Joanna Wylde: Reaper's Property

They sat at the table drinking their tea and talking until Jeff got home. It felt like he took hours, even though he made it in record time. At one point the big guy reached over and peeked under the towel covering the bread dough, which was in danger of rising way too high if I didn’t get it into the oven soon.

Crap.

I wasn’t going out there though. Not until they were gone.

Unfortunately, they didn’t seem to be in the mood to leave. When Jeff rolled up in his aging Firebird they all stood around and talked for a while. Then they got up and walked toward our front door. Big Guy glanced toward my window and even though I knew he couldn’t possibly see me, his eyes seemed to lock on mine.

As they came inside, Jeff was smiling and looking relaxed. The others were too. Everything was friendly and I frowned, wondering if I’d imagined just how serious he’d been with me on the phone.

“Sis, my associates are going to stay for dinner,” he announced grandly. “You better go get your bread, I think it’s done rising. You guys are gonna love this, Marie’s bread is amazing. She’ll fix you a fuckin’ great dinner.”

I smiled at him a little shakily, cussing him out in my head. What the hell? Sure, I cooked for him, but I didn’t want to cook for this group. They scared me, which combined oddly with my disobedient body’s desire to jump Big Guy’s bones. I couldn’t think of a way out of it though, not without breaking our little pretense that there was nothing weird about three scary biker dudes showing up out of nowhere.

Not only that, the bread would be ruined if I didn’t cook it soon. I had spaghetti sauce simmering on the stove and it smelled amazing. I couldn’t even claim it was too hot to use the oven because we had a couple of those little window air conditioners chugging along like the Little Engine That Could, so the interior was pretty comfortable. The men settled themselves in the living room, except for Big Guy, who pulled out one of the stools at the kitchen bar, which was also our table. He sat down, leaning back against the wall comfortably, arms crossed in front of him.

He’d be able to watch me cook the whole time while still following the action in the living room.

I ran out to get the bread while Jeff turned on the TV. When I got back there was some kind of fighting on. Not wrestling this time, but real fighting in some sort of cage.

“Grab us some beers, sweet butt,” said the third guy, a dark-haired man with slightly pock-marked cheeks. I bit my lip. I really didn’t like being called that. Not only was it degrading, there was some sort of nasty implication in the way he said it. But Jeff glanced up at me and mouthed “please”, so I set down the bread, went to the fridge and pulled out four beers. They ignored me for the most part while I fixed dinner, except for my Big Guy. Every few minutes I’d look up to find him watching me, pensive. He didn’t smile, he didn’t talk to me, nothing. Just studied me, with special attention for my boobs (smaller than some but perkier than most) and ass (slightly larger than I’d like).

I grabbed a beer for myself, relaxing after a while and rolling with it. I supposed I should be indignant that he just sat there, blatantly checking me out, but it felt kind of good to have a man appreciate me.

It’d been a long time.

By the time I pulled the bread out of the oven the fight on TV had ended. I set out some hot pads for the pasta and sauce and grabbed the salad. The guys fell on the food like a bunch of starving animals.

“This is amazing,” the man with blue eyes said, as if seeing me as a person for the first time. He had strong, sculpted features and I decided he was pretty hot for an old guy. “You can really cook. My old lady used to cook like this.”

“Thanks,” I said, hoping I wasn’t blushing. This might go down as the oddest dinner party of my life, but I loved to cook for people who appreciated good food. In fact, during high school I’d planned on going to culinary school.

Thanks for nothing, Gary.

Big Guy didn’t say anything, but I noticed he took seconds and then thirds of everything. While they finished, I started cleaning up, but he reached across the bar and grabbed my arm.

“You might want to go for a drive,” he said, jerking his chin toward the door. “We’ve got business.”

I glanced over at Jeff, who offered me a placating smile.

“Do you mind, sis?” he asked. I shook my head, although I felt a twinge at leaving without even learning their names. Somehow over the course of dinner they’d stopped scaring me, turning alarmingly human. I knew when I wasn’t wanted though, and I owed it to Jeff not to cause trouble. I smiled brightly at everyone and went to the door, grabbing my purse off the rack next to it.

“Well, nice to meet all of you, um…”

Mr. Blue Eyes, who I noticed had the word “President” written on his vest, grinned.

“I’m Picnic, and these are my brothers, Horse and Max,” he said.

I glanced over at Big Guy. Horse? What kind of name was that? And they really didn’t look like brothers…

“Nice to meet you, Mr. Picnic,” I said, holding back my questions.

“Just Picnic. Thanks again for the food.”

Horse stood.

“I’ll walk you out to your car,” he said, his voice low and rumbly. Jeff’s eyes opened wide, and he jerked his head, then stilled. Picnic smirked at me knowingly.

“Take your time, we can wait,” he said to Horse, reaching down and pulling my keys out of his pocket, tossing them to me. I walked out into the warm sun of the late-summer evening, Horse following me. He snagged my hand, leading me to the table. My heart raced with every step. I had no idea what was about to happen, but part of me really wanted him to touch me.

Maybe.

Probably not.

Shit.

Horse tucked his hands under my arms, popping me up onto the table. Then he slid them down my sides, wedging them between my legs and pushing my knees gently apart. He stepped between them and leaned into me.

I’m pretty sure I came close to stroking out.

“I don’t think this is a good idea,” I said, glancing back at the house, heart hammering. Jeff wouldn’t like it. Horse was dangerous. I could smell it on him. Seriously. Under the delicious scent of leather, light sweat and man was a pungent strain of pure trouble. “I mean, everyone is waiting for you, right? I can just go, let’s just forget this, okay?”

He didn’t say anything, just studying me with that cool, expressionless face of his.

“That how you gonna play it, sweet butt?”

“I’m not your sweet butt,” I snapped, narrowing my eyes. I hated getting called things like that. Gary did it all the time. Why did they keep calling me that?

To hell with him and to hell with Gary too.

Men.

“Fuck off,” I said, glaring at him.

Horse gave a bark of laughter, the sound sudden and loud in the silence, which pulled me back to reality. His hands tucked around my waist, jerking me into his body where my crotch immediately came up against what had to be a pretty healthy erection.

He swiveled his hips into mine, slowly dragging it up and across my clit. I’m ashamed to admit that I creamed my pants right then and there instead of kicking him in the nuts like a sensible girl. He leaned over and I held my breath, waiting for him to kiss me. Instead he whispered in my ear.

“Nice ass. Sweet. Butt.”

I didn’t like his tone, so I bit his ear. Hard.

He jumped back, and I wondered if he was going to kill me. Instead he started laughing so hard I thought he might pull a muscle. I scowled, and he held up his arms to each side in pointed surrender.

“I get it, hands off,” he said, shaking his head, bemused. “Play it the way you like. And you’re right, we’ve got business. Go drive for an hour, that should be enough time.”