The Biker's Touch - Book 2 (An Alpha Motorcycle Club Romance) (Ghosts of the Prairie Motorcycle Club)

The Biker’s Touch

(An Alpha Motorcycle Club Romance)

Book 2

Ghosts of the Prairie Motorcycle Club

by

Regina Fox

Copyright © 2015 by Regina Fox

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a 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 product 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.

Prologue

When Jennifer Wayland dashed into The Bison, she was there to take up for her husband one more time. One more time she was going to defend the jerk that made everyone’s lives miserable, including hers.

She and the kids had been waiting for him, but when he said he had to miss because of a meeting, she just wasn’t surprised when his assistant called her to let her know that he had been arrested. He had some altercation at The Bison and the guys who were responsible were still there.

While all her husband’s drama was bullshit as usual, Jennifer was not prepared for what she encountered at The Bison. A crew of men, and some women, bikers. They called themselves Ghosts of the Prairie. Each stunning in their own way. Handsome and alluring with their tattoos and biker garb. Their longish hair. Their fit bodies and their magnetic presence.

When she barged into the restaurant demanding answers about what happened to her husband, a stallion of a man stood up and gently corralled her to the side and spoke to her softly. He said he was an attorney for his biker club but he could still speak to the issues.

And when he spoke, she could not hear a word he said. The blood rushed to her ears and her heart beat like a fool blocking out all sound. She looked at his gorgeous face and those perfect lips as they formed words trying to tell her, very respectfully, that her husband had resisted arrest.

Her husband, one of the richest men in New City, North Dakota. The owner of a corporation who mopped up on the fracking boom. Not many people liked him. Jennifer was on that list. She hated her husband.

Jennifer remembered those moments while sitting at a borrowed table at the restaurant in the days and weeks following. She could not get that biker out of her mind. Now, sitting in an office surrounded by crystal and glass that aimed towards the ceiling in palatial peaks, she hit rock bottom. She had lots of money. She had a hell of a view. Maybe the best in New City. But she was so empty. Her hopes and her dreams of what felt like an entire lifetime dashed on the rocks by a liar. The liar she had married.

Jennifer opened the beveled mirrored liquor cabinet in her soon-to-be ex-husband’s office and cracked a brand new bottle of whisky. Technically it was her office. Because once her husband was incapacitated, which he was, it all went to her. Which it did.

Halfway into her second shot of rye, she intercommed her new assistant. She was slurring. She could not get the image of that tall drink of water, Trenton Gillis, out of her mind. He had been so kind to her. He never once raised his voice or called her stupid the other day when she charged over to The Bison to find out what the hell had happened. Trenton said he was a lawyer and that was a good excuse to give him a call on so many levels. She couldn’t get past -- in a good way -- the fact that he was a biker.

He was so hot. So tall. His hair fell to his shoulders and he owned the room. There was something about the way he spoke to her, she knew she could trust him.

He said he would help her. If she ever needed anything, just to call.

Well, she needed something. He wasn’t specific. He didn’t throw in any ‘excluding or omitting’ clauses. He did say if she ever needed
anything.

It was not twenty minutes later when Jennifer’s assistant was buzzing her on the intercom to let her know that Trenton had arrived. Jennifer grabbed the first thing that would cast her reflection to check her appearance. She couldn’t see him. She was a mess. She was drunk that fast and somewhere she had gotten old. She pressed the button.

“Yes?” asked the assistant.

“Tell him I have changed my mind. No, no; tell him I am not here,” she said.

The intercom rang and Trenton spoke, “I can hear every word you’re saying and I’m coming in.”

Trenton Gillis, all six foot four at least of him, barged into her office and stopped. The two of them exchanged looks with one another.

“Have you wasted my time?” he asked finally. He was neither angry nor upset.

“I might have. But not intentionally. I am drunk,” she replied.

A slow wry smile curled his lips. “What do you know? An honest answer from a person with the last name of Wayland.”

“Yeah. Who knew? Here’s another straight from the hip newsflash. I got overwhelmed and I found Brill’s stash. I haven’t been drunk since I was seventeen. I might be now,” she said.

Trenton approached her. He looked her right in the eye. He was now but a breath apart from her, reaching down the length of her leg to the drawer where he thought the bottle might be.

“It’s not there,” she whispered, intoxicated now for a different reason.

He looked at her with the same moonstruck feeling that she had. “What’s not there?” he asked so softly.

“The whisky,” she answered, eyeing his perfectly cut lips.

“Maybe I am not looking for the whisky,” he smiled.

“Well, in that case,” she said and she parted her knees. “You’re getting warmer.”

Trenton cupped the back of her head and pulled her to him. He kissed her. He stuck his tongue deep into her mouth and tasted everything with large possessive sweeps.

She wrapped her legs around the backs of his, hooking her heels together, gently imprisoning him. She did not want him to go anywhere. He took her face in his hands and spoke to her plainly.

“I like you,” he said. “But I am not going any further if you’ve really had too much to drink. So,” he said, taking her by the hand and drawing her to her feet.

He then sat in the chair behind the desk and situated her on his lap.

“Why don’t I take you home? Let you get some rest. And you and I meet at The Five Spot this evening. We can discuss whatever it is that you called me over to discuss.”

“Mr. Gillis,” she said, armed with a newfound courage.

“Yes,” he said.

“You like honesty?” she said.

“Love it,” he replied.

“I didn’t call you over here,” she said in slow deliberate syllables so that the message would have time to sink in, “to talk.”

Jennifer watched as Trenton’s face transformed. He knew exactly what she meant.

“Are you blushing?” she asked.

“I might be,” he said.

Chapter One

The Five Spot was not exactly the kind of place that a prim lady like Jennifer Wayland frequented. She didn’t frequent any place except for maybe the spa, if that counted as a place to frequent.

But she did her best to wear the appropriate attire for such a place because she wanted to put her best foot forward for Trenton Gillis, who not only she felt could help her out with her husband’s business matters, but her own as well.

So Jennifer picked out a denim bustier that mushed her boobs just so and a pair of nude pumps. She teased her blonde hair just so and put on some red lipstick. She thought if she was going to talk to a biker dude, she would look like a biker chick. She had a proposition to make of him.

Jennifer had been stuck in a loveless marriage for the last ten years. Never once had she stepped out on her husband, though she knew that he had, and plenty. She wasn’t even jealous so much as she felt absolutely trapped.

As she sat at the bar counter, waiting for Trenton to show, exhilaration lit her up. She felt as though she had five cups of coffee. Straight up with sugar.

A big tall figure approached her from behind, in the way that she figured Trenton might since she hinted very strongly what she wanted from him. Beside Trenton being a gorgeous man, he was also a very smart man and she liked that about him.

Without looking who might actually be behind her, Jennifer began to snuggle against him until she realized that something was not right. She turned and realized this guy was not Trenton.

“Hey, whatever,” she said as toughly as she could to the guy. “I thought you were someone else.”

“Lucky someone else.”

The guy was a biker like Trenton but he had a different look. She thought she might have seen him in the office.

“Do you work for Wayland Energy?” she asked.

“I do,” he replied. He was smooth but icky. “Who’s asking?”

“Jennifer Wayland,” she answered. It was the first time she didn’t refer to herself as Mrs. Wayland. “The owner of the company.”

“Naw, I know the owner of the company. He’s a dick. And you don’t look like you have one of those,” he said. “Let’s take a look.”

He pawed her invasively. She smacked his hand with everything she had.

The biker glared and smacked her hard across the face. The bar went dead silent. And with perfect timing, the huge shadow of Trenton Gillis ominously crept across the biker and Jennifer both.

Jennifer watched the biker’s face transform with fear since he knew what he had done and he also knew that a bigger guy also knew what he had done. And was about to do something about it.

“The only thing I hate worse than a Rigger,” Trenton whispered low and firm, “is a Rigger who hits women.”

The man trembled as both Trenton and he regarded their reflections in the mirror behind the bar.

“You just hit my date, pal,” said Trenton. “What the fuck, man?”

He continued to say one more thing that frightened the man just a little bit more. He never struck him or was physical in any way. He just scared the bejeezus out of him.

“You know where the fucking door is?” asked Trenton.

The man could barely focus to shake his head yes, he did know where the door was.

“Then fucking go now before I shove your face up your ass and tie your ears around your balls.”

“Why would you even say that?” the man said.

“Why the fuck not?”

“I like my balls.”

“Then if you’re attached to them, I suggest you better get the fuck out…now!”

“You’re fucking crazy, man!” The man left, cowed and shamed in front of the entire bar. But he was so shaken he was rendered completely safe. He wasn’t about to bother anyone anytime soon.

Trenton turned to Jennifer, who had stars in her eyes for him.

“I don’t know if you’re clear, counselor,” she said. “But you are as hot as a tin roof in a Badlands July. And by the way.”

“Yes,” he said, grinning with the flattery.

“I am stone cold sober,” she said. “This is not rye whisky talking.”

“Oh man, you had rye at the office? And I declined?” he pretended to complain.