sort you a way to El Paso
tonight,” Echo says, amusement lacing his voice.
I force my eyes open. Alpha Echo is gone, and
his taut shoulders are relaxed. He lazily steps
forward and drops his arm around me, pulling me
close against his firm body.
I shouldn’t be touching him. I move as he
moves, hypnotized. My hands find their way to his
chest, his leather waistcoat warm under my
fingertips as he steers me towards his bike. Bright
Texas sunlight bounces off the shiny paintwork. I
freeze to the spot. “I’m not getting on that thing
with you.”
Echo throws his leg over the huge black
motorcycle and chuckles to himself. His gaze burns
a path along my skin, taking in every detail of my
body before he glances at the leather seat behind
him. “That’s a real shame, sugar.”
The motorcycle roars to life, the muscles in his
arms bulging as he twists the throttle. A wry smile
spreads across his face, and he winks at me before
he rides away.
I watch him until he rounds a bend and
disappears. A wave of disappointment and an
overwhelming sense of loss rips through me. I turn,
grab my bag, and start to trudge back up the street.
Each lonely step taunted by Biker Boy’s absence.
“Here, give me your bag, sugar.” His voice
rumbles from behind me.
I freeze midstep. Butterflies leap to attention in
my stomach, and I spin around, searching for him.
His confident stride eats up the distance as he jogs
towards me. He lifts the bag from my back like it’s
weightless and flings it over his shoulder.
I try to act nonchalant but fail miserably. I pull
my bottom lip between my teeth and lift my eyes to
his face. He flashes me a cocky grin. “Miss me
already, sugar?” My lips twitch. A smile spreads
across my face, and I playfully roll my eyes at him.
Echo reaches out, takes my hand, and pulls me
towards him. The weight of his arm draped across
my shoulders feels natural, like he’s done it a
thousand times before. He towers over my five-
foot-eight frame, and I feel dwarfed against his
huge, firm chest. He’s a total stranger, but my
attraction to him is instinctive, and I can’t fight it. I
don’t want to.
He tows me up the street and pushes open a
door, guiding me into a dimly lit room. A neon sign
spelling out Strikers buzzes above a worn wooden
bar. A blonde waitress is busy serving customers,
but when she spots Echo, she raises a hand in
greeting and smiles broadly. He pulls out a barstool
for me to sit on, and the blonde falters, watching us
quizzically.
Echo pushes a strand of loose hair behind my
ear, and I stare at him for a moment. His touch is
intimate, the action of a lover, not a virtual stranger.
“What you drinking, sweetheart?” Echo asks.
“Beer, please.”
Echo’s watchful eyes reluctantly turn to the
bar. “Brandi, two beers, please.”
The waitress grabs the drinks and passes them
to Echo before resting her hip against the bar. “Hi,
I’m Brandi.”
Reaching over, I shake her outstretched hand.
“Olivia,” I reply.
Turning to Echo, she raises her eyebrows
expectantly. He exhales dramatically and rolls his
eyes before responding. “Olivia’s bus left without
her. She’s looking for a way to El Paso by tonight.”
Her eyes immediately flash back to me and
soften sympathetically. “Oh, hon, that’s too bad,
but there’s no buses out of town until later on
tomorrow.”
I let my head fall into my hands and groan in
frustration. Strong fingers wrap around the back of
my neck, and a shudder of desire runs down my
spine. Echo leans down, his breath warming my
skin. “I’m real sorry, sugar.”
His fingertips stroke feather-light caresses down
my neck to the curve of my shoulder. I slowly lift
my head, and he cradles my face with his hands. He
leans towards me and his warm, minty breath heats
a tingling path across my skin. The sound of the bar
fades, and the only noise I hear is the loud beat of
my own heart.
I stare into Echo’s eyes and watch them darken
and fill with smouldering desire. In this moment, all
I see is him, all I feel is him. All I want and need is
him. We’re detached from reality, connected and so
consumed with each other that we’re oblivious to
the world happening around us.
Bloody hell, I want him to rip my clothes off
and fuck me till I’ve forgotten my own name, and
then do it every day for the rest of my life. I don’t
know what the hell this is between us, but it
definitely feels like more than just lust.
“There’s a bus tomorrow, hon. Can you get that
one?” Brandi’s voice shatters my connection to
Echo, and the hustle and bustle of the bar returns in
a rush, flooding my senses.
Echo’s hands reluctantly release me, but his
eyes stay locked on mine. The pull to stay
connected to him is intense, but I force myself to
turn to Brandi. “Nope, tomorrow’s too late. I had a
free ride lined up, but only if I got there today. A
friend of a friend said I could jump on his band’s
bus and hitch a free ride to California, but they’re
leaving tonight. I really can’t afford to pay for
buses all the way across the country to try and
catch up with them.”
“Oh my God. This. Is. Perfect,” Brandi squeals.
Startled, I jump, almost spitting out the beer I’d
just swallowed. I cough, my eyes watering as the
beer tries to come back up.
“You ever worked in a bar?” she questions
excitedly.
I nod cautiously. “Erm, yeah, I worked in my
local pub years ago. Why?”
A huge smile lights up her face and she claps
enthusiastically. “Problem solved then. You can
work here.”
I sit up and reply. “I can’t work here.”
“Why not?” Brandi questions.
Echo’s attention moves from Brandi and slowly
turns to me. “Yeah, why not, sugar?”
“I’m here on a tourist visa. I can’t work,
unfortunately. Well, at least not legally, and jail is so
not part of the great American adventure.”
Echo reaches out and his fingertips gently pinch
my chin, tilting my face up to his. “You wanna
work here, sugar?”
His touch is distracting, but I force myself to
focus and shrug dismissively. “I’d love to work
here. God, the money would be amazing, but like I
said, tourist visa.”
His touch leaves my skin and his perfect face
breaks into a breathtaking smile. “Okay, you’re
hired.”
Bereft from the loss of his touch, I snap, “Echo,
you can’t just say I’m hired. It’s against the law. I
could be arrested. You could be arrested. Plus, you
can’t just give me a job; I’m fairly sure whoever
owns the bar might have something to say about
that.”
Echo leans against the bar, relaxed. “Fuck,
sugar, take a breath. The club owns the bar, so if
you want the job, it’s yours.”
“What club?”
A dimple pops in his cheek, and I stare at it.
What would he do if I licked it?
“The Doomsday Sinners MC.”
I laugh loudly. It takes me a second to realise
he’s frowning.
“What’s so fucking funny, Olivia?”
“Are you seriously trying to tell me that this
bar’s owned by a biker club?” I ask incredulously.
Echo’s beautiful face falls into a scowl.
“Careful, sugar. Yes, the club owns the bar.”
I try to swallow past the lump in my throat.
“What, like Sons of Anarchy?”
Echo nods once, muttering quietly, “Fucking
bullshit TV show.”
Saliva lodges in my throat. When I finally find
my voice, it’s small and unsure. “So an actual, real
motorcycle club?”
Annoyance is clear on his face, and his gruff
voice turns serious. “The Sinners are very fucking
real, sugar.”
“And you’re a member?”
He barks out the one word response. “Yes.”
“Well, fuck.”
She’s getting ready to run. I can see the fear in her
eyes that wasn’t there a minute ago. Fuck, I can’t
help but love the way she’s looking at me, like she’s
not sure if she should run away from me or straight
into my arms.
I want this girl in my bed, and her working for
the club is the easiest way to make that happen.
“Olivia.” I touch her cheek, but she flinches
and backs away from my touch. “Sugar, calm
down. The club owns a few businesses in town.
Strikers is just one of them.”
She rubs her hands over her face, muttering
under her breath about not being able to write this
kind of shit, and I can’t take me eyes off her.
A few seconds later, she looks up, opens her
mouth, and then closes it again. She fidgets on her
stool, crossing and uncrossing her legs before she
finally speaks. “I want to say yes, but what about
my visa? If I get caught working illegally, I’ll get
arrested and deported.”
Olivia’s big blue eyes are messing with my
caysii
Arkusze
Dokumenty
Echo, Archer’s Creek: Book One Copyright © 2017 by Gemma Weir All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners. Cover design by Hart & Bailey Design Co Interior design by Champagne Book Design
Table of Contents Title Page Copyright Dedication Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15 Chapter 16 Chapter 17 Chapter 18 Chapter 19 Chapter 20 Chapter 21 Chapter 22 Chapter 23 Chapter 24
Chapter 25 Chapter 26 Chapter 27 Chapter 28 Chapter 29 Chapter 30 Chapter 31 Chapter 32 Chapter 33 Chapter 34 Chapter 35 Chapter 36 Chapter 37 Chapter 38 Chapter 39 Chapter 40 Chapter 41 Chapter 42 Chapter 43 Chapter 44 Chapter 45 Chapter 46 Chapter 47 Chapter 48 Chapter 49 Chapter 50 Chapter 51 Chapter 52 Chapter 53 Chapter 54
Chapter 55 Chapter 56 Chapter 57 Chapter 58 Chapter 59 Chapter 60 Chapter 61 Chapter 62 Chapter 63 Chapter 64 Chapter 65 Chapter 66 Chapter 67 Chapter 68 Chapter 69 Chapter 70 Chapter 71 Chapter 72 Chapter 73 Chapter 74 Chapter 75 Chapter 76 Chapter 77 Chapter 78 Chapter 79 Chapter 80 Chapter 81 Chapter 82 Chapter 83 Chapter 84
Chapter 85 Chapter 86 Chapter 87 Chapter 88 Chapter 89 Chapter 90 Chapter 91 Chapter 92 Chapter 93 Chapter 94 Chapter 95 Chapter 96 Chapter 97 Chapter 98 Chapter 99 Epilogue Acknowledgements
For Martin, Sophie, Eddie & Myles. I finally stopped talking about it and just bloody well did it!
“Fuck, fuck, fuck! I fucking hate Texas.” I sling my backpack down, and it lands on my toe. Shooting pain bursts from my foot. “Bollocks.” Kicking the stupid thing, I mutter angrily, “Stupid fucking bag. Stupid fucking bus.” A raspy chuckle makes me freeze. I brush down my shirt, straighten, and spin. My eyes start at the tarmac under my feet and slowly track upwards, devouring the biker god in front of me. Jesus, he’s huge. His tight white T-shirt stretches taut over his bulging chest. Tattoos cover his arms down to his knuckles and peak tantalizingly out of the neck of his shirt. His strong, thick thighs are spread astride a badass Harley motorcycle, the polished chrome sparkling in the morning sunlight. His hair is dark, almost black. Short at the sides but longer, shaggy and tousled on the top. God, I’m tempted to run my fingers through it. I force my hands into my pockets to stop myself from reaching out.
I finally focus on his face. Wow, he’s beautiful. Perfectly chiseled cheekbones and full lips showcase his amused grin. “Can I help you?” I ask. He pulls a long drag from his cigarette and lazily blows the smoke into the air. “No thanks, darlin’, I’m happy watching.” His gaze glides up and down my body, and my skin heats under his appraisal. I raise my eyebrows. “You having fun over there?” Blatantly mimicking him, I rake my eyes over his ripped jeans, pausing on the visible bulge beneath his zipper. The corner of his mouth twitches into a cocky grin. “Sugar, I’m enjoying every minute.” His southern drawl as smooth as whiskey, my panties dampen and instant arousal pulses in my stomach. I pull in a deep breath, hoping enough air will put my brain back in charge. “Okay, show’s over, buddy, so buh-bye,” I say sardonically. He doesn’t move. I sigh deeply. “For God’s sake. I’m having the day from hell, so can you please just fuck off and let me be pissed off in peace?” He leans forward onto the handlebars and chuckles indulgently. Incredulous anger ignites in my stomach. “Are you serious? Where the hell is all this Southern charm and Texas hospitality I was promised?”
Grabbing my bag, I turn to leave, but his hand on my elbow stops me. My flesh tingles where his skin touches mine. Biker Boy’s off his bike and beside me. He’s so close his woody, clean scent surrounds me as his body heat warms my skin. “I’m sorry, sugar. Tell me what’s happened, and maybe I can help,” he drawls. I glance down at his tattooed hand and thick fingers wrapped around my arm. His thumb strokes, caressing circles across my skin. I lift my head, and our gazes lock. Intensity sparkles in his sea-green depths. The stroking stops, and he slowly trails his hand down my arm, reluctantly freeing me at the tips of my fingers. Stepping back, I release the breath I hadn’t realised I’d been holding. “My bus broke down this morning. I went to get coffee, and now it’s gone and I’m stuck here. Wherever the hell here is?” Biker Boy drags his fingers through his hair, further dishevelling it. “Shit,” he hisses. I close my eyes, a short, bitter laugh escaping me. “Yep. Shit. That pretty much sums it up.” The warm sun beats down on the barren roadside. Crickets chirp, and the small town behind us bustles with life, a low hum of noise buzzing all around. “Where you headed, sugar?” His voice pulls my attention. Staring at his full, pouty lips, my mind blanks.
Shaking my head, I clear the haze his presence creates. “El Paso,” I reply. “You on vacation or is El Paso home?” he asks. “Neither, I’m travelling,” I reply. “Travelling where?” he probes. I smile cheerfully. “Wherever takes my fancy. It’s all part of my great American adventure.” Biker boy rubs his bottom lip with his thumb. His lazy movements are so effortless, I can’t take my eyes off him. God, he’s the hottest thing I’ve ever seen. The cheeky tilt of his head and the twinkle in his eye says he knows exactly what I’m thinking. He smirks at me. “Well, sugar, welcome to Archer’s Creek.” I feel an unwelcome blush spread across my cheeks. His smirk changes into a predatory grin. “What’s your name?” I copy his body language and tilt my head. “Olivia.” He smiles and stepping towards me, reaches out to gently trace my jaw with his fingertips. “Well, Olivia, you need to stop looking like you wanna lick me. Else I’m gonna strip you naked and spread you out like dessert in about two seconds.” My brain shouts at me to beg him to do just that. But I can’t fuck a random biker I just met, can I?
Stepping backwards, I slowly edge away from his magnetic pull. “Okay. Well, Biker Boy, it’s been interesting. I’m gonna go now and see if there’s any way of getting to El Paso by the end of the day. So, er, thanks.” I turn, but his hand on my elbow stops me. Like a moth drawn to a flame, I look over my shoulder and my gaze meets his. “Echo. I’m Echo,” he says.
Fuck. My cock’s so hard it’s trying to force its way out of my jeans. I should have ridden past and ignored the crazy person screaming and swearing like a sailor on the side of the street. One look at her never-ending legs and those perfect fucking tits and I couldn’t keep my eyes on the road. The first time “Fuck” fell from her lips in that sexy British accent, I was hitting the brake and pulling over to watch the show. This woman is a walking wet dream. She screams sex. Angry attitude and fire. It’s been a long fucking time since I’ve seen pussy this hot. Her dark hair is curly and kind of a mess— perfect to pull while I pound into her from behind. Her body was built to fuck. Her curves are begging to be touched, and my mind overflows with all the dirty things I want to do to her. She’s hot for me. Her pupils are dilated. Her nipples are rock hard and straining against the
fabric of her shirt. Her body is screaming at me, showing me just how turned-on she is. I’ve got to fuck her. She wants me, and I want her; it’s simple. Just how I like it. Get in, fuck, get out. No strings, no drama, and no commitment. I’m not against relationships. I see the boys at the club who are still hot for their old ladies ten years on. Some so hot for each other we find them fucking all over the club. I’ve never found pussy who can keep me interested enough for a second round, let alone a permanent commitment. But this is one seriously hot fucking bitch, and I want her in my bed as soon as fucking possible. My fingers are wrapped around her arm, her scent and potent arousal surrounding me. Leaning into her, I breathe her in deeply, committing the smell to memory. I ask her name. “Olivia,” she replies. Her voice is breathy and soft. The British accent makes my already hard cock kick against my jeans. Apparently, my dick wants to introduce himself too. I’ve got to have her. But not on the side of the road. Turning her, I try to steer her towards my bike, but she tenses and tries to pull from my grip.
I’m moving too quick, so I drop her arm and speak quietly. “I’m sorry, sugar, but there isn’t another bus heading anywhere until tomorrow afternoon.”
“Fuck,” I hiss. “Hell, sugar, anyone ever tell you that you’ve got a foul mouth?” he mutters angrily. I pull in a lungful of air and exhale slowly. Clenching my fingers into my palms, I turn to face Biker Boy, aka Echo, and force my lips into a sardonic smile. “Look, Echo, thanks for stopping, but it looks like I’m stuck here until tomorrow. I’d lined up a free ride to California if I could get to El Paso today, but it appears that won’t be happening now, and I’m pretty fucking pissed off.” Taking a breath, I lace my voice with sarcasm. “I’m so sorry if my language is offending you, but my quota for polite conversation’s been used for the day.” Echo’s face darkens, and I step back instinctively. “Sugar, you need to watch your tone or I’m gonna find something better to do with that mouth of yours,” he growls. I shudder. The low rumble of his voice vibrates straight to my clit. He steps towards me, closing the gap between us. His eyes narrow, and pulling back
his broad shoulders, he towers over me. His body language screams dominant, alpha male, and I should be intimidated. Shouldn’t I? My mouth waters. I lick my lips and stare at him. I can’t move. Frozen in the heat of his gaze, my mind floods with erotic images. I imagine taking that final step to him, until we’re touching chest to chest. I sink to my knees at his feet and look up, watching the excitement dance in his eyes. His fingers stroke my cheek lovingly before his thick cock slides into my mouth. “Olivia.” At the sound of his voice, I close my eyes, and the filthy daydream evaporates like mist. I feel the heat of embarrassment bloom in my cheeks. “Come on, sugar, let me buy you a drink, and we’ll see if we can sort you a way to El Paso tonight,” Echo says, amusement lacing his voice. I force my eyes open. Alpha Echo is gone, and his taut shoulders are relaxed. He lazily steps forward and drops his arm around me, pulling me close against his firm body. I shouldn’t be touching him. I move as he moves, hypnotized. My hands find their way to his chest, his leather waistcoat warm under my fingertips as he steers me towards his bike. Bright Texas sunlight bounces off the shiny paintwork. I freeze to the spot. “I’m not getting on that thing with you.” Echo throws his leg over the huge black
motorcycle and chuckles to himself. His gaze burns a path along my skin, taking in every detail of my body before he glances at the leather seat behind him. “That’s a real shame, sugar.” The motorcycle roars to life, the muscles in his arms bulging as he twists the throttle. A wry smile spreads across his face, and he winks at me before he rides away. I watch him until he rounds a bend and disappears. A wave of disappointment and an overwhelming sense of loss rips through me. I turn, grab my bag, and start to trudge back up the street. Each lonely step taunted by Biker Boy’s absence. “Here, give me your bag, sugar.” His voice rumbles from behind me. I freeze midstep. Butterflies leap to attention in my stomach, and I spin around, searching for him. His confident stride eats up the distance as he jogs towards me. He lifts the bag from my back like it’s weightless and flings it over his shoulder. I try to act nonchalant but fail miserably. I pull my bottom lip between my teeth and lift my eyes to his face. He flashes me a cocky grin. “Miss me already, sugar?” My lips twitch. A smile spreads across my face, and I playfully roll my eyes at him. Echo reaches out, takes my hand, and pulls me towards him. The weight of his arm draped across my shoulders feels natural, like he’s done it a thousand times before. He towers over my five-
foot-eight frame, and I feel dwarfed against his huge, firm chest. He’s a total stranger, but my attraction to him is instinctive, and I can’t fight it. I don’t want to. He tows me up the street and pushes open a door, guiding me into a dimly lit room. A neon sign spelling out Strikers buzzes above a worn wooden bar. A blonde waitress is busy serving customers, but when she spots Echo, she raises a hand in greeting and smiles broadly. He pulls out a barstool for me to sit on, and the blonde falters, watching us quizzically. Echo pushes a strand of loose hair behind my ear, and I stare at him for a moment. His touch is intimate, the action of a lover, not a virtual stranger. “What you drinking, sweetheart?” Echo asks. “Beer, please.” Echo’s watchful eyes reluctantly turn to the bar. “Brandi, two beers, please.” The waitress grabs the drinks and passes them to Echo before resting her hip against the bar. “Hi, I’m Brandi.” Reaching over, I shake her outstretched hand. “Olivia,” I reply. Turning to Echo, she raises her eyebrows expectantly. He exhales dramatically and rolls his eyes before responding. “Olivia’s bus left without her. She’s looking for a way to El Paso by tonight.” Her eyes immediately flash back to me and
soften sympathetically. “Oh, hon, that’s too bad, but there’s no buses out of town until later on tomorrow.” I let my head fall into my hands and groan in frustration. Strong fingers wrap around the back of my neck, and a shudder of desire runs down my spine. Echo leans down, his breath warming my skin. “I’m real sorry, sugar.” His fingertips stroke feather-light caresses down my neck to the curve of my shoulder. I slowly lift my head, and he cradles my face with his hands. He leans towards me and his warm, minty breath heats a tingling path across my skin. The sound of the bar fades, and the only noise I hear is the loud beat of my own heart. I stare into Echo’s eyes and watch them darken and fill with smouldering desire. In this moment, all I see is him, all I feel is him. All I want and need is him. We’re detached from reality, connected and so consumed with each other that we’re oblivious to the world happening around us. Bloody hell, I want him to rip my clothes off and fuck me till I’ve forgotten my own name, and then do it every day for the rest of my life. I don’t know what the hell this is between us, but it definitely feels like more than just lust. “There’s a bus tomorrow, hon. Can you get that one?” Brandi’s voice shatters my connection to Echo, and the hustle and bustle of the bar returns in
a rush, flooding my senses. Echo’s hands reluctantly release me, but his eyes stay locked on mine. The pull to stay connected to him is intense, but I force myself to turn to Brandi. “Nope, tomorrow’s too late. I had a free ride lined up, but only if I got there today. A friend of a friend said I could jump on his band’s bus and hitch a free ride to California, but they’re leaving tonight. I really can’t afford to pay for buses all the way across the country to try and catch up with them.” “Oh my God. This. Is. Perfect,” Brandi squeals. Startled, I jump, almost spitting out the beer I’d just swallowed. I cough, my eyes watering as the beer tries to come back up. “You ever worked in a bar?” she questions excitedly. I nod cautiously. “Erm, yeah, I worked in my local pub years ago. Why?” A huge smile lights up her face and she claps enthusiastically. “Problem solved then. You can work here.” I sit up and reply. “I can’t work here.” “Why not?” Brandi questions. Echo’s attention moves from Brandi and slowly turns to me. “Yeah, why not, sugar?” “I’m here on a tourist visa. I can’t work, unfortunately. Well, at least not legally, and jail is so not part of the great American adventure.”
Echo reaches out and his fingertips gently pinch my chin, tilting my face up to his. “You wanna work here, sugar?” His touch is distracting, but I force myself to focus and shrug dismissively. “I’d love to work here. God, the money would be amazing, but like I said, tourist visa.” His touch leaves my skin and his perfect face breaks into a breathtaking smile. “Okay, you’re hired.” Bereft from the loss of his touch, I snap, “Echo, you can’t just say I’m hired. It’s against the law. I could be arrested. You could be arrested. Plus, you can’t just give me a job; I’m fairly sure whoever owns the bar might have something to say about that.” Echo leans against the bar, relaxed. “Fuck, sugar, take a breath. The club owns the bar, so if you want the job, it’s yours.” “What club?” A dimple pops in his cheek, and I stare at it. What would he do if I licked it? “The Doomsday Sinners MC.” I laugh loudly. It takes me a second to realise he’s frowning. “What’s so fucking funny, Olivia?” “Are you seriously trying to tell me that this bar’s owned by a biker club?” I ask incredulously. Echo’s beautiful face falls into a scowl.
“Careful, sugar. Yes, the club owns the bar.” I try to swallow past the lump in my throat. “What, like Sons of Anarchy?” Echo nods once, muttering quietly, “Fucking bullshit TV show.” Saliva lodges in my throat. When I finally find my voice, it’s small and unsure. “So an actual, real motorcycle club?” Annoyance is clear on his face, and his gruff voice turns serious. “The Sinners are very fucking real, sugar.” “And you’re a member?” He barks out the one word response. “Yes.” “Well, fuck.”
She’s getting ready to run. I can see the fear in her eyes that wasn’t there a minute ago. Fuck, I can’t help but love the way she’s looking at me, like she’s not sure if she should run away from me or straight into my arms. I want this girl in my bed, and her working for the club is the easiest way to make that happen. “Olivia.” I touch her cheek, but she flinches and backs away from my touch. “Sugar, calm down. The club owns a few businesses in town. Strikers is just one of them.” She rubs her hands over her face, muttering under her breath about not being able to write this kind of shit, and I can’t take me eyes off her. A few seconds later, she looks up, opens her mouth, and then closes it again. She fidgets on her stool, crossing and uncrossing her legs before she finally speaks. “I want to say yes, but what about my visa? If I get caught working illegally, I’ll get arrested and deported.” Olivia’s big blue eyes are messing with my