Wanted: Devil Dogs MC (5 page)

Isabel froze, holding her breath, willing herself to disappear. She watched a slow smile spread across Wesley’s face, a knowing, sexy smile that made her insides flutter. Then he pushed open the door and disappeared inside, closing it firmly behind him. Only then did Isabel allow herself the luxury of breathing, but she still waited a good few minutes before she risked walking out into the open.

What she had seen only served to fuel her curiosity about this man. He gives off a vibe that tells people he doesn’t want to be bothered, but that only piques her interest more.
It’s purely a professional interest
, she tells herself. It’s what any self-respecting businessperson would feel in her place.

Isabel shakes her head, realizing she’s daydreaming about the man again, a habit that was beginning to form with unsettling ease.
Focus, Bishop, focus.
She turns her attention back to the bills and accounting books in front of her.
What a mess
, she thinks to herself. She was supposed to be a doctor, not an accountant or a landlady. This wasn’t what she’d planned and every day she feels like she is more and more in over her head. Every day she had expected to feel a little more comfortable with the responsibility weighing down on her, but that ease hasn’t come. Things are just as hard today as they had been the first time she’d sat down in her mother’s chair and tried to make sense of what the hell she was doing.

Her cell starts buzzing angrily on her table and she moves to silence it but stops herself, a smile lighting up her face as she reads the caller ID.

“About time! I was about to send out a search party!” Jamie’s voice is loud in her ear and, from the background traffic noise, Isabel imagines her walking down a busy New York street, looking fabulous as always.

“I know. We keep missing each other. We work on slightly different schedules, I guess, Little Miss Fashionista.” Isabel smiles into her cell, knowing Jamie loves the moniker.

“So how’re things going?” Jamie has never been one for small talk; she tends to just cut to the chase, which makes Isabel wonder how she deals with the prickly members of her notoriously shallow industry.

“Fine.” Isabel manages to say the word as brightly as she can, but Jamie has known her for too long to be fobbed off with a ‘fine.’

“Like hell!” Jamie doesn’t bother to hide her disbelief in her snort. Isabel hears a horn blaring in the background so loud she has to hold the phone away from her ear. “Hey, pal, watch where you’re going!”

“Do me a favor, Jamie. Don’t get run over. I don’t want to go to two funerals this year. I wouldn’t have the first clue what to wear to yours without you there to advise me!” Isabel does what she always has; she covers her concern for her best friend with humor. Jamie has always been the wild one, the one who lived large. She stayed out late, partied hard, and had relationships with wholly inappropriate men. Isabel is the sensible one, the one who had worried about her friend’s safety, even more than Jamie’s own mother.

“Good point. God only knows what hideous outfit you’d end up in!” Jamie relaxes easily into their banter. It’s her way of telling Isabel not to worry, that she’ll take care of herself. “So, tell me what’s got you sounding so down in the dumps, my Amazonian friend?”

Isabel’s first instinct is to avoid talking about what’s been occupying her mind for the better part of a week, but Jamie is probably the only person she can really talk to about it, the only person who won’t judge her. She huffs out a sigh, prepared to tell all, but Jamie gets there before she does.

“Isabel Eliza Bishop!” Jamie’s voice is shrill in her ear. “Is this about a guy?” Her tone is wheedling, knowing. “Please don’t tell me Mike’s asked you to marry him!” Her unabashed horror at the possibility makes Isabel laugh out loud.

“Mike?” She feels a moment of remorse as she realizes she’s been dodging his calls for the past few days and she’s barely thought of him, despite the intimacy they had shared before she left Dallas. “I don’t think one night together is enough to prompt speculations of marriage, Jamie!”

“Well thank Christ for that!” Jamie has never made it a secret that she thinks Mike is about as interesting as a rainy day. “Don’t get me wrong, he’s nice and all that but he’s not for you, Issy.” Her tone tells Isabel Jamie has made her mind up about that fact and no amount of time would persuade her otherwise. “So who’s the guy? Don’t keep me in suspense. You know I hate that!”

Isabel shakes her head at her friend’s zeal. Jamie is like a dog with a bone; if she wants to find out something, she won’t rest until she has. Isabel knows this from experience. “Not a guy, a tenant.” Her voice is prim but Jamie can see right through her.

Jamie lets out a low whistle. “Breaking the rules, Issy. That’s not like you!” Her voice is only mock-stern. “He must be pretty cute, then!”

“Jamie, stop!” Isabel feels her cheeks heat at her friend’s words. What is it about the mere mention of Wesley and her blushing? It is as if the two are inextricably linked now. He doesn’t even have to be in the same room as her anymore, giving her that knowing smile for her to get all hot and bothered.

“Don’t get all shy on me, Issy. Spill.” Jamie’s voice is serious, not brooking any kind of argument. “What’s he like?”

Isabel casts around for a way to describe Wesley and finds that all words seem to come up short. “He’s ummm…tall.”

She can almost hear Jamie roll her eyes at the other end of the line. “Tall? Tall? You’re going to have to do better than that! What does he do? What does he like? What does he do for work?” Jamie fires off the questions rapidly like she’s ticking off a checklist.

Isabel swallows hard. “Umm, I don’t really know.”

“What do you mean you don’t know? Which part?” Jamie’s voice is confused.

You have no idea
, Isabel thinks to herself. “Pretty much any of it.” Isabel looks up at the ceiling, knowing how ridiculous this all sounds.

“Spill it, Issy.” Jamie’s tone brooks no argument.

“I don’t know what you want me to tell you, Jamie. I don’t really know anything about him other than he’s called Wesley, used to be in the Marines, drives a motorcycle, is about as talkative as a brick wall, and he’s sexy as all hell.” Isabel sighs as she says the words out loud that she’s only entertained in her head.

Jamie is silent for a moment. “Well that’s a good start.” Her voice is serious and Isabel can’t help but laugh at her friend’s priorities. “And I’m guessing he makes you feel like your heart is about to beat out of your chest and you get all hot and cold at the same time?”

Isabel pauses, surprised at how accurate her friend’s description is. But then she shouldn’t be, Jamie has a habit of falling in lust with men. There was only one man she’d loved and that hadn’t ended well.

“That about sums it up.” Isabel sighs, accepting the fact is easier than trying to run away from it. No matter how hard she tries, she is irresistibly attracted to this man she knows nothing about. It’s a dangerous state of affairs.

“And what about the background check? Didn’t that come up with anything?” Isabel can almost hear the cogs turning in Jamie’s mind over the phone.

“Nada, nothing. The guy is about as mysterious as it gets.” Isabel doesn’t add that it almost makes him that much more exciting. “And I’m not sure if he might be just a little…dangerous.”

“Then you know what you have to do.” It’s not a question.

“Ask him?” Isabel shakes her head. “He’s not exactly the chatty, I’m-going-to-spill-my-guts type.”

“Yeah, you mentioned that. And no. Asking him isn’t going to get you anywhere. You tried it that way. Now you have to try a different tactic. You have to snoop.” Jamie says the words as if it is self-evident there are no other options at all.

“I’m assuming you don’t mean I have to dress up like a white dog and make friends with a kid called Charlie Brown.” Isabel’s tone is flat, not even wanting to entertain the idea of what Jamie is suggesting.

“Ha ha. Did I ever tell you that you were wasting your talents at med school? You should go to Clown College.” Jamie’s eye roll is loud enough to be transmitted all the way to Chicago. “You’ve tried to do it the right way, asking him questions and then doing the background check. The guy hasn’t exactly left you with a whole lot of choices. It’s not just about you wanting to find out what this guy’s deal is for your own libidinous reasons. It’s about the safety of your business! If this guy is a serial killer and he’s hiding bodies in his bedroom wardrobe then you want to know about it!” Jamie’s voice is eminently reasonable.

Isabel considers her friend’s argument, knowing she’s right but also knowing that what she’s suggesting is more than a little immoral. “I can’t invade his privacy like that, Jamie. It wouldn’t be right.”

“Issy, the boarding house isn’t exactly about to put you at the top of the Forbes list, right?” Jamie doesn’t wait for her friend to answer because there’s no need. They both already know the truth. “You can’t afford someone to mess up the leases you have with tenants or someone to do something that would affect your reputation.”

Isabel nods in agreement, knowing Jamie is speaking the truth, no matter how harsh it may be. She sits in silence, debating between giving up her morals or jeopardizing the future of the boarding house, the only thing she really has left of her mother. It’s a no brainer.

Jamie stays on the line, letting Isabel have her quiet musings until she asks the question that she’s been holding in. “So, is he a good kisser?”

“Jamie, if I don’t know anything about the guy, why would you think I would know that?” Isabel laughs down the phone.

“Okay, well when you find out, make sure to let me know.” Jamie has never been one to shy away from details.

“Well,
if
I find that out, I’ll keep you in the loop.” Isabel feels her cheeks heat at the thought of kissing that luscious mouth of him.

“
When
, Isabel.
When
not if.” Jamie’s certainty is obvious. “Now go and snoop, before he comes back and remember -,”

“I know, I know; ‘report back’!” Isabel finishes her friend’s sentence for her.

“Exactly!” Jamie sounds pleased with herself, or at least even more so than usual. Her tone changes abruptly. “I miss you, Issy.”

Isabel clutches the cell in her hand tightly. “I miss you too, honey.”

“You know that if you need me, I’ll get on a plane faster than you can say ‘hot biker dude.’” Jamie is serious.

Isabel knows she means it because she would do exactly the same thing for her best friend. In fact, she had. When Jamie’s heart had been broken by the only guy she’d ever loved, Isabel had jumped on a plane from Dallas at a moment’s notice and spent the weekend with her friend, commiserating, drinking cocktails, and telling her she was well rid of him and he didn’t deserve her, not by a country mile.

“I know, Jamie. But I’m fine, really I am.” Isabel almost has to force the words out but she’s impressed that she manages to come off as breezy. The truth is she misses her friend like crazy and would love nothing more than to have her here. But Isabel also knows that if she doesn’t make her life work now, on her own, then she will just spend the next few years relying on other people to make it better. She has to get through this on her own, no matter how hard it may be.

“All right, enough of this crap before I ruin my makeup.” Jamie’s signature sense of humor is back in full force. “I’ve got to go, honey. I’ll call you tomorrow.” With that, Jamie hangs up, no goodbye no nothing. It’s her signature move. She’d always told Isabel she hates goodbyes, so she refuses to say the word.

Isabel sits for a few moments longer, trying to figure out another way to get the peace of mind that Wesley isn’t about to ruin her business some other way that doesn’t involve snooping around like a suspicious mother. It doesn’t take her long to realize that there really aren’t a whole heap of options open to her and, besides, her curiosity about the gorgeous biker is proving too strong to resist. She’s already made up her mind.

Armed with a feather duster to use as her cover for ‘cleaning’ Wesley’s bedroom while he isn’t there, Isabel gives herself one last chance to change her mind and get the hell out of there, never to think about what she’s about to do again. Her hand is on the doorknob, the spare key, as she keeps for all of the rooms, is in her hand. She silently wonders if she’s more worried about the morality of the actual act or the possibility of getting caught. But the latter is more than unlikely. Wesley had been out of sight since just after dinner. As was customary he’d slipped out the back door without anyone really noticing, anyone apart from her, that is.

I’ll be in and out within a few minutes; it won’t take any time at all
, she tells herself.
Man up, Bishop
, she thinks to herself before she turns the key in the look and pushes open the door. The room is much as it was when she showed him in, nearly a week ago, but if anything it’s even neater. The bed is made, military style, the sheets so tight Isabel is left in no doubt you could bounce a penny off of them. There aren’t any of the trademarks of a man– no clothes strewn on the floor, no empty pizza boxes or chip bags piled by the wastebasket. She’s pretty sure that if she wiped her finger over the desk it would come away spotless, despite the fact that Raeburn had told Rosa she needn’t bother cleaning his room.

Isabel takes a look at the nightstand; it’s empty. She starts opening drawers to the small desk by the window, looking for something, anything that would give her some insight into the man that she’d open her house to without even a second thought. A passport, a driving license, a diary full of his deepest darkest secrets, Isabel will settle for anything. But there is nothing. The whole room is empty; the only sign of anyone living there are the clothes hanging in the ancient wardrobe. Instinctively, she runs her hand over the leather jacket she finds hanging there. It’s soft and inviting and, without thinking twice about it, she lifts the sleeve and smells it. It smells warm and spicy and unmistakably of Wesley Raeburn.

“Something I can do for you, Isabel?” His deep voice makes her yelp and whirl around to face him where he stands inside the door that he’s closed behind him.

“Jeez, what are you, some kind of jungle cat? Don’t you make any noise at all?” She holds a hand over her heart, feeling it hammering against her ribs and not just at the way he’s made her jump. She’s been caught red-handed rifling through his things, not only that but sniffing his damn jacket. This is bad.

He stares at her, nonplussed. “You’re one to talk about creeping around. I thought you valued your lodgers’ privacy. Isn’t that what you told me when I signed the lease?” He folds his muscled arms over his broad chest, looking at her with eyes that feel as if they can see right down to her soul.

“I was just…cleaning.” She holds up the feather duster in her hand, lamely.

But it’s clear from Wesley’s expression that he doesn’t buy it. “Inside my closet?”

He raises an eyebrow at her and she feels herself blushing, caught out in the obvious lie she’s just told. “All right, fine. I wasn’t cleaning, I was…checking.” At least that is closer to the truth.

Wesley remains staring at her in that impassive way of his. “Checking. Checking what?” His voice is calm but there’s no mistaking the fire lurking beneath the surface of the cool demeanor.

Isabel senses the heat coming off of him in waves from where she’s standing across the room and she can’t help but be drawn to it. “Checking that you weren’t hiding any bodies in there.” The words are out of her mouth before she’s had a chance to temper them and she feels herself flush again like a little kid.

He waits a beat, processing what she’s saying. “So, now I’m a serial killer, stashing women’s bodies in my closet?” If anything, he looks amused.

Isabel tries to shake off her embarrassment, reminding herself that she’s not a child; she’s an adult woman with a real reason for looking deeper into this man. “I don’t know what you are! The only things I know about you are that you have a motorbike and you pay in cash.” Wisely, she doesn’t include the fact that she knows about his past as a Marine. This doesn’t seem to be the right time to bring up the fact that she’s already looked into his background without his knowledge.

“So you’re saying you want to get to know me better.” It’s a statement rather than a question and it’s laden with innuendo. “Hell, Isabel, you could have just asked me out for a drink like a normal girl.”

“Well maybe I’m not a normal girl.” She cringes as she says the words, aware they’re not exactly the smoothest comeback she’s ever come up with.

“I can see that.”

Those four words combined with the way he’s looking at her speak volumes and Isabel feels herself swallow hard around the lump of anticipation that has suddenly formed in her throat. She gathers herself together. “I don’t want you to get the wrong impression. I’m not interested in you in that way.” Her voice barely stumbles over the lie despite his disbelieving raised eyebrow. “Something I’m sure you’re not used to hearing.” Her words are pointed, but they come out a little more bitter than she had intended. “My concern is purely professional, not personal. I want to figure out if you’re going to cause any trouble here. This is about my business, nothing else.”
No matter that you make my insides do somersaults and my skin tingle,
she silently adds.

Wesley opens his mouth to respond, the side of his mouth still lifted in a half smile that makes him look like the cat that got the cream, when her cell rings in her pocket. “You should get that. It could be important.” He leans back against the door, looking effortlessly cool and completely relaxed, something that just makes Isabel more aware of the tension radiating through her body.

For the lack of anything else to do, Isabel slips the phone out of her jean pocket and accepts the call without even looking at the Caller ID. “Yes.” Her voice is louder and sharper than she had intended and when she’s met by silence her frustration only increases. “Hello?”

There’s a pause at the other end of the line before a confused, familiar voice pipes up. “Isabel?”

“Mike!” Isabel blushes as she meets Wesley’s eyes and sees something more than just an idle curiosity there. “Sorry, I…umm…I didn’t realize it was you.”
Great
, she thinks to herself,
I’ve been dodging his calls for days and the one time I picks up is in front of the worst person possible.

“So you haven’t forgotten my name!” His good-natured chuckle makes her smile, just like it always does. “When you didn’t return my calls I got a little worried. You sound a little…funny. Is everything all right?” The concern in his voice makes her feel terrible for having avoided him. After all, no matter what had happened between them, he is still her friend.

“I know. I’m sorry. I’ve just been really busy.” She bites her bottom lip, turning away from the scrutiny of Wesley’s gaze and finding herself face to face with the leather jacket hanging in his closet that she had been inhaling so unceremoniously when he walked in. She blushes again like a teenager.

“Issy?” Mike had clearly been talking while she had zoned out.

“Sorry, Mike, the connection is really bad. It must be where I am in the house. Can I call you back a little later?” Isabel lies through her gritted teeth, wincing at her own deceit.

“Issy, we both know you won’t call me back.” The resignation in his tone makes her feel like a heel. “I want to talk and you keep ducking and diving. I know this is hard for you, with everything that happened with your mom and going back to Chicago, but we need to talk about us.”

“Us. Right.” Isabel nods in agreement, feeling Wesley’s gaze burning through her. Her own eyes are now trained on the floor, wishing it would open up and swallow her.

“So can we talk or not?” It’s the first time Isabel has heard Mike’s patience start to wear thin. A lesser man would have given up on her a long time ago.

“Mike, I’m really sorry, but now isn’t a great time.” She starts pacing around the room, as is customary for her when she’s having a difficult conversation, only belatedly remembering she’s in Wesley’s bedroom, not her own. She puts on her best professional-sounding voice. “I’m just with a tenant. There are a few things we need to sort out.” She looks over at the door to find Wesley, unabashedly listening to her entire conversation, eyebrows raised, smirk firmly in place.

“Of course, you’re working. I didn’t mean to interrupt.” Mike is all deference and good manners, just as he always is.

“I’ll call you later, Mike.” The promise sounds hollow even to her ears.

“No you won’t, Issy.” He huffs a sigh. “But I’ll try you again tomorrow. Take care of yourself.”

He hangs up without giving her the chance to respond, probably a good thing, as she doesn’t even know what she would say to him that she hasn’t already covered. Before she left Dallas she had told him, in detail, why he didn’t want to be with her, why she wasn’t a catch and why they were better off a friends. He hadn’t wanted to listen then or any of the times they’d spoken since. Today doesn’t seem to be any different.

She remains staring at the cell in her hand for a few seconds, feeling like a bad person for not being able to tell him what he wants to hear: that she wants him, that she wants to be with him and only him. But if she had told him any of those things, they would be lies and she doesn’t want to lie to him any more than she already had.

“So it looks like I’m not the only one with secrets.” Wesley gives her a meaningful look.

Isabel frowns, pocketing the cell, irritated now at his knowing smirk. “Didn’t your mother ever tell you it’s rude to listen to people’s private conversations?”

“You’re one to talk.” He doesn’t miss a beat. “Didn’t your mother ever teach you not to nose around in people’s bedrooms?”

Isabel feels herself flush, partly from embarrassment, partly from anger and she takes another step towards him until they’re only a foot apart. “This is my place, Wesley. And I have a right to know if something’s going on that could drive me under because right now, I’m about this close to falling overboard.” She holds up her index finger and thumb indicating less than an inch. “I don’t have the luxury of turning a blind eye to whatever it is you’re doing every night that gets your clothes all bloody and torn.”

Finally, there’s a flicker of something in his dark eyes, something fiery and dangerous. She wonders at the wisdom of getting a man like this angry, but this conversation has become about more than just him. It’s as if all the emotions she’s been feeling since her mother died –  the panic that grips her every morning when she thinks of the impossible task she’s attempting on the boarding-house, her frustration at having let herself sleep with Mike, just because she was lonely and more than a little drunk – are being poured into this rage.

“I want to know what you’re hiding, Wes. And I intend to find out, one way or another.” She narrows her eyes at him, as she prods her index finger into his hard chest.

“Be careful what you wish for, because you just might get it, Bel.” Her nickname on his lips is like a caress and he takes hold of her finger, pulling her closer to him so her green eyes are only inches away from his brown ones. “You know you have the most amazing eyes, Bel. Eyes like that can drive a man insane.”

In an instant his mouth is on hers, his tongue, probing at the seam of her lips, insistent, and, after a moment of surprise, she willingly opens to him. She moans as their tongues tangle and his hands move to either side of her face, stroking her cheek with the pad of his thumb. The kiss is long and deep and full of heat. But there’s something else she tastes, the promise of more and she feels an answering ache between her thighs. She bites his bottom lip gently, feeling a little thrill as he growls deep in his throat, pulling her even closer to him, so close that she’s left under no illusions that he wants her and, Lord, how she wants him.

The slamming of the front door down the hall brings her back to reality with a thump. Her eyes fly open and she takes a step back from him, watching as his hands drop slowly to his sides. He makes no move to reach out to bring her back to him. If anything, he looks as shell-shocked as she feels.

“I’m sorry, I hadn’t meant to -,”

“No, I’m sorry.” Isabel’s voice is a little stronger than she had feared but it’s husky as all hell. “I shouldn’t have come in here. That was…unprofessional. Can we just forget this ever happened?” She watches as his expression turns from contrition to something else – hurt.