Chapter 7

Ella

As soon as the door shut behind King, a sense of disbelief filled me as I realized that I had almost had sex – on my kitchen counter, no less – with a man I'd just met yesterday. I hadn't done anything that reckless since the day after my divorce had been finalized three years ago. Kim had come into town to help Camille and me celebrate my freedom from Dr. Douchebag. We'd gone out drinking, and I had ended up going to a nearby hotel with a man I'd met in the bar.

That had been the night I'd learned that I could have multiple orgasms, something I had never, ever achieved with my ex. It had also been the night I'd learned that the phrase "toe-curling sex" wasn't an exaggeration. It was a very real thing, and it had been another new experience for me. I'd enjoyed sex with Clayton, for the most part anyway, but it had never been the toe-curling, earth-shattering experience I'd heard other women talk about. Clayton had always thoroughly enjoyed himself if his moaning and grunting were any indication, but he'd been far more concerned with his own pleasure than with mine.

Since he'd been my first and only lover up to that point, I had naively assumed that's just the way it was. I'd been pretty damned thrilled to find out differently. I'd had a couple more one-night stands before deciding it just wasn't for me. The few lovers I'd had since then – men I'd actually dated at least a few times – had proven that it hadn't been a fluke. Clayton had been a lousy lay, and I'd been too innocent and stupid to realize it. Based on the incident in my kitchen, King had the ability to make all of those men seem like inexperienced young boys though.

I walked back into the kitchen to prepare the garlic bread and a salad to go with our dinner. I was surprised to find the cookie tin still sitting on the counter, forgotten by King as he'd hurried out earlier. I would have to stick to my original plan and give them to Pop to pass along to his son for me. Even better, maybe I would be able to see King tomorrow to give them to him myself.

I was putting away the rest of the treats I'd baked when Clayton called. I debated letting him go to voicemail but knew from past experience that he would just keep calling. It didn't take long for me to regret my decision.

"We need to discuss your visitor today, dear" he started in, not bothering with a greeting as usual.

I gritted my teeth at being called "dear" by this man. When we first met, he'd called me "baby". Somewhere along the line, he'd decided that was too bourgeois, and had switched it to "dear". That should have been another clue that the man I'd fallen in love with had morphed into a supercilious twat with a stick firmly lodged up his ass, as King had pointed out.

"Why on earth do you think a visitor to my home is any of your business?"

"It's bad enough that you've exposed the children to an unsavory element with your choice of domicile, but now you're allowing even more of them into your home. What are you thinking, Ella?"

"Unsavory element? My choice of domicile ? Good God, you couldn't sound any more uptight if you tried. This isn't Victorian England, Clayton," I chastised. "And there is nothing unsavory about my landlord or his family. If you would pull your head out of your ass for two seconds, you would see that they are nice, hard-working business owners who do a lot for the community."

He sputtered angrily for a minute. "There's no need to resort to being so crass. I guess I shouldn't be surprised that you've lowered yourself to associate with a man like that, but I will not have our children around him."

"Oh, go to hell, Clayton! You have absolutely no right to dictate who I spend time with, nor who I introduce our children to. The judge ruled against your request to add that clause to the parenting agreement, remember? It was right after my lawyer informed him that you had, in fact, moved in with your latest side piece and introduced her to our kids not even two weeks after I caught you having sex with her in our bed and kicked you out." Yeah, the judge had been less than impressed by that little tidbit. "You have absolutely no moral high ground to stand on here. Actually, from what I can tell, you have no morals, period."

When I smashed my finger down on the phone's screen to disconnect the call, I longed for the old days when there was an actual receiver to slam down when you hung up on someone. It had been so much more satisfying to know that you'd likely made the other person's ear hurt with the resulting clang.

I spent most of the night tossing and turning, alternating between thinking up ways to kill Clayton and make it look like an accident, to reliving every single toe-curling, spine-tingling moment in my kitchen with King yesterday. I'd finally dragged out my trusty vibrator, using the memory of King's mouth and hands on me as I got myself off, knowing a good orgasm would make me sleepy. It had, so I'd been able to get enough rest to prevent me from waking up looking like one of the walking dead.

Although I worked mostly worked from home, I did have to go into the office for occasional meetings. Of course, one of those meetings was scheduled for eight o'clock on this lovely Monday morning, so I didn't have the luxury of hitting the snooze button on my phone's alarm. Even after two cups of coffee, I was grumpy, and it showed. I scowled into the mirror as I put the finishing touches on my makeup, wondering whose bright fucking idea the early morning meeting had been. Satisfied that I looked sufficiently put-together in my black silk blouse and dark grey pencil skirt, I tucked one stray strand of hair back into the messy bun I'd piled on top of my head when I'd gotten out of the shower. That was my go-to hairstyle on mornings like this when I didn't have the time or the energy to fuss with my hair.

The kids were, predictably, still asleep when I left for work. During their summer break, I rarely saw either of them before ten. I spotted the cookie tin on the counter and grabbed it on my way out the door, telling myself that it wouldn't hurt to drop it off for King personally, since my office was less than five miles away from the clubhouse.

It was hard to keep my mind from wandering during the early morning meeting, especially once it was clear the potential new client would be a bust. We were all frustrated at the wasted hour by the time the man left, still grumbling that he was sure he could find someone willing to create the incredibly comprehensive rebranding he wanted for his chain of local hardware stores for the small amount he was willing to spend. Yeah, good luck with that, buddy.

The next hour wasn't any more productive, although I did enjoy the chance to bounce ideas off Yoshiro, our copywriter, and Yolanda, our web designer, regarding another client who was opening a new-age wellness retreat. I loved working with Yo-Yo, as the two referred to themselves.

I left the office a little before eleven, telling my boss that I was taking an early lunch, then working from home the rest of the day. I didn't bother mentioning my little side trip to the 5 th Circle Guardians MC compound. As long as I didn't miss any deadlines, Mark wasn't a stickler regarding the hours I worked.

On the short drive over, I was a little anxious about showing up uninvited and unannounced at the MC's clubhouse, but figured I could just leave the goodies with someone else if King wasn't available. From what Pop and Michelle had both said, there were always people around at all hours.

It was fairly easy to find, with the compound located at the end of a dead-end street in an industrial area. As I drove through the gates, I was surprised to see how normal everything looked. It wasn't at all what I had pictured in my head. Since those images were inspired by movies and TV shows about bikers, I guess I should have known better.

The guard shack wasn't in use – Pop had mentioned once that they usually only closed and guarded the gates during parties – and I was able to drive right in and park in front of the two-story brick building that served as their main clubhouse. Also thanks to Pop, I knew that the smaller building connected to it was an annex that housed the prospects, a few club members who didn't have rooms in the main clubhouse, and guest suites for visiting VIP's, usually presidents or officers from another club.

The custom bike shop that the club owned was in another building at the far corner of the compound, with the front of the shop facing the road so that customers could access the shop without entering the compound itself. An eight-foot-tall chain link fence surrounded the entire compound, but even that didn't feel overly imposing. Aside from the handful of Harleys parked in front of the main building, and the club's flaming skull logo painted above the door, there was really nothing to indicate that this was an MC compound.

As I exited my SUV with the cookie tin, I noticed Rod, one of the club's prospects who Pop had commandeered to help the kids and me move in. He was polishing the chrome on one of the motorcycles and talking to a woman smoking a cigarette at a small table near the clubhouse door. Rod smiled when he saw me, then hurried over to greet me.

"It's nice to see you, Miss Eleanor. Can I help you with something?"

"Call me Ella, please," I requested with a smile. Miss Eleanor made me feel as if I were a ninety-year-old spinster with only a dozen cats to keep my company. "I'm just dropping this off for King. He forgot to take it when I saw him yesterday."

"I don't think he's in his office right now, ma'am," he told me apologetically.

"That's all right, he wasn't expecting me. I was just in the area and thought I'd save him a trip. If it's OK, I'll just leave this here for him." Rod looked unsure, so I added, "It's just some muffins and cookies."

His eyes lit up at that news, and I remembered Pop telling me how much Rod and Lincoln had enjoyed the cookies I'd made for them.

"There are plenty in here, if you'd like a few, but don't tell King. These are supposed to be for him," I teased as I carefully opened the lid. Rod eagerly snatched two of the chocolate chip cookies, then shoved one in his mouth and chewed quickly.

"I'll take these inside for you, ma'am," he mumbled around a mouthful of cookie.

"Thank you, Rod, I appreciate that," I said as I handed the container to him, grateful that I'd had the foresight to tape a note with King's name and one of my business cards to the top just in case King hadn't been here. He hurried in through the double doors, and I turned around to get back in my SUV.

"It was late by the time we got home from Fallen Angels last night and we had an even later night after that, if you know what I mean. King was still asleep when I got up a little while ago, but I'm sure we'll enjoy your little goodies when he wakes up."

I stiffened at the sound of the soft, southern drawl and the implication behind those words, glancing over my shoulder at the woman sitting by the door. She stubbed out her cigarette and rose to her feet, smirking at me as she came closer. I quickly schooled my expression to hide my distaste at the sight of her crop top, which was so short that she was sporting full-on underboob. If she took a deep breath, I'd know the color of her nipples.

She didn't say another word as she looked me up and down, not at all impressed by what she saw from what I could tell. The feeling was mutual. I wasn't a fan of overly processed hair, cheap extensions, and fake eyelashes that looked as if she had two tarantulas clinging to her eyelids for dear life.

Having pissed a figurative circle around King, she turned and flounced away without a word to me. My eyes widened as I realized that her skimpy top paired perfectly with her shorts, which were so tiny that the lower part of her ass cheeks were also on display. I was reasonably certain that wasn't the only thing hanging out. I wasn't a prude, by any means, but I did have one hard and fast rule when it came to clothing – your shorts should always be longer than your labia.

I took a wild guess that she was one of the club bunnies Michelle had told me about. Either that, or she was a stripper, since I knew Fallen Angels was a local strip club.

Wow. Just…wow. I had no claim on the man, but if that was who King chose to sleep with last night, then he wasn't touching me ever again. As I got in my car, I vowed to spend at least ten minutes gargling with germ-killing mouthwash the minute I got home. My skin crawled as I also wondered about the best way to sanitize my vagina, because I hated to think about the coochie-cooties he might have had on his hands when he'd touched me yesterday.