Rather Be Wrong: Ronacks Motorcycle Club Read online

  "No."

  "Rod, if you're trying to set everything up to have me come home with you and have sex, you suck at getting me in a good mood." Her words were light, but her gaze laid heavy on him. "You either want me, or you don't. I'm not asking for breakfast in the morning nor do I want you to ask my father's permission for a sleepover."

  He growled making her brows lift. "What I say and do with Swiss has nothing to do with you."

  "Really?"

  "There are club rules," he said. "Swiss is a part of us no matter how much you want to keep your private life from him."

  "No, he's not, but..." She shrugged. "I don't want to fight."

  "Nobody is fighting."

  Her gaze flickered back and forth between his eyes, she was close to him, and plans were set. He had her exactly where he wanted her and yet shadows hid what was going through her head.

  "Okay, so I'm going home with you," she said.

  He chuckled, feeling lighter than he had in weeks. "You can pretend you have a choice, Heather. But, I knew this would happen a long time ago."

  "When?"

  "When did I know I wanted you?"

  She licked her bottom lip. "Yeah."

  "When your right hook met my face and I decided to find out where all your fight and passion came from. I wanted all that sexiness to be mine."

  Her gaze softened, and she whispered, "That's wrong."

  "Wrong or right, it is what it is," he whispered back.

  "More drinks," shouted a male customer.

  Heather inhaled swiftly and stepped back out of his touch. "I-I need to go work."

  He nodded, and she walked away with an extra sway in her step. The warmth left behind from Heather dissipated and the skin over his spine prickled. He scanned the room, catching the Ronacks members all concentrating on the entrance of the bar.

  On instant alert, he swiveled on the stool.

  A man over six-foot-tall with a cockiness someone in his mid-fifties should've lost as a teenager stood staring straight at Rod. The familiar smirk on the man's face ruined his whole night.

  Rod's body tensed and without looking to see where Heather was, he stood and stalked to the front of the bar. Raising his hand, he pointed at the door. "Get out."

  "Where's the 'how you doing, brother?' or 'what brings you around?'" Tim Lawson, Rod's older brother, stepped forward, closing the distance.

  "I'd have to give a shit about seeing you, and I don't." Rod stayed between Tim and the room, protecting Heather. Alert for any sudden movement from his older brother, Rod continued. "Leave before I force you out."

  "Come on, little brother." Tim reached out. "I came—"

  Rod grabbed Tim's wrist and had his pistol jabbed into his brother's side before the rest of the sentence was spoken. "Outside."

  Swiss and LeWorth flanked Rod's sides. "Rod?"

  "He needs an escort out of town, and it'd be best if I'm not around him. He'll need to hoof it by foot. I just want him out of my fucking sight." Rod shoved his brother ahead of him, keeping his pistol on him. "He'll have two weapons on him. Under his shirt and probably his boot."

  "We'll take everything off him outside. The customers are already getting curious." Swiss stepped in front of Rod.

  Once his two MC brothers had Tim outside away from him, Rod returned to the bar where Mel, JayJay, Choke, and Sander surrounded Gia, Raelyn, and Heather. He rubbed the palm of his hand against his whiskers.

  Deeply buried anger burned in his stomach. The silence and questions unasked poked him, making him defensive.

  In his life, he was used to things going well until they went to shit. Once again—and he'd lost track of how many times he'd had to explain away his problems—he prepared himself to smooth out the trouble falling on his shoulders.

  "Everything is okay." Rod looked at Raelyn. "Go ahead and buy a round of beer for everyone and put it on my tab. That'll lighten the mood of the room."

  Raelyn nodded and grabbed a tray of mugs, carrying them over to the tap.

  "Did we get lucky tonight in finding who attacked you?" asked Mel.

  Rod shook his head. "It's nothing more than cleaning up the shit in town."

  The others moved back to the table, and Gia squeezed Heather's hand before stepping away to help Raelyn serve the drinks. Heather leaned into him, and he smoothed the worry around her mouth.

  "Everything's okay," he said.

  She ran her fingers down the edge of his vest. "I don't doubt it, but who was that man?"

  "Nobody important."

  Her hands stilled. "He knew you."

  "Lots of people know me, sassy." He gathered her hands, turned her away from him, and put his lips near her ear. "There's only an hour until closing. The only thing I want you to think about is if you're going to let me undress you when we get to my house or if we should fuck against the front door and save the stripping until later."

  She turned her head and looked over her shoulder. He kissed her forehead and nudged her away.

  "Go work, sassy," he said.

  She walked away, running her hands over the back of her cutoffs. He sighed. There were ten good reasons why he should walk away now and leave Heather to her comfortable existence without the stress of having him in her day to day life.

  He sat his ass on the stool.

  He wasn't going anywhere.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Rod stopped his motorcycle at the gate outside his house. Heather shifted to get off the bike and Rod put his hand on her leg.

  "LeWorth will get it," said Rod over the rumble of the engine.

  True to his word, LeWorth jogged over and tapped on the keypad. The electronic gate opened, and Rod rode into his yard. She looked over her shoulder. The other Ronacks members pulled away when the gate closed.

  All the new information coming at her about Rod threw her off balance and the excitement of knowing she'd finally get time alone with him faded as she started to feel disconnected from him.

  Not that Rod wasn't a complete mystery to her. He was. Yet, he was a good man. Some things were obvious.

  His attention toward her.

  His protective streak.

  His dedication to the club.

  Rod parked in front of the garage door and shut off the engine. She slid off the back of the bike, and as soon as she got her balance, Rod took her arm and escorted her into the house without giving her a chance to breathe.

  The unanswered questions and warnings about him couldn't be ignored.

  How could he push her away after investing time to get to know her?

  What made him feel as if she had no choice in being with him?

  Who was the man who'd upset Rod at the bar?

  She removed her purse strap from around her neck and dropped her purse to the floor next to the door. Rod turned on a lamp, shucked his vest and tossed it on a nearby leather chair.

  He turned around and leaned against the back of a black leather couch and inhaled deeply. "What did you decide?"

  "About?"

  His gaze lowered to her breasts. "The door or the bedroom?"

  A shiver went through her, and she walked away from her position at the closest exit and strolled around the perimeter of his living room without answering him. She wasn't sure what she wanted anymore.

  No, that wasn't true. She glanced at him watching her. She wanted him, but she needed more. Some side of him that he refused to give everyone else. She wanted to feel special to him.

  "Who was the man at the bar tonight?" she asked.

  "Nobody important."

  She wasn't so sure. Whoever the man was had riled Rod, and not once had she ever found him agitated or showing any kind of anger, except after the attack on him. Switching gears, she said, "That night you were attacked, you'd told me we'd have sex soon."

  "I remember."

  "Good." She inhaled deeply. "Sometimes I wonder if I remember everything before that night correctly. Seeing you laying there in all that blood—"

 
"Heather?"

  "Hm?"

  "I never stopped wanting you," he said.

  She stopped in front of the barren fireplace mantel. His home lacked any kind of décor. More a mismatched ensemble of furniture that he'd bought at different stages in his life without any real thought of making his house a home. She glanced down at the floor. Apparently, he held another secret she didn't know about. She counted one, two, no, five pairs of boots scattered on the floor.

  All of them black.

  All of them leather.

  "The dog collects every single pair of boots I own out of my closet when I'm away from the house too long and carries them to the living room," said Rod.

  She turned toward him. "Where is your dog?"

  "Around." He shrugged. "She's got...issues."

  She laughed softly. "What kind of issues does a dog have?"

  "More than you can imagine." He scratched his chest. "Shyness is one of them. If I had to guess, she sensed someone besides me in the house, and she's hiding under the bed in the spare bedroom."

  "I would've thought you'd have a guard dog." She leaned over and picked up a pair of his boots, setting them on the hearth. "You know, to match the biker image you've got going on."

  "Is that right?" he said.

  She straightened and warmed at the low timbre of his voice he only used around her, and she'd begun to need from him. "Yes."

  He strolled toward her. "Looks and personality can be deceiving."

  "How so?" She lifted her chin to keep eye contact the closer he got to her.

  "I believe Girl—that's my dog's name—will rise to the occasion when I need her." He stopped in front of her and put his hands on her hips.

  The air left her lungs at his touch, and she swallowed. "You named your dog Girl?"

  "Mm-hm." He leaned into her, bending his head, and put his lips to her temple. "I believe even the most scared female will protect someone she loves. I'd never underestimate Girl. She's loyal above all her issues, which makes her the perfect dog...for me."

  She let her head fall back giving him more access to her throat as his lips trailed a burning path along her jaw. Secretly jealous of his relationship with his dog after his explanation, she craved getting to know him more and showing him she could be loyal, too.

  Amusement tickled her at comparing herself to a dog or maybe Rod's tongue caused her to squirm. Maybe the reason no longer mattered. She cupped his ass with her hands, and he thrust his pelvis against her.

  "Bed," he said against her lips, backing her deeper into the house.

  "Door. Bed. Floor. Wherever you want." She grabbed his hands, half pulling him along, opening her mouth to his tongue.

  His mouth was firm and warm. She freely gave away her strength to melt in his hands and let him sweep her away. God, she couldn’t fight against the feelings he evoked.

  The back of her legs hit the bed, and he slipped his hands under her shirt. His rough touch burned her flesh in the most pleasurable way and left tingles down her spine.

  Her belly rolled, warming her insides.

  He made everything okay. The back and forth, the hot and cold, the odd signals they both gave to each other were only symptoms of their attraction. She believed in herself. In him. The feelings filling her felt good, tempting, thrilling.

  Yet she put her hands on his chest and slowed him down. Tonight was more than a chance to finally have sex with him. She'd almost lost him, and she couldn’t ignore that she'd latched onto the thought of him leaving her and the tailspin he'd sent her in.

  She would doubt everything that had happened the second she was alone. Her ability to keep her distance afterward, knowing he only wanted to enjoy her, not start a relationship, lacked substance. She'd assume he'd go to another woman and soon forget her. Her track record and the messed-up years where everything went wrong gave her no confidence in what she was doing.

  God, she came to him as a royal mess.

  “I...,” she said. Her voice was oddly weak and pathetic.

  She inhaled deeply. She could do this. Everything in her life was going smoothly. She had a job, a family, and friends. Most of all she was in a good place to reconnect with her dad, and she loved the intimate community of Haugan where she could finally spread her wings.

  What she lacked with Rod was time. She needed more days, weeks, months.

  Her thoughts scattered the faster her heart beat.

  She'd lost her dad too soon, found him too late. Her mom died when she still needed her. She'd known loneliness, and at twenty-six years old, she understood how years could fly by and yet regrets made each day slow to a crawl.

  She wanted no regrets. Not with Rod.

  “Heather?” Rod removed his shirt.

  She closed her eyes for an extra second. “I'm okay.”

  “What's going on in your head?” he said.

  He definitely wasn’t like the other men she’d dated. She unbuttoned her shorts and shimmied out of her clothes while watching him remove his boots, his jeans, and stepping toward her without any clothing on his magnificent body. He stayed highly attuned to her every mood.

  "I-I want you," she whispered.

  The hardened muscles on his thighs bulged with each step. His chest—a chest she'd studied for hours while he fought for his life in her bed—appeared stronger, bigger. She opened her mouth to try and explain more about what was going on with her and changed her mind.

  "You got me." His gaze intensified and he slipped his fingers into her hair.

  His tongue touched hers, and her whole body moaned. Heat shot through her, leaving her weak. A vibration of excitement settled between her legs.

  Pushing all her concerns away until she had a chance to deal with everything when she was alone, she kissed him back. She slid her hands up his chest carefully, aware of his healing wound, to his shoulders and curled around his neck, pulling him closer. He seemed to feed off her response, because he scooped her into his arms, deepening the kiss.

  Barely aware of him taking her to his bed, she lost herself to the security that he knew what he was doing and would take care of her. It wasn’t until he pressed her down onto the mattress that she realized he was the one in complete control of the situation. And she liked the change.

  All of her sexual experience came when she was the one making the decisions. She’d never had anyone push her, but deep down she understood he was giving her time to come to her own decisions about their night together.

  He pulled back and mumbled, "Condom."

  No sooner had his mouth gone away, he came back down to her. She collided with him, wild with passion. She pressed against him, glided her hands down his back, cupping his ass, pulling him tight to her.

  She no longer tried to find a reason to back away from becoming involved with Rod. For the moment, she was beautiful, sexy, and free to gamble with her happiness.

  She bucked against him and then gasped at the urgency and roughness coming from her. Tearing her mouth away from his, she said, "I'm sorry."

  His body stiffened. "For?"

  "Your stomach. I don't want to hurt you."

  A low chuckle vibrated his chest. "Can't."

  “What?” she whispered, disoriented.

  “You can't hurt me.” He dipped his head and captured her ear, giving a tug. "You can do whatever you want to me, sassy."

  With no hesitation, she slid her hand between their bodies and wrapped her fingers around the width of his cock. Rod's sudden intake of air created a flood of warmth in her. She stroked, long and firm, caressing the hot, smooth, hardness.

  He growled. “Does holding my dick in your hand turn you on?”

  "God, yes."

  “It's yours. Use it, abuse it, play with it." He thrust into her hand.

  Electricity sparked between her legs in the most pleasurable away, and she squeezed tighter, holding him to his word that there would be more sex. More togetherness. More touching.

  She inhaled deeply through her nose. “More,” sh
e mumbled.

  He tilted her chin. “You know what you’re doing to me, but you have no fucking idea what I can do for you."

  She swallowed. He always seemed to say the right things. It gave her confidence to keep going. She wanted to find out what he planned for her.

  He rolled to the side, handing her the condom. She sat up and reluctantly let go of his cock, opened the pouch, and rolled on the protection.

  "Perfect." He rolled back on top of her. "Ready?"

  “Okay.” She inhaled a shuddering breath.

  Then, his body moved forward.

  How could she forget how big and domineering he was when he was close? All hard, heated, and determined. His strong hands slid behind her head, holding her.

  “Rod?” she whispered as his lips trailed along her neck. She jolted at the tender nip and then suck on the sensitive skin.

  His deep chuckle vibrated through her. “Feel. Don’t think.”

  She was feeling. Too much. Too soon.

  He brought his hand out from behind her head, slid his fingers down her arm, and over her rib cage. She stopped breathing. Her lungs refused to work. Her pussy spasmed, coiling her higher.

  “Breathe,” he said against her skin.

  His knuckles skimmed the bottom swell of her breast, and a deep throb pulsed through her.

  “Rod?” She panted.

  “Are we really going to talk? Cause we talked enough at the bar.” He slid down, trailing kisses along the length of her stomach.

  She dropped her hold on him and clutched the bedspread. “I just want to—”

  His tongue slid over her clit. “Hm?”

  Delicious warmth flooded her body. She arched her neck, and relaxed her legs, giving him better access. The urgent question fled her brain.

  “Never mind." She opened her mouth and gasped.

  “Fucking perfect,” he muttered between strokes of his tongue

  Because Rod had a plan. A plan she wasn’t going to argue about because it was the best idea she'd heard in years. She stopped worrying about exposing herself and giving too much away. There was no way it was physically possible for her to utter a word of protest.

  Lying in his bed, weak from pleasure, his head between her legs, she became aware that letting him take over, to see to her needs, was the best thing she’d ever experienced. For the first time ever, she wasn't responsible for anyone's happiness, comfort, or feelings.