Biker B*tch Read online

  Biker B*tch

  Andie J. Christopher

  Copyright © 2017 by Andie J. Christopher

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Cover by Romanced by the Cover

  Edited by Jennifer L. Herrington

  Copyedited by Jessica Snyder

  Contents

  About This Book

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  Also by Andie J. Christopher

  About This Book

  Skyler Clark knows she'll have to face her past when returns to the Russian River Valley to make pinot noir. People in the small town where she grew up haven't forgotten her father – a country doctor turned outlaw motorcycle club president – and his fall from grace. But as long as she keeps her own business squeaky clean and stays away from bikers, she'll be fine.

  Abner Travis sold his family's vineyard and winery to build up his business. And he's the president of a clean motorcycle club that does things the overburdened sheriff's department can't. He's too busy making sculptures for Hollywood directors and quietly sabotaging meth labs to chase a woman. But now that Skyler's all grown up, he wants her for his own. He just has to convince her that their dark, shared history shouldn't get in the way.

  Travis is the one thing Skyler can't resist, but she doesn’t believe they can last. When her father's old club puts Skyler's business and safety at risk, she has to decide whether to place her trust in Travis or to walk away. And Travis has to decide how much he'll give up to keep the woman he loves.

  * * *

  Warning: Contains a dead sexy biker who will pull on your pigtails, but only if you beg.

  1

  Ten Years Ago

  The wood door hit the wall of the old barn, echoing like a gunshot.

  Then Travis walked in, and her heart nearly stopped. “Don’t you have some sort of party to be at, Carrots?”

  She never should have told Travis about Anne of Green Gables. But, when she was ten, she used to imagine that his teasing meant he loved her, and they’d end up married with seven kids in a house of dreams. Except she’d be the doctor and he’d help his dad and brother on the vineyard.

  The only detail he remembered was that stupid nickname. What would he call her if she dyed her hair black?

  “Nope. No party for me, Abner,” she said and he rolled his eyes at her use of his given name. Apparently, he was named after some long-dead relative, but he went by his last name because he didn’t want to “sound like a pussy.”

  “Good thing I brought one with me.” He held up a bottle he’d obviously pilfered from the winery along with a six-pack. That was the other problem with her future Mr. and Mrs. Travis plans. Travis hated wine and never intended to make any.

  And his brother was dead because of her dad.

  She didn’t know why she had come to the Travis property after the ceremony, but there was nowhere else she felt like she could be. Her whole life felt contaminated, and she saw everything now as though a brown filter had permanently dropped over her eyes. Sitting in her bedroom, all the pink, frilly stuff had a film over it now. And she was utterly alone—except for Travis.

  Her father was in jail, awaiting trial; he’d probably never come home. She didn’t want him to. She never wanted to see him again. And she didn’t want to think about what a mess her life was tonight.

  She reached for the bottle.

  “Thanks.” She couldn’t help the smile that spread over her face; she only hoped it didn’t look too much like worship. But, if Travis hadn’t gotten the fact that she wanted him by now, he wasn’t ever going to pick up on it by the way she looked at him.

  “Can’t have you graduating without a celebration.”

  She shrugged. “Didn’t really feel like being around all those people.”

  She’d been the only girl without a parent at her graduation. All of her classmates leaving the nuns at St. Agnes behind had at least one person there to take their picture. Their wide smiles, fancy white dresses, and giggles gave her a headache.

  “Must be hard being better than all of them,” he said.

  Even though her belly squeezed at praise from him, she knew she wasn’t better than anyone. The cops arrested her the same night Travis’s brother died. The only reason she hadn’t been in the house with Isaac when he died was because she got pulled over by the police.

  Skyler rubbed her wrists where the handcuffs had cut into her and left angry, red welts. She could still feel the cold steel against her skin. She’d struggled against the restraints and her own thoughts, unable to believe her father would let her get arrested.

  “I don’t even know why I went.”

  Travis stayed silent, as if he could sense she was about to say more. “I guess I owed it to Sister Margaret to show up after she made sure I didn’t lose my scholarship because of what my dad made me do.”

  That night, after she bit her lips raw and cried every tear she had, she saw everything clearly. Her whole life—the town doctor’s daughter, the nice clothes, the Catholic schoolgirl image—was a lie. Her dad was the president of an outlaw motorcycle club. He’d been trafficking prescription drugs, and he got Travis’s brother killed by letting him join the gang.

  “Who didn’t make you feel welcome?”

  “Ginger and her merry band of tanorexic skanks.”

  “Want me to go yell at her?”

  Travis always protected Skyler. And, somehow, he wasn’t mad at her. He didn't blame her for the fact that they were there alone. Before, Isaac would have been there with them. Drinking twice as much beer as Travis, laughing. They probably would work on one of their bikes, making it run well and look perfect.

  Isaac’s presence had always buffered the ache that consumed her around Travis. Isaac had acted like a big brother, much more so than Travis ever had. But now that they were here alone, her need for Travis to touch her only intensified.

  The thought of him going to Ginger’s house, talking to her, made her want to slap the snot out of the other girl. “Not worth it. She’s such an airhead, she’d think you were flirting.”

  He laughed and heat bloomed in her cheeks. Why did he have to be so—beautiful? Tall and rangy, with chin-length blond hair tucked behind his ears. His lips were almost too full for a guy. She wanted to feel them against her face. All over her, really.

  He popped the wine cork out with his pocketknife then handed her the bottle and put the tool in his jeans in one motion. Everything he did looked so effing cool.

  “Be careful not to get any on that pretty white dress.”

  He’d never complimented her on the way she looked. She never felt pretty around him—mostly because he always dated girls with huge racks and tiny brains. Basically, the opposite of her.

  “It does
n’t fit anyway.” It was true; the white shift—everyone had to wear white during the ceremony—gaped in the chest. Her nickname fit her hair color and her stick-like body. Almost everything she owned gaped or came too far above her knees for the nuns. She wished she were wearing something short so that he might notice her.

  He came close, and she caught a whiff of him. Sweat and the sunshine his T-shirt had dried in. That was nothing new. Neither was the desire to bury her face in his chest. When he sat next to her, his whole side against hers, she rubbed her feet together to release the tension building in her body.

  This need to be near him had only escalated since the funeral. Seeing him so sad, so alone made her want him more. It was sick but true. She wanted to give him something, some comfort, happiness. But he didn’t want that from her.

  Everywhere they were connected, her skin was too hot, clammy. The room closed up, and her throat dried out. She took a long pull of the wine. Pinot, her favorite. The Travis Family Vineyard and Winery made some of the best in Sonoma.

  “Slow down, Carrots. My mom would have my ass if I got you drunk.”

  They both knew Debbie was too sick with grief to care, but she would have before. Skyler missed before. They could pretend for tonight.

  Travis opened a can of beer and drank deeply. His rough, callused fingers made dents in the aluminum, and his knuckles were white.

  He looked at her out of the side of his eyes. She was pretty sure he wanted to get rid of her. Why did he come out here knowing he’d probably find her anyway? They shouldn’t be together; he was the town’s golden son. She was nothing anymore.

  “What’s wrong?” She had to know, but her stomach clenched when she heard the aluminum pop from his fingers tightening.

  With his other hand, he pulled a joint out of his pocket. When he finished the beer, he lit it up and took a drag.

  “You want?” His voice held a dare.

  She’d never done it, and who didn’t smoke pot at least once before they started college? Almost everyone thought she was a bad girl anyway. She took the joint and took a long drag. After she coughed for a few seconds, a cloud of smoke surrounded them in a blanket of calm. She sipped more wine, and he opened another beer.

  “Skyler?” She liked it when he called her by her real name.

  His heat came nearer. He was so close she had to crane her neck to look him in the eye. They were so blue. Like the sky over the vineyard. She’d never forget them. Not even if she kissed a hundred boys during her first hundred days of college.

  “Yeah?”

  “It’s a really pretty dress. White’s perfect for you. Pure.”

  Disquiet filled her belly. She couldn’t quite work up anger with the hydroponic weed and wine clouding her brain. And he’d called her pretty again.

  If he knew how many times she’d imagined him touching her, he wouldn’t think she was pure. Heck, she’d even conjured up Travis when she’d made out with Mike Lopez in the back of his mom’s minivan the summer after sophomore year. It had almost made his clumsy fondling worth it. Almost.

  “I don’t want to be,” she said.

  “Pure?”

  Skyler shook her head.

  “You can’t help it. You just are.”

  “Even now?”

  “Especially now. You stay that way no matter what.” He shook his head and took another drink. “I can’t believe I’m not going to see you every day.”

  “You wanted to?”

  “I’ve been counting on it since Isaac died.”

  Her gaze darted all over the room, over the crates stacked in the corner and the tools on the wooden table in front of her. She’d always had the impression that their mom made Isaac and Travis hang out with her. The notion that he actually wanted her around lifted her heart for a moment. And then it dropped again when she remembered that he only wanted her around because Isaac, his best friend from birth, was gone. She was the only one who understood how he was feeling.

  “I’m sorry.” Her voice cracked on the second word.

  “Don’t be, Carrots. You have to leave. You’re better than all this shit.” He looked over at her. “I’m not the kind of guy who gets to need a girl like you.”

  She blushed when his gaze lit on her face. When he ran his fingertips up and down her arm, she shivered and pressed her thighs tighter together.

  He grabbed her chin and took the bottle out of her hands. Somewhere in the last few minutes, they’d finished the joint. Her head was light and empty, but it wasn’t just the weed and the wine. She didn’t start shaking because she was high and a little drunk.

  She shook because he touched her like he wanted her. His fingers against her skin and his heavy eyes on her lips were nothing like she’d imagined. It was so much more.

  Her whole life hung there between them, suspended and timeless until he dipped his head and took a shallow pull from her lips. Skyler’s lower belly seized and a whimper escaped from her throat. Her heart raced and her skin was sticky. Even the linen dress was too much against her body.

  Her fingers bunched in his T-shirt. She wanted underneath. She knew what it looked like—all work-toned muscle and sinew. She’d seen him working around the vineyards, sweaty, tired, and strong. He always acted like he didn’t notice her watching him, or the way she stumbled over words around him. But one kiss from his mouth had her questioning everything. He kissed her as though maybe he’d wanted her all along.

  He took the next kiss deeper and tasted like everything the nuns told her to avoid. If this was what hell tasted like, she’d sign up for a one-way trip.

  His hands tightened on her arms, and he maneuvered their bodies so that she sat up on the bench and he knelt between her legs. His hands slid her dress up her thighs. His squeezing grip was the only thing that kept her from floating away.

  His lips moved from her mouth to her neck, where he sucked her skin like he was trying to mark her. But she didn’t care. It was probably the only way she’d know this really happened and she hadn’t made it all up.

  She’d burrowed her fingers under his shirt. He raised his arms and let her pull it over his head before he slid the zipper down on her dress. She arched into his chest when he stroked her bare back. For the first time since middle school, she was grateful she didn’t need a bra. He pulled the top of her dress down and kissed her again. Skin to skin.

  He growled into her neck and stroked her hair, combing his fingers through the long waves. She stirred her hips and pulled at him with her thighs. She needed him to do something, anything. She needed it faster.

  “Shh. Don’t rush.” His mouth moved against the pulse in her throat.

  “But I need—”

  “I know.” He moved his hands down her back until his fingers traced her ribs.

  He was older and more experienced. If rumors were to be believed, he had a lot of practice at this. Like half-the-St.-Agnes-graduating-class a lot. But he just held her still and ran his fingertips over her spine while he tasted her mouth. Delicious torture.

  “Please…”

  “You need more?”

  His erection pressed against the dress she was now wearing as a belt. I need to touch him. It was bigger than she imagined it being. It pressed into her skin and she just wanted to be closer.

  “Yes. More.”

  “I like it when you beg me. So damn sweet.” He palmed her center and she moved against his hand, needing more than he could give her. “Aw, fuck. You do need more. You’ve soaked your panties.”

  She opened her heavy-lidded eyes enough to see the mix of amusement and pleasure on his face. Every touch short-circuited her brain, but she had to memorize this. Abner Micah Travis was growling dirty sex words in her ear.

  Want him so much.

  He touched her like they had all the time in the world. She thought she would explode if he didn’t go further, right now. She’d slapped Mike Lopez’s hands away when he’d tried to touch her below the waist. He wasn’t Travis. That wouldn’t have been like
this.

  “Does it hurt?” he asked. She nodded her head and bit her lip to keep from screaming when he rubbed her clit, like he knew his way around. “Want me to make it better?”

  She answered with an affirmative moan. He must have understood because he kept giving her more and more. So close. She rocked her hips and took his finger inside.

  “That’s it, baby. Take what you need.”

  She listened to him and moved against his hand. All the inhibitions of inexperience and youth fled in the face of her overwhelming need. His other hand gripped her hip, kept her grounded when her movements became frantic.

  When she came, she expanded beyond her skin, beyond the barn. She was part of the night sky for a few brief seconds before she realized they were in a dusty outbuilding and she’d just ridden his hand to a frenzied orgasm while he sat back and watched.

  She did the only thing she could do to fight off the deep shame: rip at his belt and tug at the button and zipper on his jeans. Keep the fantasy going longer. Make him feel good.

  But his hands covered hers; the one that had been inside her was damp and warm. She smelled herself on him, and another wave of embarrassment crashed in on her afterglow. She looked at his face and knew this wouldn’t go any further. Looking down, her skin got hot and seemed like it didn’t fit for an entirely new reason now.

  “I want it. With you.”

  He stood up and she was eye-level with his stomach. That wouldn’t make her want him less. Didn’t he know that? He was still hard. He wanted to have sex with her.