Honey (Full Throttle Series) Page 16

  She was settled now in the front row at one of the largest fashion houses in New York, waiting for their latest fashion show to start up. She looked stunning in her low cut, short black dress and six-inch Jimmy Choos. Abby loved fashion. She’d grown up with it, and the models that went through it, her entire life.

  Abby’s father, Ed Walker, had co-created the most successful modeling agency in New York City. While Abby was pretty enough to be in the industry herself, her father had gone out of his way to protect her. Ed Walker did not want her to see the ugliness that could come with both the modeling and underside of the business enterprise. That had not stopped Abby from ending up at parties, or corporate events. That was where she had met the man who was currently seated on the other side of the runway from her—Mitchell Fields.

  Mitchell Fields had been her father’s business partner her entire life. Mitchell was twice her age, but he was gorgeous. She’d developed a crush on him early and it had been with her ever since. Not that Mitchell had ever noticed. She’d always been nothing but Ed’s Little Girl to him. But today, Abby had a feeling that was going to change.

  Abby had not seen Mitchell in several years. She’d graduated high school and gone off to college, coming home only on the occasional holiday break and never for a full summer. Now that graduation was over, she had just returned to New York after finishing at Yale. Her degree was just as impressive as her looks. She was twenty-three now, and had grown up in all of the right ways. Abby’s long blonde hair, huge green eyes and killer figure had gotten her the attention of all of the Ivy League boys. Despite that, she was still a virgin. She was holding out for just the right man… and today she was going to have him.

  She was not a little girl anymore, and today Mitchell Fields would see that. Abby was going to seduce him if it was the last thing that she did. Studying him, she realized that he looked even better than he had in the past. She had chosen her outfit with the intent of proving to him that she was no child. She had gone through every modeling tip and technique on makeup that she had learned over the years. Expensive foundations and brighteners accented her flawless skin. Her eyes were rimmed in black liner and mascara. She had topped off the look with bright red lipstick. She looked hot-and Mitchell was going to notice.

  The house lights dropped. Abby smiled as her eyes focused across the runway on Mitchell. Her tongue traced across her lips once more while she crossed one long leg over the other. Her Yale roommate and best friend Maria had dared her to seduce the man she had been lusting over all these years. Abby suspected that Maria might have been growing weary with hearing about Mitchell. As long as Abby had known Maria, she had her crush on Mitchell. Maria had sat through countless nights of Abby googling recent pictures of Mitchell or just declaring how gorgeous he was. So when the other girl had offered out the challenge, she could not really blame her. After all, the other girl who had watched Abby walk away from countless men her own age over the years. So when the dare had come out of Maria’s mouth, Abby had thought it was as much a challenge to make her stop talking as much as it was one to see if she could do it. Abby had accepted immediately.

  Abby smiled at the memory, just as Mitchell happened to turn. He looked across the runway at her. Their eyes met. She gave him a sly smile. She watched as Mitchell’s eyes roamed over her. Abby held back a grin. The look on Mitchell’s face said it all. He wanted her already. This was going to be no trouble at all. Abby licked her lips again. Maybe she did have a reason to be nervous after all.

  *****

  Mitchell Fields took a deep breath, trying to hide his arousal. Who the hell was the girl in the front row? He knew that he had never seen her here before—he certainly would have remembered. She was gorgeous, and she would not stop staring at him. Mitchell was not doing much better himself. He could barely take his eyes off of her to concentrate on the girls on the runway.

  Mitchell was used to beautiful women hanging on him. He was forty, but he enjoyed his bachelor lifestyle. He had never really seen himself as the settle down type. Therefore, he had every intention of sticking to his world of drinks and hot sex with gorgeous models.

  Getting older had done nothing to his looks. Mitchell still looked fabulous. His black hair had a few streaks of distinguishing gray in it. He himself kept to a strict workout routine and diet. It paid off. Models were always after him. Actually, all women were always lusting after him.

  The fashion show ended not a moment too soon. Mitchell got up from his seat. He was a bit ashamed to admit that he had not paid as much attention as he probably should. He was too distracted by the hot blonde seated across from him. He hoped that she was on her way over to the after show party. He needed to find her—immediately if not sooner.

  There was always an after show party filled with drinks and bands. It was a good way to network, give feedback, or simply hype up publicity with the press. Of course, it was also where some of the darker aspects of the modeling business began to form. That always happened.

  He entered the large room that was already filling up with beautiful women and well-dressed men. He knew that most of the men in the room did not have the best of intentions where the women lay. That was the problem with modeling. Women too quickly became objects that symbolized only one thing. While he did not care much to think about it, it was something that he had to admit he was guilty of from time to time.

  He laid eyes on his mystery woman near the bar. She was sipping on a glass of red wine. Mitchell smiled. He began making his way through the crowd. It took him a few moments. He kept getting stopped by both men and women alike. Everyone wanted his attention. While most of the men wanted to talk business or compliment him on the company’s successes, the women were batting their eyes in ways that Mitchell knew. Apparently his reputation preceded him.

  “Did you enjoy the show?” He finally reached the mystery woman’s side. He leaned against the bar beside her, ordering himself a gin and tonic. The girl turned to him. Her eyes were bright green. Her lips were a beautiful shade of bright crimson. Mitchell felt the lust well up in him immediately. He could already imagine what those lips could do to him.

  “Couldn’t take my eyes off of it.” The girl put her wine glass on the bar. “It was everything I wanted.” Mitchell chuckled.

  “I don’t believe that we’ve met. I’m Mitchell Fields.” He offered her a hand.

  “It’s my pleasure.” She shook his hand firmly.

  “And you are-?” Mitchell pressed gently. He was curious just who she could be. He had never seen her here before, after all.

  “A fashion lover who is thrilled to meet the brilliant mind behind this empire.” She leaned against the bar beside him as her fingers wrapped around her wine glass once more.

  “Flattery will get you everything.” Mitchell looked the girl over. His eyes immediately landed on her chest. She had quite the figure-that was for sure. “Have we met before?”

  “Oh, we may have run into each other a time or two, but it was nothing formal.” She was quite casual about it. “Regardless, I have always been a fan of yours, Mr. Fields.”

  “Oh have you?” Mitchell took a quick sip of his drink. He set the glass on the bar. “And please, call me Mitchell.”

  “Well of course… Mitchell.” His name rolled so smoothly off of those beautiful red lips. Mitchell could barely contain himself.

  “So are you a model yourself?” The girl laughed.

  “Not hardly.” She took a step closer to him. Mitchell shook his head solemnly.

  “Such a shame. A beautiful girl like you? You could be any modeling agent’s dream.” The girl laughed once more. It was delicate, musical. Mitchell could not believe his level of interest in this incredible woman whom he had just met.

  “Well, you are quite the flatterer.” She shook her long blonde hair. Mitchell picked up the faint aroma of shampoo and expensive perfume.

  “I’ve been in this business for a few years.” Mitchell sipped his drink once more. “I’ve got an eye
for beautiful women.”

  “I’m certain that you do.” The girl’s bright red lips formed a coy smile. “Men like you are brilliant.”

  “Well, I’m not the only one who is good with flattery.”

  “I can’t help myself.” She took a step closer to him. “There’s just something about a man in power that has always… turned me on.”

  Mitchell smiled. So she was certainly interested. That was a good thing. He wanted to see what was under that skimpy little dress that she was wearing.

  “It’s certainly a shame that you never went into modeling.” Mitchell took his own step closer to her. “The runway would have loved you.”

  “Thank you.” His mystery woman took another step closer. It made the scent of her intoxicating perfume stronger. When he moved his arm to rest on the bar, he brushed against her breasts. She did not pull away. In fact, she looked even more interested.

  “What can I tell you?” Mitchell pressed his arm more firmly against her breast. “I know a body the camera would love.”

  He watched her press her tongue against her front teeth. He found it incredibly sexy. He moved his arm slightly so that he could stroke his fingers against the side of her breast.

  “Actually,” he murmured, “I know a body that anyone would love.”

  “Oh, I know that you do.” The woman let her hand fall to rest on his upper arm. “I know all about your talent, Mr. Fields. There’s no one that I’d… trust… more.”

  Mitchell shook his head. He met his share of beautiful women at these events, and he had many of them play up to him, but this one seemed to have a particular determination. He did not really understand it—or why she was not offering her name. But he was not about to turn her down.

  “If you ever do want to get into the business,” he met her eyes, “you just let me know. I’ll make sure to find you the right connections.”

  The woman laughed flirtatiously. It was a beautiful sound, and the action made her brilliant green eyes light up. She was playing this game like a champion—and she was clearly in it to win it.

  “Well, maybe if you were really interested, I could find some time to give you a private performance.”

  Ah, there it was. It was exactly as he had thought. He felt the immediate stirrings of arousal. He was certainly not going to turn this one down.

  “Why don’t we do just that?”

  Bonus Stuff!!!

  The First Book of my MC Biker Collection

  In Deep: Love Struck

  Chapter One

  Evan

  Just a typical day. That’s what today was, or at least what I thought it was. That's what I got for thinking that, because seeing the woman I kissed in the arms of my twin brother was enough to pop that stupid, little bubble in my head. Typical day my ass.

  I saw it all in slow motion. His hand possessively gripping her hip. Her thick body aching to burst out of the tight dress, like she just came from the club. I can't help wonder if she dressed like that for me. Her eyes wide, I couldn’t tell if she looked confused, scared, guilty, or a little of all three. The smug look on his face—my face—made me wonder whether he knew she was mine, or if he just always looked like that when he thought he was about to score. I couldn’t remember.

  We shared every, damn thing—a name, family, friends… hell, this club even. But not women. Women were supposed to be out of bounds. They always were, since Irene in the 7th grade dated Ethan first, broke his heart, and sent me a note with hearts on it. I wonder briefly if he somehow thought I’d changed my mind towards this after all this time, but I couldn’t think straight because I couldn't see anything else but his hand on her hip. I could feel the blood boiling under my skin and my hands curling into fists.

  FUCK!

  Today was supposed to be a typical day.

  One Week Earlier

  I’ve always hated hospitals. I hated the smell of antiseptic, the bland, white walls, and the sound of death all around me. The clacking of the keys coming from the receptionist’s desk and the constant, boring commercials on the TV were enough to drive me insane. Not even considering how long I’d been sitting here thinking about what the fate of my brother would end up being—well, not my blood brother. That one’s was sitting right beside me. My club brother. He might not have been related by blood, but he was as family as family could get. Banditos were brothers for life, and a Bandito never leaves a brother behind. So here I was—waiting, just waiting to hear the news. We all were. That’s all we could do.

  I turned back around to survey the small space I was pacing across. Five men sat in the lobby; the rest of the visitors were too scared to sit across from them. They weren’t too focused on their worries and grief to forget stereotyping a group of tattooed men. I understood. We got it everywhere we went. You get used to it after a while. In truth, we are pretty scary looking.

  Gus looked like every motorcycle stereotype come true. Between his thick, white beard, tattoos, and his leather jacket, he could do all the scaring by himself. Add in my twin Ethan, the epitome of bad boy with his scowls and the bandana covering his head, Warren, who was the height and weight of a football player, Jason, who I hadn't seen smile in years, and Jerry, who vacillated between staring at Lila’s face and at the door the doctor would come through like he was debating charging through it at any moment? Yeah, we were a pretty intimidating group.

  The only redeeming qualities we had were Lila and Shirley who, while equally tattooed and equally tough, were women, and as a result, not quite as frightening. For some reason, humans with two X chromosome were deemed less scary. Big mistake in judgment, especially when it came to these two.

  But we weren't bad people, just significantly more tattooed than your average person with an obsession for riding. No, none of us were bad, and on a good day we’d smile and kid around, with the exception of Jason, but today wasn't a laughing day. Today was a sad day. One of our own had taken a hit and we were waiting for news—any news. The wait was draining and it was making me miserable.

  Harrison had been hit by a car while waiting at a stop sign. Some idiot just drove right over him and didn't even stop to check on him to see if he was alive or what. Nothing. Didn’t even call the police. Someone who was driving in the opposite direction saw him bleeding in the street and called for help. I bet the fool was texting. I hated to think it, but if Harrison's bike was louder, that probably wouldn't have happened. People complain about how loud bikes are, but the sound serves a purpose. You hear it and look around. You pay attention. You wouldn't believe how many people die every year by being hit by an idiot behind the wheel of a car claiming they didn't see the motorcycle, see the driver, or my favorite excuse, he “just came out of nowhere.” Motorcycles don't kill people. Idiots in four wheelers kill people, and from the way Harrison looked coming in, I didn't think he was going to make it. Which sucked, because Lila loved him more than she loved morning coffee—which was a whole lot. And that’s saying something. I’ve seen her stab someone for messing with her morning coffee.

  All I needed to hear was a prognosis. Something. Anything. I needed to know my friend wasn't dead, and then I was leaving. Well, not for good. I could never abandon him like that, but I’d definitely take a break. Pacing the halls was just a way to burn nervous energy. I knew it was driving my brothers up a wall though. We all had our own way of coping.

  Gus taught me how to ride, but Harrison taught me how to make love to the road. When my father passed, there was never any doubt that I’d follow in his footsteps. I was only fourteen, but I’d been around the club every day of my life. My mother knew there was no point in trying to make us wait until we got our licenses. It was all just formalities. As soon as I weighed enough to be able to pick up a bike if it fell over, I was on one. It was my own version of rehab, and with Harrison, I learned how to cope on my own.

  I could still remember the quiet mornings when I would wake around four, before the sun rose over the Arizona horizon, looking out into the dark a
nd sneaking off to the club on my bicycle. That was the last place I saw my father alive and somehow, being there made me feel closer to him. Harrison found me one morning and he didn’t say a thing except, “Follow me.” He mounted his bike and pointed to another for me to get on. At the time, I had no idea where we were going. I didn’t know if I should follow him either. He was still new to the club. At the time, all I knew was he was a war vet and forced into retirement after ten years in the service. He had to be around thirty years old. But he was a brother. A Bandito and I trusted him with my life. So I followed him.

  Together, we slowly rode up a mountain, around several curves and hidden bends until we were on a ledge. Then in the stillness of the morning, we watched the heavens swing open and the sun rise.

  I didn’t know it at the time, but Harrison had just showed me his own way of coping. By managing his own grief, he helped me manage mine. For months, we’d ride up in the still of morning and wait for the day to meet us. Over time, we rode more because of the serenity it gave us rather than the need to escape. I dealt with my grief and in learning that, I learned how to be a skilled driver. It felt a lot like becoming a man. It happened when I wasn’t paying attention and I owed it all to Harrison. I reached out in my own way and he held on. Without him, I couldn’t say where I would be. There’s nothing more dangerous in life than a troubled teen without a father. Ethan was proof of that.

  “Mrs. Harrison?” A doctor with silver hair and the face of some guy you'd ask for directions called out, interrupting my thoughts. He was completely nonthreatening with his thin glasses and weathered face. Lila and the crew immediately jumped up. I hung back, watching. I didn't have to hear what was being said to know it wasn't good. His movements were unhurried and deliberate, as if choreographed, ready to catch Lila if she fell, but she didn't. She had us.