FOLLOW THE HONEY (Sweet & Dirty BBW Romance Book 4) Page 14

  She lowered her hands and glared up at him, forgetting her headache as she opened her mouth to tell him exactly what he could do with his women. He was smirking at her, his eyes alight. Just waiting for her to smart off so he could put her down again. Well, she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.

  “Soup’s up,” Pico said behind her. “I put some of those little crackers on the plate, the kind we keep for kids? Thought she might like those.”

  Turning her back on Pete, Lesa took it gratefully. “Thanks, Pico. That’s perfect.”

  She took the plate with the bowl of soup and crackers from him, and hurried on her way to take care of her customer. That was more important than her troubles, or the pettiness of certain people.

  * * *

  “I like her,” Lindi approved, sipping her white wine as she watched the pretty brunette waitress fuss over the couple in the nearby booth. “Pete doesn’t treat her well, I’m going to offer her a job at The Stinger. Jack’ll be ready to open in March.”

  Sara chuckled. “Pete might have something to say about you hijacking his help away from him. Although he should gift-wrap that stupid Aysha to get rid of her.”

  Kit snorted. “Yeah, and send her to one of those trashy titty bars on East Sprague in Spokane. That’s where she belongs.”

  “I think Pete only hired Aysha because her mom is a friend of the club,” Sara said.

  “I doubt she’ll last much longer,” Lindi said. “I’ve watched her piss off two separate customers.”

  “Yeah, that family is trash,” Kit said. “Aysha has a brother, Whitey. He’s a creepy little gang-banger.”

  “There’s a weird vibe with the brunette and the others,” Lindi went on, “That I don’t get. Even Sylvie’s acting mean, and the brunette seems really sweet.”

  “Pete can’t take his eyes off of her,” Sara noted. “Maybe that’s why.”

  Lindi and Kit both turned to look at Pete, and their eyes widened in unison.

  “Whoa, he is watching her,” Kit said. “Huh. I may have to come back and bring the guys. Watch another Flyer fall.” She pursed her lips and mimicked a whistle and explosion, her eyes twinkling.

  Lindi frowned, unsatisfied with this explanation. There was more going on here, she was sure. But what, she had no idea.

  And here came their burgers, so she spread her napkin on her lap and prepared to enjoy supper with her best friends. Their men were at the Flyers’ club house for the evening, so she and Kit and Sara were having a girls' night out.

  Later, Jack would be in the mood for a private party of their own, so she had that to look forward to as well.

  And Pete Vanko was essentially a good guy, so he wouldn’t allow the situation here to get too bad, surely. But if he did, she was so gonna slide in and bird-dog his waitress away from him.

  She’d talk it over with Jack later, and let him decide.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  After the initial supper rush, Lesa was done for the day. But since she had to wait for Pete, she slumped on the office couch, Dima leaning against her knee. Lesa stroked the big dog’s soft fur and gazed into her dark, liquid eyes. “Good girl. At least somebody here likes me.”

  Her face pillowed on Pete’s leather jacket slung over the arm of the sofa, her hand on Dima’s head, she closed her eyes.

  The next thing she knew, a big hand was cupping her cheek. “Hey, wake up, milaya,” Pete said. “Time to go.”

  Lesa woke with a start, then pushed his hand away, refusing to look at him. Dima was on her feet, tags jingling on her collar as she wagged her tail, ready to go.

  Lesa donned her coat, and followed Pete and the dog out through the pub. Half the tables were still full, Sylvie serving pizza at one, while Aysha flirted with a pair of Flyers at another. Streak was behind the bar with the dark, handsome Rocker.

  Lesa opened her mouth to ask Pete why he wasn’t staying to close, then pressed her lips together. It was none of her business how he ran his pub, not anymore.

  Streak gave her a friendly nod, and she gave him a little wave, too tired to smile again, before walking through the front door Pete was holding for her. Okay, so she had a dog and one human out of six on her side, yay for her.

  Outside, the January night wind slapped her cheeks, and burrowed down the collar of her jacket. She hunched her shoulders and hurried after Pete to his pickup. Dima leapt up into the middle of the seat, and panted happily as Lesa climbed in beside her. She shivered as Pete started the engine and turned up the heat.

  He frowned over at her. “You need a warmer coat than that for eastern Washington.”

  “I d-don’t have one,” she answered.

  He shook his head impatiently, then put the truck in gear and they rolled out of the parking lot, ice and gravel crunching under the tires. “Your old man doesn’t help you out?”

  She stared out the windshield at the quiet street passing by. “He would, but … he lost his job.” And hers, in a two-fer.

  Pete grunted.

  “Anyway, why do you care?” she muttered. “You won’t even let me talk to him, you biker bully.”

  Dima leaned close, whining, and Lesa put her arm around the big dog, leaning her head on the dog’s shoulder.

  “Hey, I’m not a monster,” Pete said, clearly annoyed. “And I explained why.”

  She huffed in disgust. “Yes, and that makes everything better.” He might have feet of clay, but sometimes a girl just wanted her daddy.

  “Yeah, fine.” He reached over and turned the radio on, and they drove the rest of the way to his house without speaking.

  At his house, she stomped upstairs and into the spare bedroom, where she gathered up her wash kit and pajamas, and took them into his bathroom.

  She would’ve vastly preferred just climbing into bed and pulling the covers over her head, but no one worked a shift in a brewpub without smelling of food and stale beer afterward. Thus, she undressed, took a swift, hot shower, slathered on more of Pete’s lemon-ginger lotion before she pulled on her warmest flannel sleep pants and a long-sleeved tee. She brushed her teeth, opened the bottle of pain-relievers she found in his cabinet, and took two.

  Then she padded into the guest room and climbed into the old bed. The sheets were clean, so she chose to ignore the fact that the pillow was too fluffy, the mattress sagged in the middle, and the whole bed creaked alarmingly when she moved. Also, her feet were icicles, so she had to get back up and pull on a pair of socks.

  When she was back in bed, she heard Pete’s footsteps, and the bathroom door creaked open.

  “That bed’s pretty old,” he said, a thread of amusement in his deep voice. “Hear the springs when you move.Try not to get too excited, da?”

  She yanked the covers down and glared in his direction. He was a solid silhouette against the bathroom lights. “This bed is perfect,” she told him. “Because you’re not in it. Now go away.”

  “Right. Well, you get lonesome, you know where I’ll be,” he said. The door closed behind him before she could tell him where to shove his offer. She heard his clothing hit the floor, then the shower came on.

  She contemplated briefly going into his bedroom and tossing his cushy pillows out the window. But instead, she listened to the water running, picturing it streaming down his gorgeous, strong body.

  Groaning, she rolled over onto her stomach, buried her face in the pillow and went to sleep.

  * * *

  “Hey,” a deep voice said in her ear. “Wake up. Lesa, wake the fuck up!”

  Lesa sat bolt upright in bed, panting for breath, gazing blindly into the darkness around her. “No,” she whimpered. “No, I didn’t ...”

  Big, calloused hands grasped her upper arms and shook her. “Wake. Up!”

  She registered that the man holding her was Pete, that they sat in a familiar, king-sized bed, and that he was a big, warm, living bulwark against the misery swirling in her emotions. And that Dima stood beside the bed, whining, a ghostly shape in the darkness.


  “Okay,” she mumbled. “I’m awake.”

  “Thank God for that.” Pete’s grip slackened, and his sigh gusted in her hair. “Thought you’d quit that shit if I brought you in here, but you started up again. Must’ve been one helluva bad dream.” He flopped back in the bed, yawning hugely.

  Lesa didn’t answer him, instead burying her face in her hands as the dream flooded her memory, all the emotions overwhelming her once again.

  The Hangar had been full of people, but instead of their attention being on their companions, all eyes had been on her, watching her with silent condemnation. Everyone from the Flyers to the Hangar staff to her high school math teacher had been there.

  As for her, she’d stood in front of them, shaking with grief and horror as she repeated over and over, ‘I didn’t do it. I didn’t steal the money, I swear it. I’m not a thief, I’m not!.”

  But not one of them had believed her. She’d been completely alone in the midst of a crowd.

  “What the fuck?” Pete demanded as a sob escaped her throat, hot tears squeezing out. “You’re awake, it’s over.”

  “No, it’s not,” she mumbled, because part of her dream was real—she had to go back to the Hangar tomorrow and face her co-workers again.

  “C’mere.”

  “Just a nightmare. I’m … fine.”

  He sighed again. “No, you’re not. C’mere.”

  He lay down, hauling her with him. On his side, he pulled her back against him, one brawny arm underneath her, her bottom snug against his groin.

  Lesa swiped her wet eyes with her sleeve, and sniffled, grateful to be held, even if he was the cause of her misery.

  “You’re bad as the twins after an action movie,” he grouched. “Nothin’ to be scared of. My security system is the best, and Dima’ll bark if anyone comes around.”

  “I wasn’t—it wasn’t about being scared.”

  “Then what?”

  Lesa sniffed, this time angrily.

  “Are you really that dense?” she demanded. “You want to know, I’ll tell you. I dreamed that I was at the Hangar, and everyone was s-staring at me, and calling me a thief. Only guess what? When I’m at work, that’s reality! Sylvie, Aysha, Pico and Joe all hate me, and why wouldn’t they? They think I stole from you, their wonderful, perfect boss—hah! I guess I’m the only one you treat like a—a convict. I’d say a dog, but you treat Dima better than me. You’re just—just pretending to protect me, so you can keep me working for you.”

  Shoving away his arm from her waist, she sat up and glowered down at him, although he was an immobile, dark shape against the pale sheets.

  “And I’m through putting up with it,” she went on, her voice rising. “Through, do you hear me, Pete Vanko?”

  When he said nothing, she smacked his shoulder with her palm, hard enough to sting. “Are you listening to me, you big biker jerk?”

  “Ow.” He flinched and grabbed her hand, then pulled her off balance, down across his chest. “Yeah, I hear you. Jesus, didn’t think you had it in you, milaya. You’re a real bitch when you get revved up.”

  “Oh, of course you’d say that,” she hissed, struggling against his imprisoning arm, which tightened as she wriggled, his big hand cupping her ass. “You’re so—mmphh!”

  He shut her up by bringing her own hand, cupped in his, up to cover her mouth.

  “Calm down, woman. Didn’t say there’s anything wrong with speaking your mind. And do not try to knee me in the balls, or I will redden this ass.”

  He gave said ass a warning squeeze, and the hard note in his voice said he meant it.

  Seething, Lesa lay still, and he took their hands from her mouth. “Good girl. Now listen. I just need you to hang on another couple of days. You’re doing fine, just need to keep attention away from Marta.”

  “You mean on me,” she said bitterly. “Let everyone think I’m a low-life scum, while she waltzes around town in her tight little skirts and hooker shoes.”

  He snorted. “Told you, you can wear a short, tight skirt anytime you want. Far as hooker shoes, that’s fine too, if you wanna walk in ‘em. But yeah, that’s what I mean. Now, you in or not?”

  She stared down at him. He was a hard, hot bulk under her, the sexiest man she’d ever been or likely ever would be in a bed with, and the handsomest. He was also the most arrogant, and the one she disliked more than any other.

  “Am I in? Why should I be?” she demanded. “Huh? Give me one good reason why I should walk back in there and be your Judas goat. And don’t tell me it’s in return for your protection, because if I leave town, I wouldn’t need that, now would I?"

  She glared at his shadowed face. Yeah, bring it, big man. It seemed to her that some of the power had shifted to her, and about time.

  He sighed, as if put upon, his broad chest heaving under her breasts, which were currently pillowed on him. “Because I’ll make it worthwhile for you. Already giving you double time, I’ll throw in a bonus when it’s finished.”

  She stared at him. Wait. He was willing to pay her extra to accomplish whatever it was he was trying to do—trap Marta or whatever?

  “Why don’t you just accuse her, call the cops and be done with it?” she demanded. Why he hadn’t already done so, Lesa didn’t get. Although, not her problem if he was too dumb to spot the obvious.

  “Wish it was that simple,” he muttered. “Sorry, babe, I can’t tell you that. Club business. Now, you in or not?”

  “Am I in to keep being treated like shit by nice people?” she snapped. “You want me to do anymore of that, biker man, you can make that bonus five—no, eight hundred dollars, because I’ll miss more wages when I’m looking for another job.”

  “Double time plus eight hundred?” he repeated. “On top of tips?”

  “Hey, I earn those tips, and besides, she stole a lot more than that from you, didn’t she?”

  “Fine, eight hundred, but that’s final.”

  “And I want my phone back—now. If I have to be surrounded by hostility at work, I want to be able to talk to my sisters and my dad, and my f-friends.”

  He was silent for a moment—plotting, no doubt. She waited warily, resisting the urge to wriggle as his hand moved on the full curve of her bottom, stroking her. Darn it, darn it, how could she enjoy the touch of his warm, strong hand on her so much, when she despised him? One thing was for sure, she couldn’t reveal her weakness to him, or he’d take advantage of it.

  Plus, she needed him focused on her demands, not her body. If he refused, his ‘deal’ was off, and she was out of here, for good.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  “I’ll give the phone back,” Pete agreed, but then his grip tightened on Lesa's bottom. “But the first call you make is to your old man. You tell him you’re fine, tell him to stay put and not breathe a word to anyone. Flyers do not like anyone up in our shit. You get me?”

  “I get you,” she grumbled, pretending she was not abashed by the steel in his voice. It wasn’t like her dad knew anyone to tell, but she wasn’t going to tell Pete that.

  He gave her a light smack. “And the same goes for you—you use that pretty mouth for anything but taking orders and sucking on a straw, and you got problems—big ones. You think shit is bad now, you do not wanna find out how it can—and will—get worse.”

  She glared down at him. “I said I’d do it. Now you’re threatening me with more biker mayhem? You really are lower than a snake’s belly.”

  “You wanna look at it like that, go ahead. I see it as showing you my cards, so you know not to bet against me. ‘Cause you won’t win.”

  “Right,” she snorted. Showing her his club’s muscle, was more like it. “Now I want my phone—I’ll need to charge it.”

  “All right.”

  He let her go and rolled out of bed, reaching to snap on the bedside light before sauntering into his closet. Lesa watched him every step of the way. Holy hell, he had a tight, round ass and the long, brawny legs of an athlete. And his back, gahh�
�� it was a work of art.

  When he disappeared into his closet, she shook herself. No, no, no! He might be a woman’s raunchy sex dream come true, but he was an arrogant biker ass-hat who went through women faster than she did bags of M&M candies, and solved his problems with his hands and threats of biker mayhem.

  She scrambled out of the far side of the bed, and padded into the other bedroom to retrieve the charging cord for her phone.

  She had to bend over to reach the one outlet in the room, hidden behind the old nightstand. Hearing movement, she turned her head, and found herself facing Pete’s groin …in all his naked splendor.

  And she did mean splendor.

  She gasped aloud, her eyes wide. Oh, my God, he was gorgeous. Thick and long, suffused with arousal, the fat crown right there, where she could put out her tongue and lick it. See if that drop of arousal tasted salty. And sniff him there at the crease of his groin.

  "You can touch it if you want," he invited.

  Luckily, his voice broke his evil spell over her. Dropping her head, Lesa let her hair cover her burning face.

  She flapped her hand at him to move back, then flinched when she touched warm, hair-dusted skin. God, please don’t let that have been his privates. Yes, she wanted to touch them, and more. No, she was not going to, not again. “Can’t you cover that thing up?”

  “No.” He chuckled as he pushed her phone into her hand. “My house, my rules. You wanna pretend you don't like it, that’s on you. But we both know different, milaya moye.”

  Well, not like she expected any other reaction from him.

  She plugged in her phone, then straightened, gaze on the screen as she turned it on. A charging signal came up, but nothing more. Advantage, she had her phone back. Disadvantage, it was totally dead. She’d have to wait till morning to check her messages.

  Part of her wanted to curl up with it, and just doze until it had charged enough to be useful. Moving as she had in the last few years, the phone was her tether to home, her entertainment system, and her computer.