Fire Inside

Book 2: Chaos

by Kristen Ashley

Genres: Women's Fiction; Contemporary Romance; Sagas

Synopsis

Get lost in the Chaos.

Lanie Heron isn’t looking for love—no surprise, considering her last serious relationship nearly got her killed. So when Lanie propositions Hop Kincaid, all she wants is one wild night with the hot-as-hell biker who patrols with the Chaos Motorcycle Club.

For Hop, Lanie has always been untouchable. She’s too polished and too classy for his taste. But when she gives Hop the once-over with her bedroom eyes and offers him a night in paradise, he can’t say no. And he doesn’t regret it when he finds that Lanie is the best thing that’s ever happened to him—in or out of bed. Now the trick will be to convince her of that.

Release date: June 4, 2013

Publisher: Grand Central Publishing

Print pages: 528

Sample

HOPPER “HOP” KINCAID watched her wind through the loud, rowdy, drunk bikers and their groupies, heading his way.

Lanie Heron.

He didn’t move. He kept leaning against the post that held up the roof over the patio area of the Compound, holding a beer and watching her move.

Jesus, she was one serious class act. Even when she came to the Compound to shoot pool or to a hog roast, communing with the brethren of the Chaos Motorcycle Club, she didn’t dress down. Designer gear, head-to-toe. She looked like a fucking model except better because she was real, right there, walking right to him, her eyes locked to his.

She was also one serious messed-up bitch.

This was not simply because the woman was pure drama. Fuck, he’d seen her create a scene when the diet cherry 7Up she was pouring fizzed over the top of the glass.

No, Lanie Heron was messed up because she stood by her man.

Under normal circumstances, Hopper would find that an admirable trait in any woman mostly because he knew by experience it was a rare one.

It was not admirable with Lanie.

This was because, before Lanie’s man, Elliott Belova, got shot to death, Belova had been even more messed up than she was. The proof of this was he was now very dead, and she had scars from the bullets her dead fiancé bought her because he wanted to give her some crazy-ass, out-of-season flowers for their wedding and he got involved with the Russian Mob to do it.

The fucking Russian Mob.

For flowers.

Not messed up, fucked up.

Before it all went down, Lanie had found out about her man working for the Mob. Being a woman, of course, first, she busted his balls. Then she made a tremendously bad decision and stood by him even after his shit got her kidnapped. Then she watched him die and nearly got herself killed in the process.

Fucked up. Your old man gets involved with the Russian Mob—this gets your ass kidnapped—once you get rescued you kick him to the curb. No question. You just do it.

You don’t go on the lam with him and get yourself shot.

Hop watched Lanie move his way, thinking all of this, and at the same time thinking about the moment he first saw her. It was the night she found out her old man was making whacked decisions in order to buy her flowers. Even though, at the time, she was in full-blown drama mode—for once her drama being understandable—the second Hop saw her years ago, he’d thought she was definitely one fine piece of ass.

Watching her come his way, he had not changed his mind.

She was not his thing, normally. Too tall, too skinny, a nice ass but not enough of it for his usual taste. Also not enough tits and way too put together, with her designer jeans and high-heeled boots that had to cost a fucking mint.

But there was no denying her glossy, long, dark hair was fucking gorgeous. And her green eyes defined what Hop always thought was a stupid as shit saying but in her case, it was true: She had bedroom eyes. The kind of eyes any man with a functioning dick would want staring into his as he was moving inside her.

Fuck, her eyes were amazing.

After she nearly lost her life standing by her man, she’d taken off, moved from Denver to be close to her family in Connecticut, and she’d stayed there for a while licking her wounds. This while lasted too long, according to Tyra, Lanie’s best friend and old lady to Kane “Tack” Allen, the president of Hop’s motorcycle club, the Chaos MC. Tyra, known to the boys as “Cherry,” flew out to Connecticut, reamed Lanie’s ass, and hauled it back to Denver.

Lanie set herself up again in house and job and now she was a staple at Chaos gatherings mostly because she was Tyra’s best friend. Also because the brothers liked looking at her so they didn’t mind her being around, and even Hop had to admit her frequent dramas were pretty damned funny (when they weren’t annoying). You had to give credit to anyone who was who they were no matter who was around and that was pure Lanie. She was Lanie; she didn’t water that down and she didn’t care what anyone thought of her.

This was the way of the biker, letting it all hang out, so men like Hop and his brothers could appreciate it.

That said, freaking out because your 7Up overflowed was over the top. Still, a bitch as gorgeous as Lanie Heron… fuck, you’d watch her sitting around and watching TV. Having a fit over spilled soda was definitely worthwhile. Especially if she did it like she did it, jumping around so that hair was swinging, those eyes flashing, and what little tits and ass she had moving right along with her.

As she got close, Hop tore his eyes off her and looked through the crowd.

Neither Tack nor Cherry were anywhere to be seen. This was not a surprise. It was late; things were getting rowdy but that wasn’t why those two had disappeared. Hop knew they were either on Tack’s bike going back up the mountain to their house or they were in his room at the Compound. They were married, had been together awhile; neither of them were anywhere near their twenties, they had two young boys, but still, they went at each other like teenagers.

This also wasn’t a surprise. Tyra did have tits and ass, lots of hair, and a serious amount of sass. A woman like that was built to be bedded and often, and Tack took advantage. Then again, that was why Tack accepted her ball and chain. Actually, not so much accepted it as much as forced her to clamp her shackle on his ankle. Given the choice of waking up to Tyra Allen every morning, not many men wouldn’t have accepted that shackle.

“Hey,” he heard Lanie greet him and his eyes moved back to her.

“Hey,” he replied.

Her head tilted slightly down, but her eyes never left his as she remarked, “Getting rowdy.”

“Always does,” he murmured, his gaze moving over her shoulder while he thought, Jesus, she was tall. She had to be five-nine without those heels. In them, she was six-foot-one. Nearly his height. They were almost eye to eye.

He didn’t like this, normally.

Lanie… eye to eye with those fucking eyes?

Shit.

“Wanna fuck?”

At her question, his gaze sliced back to hers as he felt his body jerk in shock.

“Say again?” he asked.

She leaned in slightly, never looking away and repeated, “Wanna fuck?”

Hop stared at her. He’d just watched her walk to him, winding through loud, shitfaced bikers and their bitches, her gait steady. She didn’t move like she was hammered, nowhere near it. Even now her gaze was clear as it held his.

Still, he asked, “You had one too many, babe?”

“No,” she replied instantly and moved closer.

This was not good, because, when she did, he could smell her perfume.

Those eyes, bedroom eyes.

That perfume, fuck me perfume.

Jesus, he’d been catching whiffs of it now for years and it never failed to do a number on him. He didn’t know what it was—the fact that it smelled expensive, the intense femininity of it that said, point blank, “I am all fucking woman,” or the fact that it was elusive. If you got one smell of it, the woman who wore it owned you because you’d do anything to go back for more. Any time Lanie got near him, Hop hoped to catch her scent. Sometimes he would. Sometimes he wouldn’t. But every time, he hoped for it.

Now, though, smelling her scent was a very bad thing.

“Not sure that’s a good idea, Lanie,” he told her, gentling his voice as he gave her the honesty.

“Why?” she asked immediately, and he felt his eyes narrow on her before he answered.

“Maybe ’cause you’re best friends with Tack’s old lady. I respect him, I respect her, and shit like this, babe, it gets complicated. Any complication sucks but a complication like this,” he shook his head, “no one needs that.”

She threw out a hand and declared casually, “It won’t get complicated.”

Okay, maybe she was messed up, fucked up, a drama queen, high maintenance, and a nut.

“Bullshit,” he replied. “It always gets complicated.”

She moved closer and, Jesus, her scent, that hair, those eyes, all so close. If she got any closer he’d physically have to set her away or pick her up and carry her to his room.

“Do you want to fuck me?” she asked. Her voice, sweet and feminine normally, was soft now, a little hesitant, a little excited, and that intoxicating combination was doing a number on him too.

“Babe, you looked in the mirror lately?” he asked back by way of an answer. “Man would have to be dead not to wanna fuck you.”

A little smile twisted her pretty mouth, and he knew he was screwed because that was cute and fucking sexy as all fucking hell.

Shit.

She got closer and Hop braced. Any closer and she’d be cozied up to him. She was inches away.

“Do you like me?” she asked.

“Everyone likes you,” he answered.

“I’m not asking about everyone, Hop,” she told him and he held her eyes.

“Yeah, babe, you know I do,” he finally answered when she didn’t move or speak, just waited. “You’re funny, you’re cute, you’re hot, and you got no problem letting it all hang out. That’s why everyone likes you. That’s also why I do.”

To that, she returned, “Okay. Good. Then no complications, Hop. Just you and me and tonight. Tomorrow, I won’t expect flowers. I won’t expect a belated courtesy date. I won’t even expect you to take me out for a cup of coffee. This isn’t about that. I don’t even want that. I just want you and sex. No expectations. Nothing but what we have tonight,” she told him. “Tack and Ty-Ty, or anyone, they never even have to know.”

He pushed away from the pole, reached out an arm to put his beer on a nearby picnic table, and took a huge chance straightening to her because it meant they were closer. But it also gave him the half an inch he still had on her when she was in those heels and he needed it.

“Don’t wanna be a dick, lady,” he warned softly, “but bitches say that shit all the time. Then, in the morning, they expect breakfast, coffee, and to come home from work to roses with a note sayin’ the guy never had better. You got a man who thinks to buy you roses, says he’s never had better, big chances are he’s lyin’. He just wants it regular and he’ll take it as it comes.”

He knew every word out of his mouth made him the dick he told her he didn’t want to be, but she needed to move on. If she was in the mood to get laid, she needed to find herself some, not on Chaos. Tack’s woman, Cherry, had chosen Chaos but that didn’t mean she wouldn’t lose her mind if her best girl hooked up with a brother. She would. Hop knew it. But if that shit happened anyway, Cherry would want to handpick the brother who got in there and Hop also knew that brother would absolutely not be him.

“Then take it as it comes,” she shot back, not appearing offended in the slightest, her words coming out almost like a dare.

“Lanie—” he started, but she leaned in and, fuck, if he moved his mouth a quarter of an inch, it’d be on hers. She was all he could see, all he could smell, and all he could think was that she was also all he wanted to feel.

“You know my story,” she whispered. “You think I want another guy?” She paused then finished with emphasis, “Ever?”

He got her. Her dead old man was a moron and she’d paid for his shit in the worst way she could. Her loyalty had bought her nothing but pain, bullet wounds, and heartache. Not to mention, her man might have been good at what he did for a living, the computer geek to end all computer geeks, but he was nothing to look at. So she not only gave love and loyalty but she stepped out of a zone no woman who looked like her had to step out of in order to give it.

So, yeah, Belova was a moron and she chose that. He could see her wanting to get back in the saddle but being skittish about buying the horse.

She just wasn’t going to get back in the saddle with him.

Hop started to lift his hands to curl them around her upper arms and set her away, but she moved fast, lifting her hands to curl them around the sides of his neck. They felt warm. Her perfume assaulted him straight on and he stilled.

“I do not want that,” she carried on. “What I want is… you. For one night. Just one night.”

Fuck him.

Fuck him.

“Lady,” he muttered but before he could say more, she kept talking.

“It was… I know you know where I was back then and who I was with and I know you had a woman then too, Hop, but still, that night I met you, I couldn’t help but notice you were good-looking. But you’re not with anyone anymore and I’m seriously not with anyone anymore and I’ve been thinking about it for a long time, just too scared to do anything about it. Now I’ve decided I’m doing something about it.”

“I gotta say, I like that you’re into me, babe,” he returned gently. “Already told you that you’re beautiful and under any other circumstances, I would not hesitate to take you up on an offer this sweet. So you gotta know it’s killin’ me even as you gotta trust me when I say this is not a good idea.”

“I’ve had no one since him,” she whispered and, acting on their own, Hop’s hands came up and settled on her waist, giving it a squeeze. The move was intimate but comforting. The news that this woman, this crazy-gorgeous woman and all that she was, hadn’t had a man between her legs in fucking years moved him even as it troubled him.

“Lanie, honey,” he muttered, not having the first fucking clue what else to say.

“I’ve thought on it and decided it’s you.” Her hands at his neck gave him a squeeze and fuck him, fuck him, that moved him even more. “I understand why you don’t want to, but I promise, Hop, I swear, no kidding, seriously, no strings. No expectations. Just us. One night. Tomorrow, it will be like it’s always been. Like it didn’t even happen. I promise.”

Her hands slid down to his chest, but she didn’t move away as she finished laying it out.

“Now, I’m going to your room and I’m going to wait there for fifteen minutes. If you don’t show, no harm, no foul. I promise that, too. Nothing changes between us. No one knows anything.” She sucked in a breath and took a half step back, her hands falling away when she concluded in a quiet voice, “But,” she took a deep breath, “I really hope you show.”

With that, not giving him a chance to say another word, she turned and strutted her narrow ass back through the loud, rowdy, drunk bikers and their bitches, her hair swaying, her arms moving gracefully, her scent still in his nostrils.

“Shit,” he whispered when he watched her haul open the door to the Compound.

“Shit,” he repeated when the door closed behind her.

He kept his eyes on the door and he did this a while.

That woman, that crazy-gorgeous woman, was right now in his room.

“Shit,” he whispered yet again right before he made his way to the door.

* * *

Hopper broke contact with Lanie’s hooded eyes, eyes that were a fuckuva lot sexier since he’d just come inside her, and he did it hard and he did it long, and he shoved his face in her neck.

All he could smell was her. All he could feel was her warm, soft body under his—one of her legs wrapped around the back of his thigh, the other one cocked high, her thigh pressed to his side but her calf swung in, her heel resting in the small of his back. Her arms were tight around him, one at his shoulders, one angled, resting along his spine. Last, he could feel his cock buried in her unbelievably tight, wet cunt.

He didn’t know what it was. Maybe it was that she’d never had kids. Maybe it was because it had been so long since she’d had a man. Whatever it was, her pussy was close to virgin it was so tight. Luckily, it was also sleek. Luckier, it tasted like goddamned honey.

He’d been right when they were talking outside.

This was about to get complicated.

Her head moved and he felt her lips at his ear even as he heard her soft, tentative words. “Was that all right?”

Hop closed his eyes even as his hips reflexively pressed into hers, and he gently fisted the hand he had buried in her hair.

She was worried she was out of practice. She was worried it wasn’t good for him. And considering the fact that, if she was out of practice, when she got into the swing of things, she’d be off-the-charts, her worry was both cute and sweet and, like everything else about her, it did a number on him.

Yes, things were going to get complicated.

He opened his eyes, moved his head so his lips were at her ear, and murmured, “Lady, I don’t fake it. Not only because I can’t but because, even if I could, I wouldn’t.”

All her limbs convulsed around him even as her cunt did the same and, Jesus, God, it felt seriously fucking good.

Then it got better when her body started moving under him and he heard her husky, low chuckle in his ear.

He lifted his head in an effort to watch her face in laughter through the dark. Once she got back to Denver, and Tyra got her hands on her, Lanie laughed a lot. He liked watching her laugh. It was always, every time he saw it, a good show.

It was better now because he could feel it. Even though he couldn’t see much, the little he saw was still pure beauty.

Totally complicated.

He liked her smell. He liked her feel. He liked the sound of her low laughter. He liked her uncertainty. He liked how hard she made him come. And he liked how hard she came for him, her pussy tightening around his cock, her long limbs wound around his body holding on, her soft pants and moans sweet to his ear and, best of all, the look on her beautiful face when he gave it to her.

Totally fucking complicated.

He waited until she stopped laughing before he slid his hand out of her hair to her jaw and then rubbed the pad of his thumb across her lips while he asked, “How you feelin’?”

“Uh… good,” she answered, her words meant to be an obvious understatement, her lips moving against his thumb tilting up even as she spoke.

“Good enough for another go?” he asked, his thumb pressing in, pulling at her unbelievably full lower lip, and he felt her shift under him.

He knew what that shift meant even before her voice came at him, breathy, “Another go?”

He replaced his thumb with his lips. “Yeah, another go.”

“So soon?” She sounded disbelieving.

“You’re gonna have to work me up, lady, but… yeah. Soon as you’re ready, my mouth wants more of that pussy.”

She wanted that, too. He knew it because her body trembled under his.

“Yeah, I’m, um… good for another go,” she told him, her sweet voice still breathy.

“Then don’t move.” He pressed his lips to hers before he lifted his head. “Gotta hit the can and I’ll be back.”

“I won’t move,” she whispered.

She better not. If she did, he’d find her and haul her back. He didn’t care if she beamed her ass to Mars.

Fuck.

Complicated.

He knew it and didn’t give a fuck as he slid out of her, kissed her throat, feeling her skin, smelling her scent, and rolled off her and the bed so he could make his way to the bathroom to get rid of his condom.

When he got back, she hadn’t moved, but seconds later, she did because he moved her.

He parted her legs, swung them over his shoulders and didn’t hesitate a second before he dipped his face into pure honey.

* * *

Hop exited the bathroom and saw Lanie sitting on the side of his bed, her back to him, putting on her bra.

“What the fuck you doin’?” he growled and, shit, that was it. He couldn’t deny it. Even he heard it.

He growled.

She twisted and he felt her eyes on him in the dark.

“Ty-Ty and Tack are down the hall. They won’t come up for air until the morning, but it’s almost morning so I should be gone by then.”

“You’re not goin’,” he informed her, putting a knee to the bed and moving her way.

“I’m… oof,” she puffed as he hooked her at the belly, yanked her back onto the bed, and rolled on top of her. She blinked up at him through the dark and finished, “not?”

“Not done with you,” he informed her.

“You’re…” again with the breathy voice, something he felt in his gut, chest, and dick, “not?” and again with the disbelieving.

Totally disbelieving.

“I’m not,” Hop confirmed.

“Is that even,” a pause then, “possible?”

“Is what possible?” he asked.

“Three times in an, erm… night?”

Obviously, Belova wasn’t only messed up, fucked up, and stupid, he’d clearly had no stamina, which was fucking insane. A ninety-year-old man had a shot at that beauty, he’d find a way to get it up and do it repeatedly even if it killed him.

“Yeah it’s possible.”

Hop watched her head tilt on the pillow. “I… No offense, Hop, but I don’t believe you.”

Fucking excellent.

He slid his hands up her sides as he dropped his mouth to hers. “Right. Good, then, babe. I get to prove it to you.”

Close up, he watched her eyes get wide.

“Wow,” she whispered against his lips.

“Don’t say that now,” he ordered. “You can say that later, like you did after I did that thing with my fingers the second time.”

Her body shifted under his, her chest pressing up; she remembered something he knew she wouldn’t soon forget, and she repeated a whispered, “Wow.”

He grinned against her mouth and promised, “I’ll give you wow.”

“You’ve already given me three wows,” she reminded him.

“Four,” he corrected.

“Oh yeah,” she murmured, her hands moving lightly down the skin of his back. “I forgot that one because it came so close on the heels of that other one.”

Her hands made it to his ass, so he decided their conversation was over, and to communicate that to Lanie, he asked, “Are we gonna keep talkin’ or do you want wow?”

She moved her head, sliding her lips from his, down his cheek to his jaw and finally his ear.

Once they were there, she murmured, “Give me wow.”

With his mouth at her neck, he trailed it down to her collarbone then engaged his tongue and, after, taking his time and a lot of it, he gave her wow five and six.

* * *

Hop came out of the bathroom to see Lanie on her feet on the other side of the bed, panties on, hands twisted behind her back putting her bra on. Again.

He didn’t say a word. He prowled to her, reached out an arm the second he was close, yanked her to him and fell to his back in the bed, taking her down with him.

“Hop—” she started, pushing her weight against his arms, but he slid her off him then wasted no time rolling over her and pinning her to his bed.

“Sleep,” he ordered when he caught her eyes in the weak dawn. “After rest, I’ll get coffee, we’ll juice up, then round four.”

She blinked and breathed, “Four?”

“Got lots more I want to do to you,” he informed her and watched her eyes go soft, sexier, then her teeth came out to graze her lush lower lip, also fucking sexy, and her arms slid around him.

But she asked, “What about Tack and Ty-Ty?”

“I’ll make sure the coast is clear,” he told her.

“But they’ll see my car,” she told him.

“I’ll move it,” he offered.

Her hand slid up his back, around his shoulder, and then to his neck where her thumb moved to stroke him. Her touch was light but, fuck, it felt good. He’d never had a woman touch him in an unconscious way like that, just a touch, a stroke, giving something that meant nothing at the same time doing it without thinking about it meant everything.

Shit.

Complicated.

“This is just supposed to be one night,” she reminded him quietly, but he saw it in her eyes. She didn’t even try to hide it. She’d bitten off more than she could chew.

He had too and he was nowhere near done eating.

She was cute. She was sweet. She was hot. She was better than he expected and he’d expected her to be pretty fucking good. All that wrapped in a package that gorgeous?

Yeah.

He was nowhere near done eating.

“Change of plans. A night and a morning and, maybe, an afternoon and, possibly, another night,” he amended, and her eyes got softer as her hand slid up to cup his jaw.

“I have to work,” she told him.

“Call off,” he told her.

“I can’t. I own the joint.” She explained something he knew, that she ran her own advertising agency. “And things are a bit crazy.”

Things were always crazy for Lanie. The woman lived crazy. She thrived on it. If there wasn’t crazy, she stirred it up because she couldn’t breathe without it.

“Babe,” he pressed his body into hers, “told you, got more I want to do to you.”

He felt her shiver but her lips whispered, “Hop, I don’t—”

He cut her off with a quick kiss then lifted his head and asked, “Where are your keys?”

“We shouldn’t sleep together. Sleeping is bad. Sex is good, sleeping together is something else,” she stated and she was right.

He just didn’t care.

“Where are your keys?” he asked.

“Hop—”

“Lady, we’re not sleeping, we’re resting then we’re fucking some more. Last time I’ll say it. Not done with you, got things I want to do to you and I’m doin’ them. Now, where… are… your… keys?”

She stared up at him, her gaze hot, her body bothered, shifting under his, and she whispered, “Jeans pocket.”

Stretching out to reach a hand to the floor, he grabbed her jeans, got in the pocket, and yanked out her keys. Once he had them in hand, he went back to her and kissed her. He took his time, and it was wet, deep, and fucking brilliant.

When she was holding on tight and kissing him back like she never wanted it to end, he ended it. Lifting his lips to her forehead, he touched them there then dipped his chin and looked into her eyes.

“Rest, honey. I’ll move your car and be back.”

“Okay,” she agreed quietly.

He touched his mouth to hers, rolled off, grabbed his jeans, a tee, pulled on socks and his boots and made his way to the door. He turned back before he slid through the still mostly closed door.

She was curled in an “S” in his bed, pillow to her chest, cheek resting on it, arms around it, hair everywhere. Her bare back was exposed, and he could see one leg and her ass in red lace panties. Eyes on him.

Fucking gorgeous, every inch, and she tasted and felt as good as she looked.

She grinned.

Gorgeous.

He returned her grin, slid through the door and went after her car.

When he got back, she was dead to the world.

He took off his clothes, dropped them to the floor, and slid into bed beside her. Carefully, he turned her into his arms.

She didn’t wake. She just cuddled closer, her arm snaking across his stomach then holding tight, her torso pressing into his, her knee cocked and resting on his thigh.

This felt good, too.

She was right. They shouldn’t sleep together. Sleeping suggested something more. A kind of togetherness neither of them wanted. Sleeping like this with her, it feeling so good; it was, with everything else, enough to make you want a fuckuva lot more.

So it was good, Hop thought, that they weren’t sleeping, they were just resting.

On that thought, he fell asleep, Lanie curved close and held tight in his arm, her perfume all over his sheets.

* * *

Three hours later, Hop woke.

Lanie’s perfume was still all over his sheets.

Lanie just wasn’t in them.

* * *

That night Hop was stretched out on the fluffy cushion on the lounge chair in her courtyard, feet cros. . .