“Tess is important to a friend, and Aaron Drake asked me to hang out with you a few days while they’re here.” I didn’t realize I’d be expected to fuck the current resident, but there didn’t seem to be a way to say that without making it sound like it was an imposition.
And I was completely on board with taking this woman to bed. Or the kitchen table. Or hell, the floor would do just fine.
“And what makes you qualified to shadow me? I mean, besides being the size of a small mountain? Do you just look scary, or do you have skills?”
“He’s RTMC,” Mac said from the doorway. “Works security for Blaze. He can handle himself.”
Now, she looked at me with curiosity. “You’re a biker? Like with the patches and shit?”
I grinned. “Yeah. With patches and shit. Aaron asked me not to wear them for this. He was worried he’d draw attention to you if he put one of his people on you. I’m not connected to Drake Security, so the people after Tess aren’t going to be watching me.”
She put her little fists on her hips and looked at me as if she was trying to read my mind. She could’ve been a vampire who had me under her spell, because I could only look back.
“My safeword is Sophia, because if you don’t stop when I say it, her husband will hold you down while I cut your balls off with a silver knife.”
Because a silver knife means they aren’t likely to grow back.
I don’t take kindly to threats, and there aren’t many people capable of holding me down, but no one fucks with the King of the Dragons. Instead of going all macho and telling her not to threaten me, I asked, “I take it you and Her Majesty are close?”
“Cousins, and it’s kind of a long story, but that’s my safeword. No doesn’t have to mean no, if you don’t want it to.”
The thoughts of holding this beyond-gorgeous woman down and taking her made me want to pick her up and carry her through the house to the nearest bedroom, but it wouldn’t do to let her scent exactly what her words did to me, so I locked my reactions down and met her gaze.
“Good to know. House safeword at the clubhouse is red. The bear’s used to listening for it. Might be best to use it.” I took the bowl from her and started working the ingredients together. “Do all swans like sweets?”
“No. You’ve done this before? Made cookies from scratch?”
“Yeah. My grams used to make cookies for us. You’re royalty? Kind of surprised you know how to. Doesn’t royalty usually have maids and cooks?”
“My dad is brother to the former Swan King. We had staff, but mom enjoyed cooking and made sure I learned.”
So many thoughts went through my head, all at once. On the one hand, being royalty meant she’d been raised with mega-manners and lots of money. On the other hand, she was in a roller derby league, making plans to work as a bodyguard or some other security role. Also, she didn’t see me as repulsive. None of this seemed to add up.
I know my strong points and my weak ones. My eyes aren’t exactly lined up, and my nose isn’t exactly centered. It isn’t just that I’m not attractive, I’m misshapen. Most females use words like hideous and grotesque when they first meet me. Not to my face, usually, but I can always see it in their surprised expression. The sweetbutts have to do all the brothers, and once most get to know me, I don’t see the revulsion anymore, but it’s always there the first time. Like I’m the “you have to take the bad with the good” bit.
I got kicked out of my third school in the fourth grade, and Grams taught me from home after that. She taught me to read and write, and handle basic arithmetic. When she taught me history, I also got her memories of what else was happening in the world during major events, and she could tell me what parts the history books were lying about, and what they were omitting with intent to deceive. She was born in 1872 and she never forgot anything. I’m intelligent, but I’m not book smart. It’s one of the many reasons I told Mad Dog, the club president, he needed to find someone else to manage Blaze before I fucked something up so badly we couldn’t un-fuck it. It felt like I needed a law degree to negotiate the job.
But this gorgeous little swan shifter looked at me with curiosity and not distaste. I wanted to know more about her.
“Why roller derby? Does it pay well?”
She laughed. “Before the battle, in the other league, it cost me a few thousand dollars a year to play — dues, insurance, travel expenses, equipment. Things are different now. The rules of ownership were drawn up better when we formed again after the riots and power outages. We still aren’t getting paid, but now our travel is planned and paid for, and our club takes care of dues from our ticket sales.” A shrug. “Jury’s still out on whether these are good changes or not. I think we lost some autonomy in the bargain, but I’m only in it another year. Probably.”
Before I could ask why she wasn’t planning on staying in it longer, she changed the subject. “What about you? Why a motorcycle club?”
“I had a motorcycle. I met other bikers. Someone invited me to hang out with them. I don’t know. It just kind of happened, but now they’re my brothers.”
“And your connection to Aaron?”
I started to tell her I wasn’t connected to him, but I realized what she was really asking, so I told her, “One of my brothers is close to Tess. She hired Aaron to keep her safe. There isn’t really a connection, and I think that’s why I’m here.”
“Because it’ll look like we’re having a fling.”
“Yeah, that’s my take, but am I your type?”
She stopped spooning cookie dough onto the sheets, put one cute little fist on her hip, and pointed to a chair with the other. “Sit.”
Oh, hell no. I braced my feet a little better on the floor, crossed my arms, and held her gaze.
The little thing didn’t blink. She met my gaze without hesitation and didn’t look away.
She meant for me to sit in that chair. She expected it. I didn’t move. I didn’t refuse. I didn’t comply.
She’d have to make the next move.
Twenty seconds later, she smiled and laughed, and went back to putting cookie dough on the tray.
Had that been a test? Was she seeing if I was her type?
“A few years ago, you were exactly my type, but I’ve been trying something new. Looks like Aaron’s reminding me...” A sigh. “Yeah. You’re my type, but to answer your question, you aren’t at all what my team’s used to seeing. There’ll be questions, but I have a feeling you’re good at playing the strong silent type. You’ll be fine.”
I put six trays into her sizeable oven, and she set the timer before she went back to loading up six more trays. My grams had four trays, this chick had twelve. Damn.
I wanted to ask if she was close to her parents, and why Aaron and Sophia were taking care of her instead of them. I wanted to know how old she was, and why she was taking criminal justice classes. She didn’t seem bothered by the fact I’m a biker, was it possible she didn’t understand the implications?
But mostly, I wanted to know why she’d changed types, and what kind of guys her team was used to seeing. I figured asking the last question wasn’t being nosy. It was a legitimate operational question.