Breathing His Air Read online

  Breathing His Air

  Debra Kayn, author of Wildly

  Avon, Massachusetts

  This edition published by

  Crimson Romance

  an imprint of F+W Media, Inc.

  10151 Carver Road, Suite 200

  Blue Ash, Ohio 45242

  www.crimsonromance.com

  Copyright © 2013 by Debra Kayn

  ISBN 10: 1-4405-6647-X

  ISBN 13: 978-1-4405-6647-9

  eISBN 10: 1-4405-6648-8

  eISBN 13: 978-1-4405-6648-6

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, corporations, institutions, organizations, events, or locales in this novel are either the product of the author’s imagination or, if real, used fictitiously. The resemblance of any character to actual persons (living or dead) is entirely coincidental.

  Cover art © 123rf.com/14732875 and 16304825

  Wheels – This one’s for you, baby. For letting only me see that softness inside of you, while being the man that I’ve always needed and wanted. I’m honored and proud to be your woman. Sturgis, 2014. I’ll be the chick on the table, you’ll be the badass who carries me away and leaves bodies on the ground. Don’t worry, I’ll remember to hold on tight.

  Lukie – Helmet, son. Watch the speed. If you ever have doubts, ask yourself what you had for lunch … then get back on and ride.

  Bubba booey and Jimmy Beam – There will be two girls for two boys, and you’ll need two motorcycles. You’ll ride side by side on the same road, going the same direction.

  Sissy – Ah, you’ve lived through the embarrassment, you’ve fought and kicked what I knew was there all along. It took a biker rally, a singer, and a dude in the summer of 2012 for you to see the light. My job is done. Now I want my Harley Davidson shirt back.

  And last, but not least … Jennifer. Thank you for believing in me, trusting me, and sharing the love for a super alpha. I couldn’t have done this without you.

  Contents

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Chapter Forty

  Chapter Forty-One

  A Sneak Peek from Crimson Romance

  Also Available

  Chapter One

  The deep, rich scent of Colombian bean filled the eight-by-six shed on wheels. Tori Baldwin pulled the grape lollipop out of her mouth, tossed it in the garbage, and flipped the switch for the florescent green Open sign. Let’s make some money.

  She slid the window open and leaned outside. “Welcome to the Coffee Shack. What can I get you this morning?”

  An over-happy mother in an SUV with two kids sitting in the back seat held out a five-dollar bill. “I’d like a small latte, no whipped cream, please.”

  “Coming right up.” Tori stuck the small cup under the dispenser and turned to the woman. “Love advice is free with any order.”

  “Excuse me?” said the woman.

  “If you have a question or problem with your love life, I’ll give you advice on how to get back on track and smiling.” She slipped a drinking lid onto the cup and passed it through the window, taking the woman’s money. “Anything at all. I’m here to help.”

  “No, thanks. With kids and a husband I don’t have time to even think about a love life.” The woman laughed and waved off the change. “Keep it.”

  “Thank you.” She shrugged and waved to the next customer to pull forward.

  A German shepherd leaped over the lap of the driver and barked at her. She stepped away from the window, grabbed a dog biscuit from under the counter, and set the treat on the ledge. “What can I get you today?”

  “Straight, black coffee. Large.” A husky man with a dirty baseball cap pushed the dog down and followed it up with a pat. “Stay, Sergeant.”

  “Beautiful dog you have.” She poured the drink, added the lid, and handed it through the window. “Love advice is free with every purchase. Is there anything I can help you with today?”

  “Love?” He chuckled. “I don’t think so.”

  “Come on, you look like a guy some woman would be happy to meet.” She handed over the doggy treat. “Ask me anything at all.”

  His brows rose and he kept one hand on the dog. “Okay, I’ll give it a shot.”

  “Dude … you won’t regret it.” She grinned.

  “Where’s the best place to pick up women in this town?” He glanced in the rearview mirror. “Try to answer that one, ’cause I’m not having any luck. I’m a long-haul trucker, so I’m not around much but when I’m home, I’d like to have a little company. Maybe a home-cooked meal if you know what I’m saying.”

  “Gotcha.” She flipped her hair behind her shoulder and leaned forward. “Saturday night at Cactus Cove, there’s a waitress by the name of Ginger. She’s tired of normal pickup lines, so be blunt and upfront. Oh, and she has a cocker spaniel, so she loves dogs.”

  “Heh.” He removed his hat, ran his hand over his forehead. “Maybe I’ll stop in there. What can I lose, right?”

  “Not a penny. Ginger has brown hair down to her shoulders. About — she held her hand a few inches above her head — this tall. A real sweetie. Tell you what I’ll do. Give me your name. I’ll drop a few hints about you tonight when I go there for dinner.”

  He studied her, shook his head, and the laugh lines around his mouth deepened. “I can’t believe I’m doing this … ”

  “Your name?”

  “Dwayne,” he said.

  She handed him the change. “Great. Here you go, Dwayne, and good luck with Ginger.”

  “Uh, thanks.” He glanced back at her as he drove away, shaking his head in amusement.

  Tori hadn’t been joking. Ginger was looking for a steady man in her life.

  For the next four hours, customers came and went. Tori refilled the machines and prepared for the next wave to arrive when the line emptied. Only working the morning hours would be enough to finance her stay in the quiet, off-the-main-road town of Pitnam, Oregon, and put away a little cash each week for her next trip. Once she locked up for the day, she’d have enough time to check out the town and do her own thing.

  She wiped down the counters, sealed the containers of coffee, and closed the blinds. Pitnam offered her enough entertainment for a while
and was big enough she wouldn’t have to form any lasting relationships.

  For a brief time, she’d allow herself to fit in. She’d pretend she had what everyone else did. Then when the newness wore off and people started growing too close, she’d move on and reinvent herself somewhere else.

  She never regretted her nomad life. Not a single second thought happened during the day. But when she laid her head on the pillow to go to sleep, her dreams consumed her. When those wishes became too hard to control, she ran. A new location, new customers, and a new start.

  Hearing chest-thumping noise that rattled the mobile shack and sent the paper cups to falling on the counter, she glanced out the screen door. A group of men on motorcycles cruised around on the gravel, riding in a circle and stirring up dust.

  Well, they’d have to come back tomorrow for coffee. She was done for the day.

  After locking the Coffee Shack’s door, she walked around and double-checked the lock on the hitch. Unable to afford insurance, she devised a barrier to keep anyone from hooking onto the trailer and stealing her only source of income.

  Satisfied everything was sealed up tight, she walked across the parking lot, gazing over her shoulder, smiling at her turn of good luck. The corner of a parking lot on a busy road was the perfect place to set up business for a while.

  A biker pulled into the lot and veered in front of her. The hot air from the muffler blew across her bare legs, and she jumped away. Then another motorcycle skimmed the back of her knees, forcing her forward. The noise deafening, she tottered as one biker after another threatened to run her over.

  Her over-the-shoulder bag fell to the ground. She bent her arms and covered her breasts, dodging from left foot to right, avoiding the roar of the engines as they rode past her, circled, and came around her again. Heart racing, she stared in horror as they blocked her in.

  Dust from their tires clogged her throat. She coughed and turned in a circle, searching for an opening to escape. Afraid if she blinked, they’d run her over.

  One dude, beard down to the middle of his chest, skullcap tied over his windblown long hair, stopped in front of her. He leered, and a shiver skirted down her spine at seeing the white of his eyes.

  She sidestepped, but another rider moved in closer from behind her, forcing her to move right into Crazy Eyes’ bike. She squeaked and stopped herself from falling onto him by grabbing his arm.

  “Climb on.” Crazy Eyes motioned with his head.

  She shook her head. “No. No, thank you.”

  “I said, climb on.”

  That was a definite clue that she was over her head and in trouble. She sidestepped, but another biker cut off her retreat. “I don’t want to ride your motorcycle. Now move.”

  “Looks like she made her choice, Harry.” The newcomer to the roundup hitched his thumb over his shoulder. “Wrap those legs around me, bitch.”

  “You did not just say that to me.” She glanced in all directions. Shit.

  Four bikers boxed her in. Another row of riders circled them. She had no hope that some sane person would jump to her rescue.

  “Unbelievable,” she muttered, bending over to catcalls to pick up her purse.

  She straightened and glared. “Oh, knock it off. I really don’t want to ride on any of your bikes, so get the hell out of my — ”

  An engine roared, cutting the rest of her words off. She flinched. This wasn’t going the way she’d hoped. She’d have to try another tactic.

  “I’m Tori, I own the Coffee Shack.” She pointed toward her left at the mobile trailer at the corner of Cactus Cove’s parking lot.

  As if the riders planned it, they revved their bikes in answer. She planted her fists on her hips. “Can you stop that? I was going to say, I’ll give you free — ”

  The noise level increased, until she covered her ears. How did they expect to hear what she had to say if they kept interrupting and setting their bikes off?

  A hand grabbed her around the upper arm. She tugged and fell forward when she broke loose, and landed in Crazy Eyes’ lap. His arm went around her waist, and he hauled her in front of him on the bike. Oh, God.

  She screamed as she desperately tried to peel off his fat fingers, but he only laughed. At least, she thought he was laughing. She couldn’t be sure with all the noise, but his body shook.

  Pain — hot, flashing agony — pricked her calf. She jerked, screaming even louder. Her leg on fire, her heart raced, her throat burned, and she struck out blindly with her eyes squeezed shut.

  Then she was off Crazy Eyes, off the bike, and cradled in the arms of another man. Not any man, but another biker if she went by the long hair, leather under her hands where she held on to his shoulders, and a tattoo of a flame curling around the side of his neck and disappearing under his hair.

  She straightened her legs, trying to remove herself from him. He tightened his hold. “Stop wiggling.”

  That was when she realized all the bikes sat quiet and it wasn’t the roar of the engines thrumming the air, but her heart. “P-please. Let me down.”

  “Be still.”

  “I’d like to go home,” she said.

  “Not now.”

  “But — ”

  “Don’t argue.” He carried her out of the maze of bikes and across the parking lot.

  She gazed over his shoulder at the other bikers, her truck, the Coffee Shack. Nothing moved. “If you could just let me down, I’ll get out of your way. I’ll even pay you. How does free coffee for a week sound?”

  Her capture kicked the front door of Cactus Cove open and carried her through the bar, down a back hallway, and entered another room. The cool air inside made her leg burn even more.

  “I’m going to scream if you don’t let me go,” she said, pushing at his shoulders.

  She couldn’t budge her way out of his arms. She fisted her hand, brought it back, and forgot all about her plan to deck him when he deposited her on top of a desk.

  He pointed to her chest. “Don’t move.”

  Now that she could see all of him, she stared at the black leather vest, no shirt. Prepared to leave the room to find Gladys or Taylor, one of the waitresses she’d met Friday night, she froze with her foot on the floor and her hip still on the desk. On the backside of his vest, he had the word Bantorus scrolled over the expanse of his broad shoulders.

  He stopped in the doorframe without turning around. “I said, don’t move. I’m getting a first aid kit. Your leg needs cleaned. Be here when I come back.”

  “Fine.” She scooted farther away, sitting smack dab on the desk. “You don’t have to act so bossy. You could’ve just said you were helping me.”

  “Trust me, babe. I haven’t helped.” He walked out of sight.

  She frowned. What did he mean by that?

  Chapter Two

  Rain strode into the kitchen of Cactus Cove, grunted and opened the cabinet door under the counter, removing a first aid kit. Damn girl was going to get herself in trouble. The last thing he needed to do was help someone who didn’t belong in Bantorus territory in the first place.

  Bubba, the cook, stepped away from the open grill and acknowledged Rain with a lift of his chin. Rain returned the gesture as he left the kitchen. His manager, Gladys, had a lot to answer for in the morning.

  Why Gladys thought it was okay to allow a coffee shop to park in his parking lot without asking his permission rubbed him wrong. He still ran the show around here, and she’d gone against club rules.

  What he didn’t like was coming home after being on the road for three weeks to find hell breaking out in his territory with the Lagsturns in town. Now he had a woman, a non-biker, hanging around. That was asking for more trouble.

  He pushed through the swinging doors, stalked down the hallway, and entered his office. His gaze went to the woman, and s
he scooted to the edge of his desk. He guessed her age at around twenty-four.

  “I said, don’t move.” He threw down the kit beside her, taking in her long legs. “The more you wiggle, the worse it’s going to hurt.”

  She froze. “What are you going to do with me?”

  He grabbed her ankle and lifted. “Clean your leg.”

  “What?” She scrambled backward, and he tugged her back to the edge of the desk. “You can’t touch me.”

  “Saved your life. I’ll touch you when I want to.” He twisted his wrist, turning her to her hip so he could see her calf. “You need leather.”

  She gasped, and he wondered if she even remembered she’d burnt her leg on the side of the muffler the way she stared at him. He removed the Solarcaine and popped the lid. She seemed flighty for someone who ran a business.

  “Stings,” he said, right before he pushed the nozzle.

  The spray hit the angry blister, the size of his fist. She sucked in her breath and squirmed to get away. He tightened his hold, not letting her move an inch. The last thing she needed to do was get an infection.

  “Shit.” She panted. “Shit. Shit. Shit. Stings.”

  “Told you.” He fought a grin, leaned over, and blew on her leg without taking his gaze off her face. She clamped her teeth together, her eyes rounded, and she stopped breathing.

  Several seconds passed.

  “Breathe.” He inhaled, and then continued to blow softly over her raw flesh.

  Damn, she was sexy all shocked and surprised. Something he tried to ignore, and hell if he could. She was something else.

  The frilly red apron with white ruffles around the edges covered the skimpy shorts and tank she wore. No wonder the guys had laid into her. She looked like a high-class stripper minus the pole with an overload of goofiness.

  Even the spiked heels matched her outfit. Sex shoes. He grew lightheaded and stopped blowing. The only place she should wear them was in bed with her man, not outside a biker bar.

  He opened a four-by-four piece of gauze and smeared antibiotic cream over the blister. Then he covered her burn without any warning. He spared her a look, making sure she didn’t move or pass out. After he taped her bandage on, he straightened.