Barely Undercover (2 page)

“Ryder.” Rex shook the hand of Mr. Deep, Dark and Delicious.

Ryder’s gaze flicked to Lana. He tilted his head to the side, giving her first a considered look, and then a sympathetic smile. He turned back to Rex. “I thought we were here for a meeting, not to pick up fender fluff.”

Lana grimaced at the backhanded compliment. She knew the slang. He thought she was pretty. Anything less and she would have been a “fender bunny” or even worse, a “mattress cover”.

Lucky her. Well, at least he hadn’t made fun of her hair. Usually men made some reference to the inferno on her head—Carrots, Ginger Snap, Big Red, Fire Bush, Rusty, Copper Top, Flame Brain, Matchstick Head or her current favorite, Red Zilla.

“You know what they say, ‘red in the head, fire in the bed’.” The second biker, a bruiser with crazy dreadlocks gave her a lascivious wink and an oh-so-enticing crotch grab.

“Good one, Bones.” Rex thumped the thick-necked thug on the back. “I was thinking that myself.”

Lana rolled her eyes. Oh ha-ha-ha. So funny. As if she hadn’t heard that one before. Some day she’d meet a man who could insult her hair with some originality.

“Leave the girl alone. We’ve got a meeting to get underway.” Ryder gave her a wink and stepped to the side, clearing her path to the door.

Rex gripped Lana’s arm just as she took her first step to freedom. “You jealous, Ryder? Been a long time since you had a back warmer.”

“Maybe he’s fucking bent.” The prospect, a blond Adonis who looked like he should be playing high school football instead of pledging to join a biker gang, gave Rex an obsequious smile and was rewarded with a slap to the head.

“You’re an idiot, Kickstand,” Rex growled. “You don’t disrespect a full-patch brother when you don’t even have the right to breathe without his permission.”

Kickstand stumbled into Lana from the force of the blow, knocking her off balance and out of Rex’s grasp. With incredible dexterity, Kickstand caught her before she fell.

“Sorry,” Kickstand murmured as he helped her balance. “I don’t usually make a habit of knocking down pretty girls just to get their attention. Every time I’m around these guys I do something wrong.”

She gave him a soft, reassuring smile, but her heart went out to him. He was trying so hard to fit in. She’d seen dozens of prospects like him during her time with Levi—young and desperate to be part of what they perceived to be the glamorous world of bikerdom. Very few were accepted and fewer still earned their patch. Kickstand would never make the cut. Too good-looking, too kind-hearted and too eager to please. What the hell was he doing with Hades?

While Rex, Bones and Ryder lamented the lack of good prospects in the biker world, Lana edged her way toward the door, only to be cut off again, this time by a late arrival.

Almost as tall as Rex and Ryder, the new biker was lean, lithe and powerful, with a narrow waist and long, hard thighs. His thick, dark hair just brushed his collar. His eyes were an unusual steel blue.

A familiar steel blue. Her heart stuttered in her chest.

James?

No, it couldn’t be.
She blinked her eyes. Once. Twice. Was it him? Two years had passed since she’d last seen Heartless Bastard. The man in front of her had the same physique, strong nose and chiseled jaw. But the James she knew had kept his hair military short and would have been appalled to sport a five o’clock shadow, much less three days’ worth of stubble over his unyielding chin. James was a cop through and through. No way would he ever join Hades.

As if sensing her perusal, he frowned. “Take off the glasses.” The velvet rasp of his deep baritone voice sent tiny quivers of need straight to her core.

Heart pounding, she took a step back and inadvertently hit Rex’s chest. “Take them off, pet,” Rex snapped. “Ice isn’t a man who asks twice.”

Ice.
He had a road name, and from the mini salivating puppies on the front of his jacket, he was no prospect, like Kickstand, currying favor in the hopes of being allowed to join the club. He was a fully initiated member of Hades.

Swallowing hard, Lana removed her glasses and stared down at the fishnet stockings peeking out of her boots like a hundred crisscrossing lines of black gunpowder. One of the garters was still loose, leaving her even more exposed—as if that was possible—to the explosive heat of his gaze.

“Look at me,” Ice demanded. His rich, husky voice rolled through her, stirring longings she had hidden away in the darkest recesses of her memory. Heat settled at the juncture of her thighs, her nipples tightened and her mouth went dry.

Disconcerted by her body’s responses and unable to meet his gaze, she looked away.

Ice cupped her jaw and firmly turned her face toward him, pulling her away from Rex. Her gaze locked with eyes now as deep blue as the ocean. Commanding, captivating eyes. Framed by thick lashes. But it wasn’t his eyes that finally sparked her recognition; it was the aura of pure power that hit her like the painful thud of her heart when she had realized he was never coming back.

He stroked his thumb over the apple of her cheek, the gesture at once comforting and familiar. A tangled web of emotions swept through her body like a firestorm. The world fell away.

James.

Heartless Bastard.

Lana swallowed hard and fought the warring urges to kiss him and slap him across the face.

For a split second, his breathing hitched and his eyes widened. He glanced over at Rex and back to her. His expression shifted from curious to considering, and she caught a gleam in his eyes. Calculating. Determined.

Did he recognize her? Two years ago she had been twenty pounds heavier, her pale complexion marked with freckles and her curly hair just brushing the top of her shoulders. Two years ago she had been stupid and naive, thinking she had found a man she could actually trust—someone who would never hurt her.

Now she knew better. And that kind of knowledge changed a girl. Made her immune to a Heartless Bastard’s bone-melting cheek-stroking and irresistible charms.

She slapped his hand away and, boy, did it feel good.

“Roxie.” His sharp tone snapped her out of her reverie, but not as much as his warm hand clasping her own. “What the fuck are you doing here, dressed like that? I almost didn’t recognize you.”

Lana’s breath caught in her throat. Only two men knew her as Roxie: Levi and James. Once, in a quiet after-sex moment, she had told James she’d changed her name from Roxie to Lana when she’d moved to Vancouver, but she had never told him why. And since Levi couldn’t possibly know where she was, much less radically alter his appearance, she was definitely, 100 percent, in the presence of Heartless Bastard.

Damn. She should have slapped him for real.

“JJJa…”

“Ice,” he said quickly. “You forget my name already, babe? Just this morning you were screaming it so loud in bed I thought the neighbors would call the fucking cops.”

Lana yanked her gaze to James, her numb brain scrambling desperately to play catch-up. Was he jerking her around, or was he trying to save her from Rex? She sifted quickly through her memories. Aside from walking out on her in the middle of the night and never contacting her again—definitely jerking-her-around behavior—he had always been a straight-talking, straight-shooting, down-to-earth kind of guy. She had always known where she stood with him. But now? Now, she didn’t trust him.

Dragging his attention away from a thoroughly chastised Kickstand, Rex frowned at James. “You know her?”

“Yeah, I know her.” Disapproval and exasperation tinged James’s voice. Still, there was something in the sincerity of his concerned gaze that made Lana fairly certain he was trying to help her escape.

“She said she was waiting for her boyfriend,” Rex grumbled. “That was you?”

James sighed and gently clasped Lana’s arm. “She was supposed to wait for me in the lobby until we were done with our meeting, not skank around the fucking bar dressed like she’s needing attention. Weren’t you listening this morning, babe?”

Lana exhaled a breath she hadn’t realized she had been holding. Damn he was fast with the lies. Almost as fast as he’d been at sneaking away in the middle of the night. Still, if he was trying to help her, he’d definitely come up with a plausible story. She would have to put aside the urge to pummel him, at least long enough to escape Rex’s clutches.

But how was she going to act like his girlfriend when she could barely stand the sight of him? Even worse, how was she going to act like a biker’s old lady? Even when she had been a biker’s old lady, she hadn’t fit in. She had the fire but not the thick skin; the anger but not the attitude.

Unlike Angel. She closed her eyes for the briefest second and imagined herself as a tough, wiry biker chick, long platinum hair, high-heeled boots, leather jacket and a spandex, leopard-print dress. She imagined the confident rasp of Angel’s voice, her don’t-fuck-with-me attitude and her total fearlessness at the possibility of facing the wrath of an entire motorcycle club when she divorced their leader.

Lana opened her eyes and gave James a tight, hard, Angel-like smile.

“Sorry,
honey
.” She dripped the last word. “I must have been caught up cooking your breakfast, oiling your leathers and servicing your motorcycle this morning.”

“She your old lady?” Confusion clouded Rex’s face.

“Yeah. She’s my old lady.” James released his grip and slid his arm around Lana’s waist, pulling her into his chest. Her cheek pressed against the soft cotton of his Harley Davidson T-shirt pulled tight over a sheet of rock-hard muscle. She breathed in his familiar scent—sharp and clean, like soap—and the heavier musk of leather and grease. Desire licked its way up her spine.

“Can’t seem to keep her out of trouble,” James said, his hand firm and reassuring against her back. “Second time she’s caused a problem in this club.”

Lana closed her eyes. The deep rumble of James’s voice took her back to the nights he had gently coaxed her deepest, most secret desires from her lips and made them real. She fought the urge to plaster her body against him and beg him to take her there again. Free her from the torment of her past.

As if sensing her need, he ran his hand up and down her back, a seemingly absent caress that set her blood on fire. “Looks like you’ll have to stay with me until the meeting is over, babe. I can’t have you causing more trouble in the club.”

Stay? With James? And a group of bikers? In Master Tony’s club? No damn way. Her take on his unspoken plan had been to get her out and away from Rex. Angel or no Angel, she wasn’t sticking around. The situation had gotten entirely out of hand. She would have to get her pictures another day. And figure out what James was doing with Hades.

She wrenched herself out of James’s arms. “Change of plans,
honey
. I’ve got a sudden urge to spit shine your spare boots. I’m going home.”

“No, babe, you’re not.”

“Watch me.” Lana spun around and walked away.

Chapter Two

He watched her.

He couldn’t help but watch her.

For two years he had dreamed of seeing her again, and here she was.

And there she went.

Lana strode toward the door, perfect ass swaying, long, lean legs showcased by her barely there skirt and knee-high stiletto boots. His heart pounded against his rib cage and he wanted nothing more than to grab her and haul her back into his arms.

She had to be fucking kidding. Didn’t she realize he was the only reason Rex hadn’t laid a hand on her? A brother didn’t touch another brother’s old lady. That unspoken rule was a code of honor followed by every motorcycle club…everywhere.

No way would Rex believe his bullshit story if he let her walk away. No self-respecting biker would take that kind of crap from his old lady, especially in front of his biker brothers. And he couldn’t afford to lose Rex’s respect. After two years undercover, busting his balls to get into Rex’s inner circle, the end was finally in sight. He had to stay strong, focused.

Fuck. Of all the women Rex had to pick, it had to be her.

Lana.

The biggest regret of his life.

It had been two years since he’d held her in his arms. Two years since he’d kissed her full, lush lips. And yet he remembered their last night together as if it were yesterday. And he remembered her fire. God, he’d loved her fire. It had awakened a passion he’d long thought dead—killed by a bullet meant for him.

He drew in a long, slow breath and watched her ass wiggle beneath the thin layer of Lycra. His cock twitched. Lana, in or out of clothing, set his blood to boiling. But that slicked-on naughty-police outfit was a whole new level of hell for his self-control.

Two years ago he’d fucked up. He should have ended it gently. Told her about the undercover assignment. Explained it could never work between them. Maybe even mentioned Christine. Walking out on Lana in the middle of the night had been the wrong thing to do.

But now he had a chance to make amends, even the score. Saving her from Rex would put his guilt to rest. Then he would be able to move on with his life without being tormented by the memory of her peaceful, trusting face, beautiful in the moonlight as he walked way.

Easier said than done. Especially when he had to ensure he didn’t blow his cover. And that was a possibility if he let her leave the club. Clearly, he wouldn’t be able to convince her to stay, so his only option was to get Tony to throw her out. And Tony would only do that if she broke the rules.