Page 11 of Devil's Due: Sarge

“Well, she’s doing a whole lot more standing there than conversing, isn’t she?” I’m damn well going to defend myself. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t trying to hurt your feelings. I was just trying to understand the situation as I see it.”

As I’m clearly not making any new friends here, when they collectively decide to ignore me by turning to speak to each other, I slink off back to the bar, climbing onto a stool to order another drink from Jinx.

This must be how foreigners feel when they go to a different country and don’t speak the language, they don’t know the customs, and are generally all alone. I keep drinking because it makes me feel loose, makes me feel better.

A man they call Shorty because, well, he’s a lot shorter than many of the other men in the club, drunkenly swaggers up to stand next to my stool. They might call him Shorty, but he still looks taller than me. I guess by shorter, they mean he’s around 5’9 or 5’10. And, I have to admit, he’s actually very handsome, with thick, dark hair and brown eyes.

“Hey, pretty lady, I can’t believe there are a hundred men around here and not one is trying to talk to you. You’re the hottest woman in this place,” he says as he reaches his finger out to run it up and down my arm.

It’s safe to admit that I get shivers from his touch, but not the same as I get from Sarge –dammit!Why does it always come back to Sarge?Why? Greer, don’t be so obtuse. Sarge doesn’t give off the Harley version of a fuck boi vibe like this guy does.

I smile, discreetly moving my arm away from him. “Thank you. It’s kind of you to say.”

“Nothing kind about it,” he says. “I’m here for nefarious purposes. The men call me ‘Shorty,’ but how about I take you back to my room and show you all the ways I don’t fall short?”

Before I ever have the chance to answer, a cool shadow falls over the both of us. We both turn our heads to see a very pissed-off Sarge standing behind Shorty. “I think maybe it’s time you get cut off, brother.” Sarge growls at him.

Shorty puts his hands up in a calm down sort of way. “Sorry, man, didn’t know you had a claim on her.”

“He doesn’t,” I say at the same time Sarge says, “I do.”

But he doesn’t. I’m not a commodity to be bought and sold. He hasn’t even asked me out on a date yet. Nicola might be fine with this hierarchy, but I’m not. I’m a living, breathing adult who can decide for herself who she wants to spend time with.

“Baby, youknowthat’s not true,” he says to me in his deepest, softest voice, a voice dripping with innuendo and sex appeal. His warm breath hits the skin of my neck… I begin to feel lightheaded and woozy from his proximity.Whoa—shake it off, Greer. Shake it off.The problem is he knows what he does to me. He can hardly miss it. Still, I manage to get a grip on my reaction to him by giving my head a cleansing shake.

Then, to let him know I mean business, I look him square in the eye. “Oh, I’m sorry… Did we… Did we go out and I don’t remember? Did I agree to be your girlfriend? Because I don’t remember that either.”

“Greer, I ain’t no boy. I’m not yourboyfriend, therefore you’re not mygirlfriend. I’m all man, and that baby... makes you my woman.”

“And when did I agree to that?”

“Don’t play stupid. It doesn’t suit you. You became my woman the moment we locked eyes in that hospital room. No use denying it because you know it’s the truth.”

We did. We locked eyes. He saw into my soul. I hate that he saw into my soul giving me no leg to stand on here. I’m not like Nic. She’s got the badass old lady of a biker thing down. I was a Ph.D. candidate in art conservation. Do bikers even go to museums? Can they even spell museum?

Wait—no. That’s an uppity bitch thing to say, Greer. You are better than that.Great, just great… Nic is a biker bitch and I’m a bitch to bikers. But somehow, whenever I open up my mouth around Sarge, to keep from saying something that’ll give my feelings away, I end up saying something sarcastic. One day he’s going to have enough and I don’t know how I’ll react to that.

As if I’m the most confident woman in the world, I toss my hair over my shoulder and sip on my drink—I don’t know where I get it. I’m typically not the toss my hair over my shoulder kind of woman. “You know what the professionals say about men who try to act all macho and cocky, right? They say that they’re compensating for something. Feeling small there, Sarge? What exactly are you compensating for? Usually it’s penis envy.”

The brothers directly surrounding us go quiet except for the few “Oh, shit”s and “Fuck”s along with the snickers.

“You and I both know that’s not true, either.” And to prove his point, he pushes past Shorty to place his hands on both my cheeks and tilts my head up until I’m looking into those gorgeous eyes and his face descends, crashing his lips against mine. He kisses me with an intensity I don’t expect. It feels real. Like we’re the Greer and Sarge that he already claimed us to be. My heartbeat thuds against my chest. My blood boils to the point of overheating. I uncross my legs, allowing him to step between them.

And before I’m aware of what I’m doing, I glide my hands up over his shoulders, over his neck and into his hair, gripping what little bits I can latch on to from his buzzcut, and draw him down deeper. I’ve never been kissed like this before in my life. It’s hot. So unbearably hot that I have to push him away for fear of combusting. Which ends up being the smartest idea, considering the catcalls from his brothers and the Lords’ old ladies I hear giggling and making comments at my expense. Good lord! He’s turned me into a wonton.

My face has to be lit up like a Fourth of July fireworks display because I’m burning up from head to toe. And there’s Sarge, standing with his hands dropped to my hips, wearing that unbelievably devious, cocky smile, absolutely knowing what that kiss has done to me. I can’t form a coherent thought and he’s cocky smiling. Life isn’t fair.

It’ll take an hour for my heartrate to return to normal and I’m probably going to have to change my panties after this, but I have to save face. I can’t let him know that I would do that again in a heartbeat if he were only to just bend and take my lips again. So I return to the only thing I have in my arsenal, and deflect once again with sarcasm. “It’s okay,” I say to him, patting his arm in a consoling manner. “I’m sure you’re very good at kissing usually. Maybe it was just an off day.”

“Off day?” He chuckles, shaking his head at me. “The flush of your cheeks tells me you more than liked it. I’ll bet you’re wet as hell, aren’t you, baby?”

“Not at all.” Yeah, that’s my amazing comeback. Nobody believes it because it’s not true. It’s not my fault he’s muddled my brain. Sarge isn’t playing fair.

To make matters worse, he bends in, brushing his lips along my cheek until he hits my ear, and whispers, “And I notice you didn’t tell me to stop.”

Shoot.I didn’t. Why didn’t I tell him to stop?It’s easy, Greer: Because you didn’t want him to.

God, I hate it when I can’t lie to myself. And now all I can think about is his lips on mine, his breath dancing in my ear, how much I want him to kiss me like that again. That’s when the bastard decides to turn around and walk back over to his friends at the pool table, leaving me drenched and inwardly panting. I hate Sarge. No. That’s the problem, Idon’thate him. I actually rather like him. Aside from his drop-dead sexy exterior, he’s smart and witty. But he’s definitely a man, which I have to continuously remind myself, always leads to trouble… and he’s a biker, which has the potential to get me into even worse trouble.

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