Firetrap: The Soul Scorchers MC (The Scorched Souls Serial-series Book 1) (4 page)

“Hi, honey!” I forced myself to sound cheerful.

I accepted the drink from Sheila while he droned on about his day, and all the paperwork bogging him down, keeping him from his field investigations. The bureaucracy of the job was the one thing he hated. He wanted to be solving his cases not shuffling paper.

My mind wandered.
What was Boone doing now? Had he taken off his shirt?

“Olympia! Did you hear me? I asked how things were with the biker.”

“Oh, sorry.  It’s fine. Boone’s been working for the past three hours nonstop. I don’t think he’s even taken a break.”

“Boone? I thought his name was Bryce?”

“I think it’s a biker nickname or something. Whatever, it doesn’t matter. I set my ground rules upfront and so far we’re good.”

“Okay. I’ll try to get off early and make an appearance.”

The idea of him in the room with Boone seemed wrong in so many ways. I didn’t want the two men together. I was afraid Conner would see through my feigned disgust and discover the desire I had for the brawny biker.

“No. I’m fine. James is here. My dad already checked in. You work. Don’t worry about me.”

He argued for a minute, but I knew he was relieved. Working late was his way of demonstrating his dedication to the job. Eager to move up the ranks, he always did more than required. I couldn’t fault Conner on his work ethic. Work was one thing he took seriously.

It appeared to me that Boone was also a workaholic. I’d expected him to take a smoke break, something. He seemed like the type who’d smoke. But what did I know about bikers? Not much it seemed. I was surprised he even held a regular job. From what my dad had said, the Soul Scorchers were too busy creating criminal mayhem to do anything worthwhile.

Boone had proven him wrong on two fronts. He not only fought fires for free, but he ran a successful remodeling company. I hated to admit, but I was impressed.

I sucked down the rest of Sheila’s fruity concoction and pushed up from my lounge chair. I was too amped-up to lie around.

Taking my time, I wandered around the pool, dipping my foot in every so often. Maybe I’d have James inflate one of my air mattresses. The water felt cool and inviting. I pulled a hair tie from my wrist, where I wore it like a bracelet, and put my hair up in high ponytail. Bending over, I touched my toes and stretched out my calves.

It was then I noticed the hammering had stopped.

I could feel Boone’s gaze. He was on my balcony taking the break he’d been avoiding, until now.

Great.
I’d just offered up a full view of my ass and a pretty clear visual of my lady parts. Perhaps a different swimsuit would have been more prudent, but I was trying to tan, and it was my house, my yard, and I could wear what I damned well wanted. He should have the decency to look away.

Yeah right.
Who was I kidding? What hot-blooded male would miss an opportunity to ogle a girl’s bared butt?

Confirming my suspicion, Boone cleared his throat. “How’s the water down there?”

I turned, shielding my eyes and squinting up at him. I hated wearing sunglasses. They gave me raccoon eyes.

Boone leaned against the handrail, his big body filling my balcony. “Don’t suppose you’d let me take a dip?”

He rolled his shoulders and leaned back, gripping the rail. As I’d imagined, he had removed his shirt, revealing his tattoo-covered chest. I’d seen the trademark flames on his neck, but hadn’t expected the rest. He looked amazing. As much as I’d always disliked tattoos, they suited him. I couldn’t picture him any other way.

“Okay, come on down!” I heard myself yell back
. Damn that drink!
Sheila knew how to make them strong. I realized then I hadn’t eaten anything. No wonder I was acting like ‘Miss Congeniality’.

“Are you hungry?” I added.

“You offering food?” He didn’t wait for my answer. “Anything would be better than what I packed.”

I giggled, “Well, come on down. I’ll order our lunch.” He disappeared from the balcony and I quickly called Sheila, requesting a meat plate, bread sampler, and veggies. I wondered if he drank on the job. I asked for a Heineken for him and another cocktail for myself, less alcohol this time around.

Not sure what I was doing with Boone, I gave into the pool’s temptation and jumped into the water, screeching as its cool depths enveloped me.

A loud splash took me by surprise. I hadn’t expected him so soon, and I certainly hadn’t expected he’d dive in next to me.

We both came up at the same time.

He ran his hand over his dark hair, slicking it back. Wet, it fell past his shoulders, the total opposite of Conner’s short, professional cut. Everything about Boone was wild, including the piercing I spotted on his tongue. I’d heard about the main reason men pierced their tongues, and my pussy clenched at the vision of him flicking his tongue over my pleasure center. I imagined the stud would feel divine.

“You like what you see, Red?” His mouth bowed into a full grin, making his eyes twinkle.

“Red? Why red?”

“Your hair. You do know its burgundy, right?” He splashed me.

“Hey!” I splashed back, surprised by his playful side. “I keep thinking I’m blonde. This color is new for me.”

His eyes darkened. “It suits you. Matches your personality.”

I wasn’t sure whether to be offended or pleased. Thankfully, I didn’t have to decide. Sheila, with James on her heels, chose that moment to wheel our lunch onto the deck.

“Lunch is …” I stammered, caught off guard by his gaze’s intensity.

He licked his lips. “You go on. I think I’ll do a lap or two. Loosen up a bit.”

It occurred to me then that I didn’t know what he was wearing. Did he keep swim trunks in his truck? He didn’t seem the type.

“Can I help you?” he asked. His grin was back, and the feral gleam was gone from his eyes.

“Are you wearing a swimsuit?”

“Does it matter?”

“Yes, it matters,” I hissed. This man was maddening.

“I’m covered.”

“In what?” He wasn’t going to make this easy on me.

Rather than answer, he pushed off from the bottom and swam away, his big arms churning through the water.

He was telling the truth. He was indeed covered in a pair of ass-hugging, Calvin Klein, Micromodal, Boxer Briefs that fit him like a glove.
Damn biker!

I scrambled from the pool as gracefully as I could manage and grabbed my robe.

I’d erred inviting Boone down here. Now I had to figure out a way to get him back upstairs before I made another, far more serious mistake.

Boone

I stopped at the pool’s shallow end, after six laps. It had taken that long to get my cock to behave. Walking across the patio in flesh-hugging briefs, with a hard on from hell, hadn’t seemed like the polite thing to do. I wasn’t known for being polite in my personal affairs, but this was business. Not to mention, I needed time to think. Olympia had me confused … again.

One second she was insulting me, the next she was inviting me to lunch and letting me swim in her precious pool. The bitch was giving me whiplash.

My stomach rumbles signaled it was time to eat, despite my conflicted feelings. I climbed out of the pool and made my way to a table in the shade, where Olympia was already eating. Her bodyguard and maid hovered close by, waiting for her instructions. The two were like trained lap dogs.

I could only imagine how my brothers would torment me when they found out I’d “lunched” with the mayor’s daughter. Our newest prospects, two twins, Tinker and Tweaker, would have a heyday with the information. I decided right then; I wouldn’t tell them. In fact, I wouldn’t be sharing my afternoon’s activities with anyone. It was my fucking business who I ate with.

“Enjoy your swim?” Her gaze slid down my chest, stopping to scrutinize my nipple piercings, before landing on my briefs.

Fucking hell. Did she have to look at me like that?
She was lucky I’d put the damn things on. It wasn’t uncommon for me to go without, and I had no qualms walking around naked either.

“The water felt great. I’ll just eat and get back to work. I think I can have the entire project completed in the three days I scheduled for it. I want to spend at least a day on the painting portion.”

She took a bite of celery. “Take your time. I can pay whatever it costs.”

“You sure about that? What if money isn’t what I want?” What I really wanted to say was; ‘How about you give me twenty-four hours to fuck you senseless?’

Depending on her performance that could easily count as payment and a tip.

Her lips parted and she waited for me to continue, her expression unreadable.

I quickly determined if I hoped to finish my meal, it would be in my best interest to keep
that
particular suggestion to myself.

When she realized I wasn’t going to say more, we ate the rest of our meal in relative silence, except for the occasional this-food-is-good compliment, which made things a whole lot easier.

I wasn’t a big communicator when it came to women. Suck my dick; roll over; spread your legs; were a few of my favorite phrases. I’d allowed my anger at Rita’s selfishness to mold my attitudes about the fairer sex. Olympia’s uppity behavior these past years hadn’t done anything to improve it. Add in the gold-digging bitches I took to my bed, and my view of women wasn’t getting any better with time.

I had two boys from my marriage to Rita, and I didn’t have clue how to raise them. They’d been real mama’s boys in every sense of the word. I was only thirty-one, but they were a handful, easily wearing me out. I couldn’t keep a nanny, no matter how much I paid.

I’d asked Rita to be my old lady at eighteen and married her six months later when we found out she was pregnant. She’d gotten clean and we had Joseph, now referred to as Joey. He was turning thirteen next month and wanted to follow in my footsteps. He planned to patch in as soon as he was old enough.

His younger brother, Jordon Vance, JV to the guys, was the polar opposite. Artistic, intelligent, and far too feminine for my taste; he wanted nothing to do with the biker lifestyle. Granted he was only eight, and things could change. The two fought constantly, giving me a headache that never quite went away, no matter how many pain relievers I tossed down.

Being raised in the club by its members, their old ladies and a swarm of their busybody women friends wasn’t ideal, but at this point, I didn’t see any other options. At least they were well cared for. Any one of my brothers would die to protect them.

“Hey, earth to Boon. Where did you go?” Olympia snapped her fingers, interrupting my silent worry session. “Your eyes kind of glazed over.”

“Got a few things on my mind. This was good, though. I appreciate the lunch, but I need to get back to work.” I had no intention of sharing my secret concerns with someone like Olympia, who would undoubtedly find a way to use them against me.

She wasn’t letting me off that easy. “What’s the big hurry?”

“Well, I scheduled three days for your job, and despite your offer to pay more, I’ve got other projects lined up.” I sounded harsher than I intended.

“Fine. Suit yourself,” she snipped.

Pushing my plate back, I rose from the table and went to find my jeans, which I’d tossed on a chair by the pool.

A door slammed and footsteps approached from behind. “What the hell is
he
doing down here?” a male voice snapped.

Yanking on my pants, I ignored the heated voices. I had no doubt about who’d intruded. It had to be the ATF asshole, Conner Mills. Evidently, he didn’t appreciate stopping by to find his future wife hanging out with the biker who’d been hired to remodel her bathroom.

It was probably for the best anyway. I needed to put some serious distance between myself and the mayor’s daughter.

Not bothering to stop, I thanked Sheila for feeding us, and headed back upstairs.

An hour later, I was too curious not to check on Olympia.

Standing on the balcony, I had a clear view of her and Conner kissing below. He whispered something and she giggled. “How could you be jealous of a thug like him? You should know me better than that. I was just being nice. I’d never be with a lowlife biker. I can’t believe you.” She slapped his arm playfully. “I learned to be the gracious hostess from my mom. She always fed the help.”

The help? Lowlife biker? Thug?

At my sides, my hands fisted; I took a deep breath, exhaling out my nose like a bull - a raging bull ready to fucking stampede.

That stuck up little bitch.

For a minute during lunch, I’d almost been willing to change my mind about her. Now? Not a chance. She was everything I’d thought she was and worse. Conner was definitely the right guy for her.

Fuck this.
I was done for the day.

I gathered my tools and left the mess, something I never did. Tomorrow it would be all business for me. She could flaunt her ass and open her legs for all I cared. I was immune to Olympia Olsen.

Yeah right. And pigs flied. And the Soul Scorchers were allies with the Hell’s Guardians.

In other words, I was lying to myself and still craving a bitch who thought I was a dirty, worthless bastard.

What I needed was a distraction. It was time to make the drive up Highway 101, to our strip joint’s underground club. There I would find a woman, or multiple women, ready and willing to submit to my unconventional demands.

At least at ‘The Treasure Cove’
,
I’d experience the control that seemed to elude me when I was around Olympia Olsen.

No more games; enough was enough. Somehow, someway, little-miss-perfect-princess would pay for her insolence today.

Olympia

I couldn’t believe Boone had up and left without even saying goodbye. Our lunch had been halfway enjoyable, and it seemed like we’d made progress, moving past most of our animosity to a more neutral, friendlier place.

But in light of his abrupt departure, it appeared I had read more into our interaction. I’d make sure to avoid any liquor consumption tomorrow. Drinking lulled me into experiencing a false sense of security, and I started misreading people’s intentions.

Adding injury to insult, he hadn’t bothered to clean up the bathroom. It was so messy I was stuck using the guest bathroom down the hallway, which was not just inconvenient, but frustrating.
He could have at least left the room functional, so much for professionalism.

Conner, on the other hand, had done the exact opposite, staying forever, only leaving when I told him I was too exhausted to keep my eyes open.

After hanging out all afternoon and evening, I couldn’t be more relieved to have him gone. He rarely left work early, and his behavior had been unprecedented. It seemed the green eyed monster was alive and well in my fiancé. I’d had to reassure him several times that I found Boone primitive and boring. After multiple assurances, he had finally relented and apologized for his jealous behavior, citing his love for me was deeper than he’d realized.

Talk about bewildering, one man running out the door and the other refusing to go without a good solid shove from me.

I’d never seen Conner insecure, and it wasn’t a good fit for him. Instead of appearing vulnerable and open, his actions today made him seem weak and desperate; two traits I found highly unpleasant. I could never imagine a man like Boone being envious, at least not in a way that made him appear weak.

Not Boone.

He was confidence rolled up in a rough and rugged package, dripping with raw masculinity so strong, just looking at him had my knees buckling.

Adding to my frustration and confusion was the glaring fact I couldn’t eject the image of Boone striding towards me in his clinging boxer briefs. He was seriously packing up front. No Photoshop needed for him. And his backside was just as tempting as the front view. His ass looked hard enough to crack an egg on.

I snorted. That was quite the vision.

If those mental pictures weren’t bad enough, I was plagued with a question that I shouldn’t be asking in the first place.

How would I feel if Boone kissed me?

I had no doubt it would be panty-melting, not at all like kissing my fiancé. Not that Conner wasn’t skilled when it came to giving pleasure, because, he was. He knew all the right moves, and my body responded; even so, it felt mechanical. For me the passion and the thrill just weren’t there. I wanted my first time to be spectacular, with my body exploding like ‘Fourth of July’ fireworks.

My future husband would never give me what I craved, and pretending that marriage would solve all our problems, was outright absurd and childish. He’d left a trail of broken hearts behind, before committing to me, but I couldn’t begin to grasp what all his past lovers saw in him that I didn’t. I’d tried to find that same spark and failed.

In relation to the firework comparison, I expected sex with Conner to be like one of those sparklers little kids waved around, while the bigger kids got to light off the more exciting rockets or illegal motors.

Sex with Boone Richards would be like the finale at a professional firework display: colorful, loud, and lasting. Most of all, it would be dangerous.

My phone chirped, interrupting my wandering thoughts and signaling an incoming text message. I glanced at the bedside clock. It was 2.30am. My chest tightened, and a stab of adrenaline spiked through me.

What if it was Boone? Maybe he’d been thinking about me too. My cell phone number was listed on the contract forms, along with my father’s.

I reached for my phone, wide awake.

Disappointment quickly doused my excitement. It was Conner. He never stayed up this late.

Can’t stop thinking about you. Let’s move the wedding up.

Stunned, I sat up, clutching the phone. He had to be kidding. Maybe he was drunk. Only problem with that idea was the fact Conner didn’t drink during the week - ever.

The phone chirped again.

You’re probably sleeping. We’ll talk tomorrow. Love you.
He’d even added a silly heart at the end.

Flopping down on my back, I groaned.
Why now? Why me?
Any other woman would be thrilled.

I was horrified.

A picture of my mother’s concerned face intruded, adding to my middle-of-the-night-misery.

She’d died and left me alone without a woman’s guidance. I missed her sage council, her unconditional love and ability to listen without judgment.
Damn it!
  I missed everything about her.

“I am not going there,” I hissed. Angry, I’d let my emotions get so out of control. “You. Will. Not. Cry,” I repeated the mantra I’d come to depend on.

Swallowing hard, I choked down an uncharacteristic sob. I struggled for several long minutes to regain control, pushing back the pain and locking it away in the compartment reserved for anything related to my mom, more specifically, her death.