Wild, Hungry Hearts Read online

  “I’m not very familiar with the garages in town,” the owner said slowly, thinking. “Let me go ask my cook. He’s got a motorcycle.” The woman returned a minute later, holding a piece of paper. “Randy says almost all the bikers in town go to this place: Xtreme Cycle. It’s supposed to be very popular with the biker crowd. I’ve written down the address. I should warn you it’s seven or eight miles outside of town. I’ve seen it before, but I always thought it was a restaurant or something,” the woman said with a dubious laugh.

  “Thanks,” Jude and Esme said at once. Jude took the address and they headed out the door. The night had turned into the inside of a snow globe. Large snowflakes fell silently onto white picket fences and towering pine trees.

  “It’s Friday night,” Esme said once they were in the car and following the directions on her phone. “The garage will be closed, won’t it?”

  Jude grunted from behind the wheel of the car. “Probably,” he agreed. “But somebody might be there working late, even if the garage isn’t officially open. If we can just talk to one mechanic from around here, I have a feeling he’ll know Z, personally or by reputation.”

  When they finally did pull up to the sprawling building at the designated address, it was hardly deserted. There were rows and rows of cars, and dozens of motorcycles in the parking lot…but not because of the garage.

  “The B and B owner was right. It is a restaurant. Or a bar?” Esme wondered, catching the lit sign for the Moto Café. A couple entered the establishment. From inside, Esme caught the notes of a live band playing.

  “Yeah. It looks like the garage is out back. At least there’ll be people around we could ask about Z,” Jude said. Esme noticed he frowned as he stared at the establishment.

  “What?” she asked.

  Jude just shook his head once, frowning, and reached for the door release.

  “Nothing. I was just thinking, it’d probably better if the people in a local biker bar haven’t heard of Z.”

  Esme agreed silently as she exited the vehicle. With Z’s history of alcohol problems, the last thing he needed was to be a recognizable regular at a bar.

  They checked the garage first, but it appeared to be locked up tight. No overhead lights shone through the windows, but there was a dim glow, as if from distant emergency lighting. Esme plunged through a drift of snow, determined to look inside the window despite the seeming desolation of the place.

  “It looks huge in there. I’ll bet it employs more than one mechanic. But it’s empty. Should we just come back in the morning?” she asked, turning to follow her footsteps back in the drift of snow. Jude caught her hand and eased her back onto the sidewalk.

  “Let’s at least go inside and have a drink,” Jude said, continuing to hold her hand as they walked toward the front of the building and the Moto Café. On the way, they notice a dark shop that appeared to hold all manner of biker apparel and gear. Esme read the sign on the door: Biker Rags.

  “One stop shopping for badass bikers,” Jude murmured, sounding amused.

  He held the door for her at the entrance of the café. Esme had the stupid, but unstoppable thought as they walked in to the bar that they probably seemed like hundreds of other ordinary couples going out for a drink or dinner.

  A couple. Jude and me.

  It was almost too much to wrap her head around.

  The Moto Café rocked with live music and loud chatter. There was a definite edgy, motorcycle theme to the spacious restaurant, with several gleaming, high-end, custom-made bikes on display and dozens of black and white framed photos of bikes and bikers. But despite the amount of leather, tattoos and boots Esme saw, she sensed this was no rough, fringy crowd. Instead, she had the impression of a group of fairly affluent patrons that just happened to share an interest in motorcycles and biking as a hobby.

  A blonde, striking female bartender was busy serving other customers, but she gave them a nod of acknowledgement when they sat at the bar.

  “Are you two looking to have dinner, or just drinks?” she asked them casually as she strolled over to them a few seconds later. The leather pants she wore showed off her tall, willowy figure to optimal effect. The fitted tank top knotted at her waist exhibited the vivid red broken heart tattoo on her biceps. There was a streak of gray in her long mane of blonde hair, but the bartender wore the mark of age proudly. Esme figured the streak of silver must have been premature, anyway. Her face was unlined and youthful, even if it was filled with experience and character. As a fashion artist, Esme couldn’t help but admire the bartender’s look.

  “Just drinks,” Jude said. “Unless…“ He looked at Esme. “You’re probably hungry. Do you want to get dinner here?”

  It was past nine o’clock. She’d had lunch with her mom and sisters in Reno, but that seemed like days ago, at this point.

  “I’m starving,” she admitted. “I only had a salad for lunch.”

  “You won’t find much lettuce here, except for maybe on the burgers and tacos,” the bartender told her, slapping two menus on the bar. “But our food is excellent, and it’ll stick to your ribs for as long as it takes. No seating left at the tables, but I can serve you here at the bar,” she said before she walked away.

  “The menu’s down here,” Esme told Jude with dripping sarcasm when his gaze remained on the bartender’s walkaway.

  “I was just looking at her pants,” he said non-defensively before he opened his menu. “They’re no where near as chill as yours.”

  “You’ve got a real thing for leather, Beckett.”

  He closed his menu and turned toward her. “Are you jealous? That’s a color I thought I’d never see on you,” he said, sounding smugly pleased.

  “I thought we’d already established you didn’t notice a lot of crucial things when it came to me,” she replied neutrally, studying the menu with unnecessary focus.

  “Maybe not when I was a kid. I notice now. Besides, you’ve got nothing to worry about.” She jumped slightly, and shivers ran down neck and arms at the feeling of his breath whisking along her temple. He’d leaned in. Her gaze slid over to meet his. His blue eyes glittered with amusement and heat. “No one does leather like you, Es. And yeah, maybe I do have a thing for leather. But only since I saw you in those breakaway pants in Beverly Hills. Just the briefest thought of pulling that strip of leather off your bare ass gets me stiff as a board.”

  She held his steady stare. The sound of the crowd and the music became a distant roar in her ears. “Es?” Despite the sudden fuzziness in her brain and the loud music, she heard Jude’s low, deep voice with crystal clarity.

  “Yeah?” she asked, spellbound by the vision of his sexy mouth.

  “I’m thinking about it right now.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  “What can I get you two?”

  Esme started out of her trance. The pretty bartender stood there, order pad in hand, staring at both of them with a small, knowing smile on her lips. Flustered at being caught drooling all over Jude in public, Esme snapped open her menu and ordered the first thing she saw: pulled pork tacos. Her annoyance only mounted as she watched Jude, in contrast, take his time perusing the menu, finally making the super-complicated order of a cheeseburger, fries and a Diet Coke.

  “You look familiar,” the bartender said warmly to Jude as she finished writing down his order with a flourish.

  “I’m sitting right here,” Esme said acerbically, rolling her eyes. Was this biker chick really going to hit on Jude as if Esme was invisible? Jude gave her a quick, repressive glance before turning his attention back to the bartender.

  “Do I?” he asked, taking a swallow of the ice water she’d set in front of them. “This is my first time visiting this area.”

  The woman nodded once, as if to say, “Well that’s that” and started to turn away.

  “Wait,” Jude said. The bartender froze. “Do you know someone who looks like me? Someone who does live around here?”

  For several beats, the bartend
er didn’t respond.

  “Nope,” she eventually said, her expression never shifting a millimeter. She turned and walked away.

  Jude glanced over at Esme, his eyebrows arching. Esme nodded once gloomily, catching his unspoken message. Jude and Z shared a very strong family resemblance. The bartender did know someone around here who looked like Jude, and she was definitely lying about it.

  The fact that a bartender was familiar with someone local who looked like Jude was the worse kind of news.

  “You know what this means, don’t you?” Jude asked.

  “That Z has possibly fallen off the wagon.”

  He closed his eyes briefly and sagged back onto the barstool. “I guess it shouldn’t be too shocking. They told us when Stephen, Grandpa and I went to a few family sessions before Z was discharged from rehab that relapse happens frequently. It’s how it’s dealt with that matters.”

  “And Z has been really moody and touchy the last few times I’ve seen him.” She glanced sideways at Jude and read his long-suffering expression. “More so than usual, I mean. You know what we should do, don’t you?”

  His frown deepened. A slight snarl shaped his mouth. “You’re going to say that we should hang around here all night, aren’t you?” he growled.

  “Yeah. You know we should. We both know how much Z used to like showing up at a bar late, or for last call. He liked the thrill he used to bring to the room.”

  “And all the drunk chicks that were looking for a warm bed and warmer body.”

  “I’m looking for a warm bed and hot body,” Esme said impulsively.

  Jude’s attention sharpened on her like a snapped whip. She just smiled at his reaction.

  “I want to be back in that cabin right now as much as you do,” she dared to say. “You’re not the only one, Jude.”

  His stare on her was almost frighteningly fierce. Feral. Thrilling. Cursing softly, she sunk her fingers into the hair at his nape and brought his head toward hers, capturing his mouth in a fevered, starving kiss. A small bomb went off in her head, erasing all interfering thought, sensation…priorities. She pierced his lips, groaning softly at the intensely erotic taste of him. Jude. God, she couldn’t get enough of him. Would she ever?

  His hand cupped her face. Their tongues mated in a sometimes graceful, sometimes ferocious duel. She felt the subtle, hungry suction he applied all the way to her core. He ran his opened hand along her side, detailing her hip and waist, skimming her breast. Esme pulled him closer still.

  The sound of someone clearing their throat loudly penetrated the onslaught of their mutual lust. They managed to separate, but awkwardly. Esme thought Jude might be panting slightly, just like she was. The bartender set down their drinks and gave them a pleasant smile.

  “I don’t know why I’m getting this impression, but I feel like you two really don’t want to be here at all,” she said.

  Neither of them responded. Maybe sarcasm was lost on Jude, too, Esme thought dazedly. That dull roar still echoed in her ears.

  “We have some really nice hotels in town,” the bartender said.

  “We’ll have the food to go,” Jude said, sounding a little harsh. The bartender gave a shrug and walked away.

  “Jude, we can’t—”

  “We’ll take the food to the car and eat it,” Jude said sharply, refusing to look at her. “We’ll move the car to a spot in the parking lot where Z won’t see it if he does come here. He saw my rental car in Tahoe Shores. He’ll recognize it, if we don’t move it out from clear view. This is fucking great,” he muttered viciously, taking a large gulp of his Diet Coke. “Just what I wanted to do on my Christmas vacation: stake out my outlaw big brother at a biker dive.”

  “He’s not an outlaw. And this isn’t a dive. Stop being so melodramatic. And stop being so mean while you’re at it. This isn’t my fault,” Esme hissed, still vibrating from their kiss and pricked by his surly mood. “We came here to find Z, not screw like a couple horny teenagers. You really need to take a step back, Jude. Get some perspective.”

  He gave her a focused, hot glance that somehow managed to come off like a torpedo. She held her breath. Had she really just said that? Told the man of her lifelong fantasies to step back? What is wrong with you, Esme Esterbrook?

  He moved toward her, until their faces were just inches apart. She held his stare, but it was damn difficult.

  “You’re right. Is that what you want to hear? Z’s not an outlaw, he’s my brother, and he’s probably hurting right now. We’re here for him. But that doesn’t mean that I don’t want to be deep inside you right now, screwing you like I never even imagined while I was a teenager. And as far as I’m concerned, that’s all on you Es,” he breathed out ominously.

  He stood, shoving his stool back with a loud scraping sound. He reached in his pocket and tossed three twenties on the bar. Esme just watched him, silenced by his outpouring of lust and emotion like she would be a wild summer storm.

  “Pay her, will you? I’ll meet you out at the car. I need some air.”

  When Esme came out of the café a few minutes later carrying a paper bag, Jude flashed his headlights at her. He’d moved the SUV to a secluded, deeply shadowed part of the large parking lot. It was still a windless night. The snow fell straight down, silent and soft. It was coming down heavily, but he’d have a good view of the lit entrance, in case Z entered the place later tonight.

  The winter air and snow had cooled him down quite a bit. Enough so that he was feeling prickly and contrite by the time Esme entered the SUV, bringing the mouthwatering smell of charbroiled beef with her. She slammed the door.

  Hard.

  It was dark here in the shadows, but he still could make out the stubborn tilt of her chin.

  “I’m sorry,” he said simply, feeling like shit. “I know. I’m being selfish, yada yada. I get it.”

  She didn’t reply. She set down the paper bag on the floor in the back seat. He heard the sound of a zipper. Through the darkness, he made out her arms flailing around. She was taking off her coat. He reached to help her, but she slapped at his hand. He snapped it back.

  “I said I was sorry. I know we came here for Z, and that he might be in trouble. It’s just this thing that’s happening between you and me…” He faded off unsure of how to put how he was feeling into words. He craved her ever since they’d slept together in Beverly Hills. But she also made him edgy. Confused.

  Until he touched her, anyway. Then reality took on a biting, imperative clarity.

  “Look, if you think we should dial things back a little, I’ll listen to what you have to say. But—”

  “Shut up, Jude.”

  “What?”

  She made a frustrated sound. “I’m the one who should be apologizing. You were just being honest in there. I shouldn’t have…scolded you. Certainly not for feeling exactly the same way I was.”

  He started when she leaned over and placed her hand on his crotch. She found the ridge of his shaft and scraped her nails along it.

  “Jesus,” he muttered thickly. He hadn’t completely lost the erection he’d gotten in the bar. At her unexpected caress, he felt his arousal flame high again. She cupped his balls through his jeans. He came off the seat an inch.

  “What the hell are you doing?” he asked. Leave it to Es to completely throw him off base.

  “What do you think?” she murmured silkily before she leaned down, her head hovering over his lap, and placed a kiss on the crown of his cock through his jeans.

  A sharp pang of arousal stabbed through him at her illicit kiss.

  “Es—”

  “You can still watch out for Z. We won’t be derelict in our duty,” she said throatily, straightening. She put one hand on the back of his head. Her other hand went back to his crotch at the same time that she pulled him to her like she was a starving woman…Like a force of nature.

  Like Esme.

  He groaned into her furious kiss, his hands closing on her waist and pulling her closer. In t
he meantime, she moved her hand in his lap, giving him a better hand job over his pants than he’d ever had raw.

  She sealed their kiss forcefully a few moments later.

  “Help me get down your jeans,” she said through clenched teeth. It wasn’t a request. It was a demand if he’d ever heard one. “Don’t look at me like that, Jude,” she warned. “You should know by now we’re two of a kind. This is for me as much as it is for you.”

  His hands were at his button fly faster than a fighter jet.

  It took about ten years for them to get his jeans and boxer briefs peeled down onto his thighs. Or at least that’s how it felt to Jude. Every second killed him a little. When she finally leaned down over his lap, and he felt her warm breath against his straining cock, he let out a harsh curse. He raked his fingers through her long, luxurious mane of hair, hoping to distract himself. But when she touched her tongue to his flesh, it was too much. It hurt, it was so damn good. She fisted him. She circled the head of his cock, her tongue a sleek, wet tease.

  “Esme,” he growled, his spread fingers gripping at her skull. She must have heard his desperation, because she wrapped her hand—small, but strong—around the base of his cock, and she was inserting the head between what, he was quite sure, was a smug little smile.

  Pleasure flooded him. Her mouth felt warm and wet. Her lips squeezed him like a vice. And her suck, Jesus…He felt how much she wanted him in every cell of his body, and that knowledge was sharp and sweet. Her fist moved in perfect rhythm with her sliding mouth. He blinked, trying to rise slightly out of the haze of lust that enveloped him. He found himself alternating between mindlessly spreading her long tendrils of soft hair across his lap and guiding her bobbing head with his hand.

  “Ah baby,” he groaned. “That feels so damn good.”

  As if to award him for his praise, Esme ducked her head, taking him deep, and cupped his balls. Intense pleasure spiked through him, so harsh that he sensed climax looming close. But then she pulled back, treating the head of his cock to a firm polishing while she stroked his shaft forcefully with her hand. The sharp need to come faded…but only slightly.