Stepbrother: Instant Spark (Stepbrother Billionaire Romance) (Stepbrother Romantic Suspense) (4 page)

It was a Saturday and time for brunch with Ellen. Lucy sat opposite her mother with something she was burning to say, but not quite sure how to say it. Ellen looked at her impatiently and eventually sighed and blurted out, “For heaven’s sake, darling, spit it out! You’re dying to say something. What is it?”

“I haven’t spoken to you since my weekend with Peter.”

“No. That’s right. How was it?”

“It was wonderful,” Lucy gushed. She realized she was beaming brightly and had both hands clasped excitably around her mug, her eyes shining. She tried to reel it back in again so that she could tell her mother what was happening before her glowing face gave it away. “He was the perfect host.”

“And the convention?”

“Well, we ended up getting distracted from that,” Lucy confessed. “You were right. Me and Peter really did get along very well.”

“I’m glad. I thought you would.”

“No, you don’t understand, Mom. We got along
really
well.”

Lucy locked eyes with her mother meaningfully and waited for Ellen to understand. Slowly, her eyes widened and her lips parted slightly in surprise. Ellen’s cheeks flushed, she cleared her throat and took a sip of her coffee awkwardly as she tried to think of what to say. Eventually, she took a deep sigh and broke out into a smile and a little laugh.

“Goodness, darling, you do have to always be different, don’t you? You couldn’t find another man?”

“There’s nobody else like him, Mom. He’s incredible.”

“I can’t say that it’s ideal, Lucy, but if you’re happy and he’s happy, then I’m happy for you.”

“Do you mean it?” Lucy exclaimed in surprise. “You’re not angry?”

Ellen gave a little shrug and another knowing smile. “I’ve told you often enough, darling, that there’s no rulebook when it comes to love. If there was, God knows I’d have had one man in my life, but chemistry doesn’t work like that. It can strike once, it can strike a hundred times, but one thing it cannot be, is ignored. If you and Peter have that spark, or chemistry, or whatever you want to call it, then there’s nothing that me or Walt or anyone else is going to be able to say to change your mind and God knows I’d rather you two were an item when the holidays rolled around then you both refused to come home out of fear that you’re going to slip up. You’re both adults. We live in a modern society. I’m just glad you’ve found someone, and Peter is a good man.”

Lucy let out a huge sigh of relief. “Thank you, Mom. I’m so glad you took it well.”

“I’ve only ever wanted you to be happy, Lucy.”

Lucy finished up her brunch with her mother, feeling on cloud nine and then walked around the corner to a little coffee shop on the end of the street where Peter was calmly waiting for her. He saw her approaching through the window, stood up and grinned. He held open the door for her as she arrived and pressed his lips down over hers in a kiss.

“Well?”

“She says she’s happy for us.”

“So, all’s well that ends well, then?”

“It seems so.”

“Huh. And it all started with a wedding. Who’d have thought it, hmm? Maybe one day we’ll find ourselves at a wedding again. You know, I’m starting to believe in the idea of marriage.”

Lucy smiled at him and took his hand. They sat down at a little table together in the corner, reaching out over the table to hold onto each other’s hands and every time that he caught her eyes, Lucy fell in love all over again. Yes, that’s right. Lucy was in love.

THE END

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* * *

Love and Leather

by L.A. Pierson

Georgina Williams, or ‘Georgie’ as her friends called her, had always wanted to be a journalist. Her Mom would often remind her, with fondness, of that time when she’d gone around with a notepad and a crayon interviewing everyone about the weather at a family barbeque when she’d been seven. Her love for talking to people - all in the interest of a good story, of course - hadn’t dwindled since and she’d now found herself working for
The Darton Herald
, her local paper.

Living in a quiet town meant that she was a far way off from a Pulitzer and she’d be lying if she said she didn’t dream of a bit more excitement in her reporting, but, as a friendly, bubbly person, she was mostly content to get to spend her days chatting to locals about how late the geese were migrating this year and which local cheese was the most groundbreaking, but today, her editor had a particular story in mind.

Lucy Wittle, the chief editor of
The Darton Herald
had grown old far before her time. She could only have been in her early forties, but she viewed the world through such an old-fashioned, conservative lens that you could have been forgiven for thinking she had been born in the previous century. She had fake pinkish red hair in an elaborate perm and wore tortoiseshell glasses that made her eyes look buggish when she glared at you, which was often. On this Wednesday morning, Lucy stormed towards Georgie’s desk with her hands on her hips and her cheeks flushed with outrage.

“
A biker bar
!”

Georgie lifted her eyes to look at the flustered woman and furrowed her brow in confusion. “What’s that, Lucy?”

“Here, in Darton. A biker bar! Can you believe it?”

“What do you mean?”

“I just got a call from Wendy down on Main Street and you know the conversion that’s been taking place in the store next door? Well, it’s opening tonight and it turns out that it’s going to be a
biker bar
.”

The younger journalist let out a little laugh and gave a small shrug. “I’m sure we’ll survive it, Lucy.”

Lucy swept aside Georgie’s stationary to perch on the edge of her desk and her eyes narrowed with suspicion at the thought of leather-clad thugs roaming the streets at night. She leaned forward to continue discussing the matter in that urgent, judgmental tone.

“They’re going to line the streets with those God-awful vehicles and you won’t be able to sleep at night for the sound of the engines. Next thing you know, there’ll be brawls in the street and loose women on every corner.”

Georgie couldn’t help but laugh again. “Oh Lucy, you worry too much! I’m sure they just want a quiet drink, just like the rest of us. Didn’t we do an article just last month saying how this town could do with a boost? Maybe this is just what we need. If we don’t bother them, I’m sure they won’t bother us.”

“I want you to get down there tonight,” Lucy ordered her. “I want a full report on the opening night. Talk to the owner, the punters and the locals. I want a complete review of this dreadful place. Make it hostile. With any luck, it’ll make them think twice about settling here.”

“You want me to write something ‘hostile’?” Georgie repeated quizzically. “That’s a bit extreme, isn’t it? It’s the opening night of a new bar. That should be news enough.”

“I want you to make it clear that we don’t want them here,” Lucy reiterated. “That’s the tone I want. Can I rely on you?”

“Lucy, I -”

“After all, I thought you were really interested in a columnist position, but if you can’t handle a little controversy...”

Georgie sighed and held up a hand to stop Lucy’s tirade. “I can handle it. I’ll get down there tonight.”

This is what Georgie’s journalism career had come to - jumping through hoops to please a woman whose mind was so closed that she really shouldn’t be in any position to act as the voice of the people. Georgie sighed heavily. She hated putting spins on her articles when it didn’t reflect her own views, but sometimes that was just what you had to do as a journalist to keep on the right side of your editor and Georgie really
did
want a columnist position. Then she could just write as herself and all of these politics would be far behind her.

After an afternoon spent writing up an article about the upcoming play at the community center and a piece about Mrs. Matthew’s missing cocker spaniel, Georgie called it a day and headed home to prepare for the opening of the bar,
Mickey’s Den
.

She chuckled to herself when she recalled how Lucy had scrunched up her nose at the thought of burly bikers in the town. Secretly, Georgie rather liked the idea of having some real men around here. It’s not that the local men weren’t nice gentlemen, but that was just the problem - they were
nice
, and sometimes ‘nice’ just doesn’t cut it. What about rugged, or dangerous, or charming or surprising? Sometimes Georgie craved those things much more than
nice
.

The journalist got herself ready for her night at the bar and then looked at her reflection critically. Firstly, she’d had no idea what she should wear at an establishment like
Mickey’s Den
and, secondly, she was what some people might call a
big
girl, which had made her self-conscious in the past. Her curves didn’t bother her anymore. Some time ago she’d decided to just embrace what nature had given her and be proud. With this in mind, she looked into the mirror again. She was wearing some black wet-look leggings and a pair of suede high-heeled boots with a few silver studs down the heel, a bright red shirt with a couple of buttons open over her chest and then her favorite leather jacket, which she wore come rain or shine. Her chestnut hair with its blonde highlights was piled up into a messy-chic bun and she’d put on a bold splash of crimson lipstick. She smiled at herself in the mirror and turned a little this way and that. She may have been curvy, but damn did she look hot tonight. She finished off the look with her trusty notepad and pen and a dictaphone and then was on her way.

Mickey’s Den
was not as Georgie would have pictured a biker bar, but perhaps that was just because it was new. Everything was fresh and clean, yet it still somehow managed to achieve that lived-in look, probably because of the very dim lighting inside and the knicks in what must have been a secondhand bar. The long straight bar ran one length of the room inside to the other and was partnered with a line of high, red leather stools. In one corner of the room was a jukebox, emitting tinny rock tunes and there was a snooker table nearby.

In most ways, it was a pretty standard bar. What drew Georgie’s attention much more were the people within it. She had no idea where they’d come from, but somehow they’d heard about this place and there must have already been some thirty plus bikers in the bar - men and women - drinking and having fun. Georgie didn’t know where to begin when it came to taking interviews and so she decided to relax a little by ordering a gin and tonic and then she stood near the bar, feeling a little out of place, watching all the punters come and go.

Just being in the place gave her a bit of a buzz. Georgie was a small-town girl and had never ventured far away from family and the local paper, but being surrounded by all these well-travelled and different men made her feel like she’d stepped outside of the world she knew. There was a lot of leather and denim in the bar, as well as a fair few thick beards, neckties and heavy boots. Bikers who’d dared not leave their gear outside had brought it in, so that there were helmets everywhere and people were using them to save seats for friends. Georgie began noting all this down.

...
There’s a different atmosphere inside
Mickey’s Den
. Where we might use a purse or a coat to save a seat for a friend, at
Mickey’s
a helmet is the proper etiquette. You feel like you’ve stepped into another world, but, surprisingly perhaps, everyone seems in a very good mood and I feel quite at home amongst the bikers
.

Georgie jumped when she felt someone looking over her shoulder and she quickly flipped over her notepad to hide her scribblings and turned around to see who was standing so close. The man behind her was rugged, dangerous, charming and a surprise. He was younger than many of the other bikers in the bar, although he still had that weathered look about him that people on the road often do. He had very fair hair, which was ruffled from his helmet and had been swept back by his hand and his eyes were a very deep blue. He looked more suited to a movie poster than a motorcycle; yet, beneath the classic good looks was a kind of masculinity that you don’t find in those model-types. There was something almost wolf-like in the way a grin crept onto his face when he noticed her blush and in how he looked at her hungrily as if knowing that she was a sheep in the tiger’s den.

“This is a bar, missy,” he told her. “What you got to write about?”

The journalist’s cheeks flushed at the sound of his deep and gravelly voice and the fact that out of all the slim and leather-clad women in this bar, he had chosen to single her out. Georgie tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear and straightened up, looking him square in the eye. She turned back to the page of her writing and poised her pen over a fresh line.

“I’m from the local paper. I’m talking to people about the opening night. Have you got anything to say about it?”

“All I’ve got to say is that a gorgeous woman like you has no right to be working on a night like this. How about you put that notepad down and I’ll give you something to really write home about?”

Georgie blushed again at how brazenly he said it, but found herself laughing. She shook her head. “I’ve got to get this story.”

“The story of how bikers are a menace?” he guessed. “How we’re all drunk and thieves? We’ve heard it all before, doll.”

“Oh yeah? So, tell me something I don’t know.”

“Alright. If it means I get to talk to you. Come sit with me.”

The mysterious biker led her over to a small table in the corner, where his leather jacket was saving one chair and his helmet another. He picked up the headgear to give her room to sit and sat down himself. The barmaid brought him over a bottle of beer and he kept his blue eyes fixed on Georgie as he took a deep swig.

“Where you from then, doll?”

“Not yet. This is an interview.”

“Ah yes. I forgot. You’re here on business.”

“What’s your name?”

“Charlie Turner.”

“So, what brings you to our neck of the woods, Charlie Turner?”

The biker leaned in closer to Georgie with a devilish grin on his face. “I was hoping I’d meet a stunning woman who looks great in a pair of heels.”

Georgie was caught off-guard. Charlie’s up-front and bold manner was so far removed from the gentle and meek flirtations of the collar-and-briefcase men around here and the way his eyes were still devouring her with no shame and no apology made her start to tremble from excitement. She raised one eyebrow in amusement and put her pen down.

“I can see we’re not going to get very far like this. So let’s just chat and see what I get.”

She took out her recorder, set it to record and lay it down on the table between them. Charlie seemed pleased that she’d stopped writing and he leaned back in his chair with satisfaction.

“You wanna know why we’re here?” he asked her. He nodded towards the bar owner, who was avidly greeting everyone as they came into the bar and catching up with every punter like they were old friends. “That’s Mickey. He used to ride with us. He’s been riding for a long time, but decided it was time to stay in one place. He told us he was opening a bar and we all came to show our support.”

Georgie smiled. “You’re all here to support a friend? That’s nice of you.”

“Oh yeah,” Charlie said teasingly. “We’re all very
nice
.”

The end of the pen had somehow found its way between Georgie’s teeth and she grew flustered when she realized how flirtatious it must have seemed and she laid it down again.

“Tell me about you,” Charlie insisted. “You look like you’re the type for an adventure. Do you ride?”

“Oh no!” Georgie chuckled. “I’ve never gone far from Darton.”

“Why’s that?”

“I’ve never had the proper motivation.”

“So here’s me looking for a stunning girl and there’s you looking for a bit of motivation to get outta here. Sounds like we’d make a good team.”

“Do you flirt with every girl like this?”

“Only the ones who look that good in those tight pants you’ve got on.”

Georgie was flattered and she smiled. Many men had complemented her on the way she looked before or tried to flirt, but she always felt like most turned to her because she was an easy target, whereas with Charlie, she felt like he was flirting with her because he genuinely believed that she was the sexiest woman in the room. She could feel it in the way he looked at her and the way he kept leaning forward like he couldn’t stare enough.

“So where are you from, Charlie?”

“Here. There. I was born in Chicago, but the city wasn’t for me. I left home at sixteen. Started riding when I was nineteen. I found these fellas and never looked back.”