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It worked. Alexandra glanced at me sideways, her gray eyes cautious and hopeful and wanting, all at the same time.
"You flirt with me," I continued. "And then you clam up in the blink of an eye."
Alexandra sighed. She dropped onto the foot of her bed, tossing the towel beside her.
"Because I got you into this. Because you're a customer at my bar and I never date customers. Because I'm hiding from my shitty ex-fiancé and if you're not careful, you could get caught in the crossfire. I would never forgive myself if someone got hurt because of my poor taste in men. Because I made one monumental mistake before and I really don’t want to do that again."
I nodded, weighing Alexandra's words. Then I leaned forward, propping my elbows on my knees.
"You didn't get me into this, Alexandra," I said. "I chose to get involved. Stephen is an asshole; I'll give you that. But in case you didn't notice, I'm the president of a motorcycle gang. Violence comes with the territory so it doesn’t bother me. And if being a customer at your bar is really the only thing standing between this happening…" I gestured to her and then back to myself. "There are plenty of other bars in Southern California where I can get a drink."
Alexandra studied me with wide eyes. Then she turned her head away, wrapping her arms around her middle. She chewed the inside of her cheek, clearly deliberating over a tug-of-war with her conscience.
As she debated, I rose from my chair and came to stand in front of her. Alexandra dragged her gaze up, searching my face with a questioning glance. If she said no, if there was even a flicker of hesitation, I would put on the brakes.
I knelt in front of Alexandra, placing my hands atop her thighs, and gently, slowly, pushed her legs apart. Her breath hitched and I paused, studying her eyes.
"Tell me to stop," I said, "if that's what you want."
In response, Alexandra curled her fingers around my wrist and tugged me closer, sealing her mouth to mine.
Chapter Seven
The sharp taste of black coffee lingered on Brewer's lips as I kissed him. He shifted forward, one large, warm hand on my hip, his weight pressing me into the mattress.
Ever since he showed up at my door last night, I felt as if I could breathe a little easier knowing I wasn't alone. But there was still that indescribable pull, drawing me toward him until all I could think about was the way he sprawled in his chair, knees spread wide, the perfectly normal paper cup of coffee dwarfed in his massive hand. His dark eyes watched me, calculating, shrewd, as if he could see through every lie I told to protect myself.
Then he had told me to get some rest and I had been so sure that there was no way I could sleep in the same room with Brewer. And yet I got the best rest I'd had in years with this man by my side, keeping watch, making sure that nothing and no one would hurt me.
Now Brewer's thumb skimmed along the band of skin exposed between my tank top and my shorts, sending a rush of heat through me. I shoved at his jacket, pushing it off his shoulders and letting it drop to the floor.
He sucked a bruising kiss into my neck and I arched against him. Brewer trailed his hand away from my hip, up my torso, palming at my breast. My frantic, fumbling fingers found his belt, tugging it open. Pushed his jeans down. But when I moved to wrap my fingers around his cock, Brewer caught my wrist.
"Not yet, baby," he said. "Have to get you warmed up first."
Brewer hooked his fingers into my shorts and tugged them down. He raised his eyebrows when he realized I wasn't wearing anything underneath.
"No panties?" he asked, his voice a low rumble that had me clenching my thighs together with need.
"I did laundry yesterday," I replied, sheepishly. "They're still drying in the bathroom."
"Thank God for that."
Brewer lowered his chin, peppering kisses up my thighs. I eased my legs open, keenly aware of his gaze on me and the cool rush of air at my exposure. The bristly scratch of his beard made my skin jump as he made his way higher. By the time he pressed his mouth to my core, I bowed off the bed at the wet heat of his tongue. I would have locked my knees around Brewer's head but he clamped a hand to my thighs, keeping me spread for him.
Using the breadth of his shoulders to keep my legs open, he slid one hand underneath my hips, lifting me a few inches. At this angle, he could work his chin into me, the friction of his stubble sending fire licking through my body.
With his other hand, Brewer crooked two fingers inside me. All the while, he maintained a relentless rhythm with his tongue. Swirling. Licking. Sucking hard enough that I saw stars. His fingers curled up higher, reaching deeper inside me as my impending orgasm coiled my body tight as a spring.
When I shattered around Brewer's fingers, he didn't stop. He pressed his tongue flat against me and hollowed his cheeks. I heard the obscene slurp, felt my legs shudder as a white-hot pulse of pleasure bolted through my body.
A lifetime later, I sagged against the bed, every muscle in my body trembling.
"Holy shit," I rasped.
Brewer hummed a laugh. He placed a sweet kiss against my hip and reached for my tank top, pulling it off of me. I scrambled to unhook my bra, eager to have his hands on every inch of me. I loved the way his gaze swept across my body, slow, deliberate. Slipping two fingers into the v-collar of his shirt, I gave the fabric a tug.
"You're overdressed," I said.
