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The other men seemed to accept his statement and continued on with their pool game.
Standing, Doc watched for a while, mind unable to focus. It was too busy wondering how Isa was settling into the club.
He didn’t do relationships. He didn’t get wrecked over women.
So why is this one consuming me?
5
Isa
The scentof leather clung to the air despite Doc’s absence. After telling her about the club members, Queenie left to check on dinner preparations. Doc was the newest member, and Queenie was the proudest aunt she’d seen.
She’d learned a few things about the MC from the president’s old lady. More than her own father cared to mention.
Firstly, Macha, the Celtic goddess of war, life, and death, was their patron. Each patch member had the same ghost raven tattoo in honor of their goddess. The members revered women, no matter their place in the club. Queenie let it slip that the club nymphs—or club whores, as Isa discovered—were simply that. The members could sleep with them but must never make them their old ladies. Macha took care of them, and in return they earned money from working for the club’s businesses.
Secondly, no Macha member could ever lay hands on a woman, nymph, or old lady. If he did, his patch would be stripped, burned, and force-fed to the member. That was before a brutal beating and banishment.
Queenie made it brazenly clear that they weren’t a church by any means, but they were strict in their treatment of women. That being said, the president’s old lady also mentioned that sexual innuendos were more common than cigarette butts.
The rest of the Macha rules would make themselves known, Queenie implied. Isa wasn’t too concerned with it. If she had her way, Colorado would be a short vacation, and then she’d return to Ireland to run the shop and live in the flat above it.
Digging through her first suitcase, she found a pair of jeans with a couple fashionable rips.Surely Doc won’t complain about these.She rolled her eyes. They’d known each other a whole two hours and he acted like he was her savior.Cheeky bastard.
She glanced around the room. It lacked a homey feel, but it was a room. A bed sat in the middle, a dresser to the side with a mirror above it and a small closet. True to his word, a door on the right wall was locked but when she opened it, she saw it led to Doc’s room. It’d do until they moved her to the lodge.Wherever that is.She fluffed her hair and opened the door right as Doc’s hand lifted to knock.
His blue eyes dipped over her outfit, then back to her face. “Supper’s on,” he said gruffly.
Taking a breath, Isa hurried to keep up despite her own long legs. When they reached the dining area, he abruptly stopped, and she barreled into his back. The scent of leather and musk drowned her nostrils.
“Blimey, can’t you warn a girl?” she grumbled, pushing at him. When she noticed he wasn’t meeting her gaze, she turned. A table full of food sat waiting, as did about twenty men and women. “Oh, bugger.”
A balding man with a white beard at the head of the long table chuckled. “You’re Phantom’s girl all right. Have a seat, lass. I’m sure you’re starved.”
Noticing Queenie next to the man, Isa identified him as Reaper, the president of Macha’s Colorado chapter. Seeing two open seats, she pulled out one and heard Doc take the other. The members dug into the food, chatter lively from all sides. It sounded and felt like one big happy family.
Surveying the room, Isa admired the handcrafted wood table and chairs. No doubt one of the members’ handiwork. The food spread along the table looked scrumptious. From pot roast and potatoes to lasagna and garlic bread, not one plate was empty.
She pushed around the boiled carrots and slice of beef, gut queasy from the long flight. As delicious as it all smelled, her senses were on overload. If not from the food, then from the varying scents each man and woman possessed. Car oil, suntan lotion, and cigarette smoke assaulted her until her stomach refused to let her eat.
“You all right?” Doc asked, leaning over.
She shook her head. “I think I’m going to be sick.”
His eyes widened and he set down his slice of bread. Standing quickly, he pulled her out of the room and to a toilet before she spewed her measly stomach contents everywhere. Isa held on to the porcelain bowl as if her life depended on it. “Feck.”
Doc knelt beside her, brushing her hair out of her face. He used a rubber band from his wrist to keep the lengths at bay when another round of nausea ripped through her. His big hand tenderly rubbed her back.
Groaning, Isa felt tears creep into her eyes. Most men wouldn’t be caught dead within five feet of a puking woman, but Doc wasn’t going anywhere, it seemed. Being so far from home with no one hit her hard. Fat tears fell down her cheeks, and he sighed.
“Come here, princess.” He held her against his chest, and she hated herself for sobbing into his shirt.
“I’m not a princess,” she mumbled, eyes heavy.
“You are to me.”
* * *
