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“Because it’s what she does,” a male voice said.
Olivia whipped around to find the curly-haired man snaking his arm around Brooke’s waist. He kissed her cheek, then her jaw, then her neck.
Olivia averted her eyes as Brooke let out a breathy sigh.
“Brooke is the queen of rescuing wounded strays.”
His words had her spine snapping straight. “I’m not a stray. And I’m definitely not wounded,” she snapped. “I have money.” She was in a sticky situation but not some damsel in distress.
He just raised an eyebrow as if to say, “Aren’t you?”
“I’m not,” she reaffirmed.
“Olivia, this is Curly,” Brooke said as if sensing someone needed to step in. “He’s the club’s president and my ol’ man.”
“Old man?” Her forehead scrunched. Like her father?
“Just means we’re together,” Brooke said, waving it away. “I was offering Olivia a place to crash for a while.”
“I heard,” Curly said with amusement lacing his voice.
“She looks like she could use a place to crash for a bit. You cool with that?” Brooke asked, looking up at the handsome, rugged man.
His gaze bore into Olivia’s. She challenged him with a raised eyebrow and proud stare as if to say she didn’t give a shit either way, while inside she was praying he allowed her to stay. It’d solve the problem of where she’d lay her head for the next few nights, and something about having big tough bikers all around made her feel safer than she had when sleeping in a hotel by herself.
As the seconds ticked by, the urge to squirm under his intense assessment became unbearable. Just as she was about to ask if he’d rather take a photo, he spoke.
“You can stay tonight.”
“Curly, that’s not long enough,” Brooke spoke to him as though he wasn’t scary as hell.
He held up a hand. “You can stay tonight even if Scott pitches a fit.” Glancing down at his woman, he continued. “Any more than that, she’s gotta clear it with him, babe. Won’t have him feeling uncomfortable in his own home.”
“I’ll take care of it,” Brooke said, beaming up at Curly.
Well, that was surprisingly fair. It would only buy her one night of reprieve, but she’d take it. It was more than she had when she arrived. Knowing where she’d sleep and that it wasn’t a sketchy roadside motel gave her tremendous relief. “Thank you,” she said, swallowing some of that pride she’d been told she had too much of.
All part of her act.
Curly nodded.
“Don’t worry, Olivia. I got this. I’ll totally get Scott on board,” Brook added with a quick kiss for her man.
Chuckling, he gripped Brooke’s chin between his thumb and forefinger, tilting her head up before saying, “I have no doubt you will.” Then he kissed her long and slow.
That was a hot kiss. She’d been engaged and never kissed like that. Her kisses with Lance were always more proper. Not as unrestrained. But watching them made her shiver and long for something she’d never experienced and didn’t fully understand.
Whew. Was it the Florida air, or had the temperature jumped about ten degrees?
“You remind me of myself,” Brooke said after Curly left her standing there slightly wobbly. “When I first arrived in Florida, I also left a complicated situation behind, and I didn’t know anyone here. It can be hard.” She frowned and shook her head as though plagued by unpleasant memories. “It’s why I assumed you could use a place to crash for a bit.”
Being understood felt nice. Something about Brooke set her at ease and made her want to become friends. Before Olivia had a chance to respond, Brooke was smiling again.
“Let’s get your stuff, and I’ll give you the grand tour.”
Feeling like Dorothy in OZ, Olivia followed Brooke over the dirt and crispy grass to the junky car she’d traded her baby in for.
She’d left behind a lot of things she’d loved—all material possessions that didn’t matter.
What did matter was that she had a clean, safe place to lay her head for the night. She’d use the quiet comfort to come up with a plan for tomorrow. Scott wanted nothing to do with her, so she’d have to find a way to take care of her problems herself.
CHAPTER FOUR
SCOTT DOWNED HIS fourth shot of whisky in as many minutes. Or was it the fifth?
Didn’t matter. All he had to do when he finished blurring his mind was stumble to the barn and up the stairs. Hell, he could crawl if he got too shitfaced.
Either way, dragging his drunk ass across the farm was preferable to having those damn familiar eyes scorching his brain for the entire night.
Deke hadn’t known his half-sister well. She’d been a toddler when their father disowned Deke for joining the Army and refusing to join the family’s large corporate business. Olivia’s childhood had been spent with an entire set of silver flatware in her mouth while Deke had been crawling through the sand defending his country. Deke wanted to form a relationship with his sister, but their father had filled her head with poison where Deke was concerned. When she’d aged enough to make her own decisions, the siblings had begun to repair their relationship. No one could call them close, but Deke being the honorable motherfucker he’d been, would’ve gone fucking AWOL if Olivia needed his help. No questions asked.
