Biker Babe in Black (8 page)

She opened the bathroom door and dared him to make fun of the mess she’d made of her hair. She held her thumb and index finger up in front of his face. “One word, Remy, and I am this close to breaking out in tears.”

Remy stepped inside the room, turned her body around, and lifted her head. Working his fingers into her hair, he pulled clips out and tossed them onto the floor.

“Stop. I’ll never get my hair up in time, and you’ll be late.” She grabbed his wrist.

“Shh…look in the mirror.” He ran his fingers through her hair. He spread the curls over her shoulders, down her back. “This is the way you should wear all this lovely blonde hair. Wild. Free. Like you.”

“I look like I just got out of bed.” She cocked her head.

“I know.” He winked at her reflection and chuckled.

Warmth filled her face. “It’s not proper.”

“The hell with proper. Every man there will be envious of me when we walk through the door.”

“I don’t want every man’s attention.” She turned around and faced him. “I’m hoping no one pays any attention to me…except you.”

Margie thought by the way Remy bent his head and looked into her eyes that he might kiss her. She moved closer, her hand going to the front of his shirt. Instead, he gave one of her curls a yank and walked out of the bathroom.

She clamped her mouth shut and squealed. “Do I have bad breath or something?”

The last few days, he’d done the same thing. Act one way, and then do an about-face. She cupped her hand in front of her mouth, blew into her palm, and inhaled through her nose. Her breath didn’t stink, but another swish of mouthwash wouldn’t hurt.

***

Margie’s hand settled into the crook of Remy’s arm as she walked beside him on the pathway to the front door of the party. Her stomach rolled.
Please let this party go all right tonight.

The house shone brightly in the dark. Each window lit up, and crowds of people mingled inside. Margie hesitated and pulled back on Remy’s arm. She needed to take a deep breath.

“What’s wrong?” He stepped in front of her and rubbed her arms.

“This is so out of my element.” Her voice shook, and her hand trembled on Remy’s arm.

He leaned closer. “There’s nothing to worry about. No one’s opinion matters to me. It’s always been that way. If they don’t like me, screw them. I’ll do business with someone else.”

“That’s because everyone wants you. You benefit them.” She sighed. “They’ll judge you for who you’re with. I’m a—”

“I want to kiss you. God, I really want to kiss you.” He sucked his breath in.

A calmness came over her. He really didn’t care what happened tonight. She tilted her head. “You can.”

He ran his finger along her bottom lip, and she opened her mouth enough to flick her tongue across the tip of his finger.

With a frustrated growl, he stepped back. “Later. Tonight I only want to think about kissing you. Every time I look at you, I want to imagine what you’ll taste like when you give yourself to me.”

She swallowed. Her body no longer trembled with nerves, but loosened and warmed beneath his words.

“Just remember, prior to laying your pretty head against the pillow tonight, I will kiss you like you’ve never been kissed before.” He put his hand on her lower back and led her up to the door without another word.

Ignoring the sizzle of awareness low in her stomach, she stood gracefully beside him. The dizziness cleared slightly, but her body seemed to stay on hyper alert. Every time Remy touched her, looked at her, or spoke, she shivered with need.

The click of the door and the invasion of noise from inside the house jolted her out of her thoughts. Margie stepped away from Remy and struggled with the sensual arousal he brought about in her body. The promise of a kiss would come tonight; Remy’s Boy Scout honor would see to that.

The butler escorted them into a large room fit for entertaining. Caterers carried trays of shrimp appetizers and pre-dinner drinks around the room. Margie forced herself to breathe through her nose and out through her mouth to calm the butterflies in her stomach.

Remy clasped her hand in his and guided her across the room. She held on extra tight, afraid he might abandon her. Usually, she took any situation by the horns, but tonight she wanted everything perfect.

“Remy!” A loud masculine voice called out. Margie glimpsed at a man in the corner waving in their direction, above the heads of the other guests.

“I need to go say hi. Just stick with me.” He gave her fingers a squeeze. “Clay can be…annoying, but I won’t let him bother you.”

“I’ll be okay. Go, do business.” She didn’t let go of his hand. She needed to connect with him. He calmed her.

“Remy, my man.” The man held out his hand, oblivious to the liquid that spilled over the lip of his glass and onto the floor.

“Clay.” Remy shook the man’s hand and nodded at another gentleman. “I’d like to introduce Margarine Bu—”

Margie pinched his arm hard enough to draw blood if not for his coat being in the way.

“Call me Margie, please.” She flashed a smile at the men to appease her rude manners. She forgot all about letting Remy know not to call her by her whole name. Not everyone accepted it with a straight face.

“Whoa, Remy, a new lady on your arm.” Clay lifted Margie’s hand and brought it to his lips.

Out of her peripheral vision, Margie witnessed Remy’s jaw muscle twitch. She fought the urge to yank her hand out of the clammy grasp of this Clay person. The way he leered at her creeped her out, and she knew he wasn’t someone to trust.

“I must say your presence here tonight makes the party brighter for all of us who are still single.” He held on to her hand too long, and she gently pulled it free.

Margie smiled politely and stepped closer to Remy.

“Unfortunately, all the single men will have to look elsewhere, I’m afraid. She’s taken.” Remy’s smile didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Okay, okay, I hear you, bud.” Clay patted Remy’s shoulder in an old show of good male sportsmanship.

The ding-a-ling of a bell rang. Everyone’s attention shifted to the black-tuxedoed man who announced dinner would be served. Margie strolled with Remy to the dining room.

Six large tables arranged in an intimate fashion dominated the candlelit room. Margie sat beside Remy. The name card by her plate read “guest”. She mimicked Remy’s actions and placed the napkin on her lap, the moment ripe for weeding out the people with money versus the woman who hung out with people named Crowbar, Reefer, and Tank.

Someone walked behind her and accidently snagged her hair as they passed. The willies traveled up Margie’s spine. She leaned forward to move her hair out of the way and glanced over her shoulder.

A tall, sophisticated lady who could have been a runway model snuck up behind Remy. The woman’s hands came around to cover Remy’s eyes, and Margie lifted her brows.

“I’ll give you one guess.” The woman bent down and sucked Remy’s earlobe into her mouth.

Margie glanced away and kept her eyes downcast.
Who is this creature? Moreover, who is she to Remy?

Curiosity got the best of her, and she turned her head back around to observe the situation.

Remy laid his napkin on the table and used his hands to remove the woman’s fingers from his eyes. Remy pushed his chair back and stood. “Gloria. I see you’re back in the States.”

“Yes, I am, and isn’t it lucky for you I arrived back in the states today and could attend the party.” She flashed Remy a kilowatt smile. “And here you are.”

This woman, Gloria whoever, latched on to Remy’s arm and whispered something Margie couldn’t hear. She concentrated on straightening the silverware and looked anywhere besides the other people at their table. People tended to scrutinize the third party involved in the relationship to gauge their reaction.
Like a bug under a microscope
.

Remy removed the woman’s arm that wound around his back, cupping his ass. Anger replaced Margie’s curiosity. Who the hell did she think she was, handling Remy that way in front of everyone? Hello? Didn’t she comprehend that she was Remy’s date?

Remy reached down and clasped Margie’s hand. She stood, and Remy drew her to his side, his arm around her waist.
Take that, Miss Swimsuit Model!

“Gloria Steinbeck, I’d like you to meet Margarine Butter.”

Dead silence broke out around the table. Margie contained her groan. She steeled herself against the unwanted attention, held her hand out, and cemented the fakest smile on her face.

“Oh, God, you poor thing. Your parents must have been hippies that believed in alternative mind treatments to saddle you with that name.” Gloria ignored Margie’s hand and instead placed her hand on her own chest in horror. “I would have legally changed my name years ago.”

Gloria moved right in on the jugular. Margie tossed her hair and gave an airy laugh. She wouldn’t lower herself to this…this
bitch
in front of Remy and his friends.

“If you’ll excuse us, Gloria. It looks like dinner is about to be served.” Remy helped Margie sit down, pushed in her chair, and found his own seat. Left behind, Gloria resembled a fledgling that waited for food, her mouth wide open. An obvious snub.

The guests at the table continued to stare at the drama going on. Margie breathed through her nose to calm her pulse without anyone noticing. She didn’t think a catfight with hair pulling, or a contest on insults about each other’s Hogs might work in a situation with polite society.

Ten to one, the bitch didn’t even ride a motorcycle.

The serving woman appeared and handed out their dinner plates. Margie lowered her lashes and peeked at Remy, who found her hand under the table in her lap and gave it a squeeze.

“You okay?”
he mouthed.

Conversations once again picked up, and everyone’s attention was drawn to the meal in front of them. Margie gave Remy a small nod and a shaky smile. She knew better than to think this was the end of the drama tonight. Women like Gloria never gave up.

A Mr. and Mrs. Chapman and another man whose name she’d forgotten sat at the table with Remy and Margie. The nameless man engaged in conversation with the Chapmans, leaving Remy and Margie to talk with each other. The meal ended, and the guests retreated back to the room where they’d gathered prior to dinner. Unsettled, Margie took over the role as silent observer.

Everyone sought Remy’s attention, and she delighted in how magnificently he performed. He complimented, involved others in the limelight, and bonded with his employees. She found herself studying the way he worked and forgetting about those around her. Impressed with the way he conducted himself, Margie understood how he became successful in his life.

Mr. Turner, who Remy engaged in conversation, welcomed his wife into their small group. A classic beauty, she gazed over at her husband with adoration and love.

“Margarine, I’d like you to meet my wife, Abigail Turner.” Mr. Turner lifted his wife’s hand and kissed the back of her wrist.

Mrs. Turner’s entire face lit up, and Margie welcomed the warmth from the woman. Abigail was the first genuine person she’d met tonight.

“It’s so nice to meet you, Margarine. I love Remy as if he was my own son. Did he ever tell you about the time he dumped a box of laundry dye in our swimming pool?” The older woman’s eyes wrinkled at the corners.

“Now, Abigail, you know I spent half my summer at your house making up for that.” Remy leaned over and gave Abigail an over-exaggerated, loud kiss on her cheek.

Margie laughed, and Abigail smacked Remy on the arm. The familiarity between the Turners and Remy was apparent and more real to Margie than his relationships with his business partners.

“One of the best summers Abigail and I had. You entertained us so much with your pranks and shenanigans.” Mr. Turner elbowed Remy’s ribs.

“Margarine, why don’t you and I mosey on over to the bar, grab us a girl’s drink, and let these two men have a few minutes alone to talk man stuff.” Abigail linked her arm with Margie.

At that moment, Margie knew Abigail Turner was someone she liked and trusted.

“How long have you known Remy, Margarine?” Abigail asked.

“Please, call me Margie. Just a few weeks.”

“Sometimes that’s all it takes to know a person. Mr. Turner and I eloped out of college after knowing each other one month. That was…” Abigail tapped her chin, “thirty-one years ago.”

“Really? That’s amazing. You seem like a wonderful couple.” Margie meant it from the bottom of her heart.

“I think we are. Of course, at the time we scandalized everyone. Especially our parents.” Abigail laughed, and Margie witnessed a little mischief in her eyes.

Margie sipped the cosmopolitan Abigail handed her, scanned across the room, and ended up on Remy. He seemed relaxed with Mr. Turner, unlike the more standoffish attitude he displayed with the others at the party. A little cough or hiccough came from Abigail Turner and drew Margie’s attention. Abigail’s mouth pinched together, and her hand tightened around the drink in her hand.

“Is everything okay?”

“I can’t believe that barracuda is back already.” Abigail stared arrows across the room.

Margarine followed the direction of Abigail’s gaze and narrowed her eyes. The woman who showed herself at dinner came into the room.
What is her name…? Glory? No. Gloria. A normal name.

Margie snorted. Abigail lost interest in Gloria and turned her attention to her. “I take it you’ve met Gloria?”

Margie nodded. She knew enough to know Gloria wasn’t someone she would ever want for a friend.

“I was introduced earlier to her.” Margie tightened her lips.

“Pity that. I wish she would find someone else instead of setting her sights on Remy. Of course, it doesn’t help that they were engaged.” Abigail shook her head.

Engaged? Margie’s stomach reeled. She wanted to ask Abigail what happened, but it wasn’t her place to interrogate. Now that she thought about it, she didn’t know what her position was, exactly. Housekeeper or love interest?

“I think it’s time to return to our men. Maybe with both of us there, Gloria will retract the claws she set into Remy and tuck her tail between her legs.” Abigail took a couple of steps and stopped. “Be strong, and don’t let that woman push you around. She can be vicious.”