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I wiped my face with a napkin, and Swiss leaned in to kiss the corner of my mouth.
“Gonna make me a coffee now, Countess?” he asked quietly.
I nodded once.
“Good,” he winked. “Makes sense, you set me up for the day with your pussy then your coffee.”
My cheeks burned, and Swiss grinned wickedly.
“I know me being crass is turnin’ you on, but we’re in a public place. Get a hold of yourself,” he quipped, reaching back to squeeze my ass.
I grinned back at him, and as if I was floating on air, I walked to the coffee machine and proceeded to make my man a coffee.
Once I’d handed it to him, he yanked me in for a long kiss not suitable for public consumption.
“I’ll pick you up later, baby,” he murmured.
I nodded, breathless.
Then I watched him walk out.
I was not the only one.
“Stop pervin’ at your man, and get me a latte,” Julian barked.
I jumped to attention and did as he said. My mind was on Swiss and coffee for the rest of the day.
I didn’t know when I started living at the clubhouse… It kind of just happened. Just like how I started working at the café.
Julian did not bat an eyelash at ‘paying me under the table,’ nor did he question why I couldn’t provide things like a social security number or why my address on file was a motel.
The motel that served as a symbol more than anything else. Storage for my meager belongings and the place where I’d hidden the remaining items I was keeping in case of emergency.
A diamond tennis bracelet. My wedding and engagement rings. I should’ve pawned those first. The second I made the decision to leave. I wasn’t sure why I was still holding on to them. They were a symbol of the pain I’d lived through, of the control Preston had had over me.
But I couldn’t let go of them. Even though both of the rings were worth thousands. Tens of thousands. More than enough to set me up.
I’d need to pay for a lawyer eventually, though. A good one. And although I hadn’t had much experience of the real world in my adult life, I understood that a good divorce lawyer was likely to cost more than the rings and bracelet were worth. Maybe ten times more.
That thought made me itchy and panicky, so I tried to avoid it and the motel. I only went there under the pretense that I had some kind of life outside of Swiss and the club.
Which I really, really didn’t.
I slept at the club. Ate at the club. Cooked for the club. Shopped for the club. And if I wasn’t eating there, I was eating at Hansen and Macy’s, Hades and Freya’s or Jagger and Caroline’s place.
And when I was shopping, I was more often than not with one of them—the Old Ladies.
Old Lady... That’s what I was. Biker slang for going steady. But a lot more serious than that.
I understood that everyone was surprised that Swiss had declared that he had a woman. I was not sure if people were surprised by who he chose. No one judged me. No one made me feel unwelcome or out of place. Even though I was. No, from the beginning, every single member of the club made me feel like family.
Which made my deception all the more horrendous.
I’d almost told Swiss a hundred times. The longer I went without telling him, the harder it was to tell the truth.
He knew about Violet. He knew that I was estranged from her father. But he thought that estrangement was a formal, legal arrangement. I’d never lied outright to him, but he’d assumed that. And I’d let him. Swiss didn’t ask a whole lot about my past. He didn’t seem to care about what got me there, just the fact I was there.
Though I was infinitely curious, I never asked about his either. I wanted to know him. Desperately. I wanted to know him deeply and intimately, more deeply than anyone ever had. There was a lot underneath the muscle, the charm, the cheeky humor, the smoldering, sexual intensity… the danger. There was something dark. Something painful. I sensed it the more time I spent with him.
