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  To all those wounded beauties out there who valiantly battle their monsters every day and find the strength to keep on keepin’ on. This book is yours.

  Acknowledgments

  The usual suspects…

  Chas and Rikki, if you didn’t take my back, I wouldn’t be able to spend so much time creating my worlds. You know you rock. I know without you as my rocks, I’d be in some serious trouble.

  Emily, your calm is infectious. But knowing I can live my days doing my gig with the understanding that you’re out there, hard at work broadening my horizons, is even better. You’re simply the bomb.

  Amy, bathroom sex got better because of you. That’s saying something! And I said they were wee gifties to you, but they were your wee gifties to Lanie and Hop. You know what I’m talking about.

  And to Bob Seger, a man who can tell a mean story through a rock song. You’re a god. Thank you for inadvertently helping me make some beautiful points by using your songs. But more, thank you for the hours of rock beauty you’ve given me while listening to them.

  Prologue

  Complicated

  Hopper “Hop” Kincaid watched her wind through the loud, rowdy, drunk bikers and their groupies, heading his way.

  Lanie Heron.

  He didn’t move. He kept leaning against the post that held up the roof over the patio area of the Compound, holding a beer and watching her move.

  Jesus, she was one serious class act. Even when she came to the Compound to shoot pool or to a hog roast, communing with the brethren of the Chaos Motorcycle Club, she didn’t dress down. Designer gear, head-to-toe. She looked like a fucking model except better because she was real, right there, walking right to him, her eyes locked to his.

  She was also one serious messed-up bitch.

  This was not simply because the woman was pure drama. Fuck, he’d seen her create a scene when the diet cherry 7Up she was pouring fizzed over the top of the glass.

  No, Lanie Heron was messed up because she stood by her man.

  Under normal circumstances, Hopper would find that an admirable trait in any woman mostly because he knew by experience it was a rare one.

  It was not admirable with Lanie.

  This was because, before Lanie’s man Elliott Belova got shot to death, Belova had been even more messed up than she was. The proof of this was he was now very dead, and she had scars from the bullets her dead fiancé bought her, because he wanted to give her some crazy-ass, out-of-season flowers for their wedding and he got involved with the Russian Mob to do it.

  The fucking Russian Mob.

  For flowers.

  Not messed up, fucked up.

  Before it all went down, Lanie found out about her man working for the Mob. Being a woman, of course, first, she busted his balls. Then she made a tremendously bad decision and stood by him even after his shit got her kidnapped. Then she watched him die and nearly got herself killed in the process.

  Fucked up. Your old man gets involved with the Russian Mob; this gets your ass kidnapped; once you get rescued you kick him to the curb. No question. You just do it.

  You don’t go on the lam with him and get yourself shot.

  Hop watched Lanie move his way thinking all of this, and at the same time thinking about the moment he first saw her. It was the night she found out her old man was making whacked decisions in order to buy her flowers. Even though, at the time, she was in full-blown drama mode—for once her drama being understandable—the second Hop saw her years ago, he’d thought she was definitely one fine piece of ass.

  Watching her come his way, he had not changed his mind.

  She was not his thing, normally. Too tall, too skinny, a nice ass but not enough of it for his usual taste. Also not enough tits and way too put together with her designer jeans and high-heeled boots that had to cost a fucking mint.

  But there was no denying her glossy, long, dark hair was fucking gorgeous. And her green eyes defined what Hop always thought was a stupid as shit saying but in her case, it was true: She had bedroom eyes. The kind of eyes any man with a functioning dick would want staring into his as he was moving inside her.

  Fuck, her eyes were amazing.

  After she nearly lost her life standing by her man, she’d taken off, moved from Denver to be close to her family in Connecticut, and she’d stayed there for a while licking her wounds. This while lasted too long, according to Tyra, Lanie’s best friend and old lady to Kane “Tack” Allen, the president of Hop’s motorcycle club, the Chaos MC. Tyra, known to the boys as “Cherry”, flew out to Connecticut, reamed Lanie’s ass, and hauled it back to Denver.

  Lanie set herself up again in house and job and now she was a staple at Chaos gatherings mostly because she was Tyra’s best friend. Also because the brothers liked looking at her so they didn’t mind her being around, and even Hop had to admit her frequent dramas were pretty damned funny (when they weren’t annoying). You had to give credit to anyone who was who they were no matter who was around and that was pure Lanie. She was Lanie; she didn’t water that down and she didn’t care what anyone thought of her.

  This was the way of the biker, letting it all hang out, so men like Hop and his brothers could appreciate it.

  That said, freaking out because your 7Up overflowed was over the top. Still, a bitch as gorgeous as Lanie Heron… fuck, you’d watch her sitting around and watching TV. Having a fit over spilled soda was definitely worthwhile. Especially if she did it like she did it, jumping around so that hair was swinging, those eyes flashing, and what little tits and ass she had moving right along with her.

  As she got close, Hop tore his eyes off her and looked through the crowd.

  Neither Tack nor Cherry were anywhere to be seen. This was not a surprise. It was late; things were getting rowdy but that wasn’t why those two had disappeared. Hop knew they were either on Tack’s bike going back up the mountain to their house or they were in his room at the Compound. They were married, had been together awhile; neither of them were anywhere near their twenties, they had two young boys, but still, they went at each other like teenagers.

  This also wasn’t a surprise. Tyra did have tits and ass, lots of hair and a serious amount of sass. A woman like that was built to be bedded and often, and Tack took advantage. Then again, that was why Tack accepted her ball and chain. Actually, not so much accepted it as much as forced her to clamp her shackle on his ankle. Given the choice of waking up to Tyra Allen every morning, not many men wouldn’t have accepted that shackle.

  “Hey,” he heard Lanie greet him and his eyes moved back to her.

  “Hey,” he replied.

  Her head tilted slightly down, but her eyes never left his as she remarked, “Getting rowdy.”

  “Always does,” he murmured, his gaze moving over her shoulder while he thought, Jesus, she was tall. She had to be five-nine without those heels. In them, she was six-foot-one. Nearly his height. They were almost eye to eye.

  He didn’t like this, normally.

  Lanie… eye to eye with those fucking eyes?

  Shit.

  “Wanna fuck?”

  At her question, his gaze sliced back to hers as he felt his body jerk in shock.

  “Say again?” he asked.

  She leaned in slightly, never looking away and repeated, “Wanna fuck?”

  Hop stared at her. He’d just watched her walk to him, winding through loud, shitfaced bikers and their bitches, her gait steady. She didn’t move like she was hammered, nowhere near it. Even now her gaze was clear as it held his.

  Still, he asked, “You had one too many, babe?”

  “No,” she replied instantly and moved closer.

  This was not good because, when she did, he could smell her perfume.

  Those eyes, bedroom eyes.


  That perfume, fuck me perfume.

  Jesus, he’d been catching whiffs of it now for years and it never failed to do a number on him. He didn’t know what it was—the fact that it smelled expensive, the intense femininity of it that said, point blank, “I am all fucking woman,” or the fact that it was elusive. If you got one smell of it, the woman who wore it owned you because you’d do anything to go back for more. Any time Lanie got near him, Hop hoped to catch her scent. Sometimes he would. Sometimes he wouldn’t. But every time, he hoped for it.

  Now, though, smelling her scent was a very bad thing.

  “Not sure that’s a good idea, Lanie,” he told her, gentling his voice as he gave her the honesty.

  “Why?” she asked immediately, and he felt his eyes narrow on her before he answered.

  “Maybe ’cause you’re best friends with Tack’s old lady. I respect him, I respect her, and shit like this, babe, it gets complicated. Any complication sucks but a complication like this,” he shook his head, “no one needs that.”

  She threw out a hand and declared casually, “It won’t get complicated.”

  Okay, maybe she was messed up, fucked up, a drama queen, high maintenance and a nut.

  “Bullshit,” he replied. “It always gets complicated.”

  She moved closer and Jesus, her scent, that hair, those eyes, all so close. If she got any closer he’d physically have to set her away or pick her up and carry her to his room.

  “Do you want to fuck me?” she asked. Her voice, sweet and feminine normally, was soft now, a little hesitant, a little excited, and that intoxicating combination was doing a number on him too.

  “Babe, you looked in the mirror lately?” he asked back by way of answer. “Man would have to be dead not to wanna fuck you.”

  A little smile twisted her pretty mouth and he knew he was screwed because that was cute and fucking sexy as all fucking hell.

  Shit.

  She got closer and Hop braced. Any closer and she’d be cozied up to him. She was inches away.

  “Do you like me?” she asked.

  “Everyone likes you,” he answered.

  “I’m not asking about everyone, Hop,” she told him and he held her eyes.

  “Yeah, babe, you know I do,” he finally answered when she didn’t move or speak, just waited. “You’re funny, you’re cute, you’re hot, and you got no problem letting it all hang out. That’s why everyone likes you. That’s also why I do.”

  To that, she returned, “Okay. Good. Then no complications, Hop. Just you and me and tonight. Tomorrow, I won’t expect flowers. I won’t expect a belated courtesy date. I won’t even expect you to take me out for a cup of coffee. This isn’t about that. I don’t even want that. I just want you and sex. No expectations. Nothing but what we have tonight,” she told him. “Tack and Ty-Ty, or anyone, they never even have to know.”

  He pushed away from the pole, reached out an arm to put his beer on a nearby picnic table and took a huge chance straightening to her because it meant they were closer. But it also gave him the half an inch he still had on her when she was in those heels and he needed it.

  “Don’t wanna be a dick, lady,” he warned softly, “but bitches say that shit all the time. Then, in the morning, they expect breakfast, coffee, and to come home from work to roses with a note sayin’ the guy never had better. You got a man who thinks to buy you roses, says he’s never had better, big chances are he’s lyin’. He just wants it regular and he’ll take it as it comes.”

  He knew every word out of his mouth made him the dick he told her he didn’t want to be but she needed to move on. If she was in the mood to get laid, she needed to find herself some not on Chaos. Tack’s woman Cherry had chosen Chaos but that didn’t mean she wouldn’t lose her mind if her best girl hooked up with a brother. She would. Hop knew it. But if that shit happened anyway, Cherry would want to handpick the brother who got in there and Hop also knew that brother would absolutely not be him.

  “Then take it as it comes,” she shot back, not appearing offended in the slightest, her words coming out almost like a dare.

  “Lanie—” he started but she leaned in and, fuck, if he moved his mouth a quarter of an inch, it’d be on hers. She was all he could see, all he could smell, and all he could think was that she was also all he wanted to feel.

  “You know my story,” she whispered. “You think I want another guy?” She paused then finished with emphasis, “Ever?”

  He got her. Her dead old man was a moron and she’d paid for his shit in the worst way she could. Her loyalty had bought her nothing but pain, bullet wounds, and heartache. Not to mention, her man might have been good at what he did for a living, the computer geek to end all computer geeks, but he was nothing to look at. So she not only gave love and loyalty but she stepped out of a zone no woman who looked like her had to step out of in order to give it.

  So, yeah, Belova was a moron and she chose that. He could see her wanting to get back in the saddle but being skittish about buying the horse.

  She just wasn’t going to get back in the saddle with him.

  Hop started to lift his hands to curl them around her upper arms and set her away but she moved fast, lifting her hands to curl them around the sides of his neck. They felt warm. Her perfume assaulted him straight on and he stilled.

  “I do not want that,” she carried on. “What I want is… you. For one night. Just one night.”

  Fuck him.

  Fuck him.

  “Lady,” he muttered but before he could say more, she kept talking.

  “It was… I know you know where I was back then and who I was with and I know you had a woman then too, Hop, but still, that night I met you, I couldn’t help but notice you were good-looking. But you’re not with anyone anymore and I’m seriously not with anyone anymore and I’ve been thinking about it for a long time, just too scared to do anything about it. Now I’ve decided I’m doing something about it.”

  “I gotta say, I like that you’re into me, babe,” he returned gently. “Already told you that you’re beautiful and under any other circumstances, I would not hesitate to take you up on an offer this sweet. So you gotta know it’s killin’ me even as you gotta trust me when I say this is not a good idea.”

  “I’ve had no one since him,” she whispered and, acting on their own, Hop’s hands came up and settled on her waist, giving it a squeeze. The move was intimate but comforting. The news that this woman, this crazy-gorgeous woman and all that she was hadn’t had a man between her legs in fucking years moved him even as it troubled him.

  “Lanie, honey,” he muttered, not having the first fucking clue what else to say.

  “I’ve thought on it and decided it’s you.” Her hands at his neck gave him a squeeze and fuck him, fuck him, that moved him even more. “I understand why you don’t want to but I promise, Hop, I swear, no kidding, seriously, no strings. No expectations. Just us. One night. Tomorrow, it will be like it’s always been. Like it didn’t even happen. I promise.”

  Her hands slid down to his chest but she didn’t move away as she finished laying it out.

  “Now, I’m going to your room and I’m going to wait there for fifteen minutes. If you don’t show, no harm, no foul. I promise that, too. Nothing changes between us. No one knows anything.” She sucked in a breath and took a half step back, her hands falling away when she concluded in a quiet voice, “But,” she took a deep breath, “I really hope you show.”

  With that, not giving him a chance to say another word, she turned and strutted her narrow ass back through the loud, rowdy, drunk bikers and their bitches, her hair swaying, her arms moving gracefully, her scent still in his nostrils.

  “Shit,” he whispered when he watched her haul open the door to the Compound.

  “Shit,” he repeated when the door closed behind her.

  He kept his eyes on the door and he did this a while.

  That woman, that crazy-gorgeous woman, was right now in his room.


  “Shit,” he whispered yet again right before he made his way to the door.

  * * *

  Hopper broke contact with Lanie’s hooded eyes, eyes that were a fuckuva lot sexier since he’d just come inside her and he did it hard and he did it long and he shoved his face in her neck.

  All he could smell was her. All he could feel was her warm, soft body under his—one of her legs wrapped around the back of his thigh, the other one cocked high, her thigh pressed to his side but her calf swung in, her heel resting in the small of his back. Her arms were tight around him, one at his shoulders, one angled, resting along his spine. Last, he could feel his cock buried in her unbelievably tight, wet cunt.

  He didn’t know what it was. Maybe it was that she’d never had kids. Maybe it was because it had been so long since she’d had a man. Whatever it was, her pussy was close to virgin it was so tight. Luckily, it was also sleek. Luckier, it tasted like goddamned honey.

  He’d been right when they were talking outside.

  This was about to get complicated.

  Her head moved and he felt her lips at his ear even as he heard her soft, tentative words. “Was that all right?”

  Hop closed his eyes even as his hips reflexively pressed into hers and he gently fisted the hand he had buried in her hair.

  She was worried she was out of practice. She was worried it wasn’t good for him. And considering the fact that, if she was out of practice, when she got into the swing of things, she’d be off-the-charts, her worry was both cute and sweet and, like everything else about her, it did a number on him.

  Yes, things were going to get complicated.

  He opened his eyes, moved his head so his lips were at her ear, and murmured, “Lady, I don’t fake it. Not only because I can’t but because, even if I could, I wouldn’t.”

  All her limbs convulsed around him even as her cunt did the same and, Jesus, God, it felt seriously fucking good.

  Then it got better when her body started moving under him and he heard her husky, low chuckle in his ear.

  He lifted his head in an effort to watch her face in laughter through the dark. Once she got back to Denver and Tyra got her hands on her, Lanie laughed a lot. He liked watching her laugh. It was always, every time he saw it, a good show.