Elite Metal-ARE-epub (60 page)

The prospect sent a ripple down Sterling’s spine, but he ignored it. Even if she did have a thing for leather, there could never be anything like
that
between them. Not if she was a reporter. “So where do we go from here?”

Chrome frowned. “I’m calling it in. See how Warbucks wants to handle it.” Steele nodded and Chrome levered out of his chair, pulling out his cell phone and stalking to the front of the bar, where it was quiet enough for a conversation.

The table was silent as they waited for Chrome to finish his call and report back on how they should handle this. It was clear from the tight expressions around the table, everyone understood the weight of the situation as well as Sterling did.

If she was indeed a reporter, and if she was here investigating their team, this was serious. Elite Metal operated successfully because they were covert. So much as a hint about their true purpose or identities could bring down a shitstorm of apocalyptic proportions. And for the team members out on active missions, it could mean their lives.

When Chrome came back to the table, his expression was grave. He dropped into his chair with a grunt and fixed Sterling with a dark glare.

“Well?”

“It’s a go.” He picked up his beer but didn’t drink. “Your orders are to find out why she’s here and what she knows.”

His gut tightened.
Damn.
“Parameters?”

“Whatever it takes.” Hard. Cold. Clear. There was no way they could allow a leak. There was too much at stake. Too many operations underway that could be compromised. They’d all suffered the consequences of a leak before. They’d all lost friends. They’d all lost a lot. Chrome forced a smile, but it was mostly teeth. “Use your legendary charm and find out what’s what.”

“Right.” Sterling’s fingers tightened. The thought of getting close to her, even on a mission, sent a sizzle of trepidation…and anticipation through him. “And if I find evidence she’s investigating the team?”

Chrome shrugged. “Bring her in.” The tone of his voice made Sterling’s blood go cold. Warbucks was ruthless when it came to protecting his team. Nothing was off-limits. Nothing.

God himself could not protect that woman if she was doing what he suspected. For the first time in his life, he sincerely hoped his sixth sense was wrong. She seemed so small and defenseless, balancing a tray as she made her way into the pool hall, pigtails bouncing. So innocent. Certainly unequal to the wrath of one of the richest men on the planet.

He hoped he was wrong about her. But he knew he wasn’t.

Steeling himself for a task he knew would be very unpleasant, he nodded in wordless acceptance of the mission and pushed away from the table. Carrying his beer, he sauntered over to the bar, where the opportunity for a “casual” meeting was most likely. He leaned on the counter and worked his beer, pretending to watch the game on TV. His attention was really on the mirror over the bar, where he could track her movements.

The sizzle of eagerness as she approached annoyed him.

Damn, she was alluring. Her blonde hair was pulled back in pigtails, revealing the delicate cut of her cheek. A fringe of bangs were swiped carelessly to the side. Her features were exquisite, with a slender nose turned up a bit at the end, and a little dent in her chin. Her eyes were enormous and gray, and they almost made her look vulnerable.

Almost.

There was something about her stride, the tight way she controlled her movements, the way her gaze was constantly assessing the environment around her, that belied any weakness. He had no doubt this woman was perfectly able to protect herself and would do so with ruthless ferocity.

But if
babe in the woods
was the way she wanted to play it, he was game.

She sidled up to the bar and waited to give Daryl an order. Sterling let his gaze slide over her in a lazy perusal. Though it was hardly necessary. He knew each and every curve by heart. When their gazes met, clashed, it sent an electric charge down to his bowels. He imagined, from her startled expression, she felt the same, but he ignored the thought. If she was a ruthless reporter, he doubted his presence would faze her in the slightest.

He tweaked up his lips and lifted his beer in a silent salute.

She eyed him with an appreciative look. He was sure it was about as authentic as a plug nickel. Her attention stalled on the patch on the shoulder of his jacket. “You ride?”

A little worm crawled through his gut.
Shit
. She didn’t waste any time. “Yup.”

“What kind of bike do you have?”

“Night Rod.”

Her pink tongue dabbed out to wet her lips. His knees went weak. “Harleys are so hot. I love…the vibrations.”

Fuck.

She tipped her head to read the patch, though he suspected she knew damn well what it said. “EM Motorcycle Club?” She tried to make her tone casual, but he caught the ribbon of intent behind it.

“Yup.”

She slid closer. Too close. Her scent teased his nostrils and made him salivate. It took some effort to remind himself what he was doing here. And it wasn’t hitting on a waitress. “I think bikers are sexy,” she purred.

Or maybe it was.

Maybe that was the best way to get the confirmation he needed.

It was hardly an onerous mission.

He could fuck her six ways to Sunday. Reporter or not. The only hard part would be walking away.

He gave her the once-over, pretending surprise. “Really? You don’t look the type.”

“Haven’t you learned not to judge a waitress by her cover?”

Interesting choice of words, but Sterling didn’t comment on it. At this point, his best tactic was to play dumb. If she was what he suspected, and she thought he was one of the men she was hunting, she might try to draw him in.

And he would let her.

He flashed his trademark grin. One that had women falling into bed. “So are you a bad girl? Underneath those pigtails?”

Her expression hardened, but she covered it with a flutter of her lashes. “Maybe.”

“I’d love to find out…how naughty you are.”

“I’ll bet you would,” she murmured.

“What time do you get off?”

The smile she sent him was wicked indeed. “I dunno. That would be up to you, I guess.”

Her meaning was undeniable. His cock understood it immediately; it perked up like a meerkat on the Serengeti. And damn, he wished this weren’t what it was. He wished, for just one night, he could be Steve and she could be Candy. And they could fuck like bunnies.

“But my shift ends at two.”

Sterling checked his watch and she chuckled. And then her focus locked on his wrist. She stroked the face of his G-Shock. “Nice watch,” she said. He could see the wheels turning in her head. She flicked a look at him. “Are you ex-military?”

Because a waitress would know what kinds of watches special ops guys preferred.

He took a draw on his beer and glanced away, feigning a disinclination to talk about it. He could tell, somehow he just knew, tipping too early would set off her alarms. They were alike, the two of them, predators in their own way. He had to appreciate that about her. “Yeah.”

“What branch?”

“I was a marine.” He shrugged. “But that was a long time ago.”

She leaned against the bar and smiled up at him. He nearly came out of his skin when she raked her fingers through his hair. It was long now, down to his shoulders, hardly the buzz cut he’d had way back when. Her touch was like an electric shock. “You don’t look like a marine.”

“Like I said. A long time ago.”

“What do you do now?”

He shrugged. “I ride.”

“Is that all?”

“What else is there?” He glanced at her name tag, though he didn’t need to, and added in a sultry tone, “Candy.”

She shivered and touched the metal plate with her fake name inscribed on it. Her lips tweaked. “You have me at a disadvantage.”

“Do I?”

“What’s your name?” A whisper.

Sterling stared down at her. Damn, if she wasn’t good. If he hadn’t been tipped off to her identity, he might have believed she was really interested. He might have taken her out back just now and fucked her silly against the wall of the bar. The bathroom would have worked too. A man with less insight would have been completely fooled. He wasn’t fooled. And he wasn’t giving her his name.

He held out his hand. “I’m Steve.”

Her palm scraped against his; he closed his fingers around her and stroked her with his thumb. She shivered. Nice touch. “St-Steve?” Her tongue came out to dab her lips again. There was seduction on every line of her face. “You don’t look like a Steve.”

“Don’t I?” He leaned closer and took another whiff of her, though it was a bad idea. Her essence coiled within him like a snake. “What do I look like?”

She laughed and tried to pull her hand away. After a while he let her. “Not Steve, is all.”

“Yeah. Well, they call me…Cobra.” It was a stupid code name, cliché, one he’d stolen from a recent schlocky script he’d read.

But she bought it. Her eyes glinted. Her muscles tightened with excitement. Anticipation hummed around her. “Do they?”

Hell no.

“Mmm hmm.” He tipped back his beer, keeping his eyes on her.

“So tell me…Cobra. Do you live nearby?”

Damn. She was going all-in right off the bat. Based on his assessment, in this situation, with this woman, his best tactic would be playing hard to get. An easy guy would never cut it with her. He decided to prevaricate. “You asking to come home with me tonight?”

“Maybe.”

Well, hell.
“I live outside of town.”

“Where?”

“Outside. Of town.” Shifting gears, he shot her a cold glance. “You ask a lot of questions…for a waitress.”

She paled. Her throat worked. Her wheels spun. “I’m sorry. I’m just curious.”

“Yeah.” He motioned to Daryl for another drink. He wouldn’t drink it. Not now. He needed to be on his game. “Some guys don’t like to be asked questions,” he said. He turned away and, taking his drink with him, headed back to the table, leaving her frowning after him with irritation written all over her features.

Perfect.

The hook was set.

Chapter Two

Damn it. She should have kept her trap shut.

She should have waited until she had him drunk and hard and then started peppering him with questions.

She’d blown it, but good.

But damn it, she’d gotten close to him, drawn in his scent, and her brain had fizzled.

Roni picked up the tray of beers Daryl had poured for her and made her way back into the pool hall, attempting to fight off a shaft of disappointment, and maybe a hint of panic. For an entire week she’d been trying to unpeel the onion about the elite military team she was tracking. All she’d been able to do so far was connect the team to a motorcycle gang out of Dallas—and the fact that there might be a connection with Bone Daddy’s. She had a suspicion they were headquartered in a secret base outside of Deep Ellum, but she hadn’t been able to nail that down.

That guy was a member of the gang, judging from his jacket, and definitely military, despite his hair.

And shit. That hair. A long, silky fall of curls. It should be illegal for a dude to have hair like that.

She’d known, the minute she set eyes on him, he was the link. He had the answers. He could reveal all to her.

But then she’d pushed too hard and he’d gone all cold, clammed up and walked away.

She’d blown it.

If he slipped through her fingers, she might never get another lead like this again and her story would be blown. All her hard work for nothing. Marcus would be furious. And Annabelle…

She couldn’t even think about Annabelle.

She couldn’t think about the other reason for her disappointment either. The fact that if her subtle interrogation of him had needed to wander into seduction territory, she wouldn’t have minded.

As a reporter, she often used sex appeal as a weapon, but she balked at actual sex. In his case, she might have made an exception. Because damn, he was hot. She’d noticed him the instant he’d strolled into the bar. How could she not? He was tall and broad and had a dark, steamy vibe that made her all wobbly inside. He was exactly the kind of guy she’d sworn to avoid…and exactly the kind of guy she wanted.

Life was boring when one restricted oneself to a vanilla lifestyle. But things were too complicated for any entanglements, much less one that might make her lose focus. Especially now, with so much at stake.

But if she were being honest, the prospect of having an
excuse
to break her vow, to play with a guy like him, had been tempting.

Hence the disappointment.

She swallowed it, along with the bitter resentment clinging to her throat, and went about her business, flirting with the guys in the pool hall, fending off wandering hands and subtly probing for information. Not a bit of it was productive.

Each time she went to the bar for refills, her attention wandered over to his table. He sat with a group of friends, and while they were all relaxed and dressed like the other bikers in the bar, Roni couldn’t help but notice something different about these guys. An intensity that shrouded them like a blanket. An alertness the other dudes in the bar didn’t have.

She knew, deep in her gut, these were her best prospects yet. They practically
smelled
like special ops, despite their attempts at disguise.

It didn’t help that each time she casually glanced in their direction, her gaze met and tangled with
his
. Didn’t help that when they connected like that, something sizzled through her. Something dark and wet and needy.

It had been a long time since she’d indulged herself with a man she truly wanted. She had Annabelle to think about after all. She couldn’t take the chance of Marcus finding out about her…proclivities. He would jump on the chance to use that against her and that would mean disaster.

But here? In Deep Ellum? So far from civilization? So far from Marcus’ tentacles?

Here, no one would even notice if she went home with some random guy.