Leather and Sand (Riding the Line Series) (18 page)

Looking at Dax, the way he stood there, his tense jaw an obvious symbol of his ire, she was flooded with guilt. And desire. The man was just so damnably sexy. He was the epitome of male dominance, and yet…could it be that Dax Jamison had a sensitive side? Had she really and truly impacted him by leaving? Rhee figured that he’d be pissed she didn’t tell him about Sirena, but he seemed to be more stuck on the fact that she left rather than the fact that she hadn’t bothered to tell him she was pregnant.

Dax Jamison was an interesting creature. All tough and brooding on the outside, capable beyond reason, and almost god-like in his ability to show up and rescue her at the most opportune of moments. But it seemed as though Dax was a mortal after all, capable of feeling pain just like everyone else. Well, not everyone else was packaged so nicely, that was certain. Still, the thought that she had meant something to the tall, muscled biker—something more than a one-night stand or a mistake—had Rhee’s stomach doing flip-flops.

An alarm sounded from his phone, breaking her reverie. Dax yanked at the towel, violently shaking grains of sand. “We’ll continue this another time, runaway.” he muttered. He waited a moment before taking long, rigid strides towards the car.

This night had gone nowhere. The only thing their “talk” had resulted in was a pair of soaked panties and the disturbing thought that Dax might actually try to retaliate in some way that involved her daughter.
Their daughter.
Although she was full of questions, Rhee mutely followed the tall silhouette, grateful that the intensity had waned from his posture. She was desperate to know what he was thinking, but she was terrified to ask. He yanked her door open, helped her into the vehicle, and reached across her lap to buckle her seatbelt with a loud click. She met his gaze then, and it was like looking into a mirror. There was confusion, anxiety, and…desire there. Rhee heard her own swift intake of breath as he hesitated before closing the door.

He started up the van without a word. Thanks to the drinks and lack of sleep, Rhee was exhausted and grateful they were so close to her
hale
. Dax raked her with his gaze before unbuckling his seatbelt and stalking around the vehicle to help her out. Rhee knew better than to protest. In a funny way, she was starting to regard his behavior as protective rather than insulting or condescending. Even though he wanted to spank her like she was a naughty schoolgirl.

Shit!

Dax offered his arm with a rueful smile. Rhee took it gingerly. The same ripple went through her as it always did when she was around Dax, even though she was now doubly confused about his feelings and his intentions. He walked her straight to her front door without saying a word. Then, he released her arm and stood there, his hand in his hair, like he was having trouble finding the words he wanted to say.

Rhee’s hand shook but she managed to steady her voice as she fumbled for her keys. “What happens now?”

He was standing so close that his body grazed her bottom as she bent over her bag. Rhee wasn’t completely aware of the tremble that fluttered down her spine. Had he meant what he threatened? Was he really planning to do—do that?!
Maybe I do need a spanking.
The keys slipped from her sweaty grasp with a clatter. If Dax had planned to drive her permanently nuts, he had surely succeeded. The anticipation was going to kill her.

She regarded her fallen keys, knowing that bending to pick them up would place her at eye level with Dax’s crotch. He still hadn’t responded to her question, she realized. Rhee looked up to find Dax staring at her intensely. She had seen that look before. One other time. Rhee opened her mouth, intending to protest, but her words died away in her throat as he pulled her hard against his chest.

“Dax—” she gasped.

His mouth came down on hers, crushing it in a possessive searing heat. His tongue, like molten velvet, delved into her mouth. Rhee suddenly existed in a place where there was no rational thought, no reason. There was only sensation. Her arms twined around Dax’s neck, pulling him closer. His kiss went from bruising and angry to tender and melting. Desire, hot and heavy, erupted like a bomb was detonating somewhere below her navel. Dimly, Rhee heard herself emit a low, strangled moan. The sound floated to her from far away.

God, no one had ever kissed her the way Dax Jamison could kiss. He molded her mouth to his own, parting her lips, and taking over her body with such frantic passion, that Rhee could do nothing but submit. A small sound escaped her, her breath mingling with his. He paused, taking a ragged inhale before setting her abruptly on her feet. Rhee stood there, thoroughly rocked by the feel of his hot, hungry mouth. She stared at him, dazed by the look of raw emotion on his face. His open expression only lingered for the briefest of seconds before it slipped away, covered by a familiar mask.

Dax flashed his signature, cocky grin. He retrieved her keys and she accepted them with a shaky smile. “Until next time, Rhiannon.”

Then, he was gone.

Chapter Seventeen

Wince paced, trying to quell his rising anxiety. After checking in with Slade, he was shocked to hear about the plan.
What the fuck?!
Okay, Wince had to admit, it was an interesting plan, if a bit risky. Depending on outsiders always carried the threat that someone wouldn’t follow through, and failure could be deadly when it involved money and guns.

“Shit!” Wince swore under his breath when his vice president rolled in looking equal parts of pissed off and exhausted. Not a good combo. Dax poured himself a large brandy and downed it.

“What’s our plan?”

Dax jerked visibly. He looked startled, almost as though he had forgotten he had a roommate.

“Plan? I plan to crash, man. Got dawn patrol at first light. Supervise Slade. Call me if anything goes wrong.”

He shuffled to the bathroom and Wince was chagrined to hear the shower turn on. For all the years that he had known Dax, the man had always put the club and its priorities first. He never,
ever
delegated important tasks to anyone, preferring to take any responsibility and heat himself. One thing was certain: Seeing Rhee had messed with Dax royally. Wince wasn’t sure what had been harder on his moody vice president: losing the stowaway…or finding her again.

Wince shrugged on his leather, tracing his finger across his cut. It was odd, but now that he had achieved what he had worked so hard for, it seemed lackluster. Sighing, Wince strapped on his heat and slipped his knife into his boot.

Showtime.

***

When they rolled up to the private yard, Wince had Slade and Smalls with him for backup, but the two grunts were so nervous he was afraid to let either of them behind the wheel.

“Case the joint,” he ordered Smalls. The kid was a street rat; he was good at skulking around. Plus, he knew his way around a firearm. Smalls seemed a little amped, but Wince was pretty sure he wouldn’t crack under the pressure. He turned to Slade.

“Park by the back gate, behind those bushes. Turn your lights off before you pull up.”

Slade nodded. “Where are you going?”

“Around front. Be ready. When we pull out, keep an eye out for chasers.”

Wince waited tensely in the darkness, adrenaline pulsing through his veins. Fuck, how did Dax run these kinds of operations all the time? After a moment, Wince recalled that he used to enjoy the rush that accompanied cracking open a firewall or hacking heavily encrypted security codes to access protected information. When he was a kid, he never even entertained the thought of doing anything with the data he uncovered. No, the rush was all in the act of breaking the code, getting in. Wince was on the fast track to
MIT
when he was busted for breaching government security.

Due to the nature of the site he had hacked into, the feds deemed Winston Walker a threat to national security. They wanted to add terrorism charges to the list of offenses and try him as an adult, which would have landed Wince behind bars carrying at least three life sentences. His knack for cracking codes saved him, though. In exchange for some consultation to improve their digital defenses, the feds cut a deal. He spent some time in a juvenile facility, but Wince was let out early with the stipulation that he was not allowed to crack codes ever again. If he did, he’d be heading to jail. For a very long time.

Wince wouldn’t do well in jail. Who would, other than the poor souls who had practically grown up in the joint? So he had accepted his lot and taken the deal, even though he missed that inevitable rush he had been so addicted to. In fact, the last time he had hacked anything was when he cracked the stowaway’s thumb drive. Yeah, that had not gone the way he had expected. Fuck. Rhee had almost gotten herself killed that night. Wince sighed heavily. He was pissed at her, but Rhee had been right to leave. The club life—it wasn’t for everyone. And Rhiannon, she was so sweet, so innocent. Wince decided he was glad for her. The stowaway left her whole life, however chaotic it may have seemed, and she had started over—something he couldn’t fathom doing.

Still, something bothered Wince and he wasn’t sure he could let it go. Rhee confided that Mickey had been here—on the island. The clue she had deciphered from the photo he had uncovered led the stowaway here to track down her wayward sister but the trail seemed to have gone very cold, very fast. From her explanation, it sounded like Mickey was in witness protection, but things were starting to stink pretty badly.

I’ll have to hack into the federal database to confirm,
he thought to himself. If Mickey was alive and in the program, they’d have her false identity and her current safe house location recorded there. Once he had something viable, he’d clue Dax in. It would be nice to get closure once and for all with Rhee. Then maybe, they could all let her go.

A low whistle sounded just to his left. Wince froze for a moment. There came a time when every man had to choose which side of the line he stood upon. He could either stand up or lie down, and each action had its own effects. Wince paused, a slow smile stretching his jaw as he realized that he was no longer nervous.

I got this.

***

“Hey, you! What’s going on over there?”

Footsteps rushed to just inside the front gate, where the security cameras were trained on a sight Wince was sure they had never beheld. Well, not on the job, anyhow. He had to cover his mouth with his hand before he laughed out loud.

“Holy shit! Damn, man, what the hell…”

The guard trailed off, agog at the sight in front of him. As Wince watched from his vantage point behind some bushes, he could see the aging watchman’s eyes widen with appreciation as they roved the nice little piece kneeling before him. Yeah, Slade had found a decent looking hooker, all right. More than decent. Young and blond, with big tits, and just the kind of slutty desperation they were looking for.

Currently, her mouth was stuffed with cock. Wince had to give the affiliate president, Turtle, credit. This was a good plan. A very good plan. Almost too good. Just like the security guards, Wince was almost fatally distracted by the hooker’s tan lines as Turtle’s buddy pushed down her tube top, exposing her braless tits.
Nice.
The sudden tightness in his groin made Wince, well, wince. It had obviously been too long.

The guard did what was expected, given his known fascination with chesty white girls. Turtle delivered in that regard as well. He knew everyone here on the island as well as their proclivities. Wince tore his gaze away from the X-rated scene before him and slipped inside the security gate. There was one other guard in the security booth, and just as would be expected, his eyes were trained on camera two. Wince felt himself relax. This was going to be a piece of cake.

And it was. Accessing the detained plane and removing the two crates that held their contraband was like taking candy from a sleeping baby. In and out. As Wince crept out the back gate, he could hear the guards’ moans of lust. Lucky bastards were getting sucked off too. Wince made a mental note to get laid. As soon as fucking possible.

The guns were loaded in a separate vehicle and on their way to a private dock. Turtle’s runner, accompanied by Slade, would deliver them to a secure location. Wince was grateful that he could trust the grunt. Boats weren’t his style—especially in the middle of the night. A text from Slade alerted him that he and Smalls were back, and no one was the wiser. It had gone off without a hitch. Wince breathed a massive sigh of relief as he sank into his king-sized bed. Alone.

Chapter Eighteen

Dawn came a lot earlier than Dax had hoped. He slept fitfully, plagued by recollections of satiny skin and a particular vanilla scent. He groaned, the effects of too much booze, stress, and not enough sleep wearing on his tired limbs. He skipped the shower, pulled on his borrowed trunks, and then realized he lacked proper attire for his feet. He grimaced at his favorite leather boots. They wouldn’t work well on the sand. Plus, he knew he’d be the butt of the island’s jokes if he showed up wearing shorts and a pair of fuckin’ leather motorcycle treads.

Barefoot and annoyed, Dax padded into the suite’s living room. Being in a near-constant state of arousal and anger was really fucking with his head. He gulped down some juice and stuck his head into Wince’s room. The kid was knocked out and Dax felt a little bad waking him.

“Hey, man. It went off without a hitch?”

“’Course,” Wince mumbled, blinking.

“The guns are secure?”

“Yep. At the location.” Wince yawned and started to sit up.

“Don’t get up, kid. Heading out for dawn patrol with Turtle and his boys.”

“Thanks,” Wince said gratefully. He rolled over to face the wall. Dax could hear the younger man snoring even as he gently pulled the door closed.

His mind wandered back to his lack of control the night before. God, he had been seconds from ripping off Rhiannon’s dress right on her front porch. He hadn’t been able to help himself and the taste of her lips only left him wanting more. Much more. Fuck. He was so confused. Or was he? Maybe his cock was trying to tell him something. Dax shrugged off the errant thought.