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Keeping distance from him while I sit here is fruitless—he’s not going to settle on giving me personal space. I give up and allow his body to brush against mine, hating and loving the connection all at once.
A waitress approaches our table. “What can I get ya?”
Frazzled, I grab the menu and quickly skim it. The gyro omelet with feta cheese and spinach is right up my alley. I order it along with a coffee. Maceo chuckles to himself before looking up at our waitress with a proud-ass smirk. “You know what I like, Bonnie.”
“Two gyro omelets and coffees coming right up,” she clucks before returning to the kitchen.
I close my eyes and shake my head. Of course, I had to order his favorite off the menu. The smugsonofabitchis gloating right now, probably thinking this is one of many things connecting us, adding to the list he rambled on the trail this morning.
Bonnie returns with our coffees before disappearing again. We both reach for the creamers at the same time, grazing each other’s fingers, sending little shocks of electricity up my arm. I pull away quickly and Maceo smiles, grabbing a creamer cup. “Want to share? I don’t use half of this thing.”
I nod. “Yes, actually. That’s perfect.” No point in being wasteful.
Maceo tops off our coffees and we both stir our mugs. I raise the cup to my lips and blow before taking a long sip, while Maceo watches me over the brim of his own mug.
I clear my throat. “Well, Atlas, I—” I begin, but he cuts me off.
“No, Pixie. To everyone else I’m Atlas, but to you I’m Maceo.”
I bite my tongue to keep from arguing. It’s bad enough he’s using my given name, but it’s a whole other ballgame making me use his. It connects us on a deeper level. Why does he insist on my use of his first name? We had sex one time. It’s not like we’re a couple.
“Maceo.” It comes out like a caress around my tongue, reminding me of the last time I used it. He was balls deep inside me, making me scream his name through my climax. My face heats from the memory.
The smug asshole knows exactly what I’m remembering from the way his grin widens. Now I know why he wants me to call him Maceo—it’s a reminder of what occurred between us.
He drapes his arm behind my backrest, encasing me without actually touching me. The gesture is far too personal, but I don’t pull away.What the fuck is wrong with me?
Distraction, I need a distraction.“We’ve got some time before the food comes out. Would you like to see the blueprints and virtual tour?”
Atlas—I mean, Maceo—had requested my services as an architectural engineer after he viewed my portfolio on my website, stating my edgy designs were exactly what he was looking for. He wanted me to build him a giant housing complex he referred to as a ‘clubhouse’ for the Mercy Ravens MC crew.
“Please, I can’t wait to see what you got,” he says in a husky voice. The sexual innuendo is not lost on me.
Oh Lord, help me.
Doing my best to ignore the rush of blood swirling in my lower belly, I open my laptop, plug in my flash drive, and pull up the plans for the MC headquarters. I start with the tour because it’s easier to visualize a design when you’re walking through the program. Maceo leans in, eagerly watching and listening to my detailed layout.
“I got the impression you wanted more of an apartment atmosphere with a common area, instead of a dormitory. The outside is all clean lines, rock, metal, and cedar. You walk into the grand entrance to a wall of local stone, which directs you around either side to the main living room—or gathering area—which will be filled with several distressed leather couches and light walnut end tables. The stone wall functions as a fireplace on the living room side, and a privacy barrier from the front door looking in.”
Maceo nods in approval. “Good.”
“To the left of the gathering area is the kitchen, which will have dark flat panel cabinets, stainless steel appliances, brass finishes, and white quartz countertops. We could do concrete counters in a lighter finish, if you would prefer. Next to the kitchen is the open dining area, with one long banquet table and industrial metal chairs. To the right of the gathering area, is what I call the billiards room; two pool tables, a couple dart boards, a poker table, and a full bar with TVs mounted on the walls. Plenty of high tables and stools for entertaining.”
Maceo grunts his endorsement, and he sucks off some butter on his thumb from the toast. I flush, my dirty mind recalling when he sucked my juices off his fingers. Witnessing him taste me with desire flooding his eyes was like a shot of pure lust to my core. Remembering this makes me want his pierced tongue on my sex.
Jesus, I’m throbbing.I cross my legs, trying to combat the ache between my thighs.
I clear the lump in my throat. “The back of the first floor will be reserved for a large conference room, with a full tech area for your, um, meetings.”
What possible meetings with state-of-the-art equipment a MC gang might have is beyond me, but Maceo demanded it and I always deliver.
“The rest of the main level will be dedicated for offices, yours being the largest, as well as two separate bathrooms.
“The entire first floor will have matted gray walls, plenty of windows for light, but tinted on the outside for extra privacy. Ebony-stained trim and mission-style doors. And the acid-stained concrete floors will hold up all the heavy boots tracking through,” I say as I look around at the huge members of the MC, taking in the women hanging on them. “—or high heels.”
My hypocritical thought is not lost on me. I have no right to judge these women, especially after what I did this morning. I shake my head in self-disgust.
Maceo raises an eyebrow and leans on his massive inked forearm, giving me nowhere to look but into his intense eyes. “The only heels I care about are the ones on your dainty feet. I don’t give a fuck about anyone else’s, or who the fuck they’re attached to. You know, you’re really cute when you get all jealous, like a kitten showing her claws.”
