Page 45 of Lady Sings the Blues

Worst. Luck. Ever.

“What can I do to get you not to open that door?” I beg, bringing out the big puppy dog eyes, trembling lip and hands curled into a prayer position at my chest.

Apparently the man has no heart, as he says nothing but cranes his neck to blast me with a Beau-esque glare that says: Ridiculous woman. If that look is a prerequisite to join a motorcycle club, or what everyone shortens to MC, then he’s well on his way to getting patched in. And maybe I am a ridiculous woman. Because he clearly wants nothing from me despite me offering money, sex, even home cooked meals for a year.

With that last one he asks, “And how would I collect on that?”

Okay, so he might have a point. But aren’t bikers supposed to be morally dubious? Couldn’t he take me up on one of my other offers? I mean, he’s not exactly hard on the eyes, he could probably show a girl a good time—what am I saying? I don’t want to sleep with this guy, I just really don’t want him unlocking the door for an even more pissed off looking Beau.

So what does the prospect do? Unlocks the door for an even more pissed off looking Beau.

“Traitor.” I sneer while being lifted out of the front seat and flung, yet again, over Beau’s shoulder. Caveman.

“My patience has officially run out.” He growls, dropping me hard on the back of his bike. “Try that stunt again, Elise, see what you get. You understand me?” When I don’t answer he tilts my chin up. “I asked you a question. Do youunderstandme?”

“Yes.”

“Good.” He kisses me then. And it’s powerful, filled with a million different feelings and sensations, the kind which gets me melty, though I don’t mean to. So unfair.

When he pulls back the kiss, he shoves a helmet down over my head and climbs on the bike in front of me. But before we take off, he slides me forward so all of me is pressed up against all of him, and pulls my arms to wrap around his waist to hold on tight.

Frantically, I turn my head to the left and right, hoping to find an escape. That’s when I spy him, a man on a bike. Dark sunglasses covering the top half of his face, and a black bandana printed with the bottom half of a skull, covering up the bottom. I’ve seen him before, at Lady’s. The black leather cut means he’s a biker.

He’s probably a Lord. But I don’t like the way he watches us. It’s unnerving.

“Beau.” I tap his shoulder. “Who’s that guy?”

“Not now, Elise. I’m pissed.”

That doesn’t stop me. I keep tapping until he looks. “What guy?” he asks.

No guy, now. He’s gone.Poof!Gone.

“I’m not kidding. There was a guy on a bike.”

“Darlin’, there’s guys on bikes all over.”

***

Why does Beau have to have such good genes? Handsome. Sexy. Imposing. Confidant.

We hit the highway almost immediately, meaning he really doesn’t want to risk me hopping off again.

The man doesn’t talk to me. Doesn’t even attempt to talk, and we drive for a while, drive ‘til my hands cramp from holding on so tightly. We’re somewhere in Indiana when I can’t hold on any longer.

“Beau,” I finally shout as loudly as I can with the wind whipping all around us. “Beau, I’m so cold and hungry.”

He points to a highway sign which shows a food and lodging exit. We’ve been on the road for a few hours now, both of us using the opportunity to calm down. It shouldn’t feel so good to be pressed against him, not after the way he betrayed me. Yet it does. Our connection constantly humming beneath my skin. I compare old Beau to new Beau. How the years have changed him. Maybe I should quit fighting this, fighting him. Because I know now that he’s never going to let me go. And truth be told, I’ve missed him. Dammit, I hate myself for admitting defeat. But as he rolls into the parking lot of a hotel—a nice one—and dismounts, I realize that’s it. He’s won. I’ve officially been defeated.

Big changes are in store for my future, and I’m not sure what to think about said changes. As I stand next to his bike trying to figure out what the hell I’m going to do, Beau brushes his knuckles gently over my cheek. Seems new Beau can still read me as well as old Beau used to.

“Come on, darlin’.”

When I pull the helmet off my head, I know my hair must look awful, but Beau slides his arms around me, holding me, hugging me like he thinks I’m the most beautiful woman in the world.

Is it possible he didn’t betray me? That maybe I overreacted. I mean, could a man radiate so much love for a woman, when all he wants is revenge? Because all I feel from him, if I’m honest, all I’ve ever felt from the man holding me, is love.

Shoot.

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