“I love you, Rob.”
The tender whisper fell between them. He went dead still, holding her in place and his eyes glimmering in the faint light coming from over the workbench in the main part of the shop.
“That’s the first time you’ve said it.”
She looked down and then back to his gaze. “Well, you haven’t said it either.”
A pained expression crossed his face. “Darlin’, it’s only ever been you. I love you more than anything in this world.”
Her chest shook with emotion, and she tipped her forehead against his chest, feeling the solid thump of his heart. Slowly, he eased her head back to meet her eyes. “You’re my everything, Catarina.”
A noise broke from her. She went on tiptoe, slamming her lips over his. He issued a groan and lifted her against him. She hooked her thigh around his hip, rocking to ease some of the constant throb he raised in her.
As he plundered her mouth, he stripped off the light cotton dress she’d thrown on after work and her bra was off, her nipples in his mouth and under the tight, squeezing pressure of his fingers. She quivered for more, directing his hand to her panties.
When he slipped his fingers inside and cupped her pussy, their gazes held. She saw how much she affected him.
“Touch me,” she moaned out.
He slid a finger down her seam, dipped into her wet entrance for a split second, before dragging it up through her slickness to her hard nubbin. She tossed her head on a cry and succumbed to sensation.
He lay her down on the mattress and nudged her thighs apart with one denim-clad knee. As he hovered over her, driving his finger in and out of her pussy until she clamped down so hard and lost her breath to her scream of release, not once did she look away from his face.
She shook as waves struck her, over and over again, quivering as he pressed down on her clit with the perfect pressure of his thumb and curled his finger into her G-spot simultaneously.
As the final shudder left her, she yanked him in. He plunged his tongue into her mouth, swirling around and around and dragging new moans from her.
She went for his belt. He started to give her that smile that drove her crazy.
A loud burst that sounded like a gunshot times a thousand echoed through the building. He reared back. The room shook. No—the whole shop shook.
Then another huge explosion rocked the place.
Tank leaped to his feet, grabbed her up totally naked and threw her over his shoulder. He ran out of the shop into the cool night air as the sky lit up with a third blast.
“What’s happening?” she cried out.
He set her on her feet and shoved her dress into her hands. “Put this on. Quick!”
She yanked it over her head, not caring if it was inside out or not, and then ran barefoot in his wake. Shouts sounded from the Rothchilds’, and then she smelled the acrid, toxic smoke.
Confusion lit up her mind, and she looked everywhere, trying to see the source of the blasts. Rough gravel cut into her feet, and Tank picked her up and set her in the grass. “Go to the house. Stay with Dixon’s mom.”
She ran. Dew wet her bare feet and ankles as she crossed the yard in record time to stand beside Mrs. Rothchild, who still wore her nightgown. A moment later, Fiona landed on the porch next to them, and Catarina threw her arms around her.
“What’s happening?” she cried out.
Fiona trembled against her, hugging her back. “Something blew. The clubhouse is on fire.”
Chapter Seven
As Tank bolted around the front of the garage, heat blasted against his side. He threw up his arms, shielding himself, and continued running. Orange flickering lights told him there was a fire. But where?
Up ahead, he spotted Dixon, shirtless, running hell-bent for the clubhouse.
“Dix! What the fuck happened?”
“Somethin’ blew!”
“I know, but what?” He and Dixon converged in the parking lot, and Tank stared at the devastation. A few feet off, the box truck also blazed, a blackened shell of steel.
“The fire department is coming!” Fiona ran toward them. “Get away in case it blows again!”
“If the fire reaches the shop, we’re fucked.” Dixon and Tank traded a look and then ran for the garage. Thank God the concrete block exterior walls were holding off the fire raging in the new addition, and they had time to put the cars in neutral and push them out.
Tank braced his hands on the one Dixon had been working on earlier that night. With all his strength, he shoved, and the car rolled backward. He picked up speed, running it to a safe place. Then they did the same with Dixon’s mom’s car.
“Get the gas and oil, Dad!” Dixon yelled to his father. The three of them carried any gasoline cans and oil crates out of the garage. If the fire breached the garage before the firefighters came, then at least there wouldn’t be as much fuel to feed it.
Tank looked around, searching for Catarina. She and Mrs. Rothchild stood on the porch, their arms around each other, offering what comfort they could as they watched the clubhouse burn and the garage endangered.
Sirens shrieked from a distance, and the wail grew louder as the trucks bore down on the property. The firetruck pulled in and one of the Dark Falcons, Ramsey, leaped out. His boots hit the ground, and he strode over to Dixon.
“What the fuck happened?”
“Somethin’ blew. Maybe that truck.” Dixon pointed to Chad’s vehicle.
Tank’s blood boiled as he swung his gaze to the burning truck.
Ramsey shouted orders, and in seconds, the firefighters had the long hose in hand and the water jets aimed at the flames. Tank and Dixon stood side by side, watching the flames shorten and then dowse altogether. The other fire crew put out the burning truck, and Tank saw the skeleton outlines of the barrels in the rear of it.
He clenched his fists as each minute ticked by and he started to piece together a crime in his mind. Maybe he was only placing blame, trying to reason through what happened here tonight—but he didn’t fucking think so.
That odd smile Chad had shot Tank’s way when he dropped off the vehicle filled Tank’s mind with red-hot fury.
He stalked over to Ramsey. “That truck—this was planned.”
Ramsey shoved his fire helmet up to pierce him in his gaze. “You sure, man?”
“Fucking positive. Chad dropped it off, and I’ll bet my motorcycle shop that if someone scopes out those barrels, they find explosives.”
“A fucking ticking bomb sitting here the whole time.” Ramsey clenched his jaw. “I’ll get the authorities in to investigate. Don’t do anything yet, Tank.”
He shook his head. “Can’t promise that, man.”
Ramsey blocked his path, forcing him to face him. “I mean it. Dixon won’t like us starting shit. Wait on the investigation and then if action needs to be taken…” He stared at Tank hard, “we all go.”
Grinding his teeth against any retort, Tank finally nodded. Ramsey returned it with a nod of his own and then ran off to join his crew again. Tank walked up to Dixon.
“Chad carried explosive in that truck. The engine never needed attention. We pulled it into the garage, and if it’d blown in there—”
Dixon looked at him sharply. “Then Fiona and I would be dead.”