Chapter 5

CHAPTER FIVE

Moira didn’t know what the fuck had just happened. First, she’d agreed—albeit silently—to stay at Welker’s. Second, she’d actually thanked him for sticking up for her. If she didn’t know better, she’d say she’d suffered a blow to the head. This wasn’t her; accepting help, letting her feelings show.

And now…?

What the fuck? She and Welk would simply ride off into the sunset…or sunrise as the case would soon be?

Dammit. Maybe it was her fatigue getting the better of her after being awake and vigilant all night.

Her fantasies were not reality.

But what if, just this once, she let her guard down?

Moira needed to admit it to herself. She liked Welker. A lot. But that aside, she was also damned curious about his living situation. She may have, a time or two, out of mild curiosity, driven by his property and glimpsed—from afar—an A-frame that was under construction several hundred feet back from the street.

She knew that he’d moved because, living in the same direction out of town, she’d spied his truck a time or two, turning into the driveway. She’d also seen lights on at the property after dark, making the assumption that he’d given up his digs in town for the more private location. She’d asked Mason about it, and he’d confirmed her suspicions.

The triangular shaped building she’d been able to glimpse as the leaves of summer had dropped, made her think of ski-lodges or Swiss chalets. Not that she had any experience with either of those, but she watched TV.

Now, if she dropped her stubbornness and went with the flow, she’d get a chance to see his place up close and personal, which…

Fuck. What a nightmare. Living with him for any period of time wasn’t going to be easy.

Moira had two, distinct personas, both of which she’d maintained for years. She kept herself tightly buttoned up at work and while spending time in public, even holding aloof when attending SWAT’s after-hours gatherings. But when she got home to the safety of her own house, she always shook the prim-act loose; let her hair down, literally and figuratively, and forgot about her official duties and the face she normally showed the world.

If her teammates and colleagues ever saw her, at leisure, dancing barefoot to loud seventies music while cooking up recipes she earnestly copied from the chefs on TV, they’d probably shit bricks.

And now…?

Not having access to her safe space—her own home—she’d have to stay stuck in her public image for every minute she was bunking at Welker’s. And that was going to be a misery. Moira really enjoyed her down-time. It recharged her batteries, made her feel as if she wasn’t just going through the motions of living. But she certainly wouldn’t be comfortable letting her wild-side free around her LT. He got under her skin too much for that.

Right.

Like she didn’t know why that was.

Of course she did.

It was his persistence—unlike any other person of her acquaintance—teasing her like she was part of the gang, making sure she was included in everything, making her feel…normal.

Secretly—because she’d never let him know it—Moira liked the way he kept at her; that he wasn’t turned off by her taciturn ways. But that didn’t make him less, off-limits. Because he was a confirmed ladies-man.

That small reminder of the way Welker went through women, had Moira souring. His behavior was a hard, “no”, in her book.

Which also begged the question, how were their living arrangements going to work out for him? For her? If she was in his face for any period of time, he’d either have to curtail his extracurricular activities, or parade his bimbos by Moira on his way to fucking their brains out in his bedroom.

Unacceptable . It being highly reminiscent of her father.

If she were truly going to stay with him—and as far as she was concerned, the jury was still out on that one—some sort of agreement would have to be reached. Like…no fucking woman in the house while she was around.

She eyeballed Welker where he stood, talking to Mason, occasionally flashing that huge grin at the boss.

Moira bit back a huff. Yeah, the man’s smile was breathtaking. As were his grimaces, his goofy faces, and his occasional, thoughtful pondering look. If she were honest, there wasn’t a lot about the blond-haired, dark-eyed man that wasn’t pretty spectacular.

She didn’t want to notice him; didn’t want her eyes to track him when he wasn’t looking, but the man was gorgeous. Six-foot-two, with shoulders that were broad, hips compactly lean… And that intriguing scar down the side of his face he never spoke about, made him appear…rakish.

The full package.

Of course, Moira didn’t believe for an instant that she’d be on Welker’s desirable-female-radar. She’d seen the interest the gregarious man gleaned whenever the team went out in public. She’d witnessed the plethora of come-ons from the most beautiful of women. Which meant, as much as she agreed with that bottomless female populace about how compelling he was, there was absolutely zero chance Welker would ever look at her in a sexual way.

But did she want that? Moira chewed her lip. That was the question of the hour. And one she hadn’t asked herself very often in her thirty-four years.

From a very young age, she’d purposely made herself…sexless. It had been a necessity since a string of her father’s “friends” had begun hitting on her during her adolescence when her chest had expanded to proportions much larger than those of her similarly-aged schoolmates, and even much older girls. Dear old Dad hadn’t been interested in protecting her—or hadn’t ever noticed—so she’d used every tool in her young arsenal to make herself less appealing.

After a while, with her plain-Jane strategy firmly in place and working, Moira had, thereafter, found it easier to keep her asexual-like armor intact, than to deal with handsy assholes.

The only time she’d experimented with a different look, had been when she’d gained some confidence in college.

Not outing herself to her nice-enough roommate or her fellow classmates, she would occasionally and secretly don a dress she kept in her junker car, put on make-up, let her hair down, and…troll.

Yeah. She admitted it. She’d been hungry and…horny; needing to see to a new side of herself that had secretly thrilled her.

Her success rate had been pretty good, too, if she remembered correctly. She’d gotten phone numbers, dates, made out just enough to orgasm, and had even, eventually lost her virginity to a very nice guy from a neighboring school; a man with whom she still kept in touch via social media. Jory was a kind, intuitive nerd, who’d heard the story of her fucked-up childhood, and understood.

But alas, the physical relationship between them hadn’t produced very many sparks on either side, and they’d eventually parted as good friends when college was over, after which he moved to the west coast.

Jory was now happily married with a child on the way, and Moira was so pleased for him. She’d met his wife at their wedding, and the woman was perfect for her scholarly friend, not resenting his friendship with Moira at all, which had allowed their platonic relationship to happily continue, albeit remotely.

Moira had tried a few more sexual partners, post-Jory; but had returned to her wallflower philosophy as she went off into the big bad world. Jory was aware of that fact, lamenting constantly that she was a wonderful woman, and needed a good stiff dick between her thighs to bring her out of her doldrums.

Moira almost snorted. What would her best, male bud have to say about her current situation?

Maybe she’d text him tomorrow and get his take on…at least being displaced from her home. If she knew him at all, he’d beg her to come stay with them. But just like with Mase and Everlee, Moira wasn’t going to barge in when their first child was imminent.

Would she…? Could she…? Maybe she’d spill that she was going to stay with her boss, who was crush-worthy. Jory would freaking love that, and maybe he’d have some sage advice she could follow. Or maybe he’d just tell her to get over herself and fuck the man, already; something he’d clearly been urging her to do with any available male, for years.

A sigh caught in Moira’s throat. Nothing like that would ever happen. She’d built her own monster, now she had to live with it.

Welker finished up with Mason and waltzed toward Moira where she waited, stuck in her own brain.

“You ready to go?” He gave her one of his big-ass, handsome as shit smiles, and she grunted.

“Do I have a choice?” She hadn’t looked at the upstairs of her house yet, but couldn’t quite bring herself to do it. Tomorrow would be soon enough.

“Play nice, Moira,” Mason called over, having heard the exchange. “I prefer you stay in one piece, and Welk will help make that happen.”

Moira wanted to flip her boss the bird, but that would be showing too much emotion. She gave him a shoulder shrug, instead.

Welker was grinning. “To answer your question, nope,” he told her, the cheerful look never leaving his face, even as she grumbled at both of them. “You’re coming with me because you know it’s the safest thing to do. Now, do you want to ride in my truck, or bring your own vehicle? We have a little walk to get to mine.”

Moira needed her own truck. It was an extension of herself, and held all the go-bag stuff she needed for SWAT deployment. Plus, it gave her an autonomy she didn’t want to lose. Depending on Welker for transportation? Not if she could help it.

“I’ll bring you to yours, then follow you,” she told him, not letting on she knew exactly where he lived. “I need my truck.”

Welker scowled. “Which makes me wonder…” He paused and looked around, clearly not seeing her vehicle. “…if the MC had the smarts to slap a tracker on your baby.”

“Unlikely,” Moira responded. “I parked it in my barn where it couldn’t be spotted.”

Welk shook his head, and began moving in the direction she’d indicated. “If it’s okay, I’ll take a look, anyway.”

Moira doubted that the brain-bucket-brigade had the wherewithal to find, let alone tag her ride, but she appreciated Welk thinking of it. She watched avidly as he disappeared around back while pulling a flashlight off the MOLLE system that held all the goodies on his vest.

It didn’t take him long to return.

“It’s all good,” he told her, approaching. “So you can feel free to drive it to my place, But before we meet the team back here to do a clean-up tomorrow, I’ll take you into town in my incognito car to get whatever you need for an extended stay.”

“Take me? Extended stay?” she questioned both assertions. “Not happening, Vestore. I can ferry myself to town, and as soon as this place is habitable again, I’m coming back.”

“Oh, no, you’re not,” he rebutted, as if he were discussing the weather. “You don’t really believe the MC will stop now, do you? They didn’t get you, Bliss, which is clearly what they wanted. So they’ll be staking out town, looking for your truck, and they’ll be back here at every opportunity. Being as far out in the boonies as you are, there’s no way the Sheriff’s Department will do frequent drive-bys to make sure you’re not in jeopardy.”

Welker had a point, but…

“Fine. I’ll give it a few days. Then I’ll install a security system,” she told him. “Cameras, a perimeter alarm, and better locks on my doors.”

“Why are you being so stubborn, Moira?” he chastised, blinking over at her. “Until the group is caught, they can do a lot of damage. They can throw a Molotov cocktail through your window and burn your ass. They can pepper the place with AK-fire, hoping to hit you while you’re drinking coffee in your kitchen. There are all kinds of ways they can kill you without triggering your alarms since you’re so close to the road. Examine what I’m saying and tell me I’m wrong.”

Moira wanted to, in the worst way, because becoming beholden to Welker over what could be the course of weeks, or even months, was a thought that was scarier than Tormentor’s minions. But she couldn’t tell him he was delusional.

She knew what the 227 MC was capable of.

It was just… How was she—faced with Welker every freaking day—going to keep her attraction to the man from growing?

“I’m not conceding entirely,” she told him succinctly. “But I’ll stay with you until I find another solution. And argue if you want,” she told him, crossing her arms under her ample breasts, “I’ll still be trying to think of a different living situation.”

She started toward the rear of her property, and Welker fell into step beside her. When they reached her ride, inside of her now open barn, he watched as she reached into the wheel-well, and extracted the magnetic holder which housed her spare key.

“I didn’t say you wouldn’t.” He snorted as she gave a quick peek under her truck.

“Don’t believe me,” he questioned, not put off at all by her second-guessing him. “I get it, but once your truck hits my place, it stays put until you’re safe.”

“We’ll see about that.” Although Welk had a point, Moira didn’t like being dictated to.

He changed his tune, put on puppy-dog eyes, and began cajoling.

“Come on, Bliss. Am I that bad? I promise I don’t leave the toilet seat up, nor do I prance around in my underwear. And even though I don’t cook, I have a freezer full of stuff my mother has made for me. Plus, I’ve bribed a few of the local restaurants into delivering as far out as my place, so we won’t starve,” he teased.

“I cook,” she let slip, and almost instantly regretted it as Welker’s brows went up.

“You do?” he marveled, brightening. Then he sobered, speculating. “You mean like, hotdogs and hamburgers on the grill, cook?” he questioned with a quirked brow.

“No,” Moira clarified with a sigh. “I mean like pesto pork tenderloin and chicken piccata cook,” she corrected him, although she wasn’t sure why.

Maybe, she told herself, it was because she wanted to seem worthy of taking up space in his home; earn her keep.

“Hot damn,” he said, his smile gaining wattage again. “Then when we go to town tomorrow, I’ll spring for everything we need to stock the house so you can feed us.”

He licked his lips, which made her focus on those lush bows.

A rare blush threatened to move up into her cheeks, so she turned to her truck and yanked open the door before he could witness the unaccustomed color.

“Fine. But I’m paying. And don’t get too excited, Vestore,” she grumped over her shoulder as she slid into her seat. “I don’t do dessert.”

Welker chuckled as he got into the truck.