 
410

Nicky's Fire

By

Nancy Fornataro

Nicky's Fire

Copyright © 2012 by Nancy Fornataro

This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the author's imagination and used fictitiously.

Adult Reading Material

*****

Nicky's Fire

Chapter One

Chloe shifted in the booth, and watched her supervisor, D.E.A. Special Director Ellen McGafferty. The woman was young, and very pretty. A bit of blonde fluff, from all appearances, but Chloe knew better.

"You're going undercover," Ellen explained in a low voice, as she glanced around the crowded, smoke—filled bar, "in one of the most important operations of this type we've had so far."

Since Chloe joined the Drug Enforcement Agency, she'd been in several small undercover operations, but nothing big. Her excitement grew, along with thoughts of promotion possibilities, and she plucked at the skirt of her silky dress, anxious to hear just what the plan was.

Ellen continued, "You and Nick Webster will be working closely on this thing. When it came up, and he asked us for someone, I thought of you immediately."

"What exactly is it? And who is Nick Webster?" Chloe tried to remember recent names and faces, but she knew she'd never worked with him, or even heard of him.

"I'm glad you asked the question about Nick. And I'm also glad you don't know him."

Chloe sensed the woman was going to be tight-lipped about the thing, until her new partner arrived, so she sat back and took a sip of her whiskey. She also wondered why the director had decided on a bar for their meeting, but in the D.E.A., anything was possible. Anything and everything. Especially when a person was about to change identities.

Looking around the small, rough-neck bar McGafferty had chosen for the meeting, Chloe thought it was probably the rattiest place she'd ever been in. Musty and dreary, filled with dirty, loud, oil derrick bums, it sat on a deserted stretch of road, on the outskirts of the worst section of Ventura.

And although the red color of her slinky dress seemed to be attracting a lot of attention, Chloe knew it was vastly inappropriate for this place. Plus, the vinyl seat underneath her was torn, and it poked her mercilessly. Shifting her body didn't help and she cursed silently.

Then, as she waited, and tried to keep her hands away from the sticky table-top, she wondered why on earth Ellen had picked this particular place, miles from Chloe's home in Thousand Oaks. The drive up hadn't been bad, though, with the ocean on one side and majestic cliffs on the other. Very soothing and picturesque.

Growing impatient, she said, "Ellen, why here? Hey, wait a minute, I think that guy over there likes you." She and the director were on good terms, and very comfortable with each other. They'd hit it off right away, and they enjoyed a friendship unusual to the D.E.A.. They'd even partied a few times, but Chloe wasn't the party type. Nor did she enjoy fending off advances of over-eager men.

The blonde, petite director looked over at him and smiled, then turned back to Chloe. "Smile pretty, and pretend you're interested."

"In that?" She looked at the man. He was twice her age, and appeared as if he'd just stepped off an oil rig. After he fell in the oil, that is. "Not in this lifetime," Chloe said dryly, trying to appear available at the same time she said the words. Yes, they were here, two women searching for men. Supposedly. On the surface, at least.

"Finally," Ellen said with relief, as she looked towards the doorway, "I thought he'd never get here. He's late as usual. Just follow my lead, okay? Nick will trail you home, and fill you in on the details. Remember, smile pretty."

Chloe did as instructed, smiled, and looked towards the door. It was seven at night this summer evening, so daylight streamed into the dingy bar from behind the man. He stood still, temporarily silhouetted, his huge frame blocking the doorway. Then, slowly, he moved towards them.

Chloe heard the clink of his boot chains, as he walked, not to mention the thicker chain hanging around his waist.

"Oh, my God," Chloe muttered, as she watched him lazily stroll their way.

Nick was six feet of pure muscle, and he looked every inch of the biker he was supposed to be. He wore tight jeans that hugged his huge thigh muscles and left little to the imagination about his sex.

Chest and arm muscles bulged under his white t-shirt, and his long black hair fell past the collar of his jeans jacket. The arms of the jacket had been severed long ago, biker patches and slogans adorned the front and, she assumed, probably the back of the thing as well.

Chloe saw his eyes glittering in the dim light, as he approached, and she noticed he had several tattoos on each arm, which moved and shifted with his muscles.

Born to ride, she thought, as she watched him. The man oozed power; it flowed from him like some kind of prehistoric memory. A memory of how men used to be. But then she remembered he was acting. It was his job, and she thought the biker swagger looked good on him. He was a hunk. His look was at once brutal and sexual, and she was surprised to find herself wondering idly what he was like in bed.

She'd seen bikers riding along the highway. And there was something that attracted her to them, yet repelled her as well. It was like they were thumbing their noses at society, living one day at a time with abandon.

Stopping momentarily, he looked around at the motley group of bar inhabitants, who almost seemed to cringe in their seats under his gaze. Then he headed towards Chloe and Ellen with animal-like grace, with a walk that seemed to say, "Stop me if you dare."

Standing at their table, he leaned both of his huge hands on the thing, and said, in a low, husky voice, "Well, what have we got here?"

Ellen said, in an equally low voice, "Sit down, Nick. Don't make a spectacle of yourself." Her eyes were nervous now, darting about the room, but her smile was inviting.

He slid in the booth next to Ellen then lounged lazily, with one arm over the back of the booth, and the other on the table. Then, he yelled at the bartender, "Bring me a beer, old man!" The noise in the bar quieted, momentarily, and a few men looked curiously at the biker.

The bartender frowned, but did as requested, thumping the frosty bottle in front of Nick, then hastily departing as he grabbed the crumpled bill Nick threw on the table.

Nick and Ellen began talking out of the sides of their mouths at the same time they had, from all outward appearances, a regular conversation with Chloe. And the bar bums howled noisily again at neighboring tables, seemingly unaware of the three of them.

"Couldn't you pick someone better than this?" he muttered to Ellen, while he said to Chloe in a louder voice, "What's your name, sweetheart?"

"Chloe," she answered angrily. What did he mean, better than her? What was wrong with her? Chloe's hand came up and checked her smoothly French-braided hair. Everything seemed in order. With the exception of being over-dressed, she felt fine about her appearance.

"She'll be perfect," Ellen muttered placating him, "she's got the look." Then, she said in a louder voice, "I told you he was cute, didn't I?"

His dark eyes raked over Chloe intensely, taking in every inch of her graceful, willowy frame. Then, he snorted softly, saying under his breath, "She looks like she just got out of the academy, for Christ sake!"

Chloe cast him a scathing look, but Ellen reminded her softly, "Smile, Chloe. This is supposed to look like a pick-up."

Automatically, Chloe flashed him a flirtatious smile, and finally noticed Nick had at least a three-day growth of beard on his rugged face. She wondered what color his eyes were, as she couldn't tell in the dark bar.

But, he still looked at Chloe with a hard expression. "Is that the best you can do?" he said under his breath to Ellen. Then he mumbled, "I've spent eighteen months working to get in, and you bring me this?"

Chloe's anger grew with his insults, and her smile faded. "Asshole!" she said, before she could stop herself. She had a temper, and now she allowed it out briefly.

A different, but inscrutable look flickered briefly across his face, and he raised his eyebrows. His stare was piercing her now, and she felt uncomfortable. Dark, glittering eyes...probing, searching.

"Walk over to the jukebox," he said under his breath, as he reached into his pocket and threw her a quarter.

"What am I, your servant?" she said softly, not really wanting to do his bidding, but knowing she'd have no choice if he was in charge of the operation.

"Not yet, babe," he said softly.

Rising slowly, straightening her rayon dress, she heard him groan then swear under his breath. Up yours, buddy, she thought, as she moved stiffly to the ancient jukebox, and tried to concentrate on picking a song. She knew they were discussing her, but it didn't matter. This was one assignment she wouldn't care if she lost.

"Let me out of here!" she heard her supervisor say loudly. And, as the woman flew past her, Ellen said nastily, "He's all yours, bitch!"

Play along, thought Chloe. Okay, so he's all mine. What the holy hell do I do with him? Smiling, as the other patrons glanced at her, she slowly returned to the booth, and sat across from him.

His eyes lazily studied her, as he sipped his beer. She grew uncomfortable again at his close scrutiny, and she looked over at the man from the oil derricks. He looked a bit better to her now, somehow. Anyone would be better than the obnoxious man sitting in front of her.

"Look at me, you idiot," Nick said under his breath. "Act interested."

Her eyes returned to the pseudo-biker, and her lips curved into a seductive smile.

"That's better."

"If we weren't who we are, I wouldn't give you the time of day," she muttered, still smiling at him.

"Ask me if I care," he retorted, "and take my hand or something. You're too stiff."

"You're the guy. You do it."

He let out an exasperated sigh, and grabbed her hand.

His hands were rough, with calluses, but the touch, she had to admit, was caressing. His fingers stroked her palm absently, while he still stared at her.

Warmth streamed through her, at the sensual stroking, and she thought, ruefully, that it had been too long since she'd been with anyone of the opposite sex. Way too long.

"Yes," he said softly, "I guess you've got possibilities. I'll have to teach you some things, though, and we've only got tonight."

Briefly, she wondered what on earth this man could ever teach her. "What things?" she snapped finally.

"Well," he drawled, still stroking lightly, "you walk like you've got a pole up your ass. We'll have to work on that."

She glared at him but stopped, as she remembered this was supposed to be a pick-up, and people were watching.

Snorting softly, he continued, "And those clothes..."

The frown returned, in spite of her good intentions. "What's wrong with my clothes?"

He snorted again. "Babe, you look like you're going uptown. We're headed downtown. Way down." Leaning forward then, he said softly, "We're going so far downtown, when we get back, you'll look at that dress and laugh."

"Let's get out of here," she said, from between clenched teeth, "I need to ask you some questions about——"

"Not so fast," he muttered, "come over here and sit by me first." He sat back and patted the seat next to him.

Rolling her eyes, she rose slowly and slid in next to him. He moved close to her, and she felt his hard thigh against her own. His arm wrapped around her shoulders, and she thought, too long. It definitely had been a long time since she'd been with a man. Or slept with a man, for that matter.

He pulled her even closer. As his lips grazed her ear, an even warmer sensation flooded through her, as he said huskily, "I'd like to see that hair unbraided."

She felt his hands caressing the soft tendrils of curly hair, at the nape of her neck, which always seemed to escape the braiding process.

Shivers went down her spine and she wondered exactly what she was supposed to do with this man. Closing her eyes, a small gasp escaped her lips as he continued nuzzling her ear.

"Now you're getting into it," he rumbled, "we're believable now. Let's go. I'll follow you."

It was hard to move, as she felt an erotic haziness, but she slid out of the seat anyway. And, she realized she was slightly embarrassed, as she heard the clink of his chains, the thump of his boots, and saw the patrons watching her move towards the door with him.

It was fully dark outside now, but his motorcycle was unmistakable. It was parked in the very front, gleaming in pale, yellow light from a single feeble light bulb outside the bar. And, it was big. Very big.

Turning towards him, she commented, "Yours, I presume?"

He said nothing, just stared down at her, with the same, unreadable expression on his face.

She circled the thing. It was black, of course. She couldn't imagine this guy riding anything else but a black hog. It was low to the ground, and polished to a high gloss. A monster of gleaming chrome and dark intentions.

Running a finger along the sissy-bar, she said, "Is it a twelve-hundred?"

He raised his eyebrows and nodded.

"Well, I live in Thousand Oaks. See you there."

"Yuppie central. Why doesn't that surprise me?" he replied dryly.

Frowning, she said, "I have a double garage. You can park it in there while we're getting acquainted."

He nodded again, and straddled the chopper. Somehow, she thought, he belongs on that thing.

Walking up to him, she put a hand on his shoulder, and said, "Nothing like the feel of a Harley between your legs is there?" Then, she turned and walked to her car with a smile on her face.

She heard him start the thing, and it sounded like thunder. It was so loud, the small parking lot rumbled, like an approaching earthquake.

The drive to Thousand Oaks was beautiful, as the full moon made sparkles on the calm ocean, and she saw his single headlight behind her all the way.

As they approached her condo, she wondered what the neighbors would think. Then, Chloe decided she didn't care. She'd be gone for months anyway. A friend, her accountant, would be paying her mortgage and utilities, so things were taken care of there.

She flipped the garage door open, and he pulled in beside her. The rumbling noise from his bike was so loud in that small, confined space that she covered her ears and walked into the house.

"God," she muttered, "that thing needs a better muffler."

Flinging her purse on a chair, she put some coffee on, and waited for him on the sofa. She could hear him tinkering with the bike then he stood in the doorway, leaning on the door-jam.

"Come in," she said irritably.

He strolled in the room as if he owned it, his large body moving around, inspecting, and dwarfing everything except her large stereo cabinet. He picked up a photo of Chloe and her husband in happier times. "This your old man?"

"Was, yes."

"What happened?" He turned towards her, and she saw his eyes. They were the most beautiful eyes she'd ever seen on a man, a color somewhere between blue and hazel. Probing eyes, searching eyes that seemed to have an urgent need for answers. She was momentarily speechless at the intensity of his look.

Finally regaining her composure, she snapped, "None of your business. Now, can we discuss the case? I'm in the dark here, you know."

Shrugging, he sat across from her. Lounging lazily on a chair, his eyes roved over her briefly and he began.

"I've infiltrated a biker group called The Warriors."

"Yes, that much is pretty obvious. And, I've heard of them. But, aren't bikers small-time for drugs and that? And what does the one-percent mean?" The number was emblazoned below the group's name on his jacket, and she was curious about it.

"Ninety-nine percent of bikers are law-abiding citizens. We're...they're the other one-percent. Yes, it's a small group, nothing like Hell's Angels. They would have pegged me in a minute. But we're after something bigger."

"Go on."

"The Warriors have a designer-drug factory somewhere in Mexico. You may have heard of the drug called 'Crash.'"

Chloe nodded. Everyone had heard of Crash. It was a new street drug, contents unknown, that was purported to have a high unlike any other, but sometimes with horrible consequences.

She said, "How many people have died so far using that stuff?"

Snorting softly, he replied, "Too many. It's deadly, and these guys are supplying the whole West Coast. They also have a Meth factory down there. They deal in Quaaludes, smack, reds, coke, you name it, they've got it. What we're after is the source. There's someone involved in Mexico who's big. Very big. That's where you come in."

"Okay. What do I do?"

He smiled. "You're going to be my old lady. A real laid back assignment, so to speak."

"Get real. What do you need an old lady for? You seem like the type of guy who'd rather work on his own."

"I am. But the leader of the group, Max, has a wife. They go to Mexico twice a month to get the stuff. He told me to find a woman. That he'd take me with him. I couldn't pick a woman just anywhere, because the risk would be too great. So, I called Ellen. Plus, I think some of the guys are beginning to wonder about me. I haven't really had a woman since I joined the club."

She found that a bit hard to believe. If he were cleaned up a little, she might even go for him herself. "But, don't they...I mean...aren't the women..."

"Turned out? Yeah, they used to be. But, believe it or not, since Aids came on the scene, even bikers are more careful. Most of them have established old ladies or wives. There are a few headhunters around all the time," he paused, and seeing the blank look on her face, continued, "women who trade sex for coke. Anyway, don't worry about that. They respect me in the group, so just stay with me," and now his tone grew possessive, "you're my old lady now."

She frowned. "We'll sleep in the same bed?"

His lips twitched. "Yeah. Most of the time. But don't worry. It's not a D.E.A. requirement that you have sex with me. I crash on the couch sometimes anyway. And besides, I'm fairly particular who I sleep with."

Her eyes narrowed. "So am I," she snapped, then realized she'd said the wrong thing, as he grinned at her. Ignoring the grin, she continued, "Now, what kind of clothes do I need? Something sleazy, I assume?"

He looked her up and down. "Mini-skirts, tight jeans, crop-tops, tight t-shirts, anything that will show your tits and your ass. Go change. I can't even tell if you have a decent body in that dress." He paused. "Nice color, though."

He'd fairly spat the word 'dress' and she grew angry again. "What, so I can parade around in front of you?"

"Yeah. Now you've got the picture. Biker women parade around a lot. Get used to it."

She rose quickly, still irritated, and breezed by him.

"By the way," he said, "I know what your nickname will be."

Pausing at the doorway, without looking back, she said, "What?"

"Legs."

"Yeah? Well you haven't seen the rest of me yet."

"I can't wait," he said dryly, "and take down your hair while you're in there."

Nick waited for her, and his gaze flitted around the room. The place was spotless, and he felt uncomfortable with it, like he'd felt uncomfortable with Chloe, earlier. And, not because of her, but because of him.

"I've been a biker too long," he muttered. He was becoming accustomed to the filth and profanity of the life-style, and he acted like an actual member of the gang more often than not. Now, he felt like he didn't belong in this place, her place, with its immaculate, designer furniture and oak bookshelves. Her air conditioner kicked on, with a hum, and he wondered how long he'd have to live without these civilized trappings.

Strolling to the picture of Chloe and the man, he wondered what happened to the two of them. They looked happy in the picture, and he felt jealousy pulling at him. Her hair was shorter then, and she had an impish grin on her heart-shaped face.

Hearing Chloe return to the room, he turned to look at her. But, in his wildest dreams, he hadn't expected this incredible transformation.

She wore skin-tight, tattered jeans, and a low-cut tank top. Her brown hair was loose and wild, fanning out from her face in curly abandon, and it almost reached her waist. She was heavily made-up now, and her big, brown eyes had an exotic look he hadn't noticed before, as did her red, slightly pouting mouth.

Ellen was right. She had the look. He tried to be objective, as he looked her over, but found himself desiring her. Big time.

He sniffed and said gruffly, "Your tits are nice size. That's good."

A seductive smile played on her lips, like the one she'd flashed him earlier in the bar, and he felt like she could sense his thoughts. Damn her!

Walking up to her, he touched her shoulders and turned her around. "Nice ass, too."

"So glad you approve. You'll never know how much it means to me. Never. Does that mean I pass inspection?"

"Maybe. Do you have boots?"

"Yes. I'll go get them on, so you can see my completed ensemble."

Watching her walk away, he realized he'd been holding his breath, and it came out now in a long, agonized sigh. She was a looker. This might be tougher than he thought.

And, he knew the guys would be after her, at least the single ones, and possibly the married ones as well. But, as his old lady, she'd be protected. He'd make sure of it.

Chapter Two

Chloe found her black boots, pulled them on, and tried to prepare herself to return to the living room for further inspection. She didn't like this, but she knew she had to dress the part. Act the part. And be the woman. The type of woman she'd always despised.

Here she was, a Berkley graduate, working slowly towards her masters in Criminology, and she had to slink back in there for him. Three years in the D.E.A., with many cases closed to her credit, and she had to parade for Nick.

Trying to stifle her resentment, as she walked slowly back down the hallway, she composed her face in more placid lines. It was part of the job. That's all.

Nick's lips twitched, as he looked her over. "You'll do."

"Gee, thanks."

"Now," he said, gesturing to the sofa, "plant yourself. I need to lay down some ground rules. You may already know these things, but it pays to be safe."

They both sat on the couch, with Nick a small distance away from her. Curving his arm over the back, he leaned towards her. His eyes were even more intriguing close up, and she tried to concentrate on what he was saying. Yes, they were silver gray, with little blue flecks.

"First," he began, "don't ever write anything down. Don't use the phone at my place to call anywhere but the other bikers or their old ladies. If you need to contact Ellen, let me know, and we'll use a pay phone. And don't discuss the case at the house either. You never know. They might have bugged the place.

"Second, don't use big words. They'll know you're a fraud. Try to catch on to the language. You know, they have their own slang. Their old ladies are 'moms,' things like that. And don't use proper names for the drugs, use the slang.

"Third, act tough. If you don't, the other women will eat you alive. Don't take any shit from them, either, or they'll make your life hell.

"And, aside from all of that, we need to get our stories straight on where you come from. My story to Max is that you were my old girlfriend from The Scorpions, back East. I told him I was coming to Ventura to try to get you to go back with me. I told him we lived in Ventura for a while, then we broke up and I moved to L.A.. My cover is a bike shop in Culver City, and I fix Harleys. My house is in back of the shop."

Chloe couldn't help wondering what his house looked like. "Where do the other guys live?"

"They're scattered around Culver City. Max has a house by the ocean. The place looks like a fortress. He also has a place in Mazatlan. I've never seen it, but his wife, Tessie, says it's something else. Questions?"

His nearness was disconcerting, and she moved back a few inches. "How long were we together before? And what city were The Scorpions in?"

"Five years. Miami."

"Are your parents dead or alive?"

"Dead. Supposedly, they lived in Miami. That's what I told the guys, anyway. I'm actually from the Mid-West. And yours?"

"Alive. Mmm, we can say they still live in Miami. That sounds logical, if that's where we met. I'm from the East Coast, originally. Boston. Why did we leave The Scorpions? What did you tell them?"

"We didn't like the new leader. We were in the group for four years."

"And how long did we live in Ventura?"

"A year." He ran a hand through his hair. "Then, you went and found yourself someone else. But, obviously, it didn't work out. And why the hell do you keep pushing yourself back? You're almost to the edge of the couch."

"I hadn't noticed," she mumbled.

He sighed. "Listen, I know this isn't easy. But you have to pretend to like me. You know, hang on me. Watch the other women, and copy what they do. If this whole thing doesn't work for you, we can say you left me again or something. But I need you. Otherwise, I don't think he'll take me to Mexico. He doesn't take the single guys down there. I'm not sure why."

His eyes became intense, suddenly, and his face grew serious. Leaning towards her, he lifted her chin with his hand. "Above all, I want you to remember this. Don't get sentimental about any of these people. They're drug dealers and murderers. And they're all going down. Every last one of them."

She found herself almost afraid of him then. The savage look of his face and the hard glint in his eyes. Jerking her chin away, she said, "I know what I'm doing."

Sitting back again, he said, "You'd better, or we'll both be dead. Don't blow my cover, Legs, or I'll come back and haunt you."

Narrowing her eyes, she looked over at him. But, his face wore the same calm expression she'd seen earlier. "How old are you, Nick?"

"Thirty. And you?"

"Twenty-five. Do you have a name in the group?"

"Yeah. I use Nick, my real first name. For a last name I use Duncan. But they do call me 'Action' sometimes."

"Really? Why is that?"

He grinned. She thought he really did have a nice grin, sort of sexy. Then he said, "Probably because I never want any, but the women hang all over me anyway. Used to hang, I should say. They won't anymore."

Her eyes narrowed again. "And if they do?"

"You'll handle it."

She wasn't sure she had his confidence. "But what do you do about the drugs?"

Looking past her, he said, "Sometimes it's unavoidable. I have to smoke pot with them, or they'd be suspicious. I drink beer. If they give me pills, I hold them in the side of my mouth, until I can get rid of them. That way, a minimum gets in my system. Sometimes I use placebos for show. Ellen had the lab make them for me. That's why you shouldn't touch any of my stash. Some is real, some not."

"Don't worry," she said dryly, "I won't rummage in your drawers. But, how about me?"

"What do you drink?"

"I prefer whiskey, but beer will do in a pinch."

He raised his eyebrows. "Can you hold your liquor, or am I going to have to keep track?"

"Don't worry about me. I'll do fine."

"I'm not sure what to tell you on the drugs. Some of the old ladies do stuff, some don't. You don't have to. If someone is suspicious, go ahead. But I'd say if you can drink instead, it would be better. Just don't get drunk and fall all over me. I hate that."

They were silent then she said, "Well, I guess that's it. When do I start?"

"Now."

"What? I haven't even packed yet!"

"Well, get busy, woman. I've got things to do."

Riding down Pacific Coast Highway, on the back of his Harley, she wondered whether she'd be able to pull off this biker chick thing. But she realized, as they sped along, that she loved motorcycles. The feeling of wind in her face, and the feeling of Nick. They weren't wearing helmets, though, and she wondered if they'd get stopped. She was leaning up against the sissy-bar now, and not holding on to him. It was comfortable, and his legs were warm against hers. Warm and hard.

He was solidly built, even more so than she'd thought originally. She'd found out when they hit a bump, and she grabbed him around the waist.

But the feeling she had as she rode behind him was a strange one. Almost like transference of power. As if some of his power was rubbing off on her. And, she liked it. She felt larger than life. The way Nick would seem, if he weren't so good at his role.

But, as they passed through Santa Monica, she dozed off momentarily, and felt herself sliding.

"Hold on, you idiot!" Nick yelled, looking back at her quickly.

Weaving her fingers under his jacket, she grabbed him, felt the warmth of his solid body, and leaned her head against the back of his jacket. His stomach muscles tightened, and she felt the rippling cords there, as her fingers moved and explored him.

"Cut it out!" he yelled, "I can't concentrate!"

She stifled a laugh, and wondered what time it was.

But then, as she held him and looked at the houses that whizzed by so quickly, she thought of her late husband, Pete. That made twice today she'd thought of him. And she tried not to think of Pete too often. He'd died of leukemia just two years after they married. It didn't ever seem fair to her that he'd been yanked away like that. Sometimes, she missed him so bad it hurt.

And, every time she thought of him, she'd get a big, ugly lump in her throat. Like right now. She didn't want to cry...she'd cried so much already...but something about being this close to Nick made it all the more intense for her. She tried to hold it in, but soon her body shook with sobs.

Nick felt her crying, and cursed under his breath. Jesus, if she couldn't take a little yelling...

He slowed and pulled the bike over to a deserted spot on the ocean side of the highway.

Thumping down the kickstand with his boot, he turned off the bike engine, and sat. The waves gently lapped the shoreline, and he looked out over the sparkling water. He could hear her sniffling, and she still held on to him. He raised both hands out. "What? What did I do?"

She let go, and leaned back on the sissy bar. He got off the bike slowly then sat on it again, facing her. He could tell she was trying to stop crying, but it just flowed from her. And he sensed it had nothing to do with him.

"Oh, shit," he said finally, "come here." As he gathered her in his arms, he noticed she smelled like jasmine, and her body felt fragile in his embrace.

"What is it?" he whispered in her ear, as waves lapped at the shoreline, "What is it, baby? Tell Nicky. What?"

Pulling back from him, her breath coming in shudders now, she leaned against the sissy-bar and wiped her eyes. "I'm sorry," she said, "you didn't have to stop the bike."

Frowning, he said, "Yeah, I did. What's up?"

"I haven't cried about him in over a year. But something about tonight. I don't know. It happens, that's all."

"Your ex?"

"He's not my ex. He's dead. Died two years after we were married. I haven't been with anyone since."

His face was compassionate, as he asked, "How long?"

"Five years."

He nodded. "Did you love him a lot?"

"Yeah," she said softly, "I did." Her eyes welled up again, and her hands came to her face, trying to hide it from him.

He pulled her close, wrapping his arms around her. His hand stroked her hair gently, as he said, "I'll be here, temporarily, at least. Maybe it will help."

"I have nightmares sometimes," her muffled voice said, "I hope I don't wake you up. I dream I can't find him. Anywhere. Then, I stumble on his grave."

"Shhh," he whispered, "if you do, I'll wake you up. I promise."

Nick thought her tears were making mincemeat out of his brain, as he had always been a sucker for a woman crying. She just seemed so vulnerable. So soft. He wanted to protect her somehow. And the thought of what they were heading into made him wonder if she could do it. Or even if he could for that matter.

But after a minute, she took a deep breath, and looked up at him. Tears still sparkled on her dark lashes, and her face held a soft glow in the moonlight. "Thanks," she whispered.

Before he even knew what he was doing, he was kissing her, tasting her, feeling her seductive, soft lips on his own. He groaned, as the kiss grew deeper and she did nothing to stop it.

Their lips parted briefly, and he teased her lips with his own, sucking first the bottom one, then the top. "Is that better?" he whispered. But he barely gave her time to answer, before he plundered her mouth with a second deeper kiss, one so sensual, he was almost shaking. He'd never had a woman kiss him like that before!

Breaking from her, he saw her eyes were still closed, and her mouth slightly parted. Teasing her mouth with his tongue, unable to resist the temptation, he finally whispered, "We better go, Chloe."

Rising reluctantly, he sat with his back to her again, turned on the engine, slammed the bike into gear, and took off.

Chloe gripped his waist tightly, not able to move, not even able to breathe, temporarily. She hadn't expected this. She found herself trembling, not from the cold, but from his kisses. They'd been so sweet and soft, yet so hard and passionate the next minute.

And she could tell that Nick was experienced. She found herself wondering what type of woman he liked. And just what types of women were hanging on him in the group. Where did he really live? Was he ever married before? Question after question came to her mind, and she wished they could go some place quiet to talk.

Gradually, she grew sleepy again, and her eyes closed, while she still clung to him. She felt his hand come over both of hers, and she knew she was safe.

The next thing she heard was the engine being turned off, the kickstand going down, and then Nick's voice. "Wake up, sleepy-head. We're here. Home sweet home."

Opening her eyes, she saw he'd pulled around the side of a large building, and in front of her was a low, squat, very small house.

"Home," she repeated groggily. It was still dark and as he pulled her overnight bag out of the saddlebags, she said, "What time is it?"

"Two o'clock. Still early, some of the guys might be over later."

"Early?" she said, as she followed him up the porch stairs. "Early. I can handle that. Maybe tomorrow."

But what she couldn't handle was the way Nick's house looked. The small kitchen to the left of her held stacks of dirty dishes. The tiny living room sported overflowing ashtrays, roach clips, beer cans and a couch and chair set that had definitely seen better days.

"My God," she breathed, "I think I'm going home."

He chuckled. "On the hog you rode in on or what? Give me a break. I haven't had an old lady."

Giving him a level stare, she replied, "Flimsy excuse. Besides, I'm not sure you've got one now, buster."

"Hey," he said, as he flopped onto a chair, "the name is Action."

"You wouldn't know it to look at this place. How about if I start shoveling it out tomorrow?" Then, she remembered something. "Damn! I don't have a nightgown."

Grinning up at her, he said, "Awww. What a shame."

Picking up her bag, she said stoically, "I'm going to the bedroom now. I might be back, and I might not. This is scary. No telling what I'll find in there."

However, if she avoided looking at the torn wallpaper, the bedroom wasn't too bad. But she gazed with amazement at his assortment of weapons lying carelessly on a scratched dresser. She inwardly ticked them off. A 357 Smith and Wesson revolver, a Beretta .32 semiautomatic pistol, and a knife the size of a meat cleaver.

"Quite an arsenal you've got in here," she yelled, "remind me to stay on your good side."

"Right!" he yelled back, "Keep in your place, woman!"

"Can I borrow a t-shirt to sleep in?"

"Hey, me casa es su casa. Help yourself."

"Is that French or Spanish?"

"Good question. I'll look it up and get back to you."

She showered, after first cleaning the tub, swearing all the while. This man was a slob, she decided, either that or he was very busy fixing motorcycles all the time or something.

Throwing on the t-shirt, she laughed. The thing came almost to her knees, and she thought it made a pretty good nightgown.

Climbing into the somewhat rumpled double-bed, she yelled, "Good-night, Nick!"

He yelled back, "Good-night, Legs!"

As she snuggled under the covers, she realized the bed smelled like Nick. Deliciously so. He wore a cologne or aftershave. Nah, she thought, it couldn't be aftershave. She'd felt his bristly chin when he kissed her. Must be some kind of soap.

Burrowing her face into his pillow, she wondered if he'd sleep on the couch. Then, after a few minutes, she fell fast asleep.

She woke later to the sounds of voices and laughter. Looking at the luminescent clock dial, she saw it was three o'clock in the morning. Groaning, she turned over and went back to sleep.

But, an hour later, she was ripped rudely from her slumbers again, as the overhead light was suddenly flipped on.

Nick's voice said, "Aw, Tiny, she's asleep. Don't bug her."

Clutching the covers around her neck, she looked towards the door. Standing in it, actually filling it, was the fattest man she'd ever seen in her life. His scraggly blond hair hung on his shoulders in greasy strands, a front tooth was missing from his wide grin, and his clothes were so dirty, she couldn't believe it. They probably have a life of their own, she thought.

"Geez, Nick," the man slurred, "she's beyutiful, man. Where'd ya find her again?" He lumbered to the bed, and sat, it sagged, and Chloe felt herself sliding towards the man.

"Niiick," she called weakly.

Then she heard his voice. "Tiny, get off the bed for Christ sake, you're going to break it!" Nick stood in the doorway, frowning, and Chloe looked at him helplessly.

"Geez," Tiny complained, as he hefted himself up, "I ain't that fat."

Nick laughed. "The hell you aren't! Come on, let's have another beer. You got a good look at her, now let her go back to sleep."

Sleep? What was sleep? Chloe wondered. She watched the man move slowly across the room. Then, he turned, and said softly, "Action's got a old lady. Who woulda believed that? What the hell."

Then, the light flipped off again, and she heard Nick whisper, "Good-night, baby."

Sunlight streamed in the room early. Too early for Chloe, who squinted at the bare window. Turning over, she realized Nick must have slept on the couch. She sniffed, and thought it was probably better that way.

She lay for a few minutes, lazily stretching. Then, after she'd brushed her hair, she padded into the living room. But, Nick wasn't there either, and an uneasy feeling started in the pit of her stomach. Where was he?

Then, shrugging it off, she decided to clean up the place. She spent the next hour straightening, washing, and trying not to gag at the mess. Then, she really thought she must be someone's slave, and wondered what other truly exciting things this guy had in store for her.

Nick came in an hour after that. She'd just washed her hair, and was untangling it with a wide-toothed comb, as she sat on a rickety vinyl kitchen chair. "Ouch. I can't stand all this excitement Nick. Ow. God, I hate long hair."

Chuckling, he sat beside her. He was even more impressive and handsome in the daylight, in spite of his face stubble, and she grew embarrassed for some reason. Then she realized she felt like last night was a blind-date, and this was her first good look at him. Like a one-night stand, without the sex.

He said, "The house looks great. Listen, you don't have to clean up, you know. I've been kind of letting the place go."

"Kind of?" she replied, "That's an understatement if I ever heard one. And by the way, do you ever shave?"

He rubbed his chin. "Yeah. Guess I'll have to start now, eh? What changes a woman brings."

Her eyes narrowed. "Where have you been so early? Don't you ever sleep?"

Sitting back lazily in the chair, with his legs thrust out in front of him, he replied, "Not much. Usually, only a couple of hours a night. I've been working on a bike." He held up his greasy hands.

"The world of a man." Then she sighed, "You can have it. So, what's on the agenda today?"

He shrugged. "Not much. We're going to Max's house for dinner. He wants to meet you. So, I hope that doesn't dash any dinner plans you might have had for us."

"Not quite," she said, smirking at him, "I'll just put my seven course masterpiece on hold."

"Right."

*****

It turned out, after Chloe spent the day being a surly slave, that Max's house was in Rancho Palos Verdes Estates.

"How can he afford to live up here?" she yelled at Nick, as they rode up the winding road.

"Drugs!" he yelled back.

And, as Nick told her the day before, the house was a fortress, with huge iron gates and a security system. And, she thought, as they rode slowly up to the front, it was the house of a millionaire. No doubt about it. Heavy drugs. Big money. Big bust.

A small, blonde woman came to the door, with a baby on her hip. "Nicky!" she squealed, "Come on in!"

They entered, and introductions were made.

Chloe smiled at the woman. Tessie looked very innocent and very young, far from the image Chloe held of hardened biker babes. She did dress like one, however, in jeans and a tank top, similar to what Chloe wore.

"How ya doin?" Tessie asked, in a soft voice.

"Good, thanks." And Chloe wondered how she was supposed to act hard, when this little, tiny woman was staring at her with eyes like saucers. "Cute baby," Chloe said finally.

"Oh, thanks. Come on in and meet Max, then we can put Bobbie down. Hopefully, he'll stay down for Marisa. She's our maid and babysitter."

Chloe looked around as they walked down the hallway. Ultra-modern furniture graced the large rooms, and it seemed incongruous to Chloe that the good guys lived in a hovel, and the bad guys lived in a mansion. But, not for long, she reminded herself. Although, the thought of throwing babies out into the street did bother her considerably.

Max, who sat in the sparkling, chrome anointed kitchen, rolling joints, had the hard look of someone who'd used drugs all his life. His curly brown hair was fairly short, compared to Nick's, but his face was pock-marked and riddled with knife scars. His face, staring up at her now, held no trace of emotion at all, as he grunted a hello. He was smaller in stature than Nick, but wore the same jeans and white t-shirt.

"Get her something to drink, babe. Me and Action have business."

"Okay honey," Tessie gushed, "Come on, Chloe, let's put the baby down. We can get to know each other."
Chapter Three

By the time Chloe sat down to dinner with the Bikers in Paradise, she'd learned, not from wanting to, every detail she'd ever want to know about the sex lives of Tessie and Max. Tessie was a gossip machine, but only about the sordid details of her love life. And Chloe thought once she could steer the woman away from the sex thing, she'd probably learn a lot about the club.

Dinner proved to be Chinese take-out, eaten lustily from about twenty containers. Supposedly, it was Max's favorite. The man didn't talk much, but Chloe felt his presence like a bad omen. As Tessie chattered on, all through dinner, and Nick's eyes twinkled at her from across the kitchen table, she felt Max staring at her. He had a cold face, and eyes like Charles Manson. She understood why he was the leader of the group...Chloe wouldn't want to cross him.

As they finished up, Max said, "Let's go in the Jacuzzi, then go to the clubhouse. It's still early."

Ten o'clock, Chloe thought. Then she realized bikers were night people, like predators.

"Oh," she said, "I didn't bring a bathing suit with me."

"Silly!" Tessie laughed, "We don't wear suits."

Chloe's gaze drifted to Nick. He raised his eyebrows, and she smiled at him tightly.

Before they all wandered to the back patio, she grabbed Nick's arm, while Tessie and Max argued about something, and she hissed, "You didn't tell me about this!"

"I didn't know about this," he whispered, "I've never been up here for dinner before."

"So much for modesty," she said dryly.

The Jacuzzi was large, bubbly and inviting. Chloe gazed around the back yard, and saw a long, well-lit swimming pool beside the Jacuzzi. She wondered how many people died on the streets to accommodate this. The house gave her an eerie feeling, and she thought she'd be glad to get back to Nick's hovel.

Nick and Max still talked in the kitchen, so she stripped quickly, tied her hair up, and lowered herself into the steaming water.

The two came out, finally, and both started stripping nonchalantly. She hadn't realized just how big Nick really was, until he took off his shirt. He had muscles in places she hadn't even thought of. They rippled and gleamed with his every movement, and she was fascinated. Finally, averting her eyes, while she chatted with Tessie, Nick got in and she felt him slide beside her.

"Hey, babe," he whispered in her ear, "is this fun, or what?" His arm came around her shoulders, and he pulled her tightly against him. The shock of his hard, naked body sent tremors through her. Then the warm, surging water relaxed her, and she leaned her head on his shoulder.

Nick felt her thigh and the side of her breast press against his chest, and he groaned inwardly, cursing Max. He felt his hardness start, and was glad the man turned up the jets just then, so it remained hidden. As she chatted with Tessie about the baby, he found his gaze drifting down to Chloe's breasts. They were half in, half out of the water now, and he resisted the urge to reach out and touch them. Her body was soft, so soft against him. Too provocative, too tempting. Then he felt her hand rest on his thigh; her touch was light, casual.

Trying to get his mind off Chloe, he wondered when Max would go to Mazatlan. But his next thought was of Chloe again. He could only sleep so many nights on the lumpy couch. Then, he'd have to go in the bed and try to sleep beside her. What he told her about needing a few hours of sleep was a lie. He was exhausted right now, and wanted very much to go home.

Luckily, to his relief, Chloe decided to get out of the water just then.

"Too hot!" she explained to Tessie, laughing.

But as he watched Chloe rise from the water, he thought he'd never seen a woman's body that was quite as beautiful. Her breasts were large, high and well formed, with generous nipples that were now contracting as the cold air hit them. Her waist was small, her hips slender, and her buttocks enticingly curved.

She stood over him, briefly, her breasts hanging down tantalizingly, and her lips grazed his. "Gotta make this look good," she whispered, with a smile tugging at her lips.

As she climbed the steps, he looked at Max. The man raised his eyebrows, and said, "Sweet."

Nick grinned. "Yeah. I'll have a tough time keeping the guys away from her, though."

Later, after showering, dressing, and taking a somewhat chilly ride into town, Chloe looked around the large clubhouse. It was a small warehouse, away from houses and people, in a seedier section of Culver City. There were about ten bikers there who stared, and three women who also looked her over, as she entered with Nick.

The place smelled of smoke, pot and unwashed bodies. Posters of Marion Brando hung on one wall, along with blown-up photos of the gang members. America's most wanted, she thought ruefully, and wonderful pieces of evidence.

A stereo blasted from one corner of the room, and she didn't recognize the group playing. It was heavy music, though, and it contributed to the sinister feel of the place. A battered pool table stood alone, in the center of the room, and a loud game was in progress now.

Nick poured her a whiskey from a make-shift bar in the kitchen of the place, which also contained, on the counters, more drugs than Chloe had ever seen before.

He started introducing her around. Each man seemed grubbier than the last, and she tried to remember their names.

Tiny, she remembered from the night before, and he repeated his beyutiful line, as she smiled at him. He wore the same clothes as last night. She recognized the grease spots.

She met Ace, a smaller, Italian biker with an earring and a nasty attitude. The rest were friendlier, almost too friendly, as they ogled her. And, there was a certain respect in their eyes as they looked at Nick, and she wondered what he'd done to deserve it.

Limpy had brown hair, a brown beard, and, not surprisingly, a limp. Chloe thought bikers were not real creative with names.

However, one of the pool players was called Squirrel. She looked at Nick questioningly. "He always hides his stash from everyone," Nick explained, "squirrels it away."

Big Bob, the other bearded pool player, was about six-four and Chloe thought he must weigh upwards of three hundred pounds.

"I'll play the winner," she told him. He grinned at her, showing a rotten front tooth. For macho guys, she thought, they sure avoided the dentist's office.

While she waited for the game to end, Nick drifted off, and one of the women approached her.

"Hey," the woman said, clacking her gum furiously, "I'm Limpy's old lady."

"Howareya?" Chloe responded, wondering if the woman had a name.

"Sandy," she said.

"Chloe."

The woman had the biggest breasts Chloe had ever seen on such a short woman. She tried not to stare, and focused on Sandy's long red hair instead. It was one of those indescribable reds that could only come from home dye jobs, one on top of the other. Plus, the woman's rather homely face was covered with so much dirty-looking make-up, it made Chloe wince.

An unmistakable smell of body odor was floating around this woman. That, mixed with the peppermint gum, and some sweet, heavy perfume she wore, was enough, Chloe thought, to make a person gag.

The men's pool game ended, and she was to play Squirrel.

"Listen squirrel," she said casually, as she broke and a solid ball flew into the side pocket, "don't be hidin' these balls from me now, 'cause I got a temper."

"Yeah?" he replied, screwing up his face, "Well, I got one too, babe, so look out."

She stifled a laugh. When he made that face, he really did look like a squirrel.

Nick watched her playing pool, as he lounged in an old chair. She was good, and he wondered what would happen if she beat Squirrel. Plus, he was enjoying the view immensely. Every time she bent over, he either watched her breasts almost fall out of her lacy, white tank top, or her rounded derriere moving and wiggling. And he wasn't alone. All the guys in the place were watching the game now, with interest, including Limpy, who received a violent punch from Sandy for his efforts.

But then, Rhonda wandered in, and he groaned. She'd been after Nick for a year now, relentlessly, and she'd finally settled for Squirrel.

She stood at the doorway, her hands on her hips, glaring at the two playing pool. And Nick thought idly that she was a nice-looking woman, compared to the others. She was slim, but busty, and wore clothes that emphasized it; like the skintight, red t-shirt she had on now, tucked into a black mini-skirt. Her hair was long, straight, and shiny black, but she was mean as hell, and wore so much make-up on her somewhat attractive face, he thought someone could scrape it off with a trowel.

"Squirrel," she yelled, "what the hell are you doing with that bitch?"

Squirrel looked almost sheepish for a minute, then remembered himself. "What the fuck do you care?"

"Who is she?" Rhonda moved towards Chloe, who now leaned on the pool table casually, watching the woman.

"The name's Chloe," she said, staring at the woman, "what's it to ya?"

Rhonda stood in front of Chloe now. "He's mine," she spat, "get lost."

Chloe smirked at her. "No can do. Gotta finish up here. Then I'll give him back."

Nick watched with a grin, and a certain amount of fascination. Yeah, Chloe was good.

Chloe turned her back on Rhonda, and started to line up a shot. Rhonda grabbed her arm, but Nick thought Chloe must have expected it, because her pool cue came down on the woman's arm with a loud crack. "You get lost," Chloe said in a low, ominous voice.

Nick caught Max's eye, and the man grinned at him. This was getting interesting.

But Rhonda wasn't done. Blinking quickly, trying not to show her pain as Chloe bent down to play again, she raised her fist to strike.

However, Chloe was faster. She grabbed Rhonda's wrist, and brought it around the woman's back so fast, Nick hardly saw it. And, Chloe wrenched Rhonda's arm so hard, Nick thought it would snap. Holding the arm higher and higher up, painfully so, Chloe said, "You qotta listen, girl. I told you," she jerked it up further, and Rhonda winced, "you can have him when I'm done, understand?"

Rhonda nodded, and gasped. Chloe let go.

"Okay. Now, sit down and shut the hell up. I gotta get that eight ball in."

Chuckles sounded from the men, and someone hooted. But, Chloe just ignored it, and went back to her game.

Holding her arm and wincing, Rhonda walked over to Nick. "Did you see that?"

"Yeah," he breathed, "isn't she something?"

Rhonda narrowed her eyes. "Who is she?"

He looked up at her blandly. "My old lady."
Chapter Four

They arrived back at their tiny house about an hour later. The place looked good to Chloe for some reason now, and she sighed as she plunked herself on the couch. This was familiar already. The drip of the faucet in the kitchen, the lingering smell of pot, the old couch sagging even with her light body weight.

Nick stood, looking down at her. "You did good, Chloe. Never thought you had it in you." His expression was thoughtful, as he appraised her.

"Right. I'm tired though. Are the hooligans coming over?"

Smiling, he sat next to her. "Nah. I told them I needed some time with my old lady." He sat back, and his hand stroked her arm gently.

"Yeah? Well, I got an appointment with the sandman. You been replaced, Action." She was exhausted, and she needed to sleep. Memories of the past few days flitted in her mind randomly, pictures of bikers, of Nick, of mansions and drugs.

"You do look tired," he said, as she stood up and stretched, "sleep tight, baby."

Chloe took off her make-up, which was no easy task, showered, then heaved herself into bed. Adjusting the t-shirt, she fell asleep.

A while later, she heard the shower. Still pretending to be asleep, she heard Nick come to the doorway. He stood, as if deciding what to do. Then, she felt him quietly get into bed, on the opposite side, and the bed squeaked slightly as he turned towards her. His hand stroked her hair, and the touch was light, gentle. Then, she heard him groan, and he whispered, "God damn." And, he flipped over again, with his back to her, and they both fell asleep.

But, Chloe had one of her dreams, and she couldn't pull herself out of it. She was wandering in a fog-drenched field, looking for Pete. She knew he was there...somewhere. Tears streamed down her face, and she heard their plop, plop sound as they fell on the ground. And it was cold, so very cold. She shivered violently, before she stumbled. It was a mound, and she read the headstone...Pete...Pete...

Then suddenly, a hand came up from the mound, and grabbed her ankle. She screamed, but then she heard Nick's gentle voice.

"Baby. Wake up, Chloe." He was shaking her arm, and she woke with a start.

"Oh, God," she gasped, "Oh, my God."

His arms came around her, and she turned, lay next to him, and pressed tightly up against his body as she trembled.

As he stroked her hair, he began murmuring comforting sounds. Her head rested on his chest, and her hands moved in the downy hairs there, as her shaking finally ceased.

Feeling herself sliding into sleep again, she whispered, "I'm sorry Nick."

Kissing her forehead, he said, "It's okay, baby. Go back to sleep. Sweet dreams."

When she woke the next morning, Chloe realized Nick's arms were wrapped around her, and her backside was pushed up against him. How did she get like this? For a minute, she enjoyed his warmth. Then, wiggling slightly, trying to extricate herself, she heard him say, "Don't move. Stay there. It feels good."

She didn't remember the dream, or the night before. Slowly, she said, "I thought you were going to be good."

"I'm trying to be," he drawled, "but if you keep moving like that, I'm going to be bad."

She lay still, and all she could hear was his heartbeat, along with her own. His body was hot against hers, as his arms stayed firmly around her. And, she felt his hardness pulsing.

"Do you remember last night?" he said softly.

Last night? She thought. What the hell happened last night? Wracking her brain, she remembered nothing. Actually, she'd been so tired, she didn't even remember going to bed. Or, was she drunk? She'd had a few drinks.

"What happened?" she said cautiously, wondering if she really wanted to hear his answer.

Realizing she thought they'd had sex, Nick decided to have some fun. Tightening his grip on her, he said, "You were great, baby. The best ever."

A tinge of disappointment hit her. How could she not remember this? Frowning deeply, she searched her mind, but came up with no recollection of doing anything with Nick.

"Mmmm," he murmured, kissing her hair, "Yeah. Now this is the way I like to wake up." His hand slid to her breast, which was still covered by the t-shirt, and he rubbed the nipple with his palm. "And that's the way I like to end the day, too."

She sucked in her breath, and closed her eyes. God, he made her feel so wanted. And a warm sensation moved down her body and settled between her thighs. It intensified, as his stroking continued, and grew even worse as he whispered, "You're the best, Chloe. The best I've ever had."

"Did...did you use protection?" She hoped the answer would be yes. She didn't know Nick's sexual history. Plus, she didn't use birth control. Not yet, at any rate.

It was such a sensible question; Nick just couldn't continue the charade. He burst out laughing, and rolled on his back.

She sat up, furious, clutching the sheet around her waist. "What's so funny?"

"You just had a bad dream," he gasped, "we didn't do anything."

She hit him with both fists then grimaced. It hurt. "Ouch. Damn you! You're an asshole, Action!" she spat.

As she raised her arms to hit him again, his hands quickly caught each of her wrists in a vice-like grip. "Gotcha now," he said softly.

"Let me go!" she yelled, realizing she was turned the wrong way to free her legs.

"Why? So you can hit me again? No, I don't think so."

His eyes grew sensual as he studied her. But she became uncomfortable at his close scrutiny, and averted her eyes.

"Look at me," he commanded softly. Her gaze met his again, and while he still held her wrists, he said, "If we ever do make love, Chloe, you'll remember it. I've been told I 'm unforgettable."

"God," she gasped, struggling again, "of all the conceited, egotistical-"

"You'd better stop, or I'll never let go. We could stay like this all day." he drawled lazily.

Believing he would really keep her there all day, and since she did have to use the bathroom in a bad way, she stopped struggling.

"That's better," he said, as he let her go, and rose slowly from the bed. She averted her eyes, realizing he was naked, and she walked into the bathroom quickly.

"And get ready," he yelled at her, "we're taking a ride this morning. I want to talk to you about some things."

It was a typical, Southern California summer morning, as they rode along, with the sun bouncing off the ocean, and children squealing as they frolicked by the shoreline.

Stopping just past Santa Monica, he parked the bike on the ocean side. "Let's just sit on the dunes, here," he said, taking off his black helmet, "I don't want to go far from the bike."

She took hers off too, as they walked, and sat on the top of a sandy mound. Chloe smoothed her braid. It was hot this day, and she took off her jeans jacket. Gulls soared overhead, their haunting cries mingling with cries of children on the shore, who were building a sand castle.

"So," he began, as he looked out over the ocean, "tell me your impressions."

She thought for a minute, then picked up a piece of scrub brush, and studied it. "They're not what I expected. Not like the movies. Different."

"Yeah. What about Max?"

A breeze blew, bringing with it the faint odor of exhaust, and she heard cars whizzing by on the highway behind them. "Well, his house seems too much, somehow. Too much for a simple biker who sells drugs. I think he's into something else...maybe something bigger."

"Like what?"

"I don't know."

He nodded. "We'll find out. He told me last night he's going to Mexico in a week. We're invited."

"Good. It worked then, having me here?"

"Yeah. Are you sorry you took the assignment? It's not a real exciting one. Even in Mexico, you probably won't get to go with us to the plant, or wherever he makes the drugs. You'll be stuck with Tessie, most likely."

She groaned. "She's such a ditz, Nick. All she talks about is sex. In detail." Then she paused. "Nick, what will happen to Tessie and the baby when--"

"Good question," he said harshly, "I don't know. But that's not our concern. Our job is to bring them down, and that's what we'll do." He looked over at her, and his tone was gentler now. "The guys liked you. They bought the act."

The sun warmed Chloe, and she closed her eyes, holding her face towards it, while waves crashed against the shoreline, rhythmically, one after the other.

Nick watched the breeze blowing soft tendrils of hair around her face, and before he could stop himself, his hand came up and smoothed them down. She opened her eyes, jumped nervously, then jerked her head away.

"You've got to get used to me touching you, Chloe. Don't flinch like that."

"I'll flinch if I want to. They aren't around now, anyway. I can do what I want."

"My, my, you do have a temper, don't you? Is my touch that awful?"

"Yes," she lied. She liked his touch, but she wouldn't give him the satisfaction of telling him. Let him guess.

"I've never had any complaints before."

Her eyes were searching, as she looked up at him. God, she's beautiful, he thought. Those big brown eyes, the slightly pink cheeks, the flawless skin.

"Nick," she began, "have you ever been married?"

He shook his head, lay back on the sand, and leaned on one arm. "Why?"

"Just curious." She spread her jeans jacket in back of her, and lay with her face towards him, expectantly.

He smiled. "I had one serious relationship about ten years ago."

"What was her name?"

He saw a few tiny grains of sand on her face, and he smoothed them away with his thumb. But, his hand stayed by her face, then moved to the nape of her neck.

Softly stroking the skin there, almost expecting another rebuff from her, he said, "Her name was Anne."

"Did you love her?" Chloe's eyes were growing languid, and he realized her neck must be one of her sensitive spots. He wondered where the others were.

"Yeah," he replied softly. Her eyes had little golden flecks, and he watched them flicker, as her eyes moved over his face.

"What happened?"

"I don't want to talk about it," he said huskily. He just couldn't resist her. Softly, his lips met hers, and he felt her tense, slightly. Then she seemed to relax, and her arm came around his waist.

His tongue moved in her mouth, exploring, tasting, as he felt her tremble. Breaking the kiss slightly, as his mouth hovered above hers, he whispered, "Are you cold?"

As his tongue rolled on her lower lip, she said faintly, "No...not cold."

Her breath was warm against his mouth, as his tongue moved to her upper lip. "What's wrong then?" he whispered. He ached for her right now, as he felt his pants straining with the weight of his desire. And the feeling was not a new one. Since he'd met her, he'd had this often; this aching desire, this need for her.

Moving one leg over both of hers, he breathed, "God, I want you." His mouth crushed hers, and he felt her breasts pushing against him. She was responsive, this woman. Too responsive. She began sucking his tongue, and he groaned.

Pressing his hips down on hers, he felt her start to move rhythmically against him. His hand came down and felt the warmth, the softness of her breast. Moving his palm over the nipple gently, he heard her sharp intake of breath. Then, as he moved the bud between his fingers, he heard it again.

Pulling his lips from hers, he looked down at her. "Open your eyes," he whispered. She opened them slightly, languidly and, still stroking her, he said in a voice husky with desire, "You have beautiful breasts, and large nipples." She made a small sound, and he continued, "I like that."

She moaned, closed her eyes again, and his mouth moved across her face, down her neck, and found the taut nipple. His tongue played with it, pulling the fabric of her tank top, and he heard her soft cry. Sucking on it now, wetting the fabric, he realized he had to stop. He was growing uncomfortable with his need, and the thought of making love to her was driving him crazy.

Pulling away from the breast, his lips moved to hers again. "Chloe," he said gently, as he kissed her with little kisses, soft kisses on her swollen lips, "we'd better go, sweetheart."

She made the soft, inviting sound again, but he resisted, and slowly moved away from her.

Sitting up, running a hand through his long hair, he sighed. God, what this woman did to him! He tried to will his hardness away, but it was still tight against his jeans.

He felt movement, and heard her brushing herself off. Grains of sand flew around him, but he was still partially in a hazy world she'd created for him. She had a sensual feel, an aura about her that he hadn't experienced before. In any woman.

"You ready?" she said.

"Yeah." He was ready. Ready to taste her, caress her, slide himself inside her, feel her muscles contract around him...yes, he was certainly ready for that.
Chapter Five

Later that afternoon, at the house, Chloe grew bored and she wandered out to Nick's shop.

It was an old, square, tin building, badly in need of repair. The roof sagged in several places, and the back windows were cracked. She entered through the side door, heard rock music blasting from his boom-box. The place smelled strongly of gasoline, and was, not surprisingly, a mess.

Nick sat on the ground, surrounded by tools, trying to fit something back on the engine of a Harley very similar to his own. He'd taken his shirt off, and sweat beaded on his back, making his heavy muscles shine.

She watched his tattoos move as he worked. One was an eagle, with its wings spread out. His other arm sported a snake coiled to strike, with the words, "Born to Kill" underneath it.

"Hey, baby," he said, without looking up.

She strolled over to a car that was covered. "What's under here?"

"Take a peek," he said, again, without looking at her.

She unfastened the car cover, and lifted it off. "Oh, geez," she breathed, "it's beautiful, Nick."

The car was a black, shiny, beautifully restored Mustang fastback. The interior was black leather, and the thing was immaculate, inside and out. "What year is it?" she asked, as she peered in the windows.

"It's a sixty-nine Shelby, G-T 500 Cobra," he said, rising from the floor. "Do you like it?"

"It's fantastic," she said, "will you take me for a ride sometime?"

"Sure. No problem." He replaced the car cover, and turned to her.

Her eyes flitted across his chest muscles, which held grease stains, then back to his face, before she caught a whiff of sweat, mixed with the undeniable, intriguing scent of Nick.

He said, "We're going to a bar down the coast tonight. It might get rough, so watch yourself."

His eyes were having their usual effect on her, and she tried to concentrate on what he was saying.

"I also want you to be careful of Rhonda."

"The dark-haired woman?"

He grinned. "Yeah, the one with the sore arm. She packs a piece sometimes, so be careful. I don't want you shot just yet. I'm getting used to you around here." His eyes lazily observed her, and she grew uncomfortable at the obvious invitation in their blue-gray depths.

"Yeah," she said sarcastically, "I make a good maid, don't I?"

"You'll do," he said, as he walked back to the bike, "after all, isn't that what old ladies are supposed to be?"

She sniffed and didn't answer. The she wondered if he really believed that crap. His lips were twitching now, but she couldn't tell.

They met the other bikers at the clubhouse that evening, and proceeded down Pacific Coast Highway. The sound of the bikes was deafening, like rolling thunder, Chloe thought. Most of the men wore Nazi helmets, and all wore their colors.

She felt an immense surge of power, as they rode down the highway, two by two, with one occasionally passing the others. Cars avoided them, sometimes even pulling to the side of the road, as their group rolled by. Ominous, frightening, they continued, en mass, to their destination.

This night, Chloe wore a mini-skirt, boots and a skin-tight tank top, along with her jeans jacket. Nick had promised to buy her a leather coat when they got to Mexico. And, in some strange way, she really wanted it. She wanted the power, the leather, the boots, the grim, sick power that belonged to these men. Just for a while. Just to see what it felt like.

As they stopped at the run-down shack of a bar, she took off the black helmet Nick made her wear, and unbraided her hair. Running a brush through it, she watched Max and Tessie pull up.

"Hey, Chloe!" Tessie squealed, as she got off the motorcycle.

Max stayed on the bike, and looked Chloe up and down. His gaze was intense, and his smile chilling. "I can see why you call her Legs, Nick," he said loudly.

His stare made Chloe nervous, and she wondered what would happen in Mexico. She didn't trust this man.

Moving over to Nick, who was talking with Limpy, she wiggled her hand up under his jacket, then around his waist. She needed his protection now. She felt like she needed to be near him. His arm rested lazily on her shoulder, and as he talked, his hand moved just above her breast.

Idly, he stroked one finger back and forth, certainly not aware of the sensation Chloe felt at his touch. Every time this man came near her, she just seemed to melt. He was so incredibly sensual. Even with his simple touch now, she felt a growing warmth spreading through her.

Reaching up, she kissed his neck, and ran her other hand across his hard chest. Play the part. Be the woman. But, was she playacting? Or was it real?

He rumbled, "Don't be startin' that shit, babe." And, he continued talking to Limpy.

But, he wasn't moving to stop her, so she continued kissing his neck. She couldn't resist the impulse. The man smelled good, so good. Like soap, or some other heady scent. And masculine. Leather.

"Jesus, babe, we just did it last night." Then, to Limpy, he said, "Women. All they think about is sex."

Limpy snorted. Then, she said sharply, looking up at Nick, "Well, I'm not gettin' enough, so you better start delivering, or I'll be lookin' around." Play the part, be the woman, she thought. And, she was enjoying this teasing of Nick. After all, what could he do in front of all these people?

The bike was just behind Nick, and now he sat and pulled her on his lap, so she was straddled across him. His hand grabbed the hair at her nape, and he forced her to look at him. "Is that right?" he said in a low tone, as his other hand cupped her buttocks. Limpy snorted again, and moved away.

"Yeah," she replied, somewhat shaken by the hard look he was giving her, "that's right." Maybe she'd gone too far and overdone it.

Jerking her head forward suddenly, his lips pounded hers so fiercely, she was stunned. She felt his thigh come up between her legs, and he began pumping slowly. The nylon panties she wore slid with his every move, and she felt on fire, as he continued the teasing.

As he pulled from the kiss, she whispered weakly, "Stop it. Please, Nick." Yes, she'd overdone it. Definitely.

But he continued, and he pulled her head so his lips were next to her ear. "You want me, don't you?" he whispered, "I can feel it in you." His hand tightened on her hair.

She shook her head, in spite of the heady sensations he'd created. But she did want him. She wanted him so badly right now, it was almost a physical pain.

"Yes you do," he crooned, "come on, admit it."

Her body was shaking from his subtle whispers, and the ache between her thighs grew worse, as he continued the leg motion slowly. Her eyes closed, and she moaned.

"I know you do," he teased softly, "come on, Chloe. Everyone's watching us, and I won't let you off until you tell me the truth."

But, she shook her head again. And she didn't care who was watching.

"A little more convincing, then?" he whispered. Pulling her head back, he took her lips in both of his, sucked them gently, then, with his mouth still open, and his tongue starting to explore, he laughed gently, his breath warm and minty on her lips, "Come on," he prodded, his lips flush against hers, "tell me...tell me how much you want me, Chloe."

"I don't...I don't want you," she protested weakly. But she knew it was a lie. Her panties were wet with desire already, and the ache there had increased, and grew stronger with every passing moment.

"But you do," he whispered, with his lips against hers, "I can tell. Come on, talk to me. Tell me you'll do anything for me." His tongue flitted in and out of her mouth, as he laughed softly.

"Stop. Nick..." her voice was growing weaker and weaker, as her trembling increased.

But just as she was almost about to relent, just as she was about to tell him she wanted him like she'd wanted no other man, she heard a voice from the bar. "Nick! Quit fucking around and get in here!"

She opened her eyes, and he stood, bringing her with him, as he still cupped her buttocks with one hand.

Looking down at her, he said, "You're tough, babe. We'll have to work on this some more. Later."

Then, chuckling, he finally released her.

Straightening her skirt, trying to compose herself, she looked around and realized they were the last ones left in the parking lot.

Grabbing her hand, he led her to the bar.

Still a bit shaken, she looked around the place. It was a dump. Dark and dreary, it smelled like stale smoke and beer. A half—lit sign over the counter proclaimed that 'oors' was served here.

He dragged her to a table, where Tessie and Max sat. The chair he thrust her into was rickety and coarse.

"Plant yourself, woman. I'll be right back."

Max left then too, and Tessie looked at her curiously. "What were you two doing out there, Chloe? A little quicky before you came in?"

"Something like that," Chloe said dryly.

Tessie leaned forward, and her blonde hair fell over one curious eye. "Tell me how he is, Chloe. All the girls want to know. He's really built, isn't he? He's got a big-"

"I know," Chloe interrupted. She'd noticed the same thing at the jacuzzi. The man was built like a brick, on the top and on the bottom. "He's great," Chloe lied, wondering what he really was like in the sack, "a very good lover." Maybe she'd find out. One of these days. Soon, maybe soon.

"I knew it!" Tessie said triumphantly. "I can always tell. A guy has a look about him when he's good in bed. And Nick has that look. Dirty-sexy, you know?"

"Yeah," Chloe said absently, "he does, doesn't he?"

Nick and Max returned and plunked their drinks down. Beer for everyone but Chloe, who got whiskey.

Nick sprawled lazily in his chair, and fixed Chloe with a steady gaze.

"See what I mean?" Tessie squealed, "He's doing it. See the way he looks at you? That's what I mean."

Nick raised his eyebrows.

"She thinks you look dirty-sexy," Chloe explained.

"Nah," Nick said, grinning, "I'm just dirty."

They sat for a few minutes, discussing a new contact Max had made, then Rhonda wandered over to them. She wore a dirty, not quite white bustier that pushed up her large breasts, so almost all of her cleavage was showing. Black leather pants and black boots completed her look, which was supposed to be sexy, but was ultimately trashy, Chloe thought.

Rhonda posed for a minute in front of the men, who seemed unimpressed, as they continued talking.

Then, she sniffed as she looked at Chloe's still-full glass of whiskey. "Lightweight," she said under her breath.

Before she could stop herself, Chloe blurted out, "I can out drink you any day of the week."

"A challenge," Max said softly, as he headed for the bar.

Chloe groaned inwardly, and avoided Nick's frown. Why did she say that? She didn't want to get drunk.

Max returned, and banged a bottle of whiskey on the table. "Go for it, moms."

An hour later, Chloe had had about six shots of whiskey, and Rhonda was working on her fifth. And, the woman looked sick.

Chloe felt pretty darn good, but she was far from drunk.

Rhonda, however, was slurring, cussing and, Chloe thought, close to passing out.

"You better stay away," Rhonda slurred, as her hand made a wide gesture, "jus' stay away from Action." She chug-a-lugged and finished the fifth drink, while her eyes blinked and tried to focus on Chloe. Eye make-up was smattered in black spots beneath her eyes, and her face was shiny with too much foundation and too much sweat.

Ignoring her, Chloe asked Tessie, "You got a cigarette?" Chloe was an ex-smoker, and every time she drank, she had the urge again.

"Yeah," Tessie said, as she lit the thing, and passed it to Chloe.

Max and Nick were playing pool now, so the women were left alone.

Chloe poured her seventh drink.

Max paused before he lined up his shot. "Think she'll make it?"

Nick said casually, as he looked over at the two women. "Yeah. She's tough."

He watched Chloe. She'd taken off her jacket, and her tank top hung enticingly low. But, he realized she was a woman who took care of herself, aside from the whiskey drinking she was doing right now. She raised her glass to drink, and he saw firm arm muscles. She was strong, he thought, unless he kissed her. Then, she was like a little plaything, putty in his hands. And the thought of her stubbornness in the parking lot earlier made him want to laugh. She was a hell-cat. No question about it.

But when he saw the cigarette she held in her other hand, he frowned. "Wait a minute." he told Max.

Striding towards her, his boots thumping on the wooden floor, he said, as he reached her, "Put it out."

"No," she said, "I want a cigarette."

Glaring at her, he said, "No old lady of mine ever has a cigarette hanging off her lips. Put it out!"

"No!" Her eyes came up and met his defiantly.

He grabbed it from her fingers and tromped it under his boot.

She rose, unsteadily, and he backed her against the wall. "Listen," he hissed, knowing Rhonda and Tessie couldn't hear him, "it's bad enough you got into a drinking contest with Wicked Witch of the West. But no woman of mine smokes. End of discussion."

"So, I'm your woman, huh?" Her lips curved into a seductive smile, that smile he knew so well. Shit! Why is she so beautiful? he thought.

"Guess what, Nicky?" she said, in a husky voice, as her body arched out towards him, "I want you. Yeah. I do. Kiss me, Nicky."

She moved against him, sensually, and he groaned. "You aren't one of those women who get all turned on when you drink, are you?"

She nodded, and her eyes were languid. "Yeah. I am."

But suddenly, they were interrupted, as a fight broke out between two members. A bottle flew by their heads, and smashed on the wall, splattering them with vodka.

Tessie ran by and grabbed at Chloe anxiously. "Let's go!" she said, "Ace has a piece, and he starts shooting. I even got hit one time."

Nick thrust Chloe roughly towards the door, and she stumbled, almost falling on Tessie.

The night air was cool and smelled good to Chloe, as they ran down the steps of the place. But then, gunshots sounded inside the bar.

"Nick!" she screamed.

But Tessie stopped her, as she started back in. "Let's just wait here, Chloe. I'd rather not get a bullet in me again. It hurts."

Reluctantly following Tessie to the bikes, Chloe said absently, "Where'd you get hit?"

Tessie shrugged. "In the leg."

But Chloe was still thinking about Nick. What if he got shot? The thought of it was sickening. She weaved her way to his bike, and sat on the seat.

Another bottle smashed inside, then a man flew out the door and landed with a thud at the bottom of the steps. She saw Nick's large body standing in the doorway then, and she let her breath out in a long sigh. Thank God. He was safe.

"Knock it off, Bob!" he yelled, starting down the steps. "Chill out!"

But Bob rose from the ground, in a fighting stance. "You and me," he yelled, "you and me, mother-fucker!"

By this time, Nick was facing the man, and the rest of the club was on the porch of the place, watching.

But Bob was larger than Nick. By about four inches and maybe a hundred pounds.

"I don't want to hurt you, Bob," Nick said, as the two circled each other, and a siren wailed in the distance.

"Go ahead," Bob said with a leer, "hurt me."

Like lightening, as Bob swung, Nick's fist connected with the man's jaw, and sent him sprawling into the dirt.

But Bob got up again, swinging wildly. Nick repeated the quick maneuver, but his time, the man didn't get up.

Chloe resisted the urge to go to Nick. It took every ounce of willpower she had not to go to him, throw her arms around his neck, press her head against his hard chest. But she knew this was all part of it. Part of the life-style, part of the machismo. So she leaned back against the bike, and waited for him.

By the time they reached Nick's house, Chloe was feeling the liquor she'd had.

"Yer gonna have to help me, Nicky," she slurred.

He groaned, and hoisted her up over his shoulder. "You shouldn't have had that booze," he said disgustedly, "I should have stopped you."

Carrying her in, he deposited her on the bed. "You going to throw up?" he said gruffly.

"Nooo," she said, as she stretched, and held her hands up over her head. "Come 'ere, Nicky." She did look sexy lying there, he thought. Very appealing. And also, very drunk.

"Un-uh. I've never had a drunken women yet, and I'm not going to start now." Although, he did want her. Badly.

"Awww," she said, "just talk to me for a minute."

Her eyes were half-closed, and he knew she'd be asleep soon. "All right," he said with a sigh, as he flipped off the overhead light, "just for a minute." He was sure he could muster some kind of self-control for this.

She snuggled next to him. "You're so hard," she slurred, as her hand raked over his chest.

More than you know, he thought, as his jeans became uncomfortable again.

"Nicky."

"What," he said softly, trying to ignore his urges.

"Do you think, I mean, one day, do you think we'll make it?" Her voice was growing sleepy now, and he stroked her hair.

"Maybe," he said softly. He'd be willing to bet on it. Big money, too.

"I...I haven' been...with anyone...so long." Then, her voice trailed off, and her hand fell off his chest.

He carefully undressed her, trying to avoid the body areas that had enticed him so badly earlier, and he drew the covers up.

"Nick," she said sleepily.

"What?"

He could see her smiling up at him. "I hope we do." Then, her eyes closed, and she slept.
Chapter Six

Chloe was ragged the next day. Her stomach heaved, her head ached, and she felt like death personified. As she opened her eyes reluctantly, squinting at the morning brightness, she also realized she didn't have any clothes on.

Did they do it or didn't they, she wondered absently, her brain just barely functioning. Only Nick knew for sure.

She flung her legs over the side of the bed and sat, thinking death might just be preferable to this, the aching head, the stomach flip-flopping with abandon, the cotton taste in her mouth.

Nick came in, and she was feeling so bad, she made no attempt to even cover herself. He'd seen her body before. What was the difference?

"It's about time you got up," he said gruffly, as he quickly averted his eyes.

"Whatever," she groaned, as she held her head in both hands.

"You need an Alka-Seltzer?"

"Yeah." Then, idly, she wondered who'd had the most to drink at the bar, she or Rhonda. Chloe had lost track after five.

By the time he returned with the fizzing glass, she had donned a t-shirt.

"I'm dying," she moaned, as she sipped the mixture. "Send my remains to those who need it the most. My corneas are still good. My heart's strong. The kidneys may still be functioning, but I'm not sure."

Laughing, he replied, "You'll make it, baby. Sleep it off. Listen, I gotta work on that bike." Leaning over her, he said, "You'll be okay?"

She nodded.

Kissing her cheek, he said, "See you later."

But that night, he was in a surly mood. She fixed him hamburgers and fries, and he ate the food silently, his eyes trained on his plate the whole time. He wouldn't look at her, and she didn't know why. Maybe she'd offended him somehow.

"What's wrong with you?" she said crossly, grabbing his plate when he was done.

"Nothing," he replied. "I'm going out. I'll be back later." And, he left without a backward glance.

Dickhead, she thought, as she heard the roar of his bike. After angrily throwing the dirty dishes in the sink, she roamed around the tiny living room, trying to get a feel for him. But, she couldn't. It was like he was there, but not really there. Maybe he was a figment of her warped imagination. Maybe something deep inside her craved a man like Nick. Dark, dangerous, sexual.

Yes, he was sexual, she thought, as she sat on the couch. Memories flooded over her. The beach, him holding her in bed. The man oozed it, the same as he oozed power. And she wondered if it wasn't all related somehow.

Then a knock on the door startled her.

Opening it, she saw Rhonda. "What do you want?" she said irritably, surprised at the visit. Maybe the woman came to gloat over last night. Maybe she'd won their stupid little contest.

But suddenly, a gun was pointed at her face. "I'm going to kill you," Rhonda said menacingly, as she edged her way in the door. It was a twenty-two with a silencer. And Chloe thought of the damage a bullet from that thing could do while it rattled around inside her own brain.

Chloe's heart pounded until it threatened to leap right out of her chest, as she backed up. Why wasn't Nick here? This woman was serious; Chloe could see it in her eyes.

Searching her mind for ways to dissuade the woman, Chloe said, "Okay, but let's have a drink." She was unable to think of anything else. Besides, Rhonda had the look of a stone alcoholic, and Chloe smelled liquor heavily on her breath.

"All right," Rhonda said, "but make it fast. I gotta do this, and get out quick."

Chloe searched Nick's cupboards, with shaking hands, until she found a bottle of whiskey. She poured two large shots, almost gagging at the smell of it, as it reminded her of the night before. And she grew more nervous, as she knew biker women were capable of killing. As capable as their old men.

Returning to the living room, she handed a glass to Rhonda, and said slowly, "Why do you want to kill me?"

Rhonda sat, but the gun was still trained on Chloe. "Because he's mine. You can't have him." She took a long drink then wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.

"Listen," Chloe said, as she sat across from the woman, "you wouldn't want him. You want me to tell you what he's really like?"

Rhonda glared, and waved the gun.

"He's a drunk," Chloe said. "He spends his nights out getting drunk, then he comes home and he can't even get it up."

Rhonda's expression changed, but she was still wary. She stared at Chloe. "You're lying."

"No I'm not," Chloe said emphatically. "Then, when he does get it up," she snapped her fingers, "it's over like that."

"Damn!" Rhonda breathed. "No shit?"

Chloe nodded. "No shit."

Rhonda lowered the gun. "He's probably not worth it then, huh?" She appeared to be thinking, then said, "I don't want Max to find out about this, either. He'd ice me for sure. Nick's one of his favorites."

"I'm no squealer," Chloe said, breathing a sigh of relief. "Besides, Nick's nice-looking, but not worth it. You know?"

The gun dropped to Rhonda's lap. "Yeah. I guess you're right."

"I won't tell Max about this." Chloe sat back, "It's just a woman thing. By the way, Rhonda, your man is fine. I was checkin' him out the other night. Yeah, he's fine."

Rhonda frowned. "I never really thought--"

"Oh, yeah. He is. You're lucky, girl. I envy you."

Play the part, be the woman, Chloe thought, and lie your ass off.

Rhonda gazed at Chloe with wide eyes. "Really?"

Chloe nodded, and tried to look sincere. "Yeah. You're the lucky one. I'm stuck with well, while you have well, whatever."

Chloe counted the seconds. Rhonda was thinking hard. And it took her a while to get the gears turning. Then, the woman got up. "I guess I'll get over to the clubhouse." Her look was almost apologetic.

Yeah, thought Chloe, you do that. "Okay," she said, casually, "see you around."

The woman left, and Chloe let her breath out in a gasp. Jesus, where was Nick?

But later, she felt him slide in the bed beside her.

"Your girlfriend paid me a little visit," she said softly.

"Who?"

"Rhonda, who else? Don't tell me there are more of these infatuated women around."

"Oh, God. What happened?"

"She pulled a gun on me. Said she'd kill me." Her back was to him, and they weren't touching. She smelled his masculine scent, leather, mixed with soap, sweat and beer. And she resisted the urge to slide next to him.

"I see she didn't," he said slowly.

She was angry now. "No. She didn't. I told her you were a drunk, and you couldn't keep it up. Somehow, after I told her that, she didn't want you so badly." She heard his breath escape. The room was silent, but for their breathing.

"I'm sending you back," he said finally, "this is too dangerous for you. Too dangerous."

"Fuck you," she said, "I'm staying. I love danger. Danger's my middle name, Action."

She heard him laughing softly. "You're too much, Chloe. Too much."

His hand came out and stroked her hair, but she moved further away. "Yeah. Right."

The next five days passed the same way. He'd go out in the evening, returning late. They slept in the same bed, not touching.

During the day, he'd work in the garage. She'd fix him dinner, which he'd eat in silence, with no thank you, no comments, nothing. He'd been so morose lately, she just didn't understand it. And she thought she'd done something wrong, but what?

However, the time was approaching for them to go to Mexico with Tessie and Max. And she needed some kind of reassurance from him.

"So, Mexico tomorrow?" Chloe asked over dinner the fifth night. Nick's hair was still damp from the shower, and it shined in the bright light of the kitchen. He'd just shaved, and looked fairly presentable, she thought.

"Yeah," he replied, "we're flying. In the morning."

He continued eating in silence, tiredly shoveling food into his mouth. She'd made baked chicken, and she'd tried hard to make the dinner as appealing as possible. But he seemed not to notice.

"You like the food?" she said irritably.

"Yeah." He sat back and wiped his mouth. "I like it a little too much."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

His piercing blue—gray eyes came up and met hers. "You're growing on me, and I don't like it. I'm used to being alone and working alone. You fix these dinners," he gestured to the plate, "you fix up the house. You wait for me. You're here." His look was intense now, as he stared at her, "You haunt my days and nights. There isn't a moment I'm at peace. I know you're here waiting for me, and it makes me nuts."

She smiled. "Why? Do you want to sleep with me or something?"

His eyes raked over her, then he sat back lazily. "Or something."

"Well, why don't we just get it over with then?"

She saw his lips twitch, then he burst out laughing.

"What's so funny?" she snapped.

"You," he gasped, "you're so damn practical sometimes. You slay me, Chloe."

"Well," she said dryly, "I'm glad I'm good for a laugh." She started clearing the dishes and he grabbed her around the waist.

"Come here," he said, still chuckling as he pulled her on his lap.

"Hey," she said, "this could lead to something. Be careful, Action." She'd missed him. She had to admit, she'd missed his touch, missed the feel of his arms around her. And they were around her waist now hard and strong.

"Yeah," he breathed, "my woman."

She looked down, and saw one of his hands was bruised, and the knuckles raw. "What happened?" she asked, as she touched it gently.

"Bob," he said. "He always thinks he can beat me. We'll probably end up shooting each other one of these days."

"Right. I'll get you some ice, Mister Macho." She filled a towel with ice cubes, and made him put his hand on it.

He fixed her with a level stare. "I think I'll stay home tonight, Mom."

"Well, glory be," she said sarcastically, "wonders will never cease. What do you want to do?"

He grinned at her. "What do you think?"

Sitting across from him, she replied, "I don't think it's a good idea, Nick."

He raised his eyebrows, but didn't respond.

"It's just..." she struggled for the words. How could she tell him what she felt? She wasn't sure she understood it herself. "It's like I've known you all my life sometimes," she said slowly, not looking at him, "but there's also a part of you that I don't know. And that scares me. When you're with the guys, something clicks and you're different. I almost think you like it, all the macho bullshit."

"I do," he said, "in a sense. All guys do. It's innate. We're all on a power trip of one kind or another. Businessmen, bikers, athletes. Men are hard. Women are soft. That's life, babe."

"Bullshit!" she said, looking at him now with angry eyes.

Laughing softly, he said, "Maybe that's what attracts you to me."

She sniffed. "Who says I'm attracted to you? How do you know I don't think you're repulsive?"

"I don't know how you feel about me. You're not very up-front about it, except when you're drunk."

Frowning, she asked, "What did I say?" She remembered very little about the seven-drink night.

"I'm not telling," he said, as his eyes twinkled, "but you were good, Chloe. Don't you remember?"

"Oh no you don't. I'm not falling for that again. I didn't do anything with you, and you know it."

He grinned. "Well I guess you'll never know for sure, now will you?"

"Besides," she said, "you told me you were unforgettable, remember?"

"I am!"

"Well, then we didn't."

"You'll never know, I guess. Why don't we do it tonight, and refresh your memory?" His eyes narrowed until they were half-closed.

"I don't think so."

"Why not?"

"Because," she said slowly, "I'm not sure I'm ready for a relationship."

"After five years? Besides, who said anything about a relationship?"

"Go to hell!" she said angrily, "You are repulsive! You're conceited and an asshole besides!"

"I love to watch you get mad," he said lazily, "you're a spunky little thing, Chloe, and when you get mad, I want to do this." He leaned across the table and kissed her hard. But his hand dropped something down her back, and she screamed as she realized it was an ice cube.

"Damn you!" she spat, as she rose and tried to pull her tank top from inside her jeans.

He strolled over, and stood behind her. "Allow me," he drawled, as his hand plunged down the back of her tank top.

"Get your hands off me!" she yelled, as her elbow flew back into his stomach.

"Chloe, now be nice." He grabbed the ice cube, but also grabbed her around the waist with his other arm, "or I'll have to do this..."

She screamed again, as she felt the shocking cold ice cube on first one breast, then the other. But he held her so tightly she couldn't break free.

"Stop it!" she yelled, trying to stomp his foot.

"No!" he yelled back, "I want the truth out of you, and I'm going to get it, if I have to freeze both your tits off!"

Her rage increased with the cold, but he was too strong for her.

"Now," he said loudly, holding the ice cube an inch from one breast, "Am I conceited?"

"Yes!" she spat, but as she felt the shock of cold against her, momentarily, she said quickly, "No! No, you're not." And she started laughing, in spite of herself. But then she smelled his clean, soapy scent, and felt the bulge in his pants as he sat down and pulled her on his lap.

"Well finally," he said, now holding the dripping cube away from her other breast. "Now," he whispered in her ear, "do you want to make love to me?"

Squealing as the cold drips hit her, she said, "No...agh," the cube came down on her breast, "Yes!" She was laughing again.

Feeling his breath against her ear, she heard him whisper, "Do you love me, Chloe?"

She sat still, very still, and all she could hear was the distant sound of traffic. "I don't know. Do you love me?"

He didn't respond, but simply removed dripping ice cube and set it on the table.

She sat back against him, aware of her wet shirt, feeling his hardness, and wondering whether she did love him. Her nipples were contracting now, from the cold, but the sensation was not an unpleasant one.

Then, as if sensing it, his hands came up and began lazily caressing her breasts. "Chloe," he crooned in her ear, "tell me you love me."

"No," she said weakly, "I can't say it if I'm not sure."

"But sweetheart," he said softly, "I've got another ice cube here with your name written all over it."

"I don't care," she said, "you can torture me all you want, but I can't tell you if I'm not sure."

As he rubbed both her hard nipples between his fingers, he whispered, "You do. I can tell."

Her ache was back, and uncomfortably intense. Shivers went down her spine, not from the cold, but from the nearness of Nick. She closed her eyes, and felt him unbuttoning her jeans. He was laughing softly, as his hands worked them down, slowly, until they were almost to her knees.

Lazily, his hands moved back up her thighs, and he cupped her breast with one hand, and weaved into her ache with the other.

She gasped as his fingers slid inside her, then back out.

"Mmmm," he murmured, "you're ready. You can lie to me, Chloe, but your body tells me the truth."

His fingers slid in and out again, and he whispered, "I love you, Chloe."

As her eyes flew open, he laughed softly. "Yeah," he said, his fingers still moving sensuously, his lips brushing her ear, his warm breath playing with her senses, "You didn't know that, did you?"

He kissed her neck, his tongue teasing playfully, and she closed her eyes again. Her body began moving with his thrusts, then she cried out as his fingers rolled onto her bud.

"There it is," he breathed, "yeah, there it is. You like that, Chloe?"

She nodded her head.

"Tell me," he urged.

"I like it," she said weakly, as his fingers manipulated expertly, "I like it, Nick."

Her breath came in gasps now, as he continued his play, and she cried out and writhed, as she quickly reached her peak.

His lips sucked on her earlobe, then he whispered, "What else do you like, Chloe?" His fingers explored then plunged inside her again.

As they moved rhythmically, he murmured, "Do you like that too?" His hand gripped her waist, pulled her closer, and he pulsed against her.

"Yes," she gasped, feeling her ache tighten around his fingers.

"Mmmmm," he said, "but I think we should wait."

She stiffened, as his fingers stopped their play, and moved slowly out of her. "Why?"

Laughing softly, he replied, "Because you haven't told me you love me yet," he crooned in her ear.

"Bastard!" she spat, as she quickly sprung up and pulled on her pants. He was teasing her, and she didn't like it. Her body screamed for relief, and she was miserably uncomfortable now. More so than ever before. And she didn't believe for a minute that Nick loved her.

But, he grabbed her arm, as she moved past him. "You'll tell me, Chloe. Eventually."

Looking down at him, trying to compose herself, she said angrily, "Don't count on it! And don't count on that happening again, either!"

And she heard him laughing as she slammed the bedroom door.
Chapter Seven

The next day, Chloe wondered why they were flying to Mexico instead of driving. Mazatlan was quite a long way down the peninsula, but it would be easier to smuggle drugs in a car. Security measures were tight at the airport, and they would have to pass through customs on their way back. But at least, she realized, none of them had a gun. She could shoot a gun with precision, and being without one on any kind of assignment made her nervous.

Tessie had loaned her a peasant blouse and a long skirt to wear, along with sandals, and Chloe felt very festive as they boarded the plane. And that made her nervous too. She never wanted to let her guard down.

But Nick returned to his surly mode, as he sat next to her, silently drinking whiskey after whiskey.

"You're going to be sorry you drank all that," she told him, "when you have to pee and their cart is blocking the aisle."

He didn't respond, but then finally said, "I hate planes."

"You? Afraid of planes?"

"I didn't say I was afraid, I said, I hate planes. Probably because their carts block the aisles."

She was silent and observed him. He looked uncomfortable in the seat, but then, his shoulders were really too wide for it. His hair was tied back, and he looked fairly presentable for once. Neither men wore their colors. Both wore white t-shirts, jeans and boots, but they still had the aura of bikers about them. Or dangerous men. Or both.

"Let's take out the middle seat-arm," she said, "you'd probably be more comfortable."

"Yeah." He jerked it out, and put it in the compartment above. She watched his chest and arm muscles move with his efforts, as did an approaching woman flight attendant.

"Can I help you with that?" she said, her pretty, carefully made-up face smiling at him. She was blonde and beautiful, and Chloe hated her. Then she realized she was jealous.

Nick replied, "With what?" Then, he looked at the woman, while he leaned on the seat-back in front of him.

The woman seemed flustered, blushed, then turned and walked back to her cart.

"That was a nice little show," Chloe hissed, as he sat down again, "you're supposed to be with me, remember?"

"I am with you," he replied, as he fixed her with a level stare, "is there any doubt about that?"

Chloe sniffed and looked out at some fluffy clouds underneath the plane. "I didn't come on this trip to watch you flirt with some bubble-headed stewardess."

"Get over here," he said under his breath.

"No. You're repulsive," she whispered, "leave me alone. Go back to your blonde."

But she really couldn't escape him. He grabbed her around the waist and hoisted her next to him. She hit his thigh with her fist, then regretted it. It hurt her hand, and he just chuckled.

"Chloe, Chloe, what am I going to do with you?" he whispered, with his hand still gripping hard around her waist.

"Nothing!" she hissed, hoping the plane trip would be a short one. But she soon reclined on his hard chest, and his grip loosened slightly. The drone of the plane's engines relaxed her, and she fell asleep against him.

The next thing she felt was Nick's hand kneading her breast. The sensation was a pleasant one, until she remembered where they were. Grabbing his hand, she pulled it off and sat up.

He chuckled. "Figured that would wake you up. Fasten your seatbelt, babe. Mexico is waiting."

She grew excited. She'd never seen Mexico. Ten years in California, and she'd never gone to Mexico. She and Pete had planned a trip, which never came to pass.

But as they left the airport, Chloe thought Mexico was hot and ugly, nothing like she'd expected. The airport was tiny, the dark-haired men hanging around it were rudely ogling her, and the landscape surrounding the airport was flat, scrubby and barren, with only an occasional large cactus for relief.

The taxi that took the four of them towards town was decrepit and dirty. And, the driver was a maniac.

Chloe held on for dear life, as they careened down bumpy roads towards Mazatlan. Here and there, littered, trashy settlements dotted the landscape, and Chloe thought she'd never seen such appalling poverty. The tin-roofed shacks looked as if a heavy wind would demolish them. And the women she saw in the doorways, most of them pregnant, had a hopeless look in their eyes.

"How sad." she said softly.

"There you go," Max said from the front seat, "barefoot and pregnant. That's the way to keep them, Nick."

Nick snorted softly, and Chloe frowned, somewhat amazed at the lack of response from Tessie. Any woman in her right mind would rise to that remark. Any woman, Chloe thought, but a biker babe. These women were pitiful.

But the woman merely turned in the seat, and said to Chloe, "I forgot to tell you guys! I'm knocked up again!" Tessie's gaze then turned nervously to Max, who sniffed loudly. His face was stony, and it was obvious he wasn't pleased, in spite of his 'barefoot and pregnant' remarks earlier.

Tessie giggled, and Chloe's frown grew deeper, until Nick nudged her. "That's great, really great," she said, trying to sound convincing. Wonderful, she thought, now I'm going to be throwing a pregnant woman and her baby out into the street. Terrific. I can't wait.

But, Max's house was worth the bumpy ride, however. It sat on a cliff, in an isolated spot, and almost rivaled the size of his other place. It gleamed bright white in the mid-day sun, and overlooked the turquoise ocean.

"It's beautiful, Tess," Chloe breathed, wishing it was her own.

Grabbing her hand, the woman showed her around, chattering the whole time.

They entered, and their footsteps echoed on the intricate, red and yellow inlaid hallway tile. The airy living room, off to the right, sported a huge television, and white, overstuffed furniture. Terra cotta pots held ferns of various types, and the wide, picture window sported a panoramic view of the ocean.

The place had four bedrooms upstairs, and each one held the same view, with attached balconies. Looking around, Chloe almost forgot, for a brief time, why they were there.

"And," Tessie gushed, "we have satin sheets on all the beds."

Chloe groaned inwardly, but then wondered what they'd feel like.

Nick, who'd had a similar tour with Max, now gazed at the ocean view, while he stood next to the shimmering, kidney-shaped swimming pool. His face was hardening, as he thought of the drugs that bought this finery, and he was trying to stop it from showing. Trying to enjoy himself, trying to forget who he really was. Play the part, he scolded himself.

Max left to get beer from the kitchen, and Nick was startled to hear Chloe's voice.

"Hey, bandito!"

He looked up to see her leaning on the balcony rail of one of the bedrooms. Her face was flushed, her hair hung down, she was laughing, and she was beautiful. Just then, he wished with all his heart that the two of them could be here alone. Without the threat of death hanging over them. Without a care in the world. Just the two of them.

"What baby. What do you want?" He grinned, as he watched her expression.

Her face was impish now, as she stared down at him. "Tessie said there are satin sheets, Bandito!" Then, she smiled seductively. "What do you think about that?"

"Nice. What do you think?" A breeze drifted in from the ocean, and her hair flew around the balcony rail. Yes, he thought, join me on sheets of satin, Chloe.

She stuck her tongue out at him, and he laughed. "Hey, come down here and do that!"

But she just smirked, and rejoined Tessie.

Nick turned back to the view, and wondered idly whether this was just an assignment to her, or if she might like him a little. She was so silent about her feelings. Maybe he should stop pushing her.

Max brought the beers, and they sat on white, cast iron patio chairs, next to a glass table with the same scrolling motif.

After some idle chit-chat about the view and the house, Nick said, "So when are we going to pick up the stuff?"

Max smiled. "This is a pleasure trip, Action."

"Pleasure trip?" Nick cursed inwardly, but his smile was smooth, his expression bland.

"Yeah. We come down here twice a month. Once for pleasure, once for pick-up. Which reminds me, Tess is a screamer. So don't freak out if you hear her tonight."

Nick laughed, but his heart wasn't in it. Damn! He wanted to get going on this thing and get Chloe away from the club. It was too dangerous. He saw the look in the group member's eyes when they looked at Chloe. And, although he was under Max's protection, and certainly able to handle himself well, they could get carried away, stomp him and rape Chloe. It could very easily happen. And the mere thought of any harm coming to Chloe was like a spear through his heart.

That's why he'd been avoiding taking her to the clubhouse. But he found he didn't want to take her anywhere. He wanted her all to himself. And to Nick, that was dangerous too. He was almost obsessed with her.

Max leaned forward, as if sensing Nick was thinking of her. "How about a little swap? Haven't you ever wondered Tessie's like?"

Nick's smile was tight, as he thought of Max with Chloe. "No, not at all. Why, is that required or something? Is why we're here? So you can screw Chloe?"

Sitting back, Max said, "Hell no. Chicks are a dime a dozen. Just thought I'd ask the question. Some do, some don't."

"Well, we don't," Nick replied heatedly, before he took a long drink of his beer.

"That's cool." The expression on Max's face was calm, but his foot tapped quickly, and Nick sensed this wasn't the answer the man had expected.

The women joined them, drinking some concoction Tessie whipped up in the blender. Nick watched Chloe, as she stood gazing out at the ocean, her hair and skirt gently blowing in the breeze. Why couldn't they have picked someone ugly for him, so he could keep his mind on business? Why did they have to send him the most beautiful, desirable woman he'd ever seen? It was making things more difficult.

He didn't blame Max for wanting to trade. And he looked back to see Max staring at her too. Then he realized he'd have to watch this man now, every second. He'd disliked Max to begin with, and this just made Nick's disgust increase, along with his anger.

After an afternoon of talking and laughing, and a dinner of somewhat burned burgers, cooked by a somewhat drunken Max, they decided to go to a bar in town.

It was a small, indoor-outdoor type bar, where everyone who visited Mazatlan eventually danced on the table-tops. The place was crowded and noisy when they arrived, and music blasted from a stereo setup.

After a few drinks, and some down and dirty joke telling by Max, Nick looked over at Chloe. Her face was flushed, but he thought probably more from excitement than anything else.

"Isn't this fun?" she said, as she grabbed his hand and squeezed it.

"Yeah," he said softly, "let's dance."

A slow tune was playing, and he noticed, as they moved onto the floor, that she fit in his arms perfectly. She was just the right height, not too tall or too short, just like the rest of her. Perfect.

Her hair smelled delightful, like flowers, and he buried his face in it. She sighed and pressed against him, and his hand trailed down to her buttocks, while he pressed her even closer. Her hands closed around his neck, and she started kissing his cheek.

"You're going to get me all excited," he whispered, "and I won't be able to leave the dance floor."

"Mmmm, why not?" Her words were slurring slightly now, and he wondered just how much she'd had to drink.

"Because I have this," he said, as he pushed his hardness against her. She always seemed to make him hard. Hell, he could look at her and get hard. The woman did things to him.

"When are you and Max going to get the stuff?" she said softly.

"We aren't."

She pulled back to look at him. "How come?"

"If you snuggle up to me again, I'll tell you."

"Okay."

She put her head next to his again, and he briefly whispered what Max had told him.

"Damn!" she said.

"Well, why don't we just relax and enjoy ourselves? It'll only be two more weeks, then we'll come down again."

"I'm tired of this assignment," she complained, again, slurring slightly, "it's boring. Two more weeks of sitting around."

"Well, there's a ride scheduled. We're going to Red Rock next weekend, by Santa Barbara."

"That might be fun," she said grudgingly. Then she added, "Without the bikers."

As the song ended, he looked down at her. "Believe me, I want to get this over with too. It's dangerous for you, Chloe."

"Up yours! Stop trying to protect me!" she said angrily, as she flounced back to the table.

Cursing under his breath, he joined her.

But things got wild after that, and not just at their table. Max sprayed everyone in the place with his beer, and Nick groaned as he saw Chloe's peasant top get soaked.

Just then, a loud rock song started, and everyone in the small bar started dancing on the table tops. Everyone but Nick. Grinning, he sat tipped back in his chair, enjoying the spectacle of Chloe, writhing by herself on a table. The girl could definitely dance and with her top wet, it was even more enjoyable to him.

As he quickly hopped up to join her, she squealed and grabbed him around the neck. Then, a somewhat slower song began, and he slid his hands around her waist. Leaning backwards, with her hair falling in a silky mass behind her, she writhed and moved against him seductively.

He supported her back with one hand, while holding her buttocks with the other. Grinding against her, in time to the blues music, he wanted her, needed her, and reveled in this strange dance of love.

The room seemed to whirl, as her subtle enticing perfume wafted around him, and he licked the perspiration off her neck with his tongue. Her top was low, showing part of her breasts, and his lips traveled lower. "Chloe," he moaned, as they moved together, "you're mine, tell me you're mine."

But she seemed immersed in a world of her own; a world of sensual abandonment, lust, and music.

Bringing her head up, he looked into her eyes. They were half-closed, languid, and she seemed like a different person. Then, he looked closer, and realized she'd been drugged. Maybe here, maybe at the house, but somewhere, someone, probably Max, had slipped her something.

"Damn!" he breathed. Pulling her close to him, as the song ended, he looked over at Max. The man sat, with a bland expression on his face, looking very innocent. But Nick had to be careful with this. It may have been Tessie with her blender cocktail. And he struggled with his temper, as he thought of the danger to Chloe.

Picking her up in his arms, he stepped down from the table, and placed her in a chair. Trying to control his fury, he said tightly, "Tessie, what was in that drink you gave Chloe earlier?"

"Ummm," Chloe mumbled, "it was gooood."

"That's my specialty" Tessie slurred, with her eyes appearing very much like Chloes.

"Well, I don't like my old lady drugged." Nick's hands were tightly clenched at his sides, and his voice was low and ominous.

"Take it easy, Nick," Max said calmly, "she won't do it again, will you baby?"

Tessie pouted, and shook her head. "Everyone else always likes it."

Nick ran a hand through his hair. "Look, I'd like to go back to the house." He had to go back. He couldn't be with Max and Tessie any more tonight, or he might give in to this hidden, murderous rage boiling inside of him.

"Yeah," Max said, rising and hoisting Tessie, "let's take the Moms home. We can party again tomorrow night."

Chapter Eight

They all piled into Max's jeep, a new, red four wheel drive vehicle he kept at his Mexico house, and started down the road.

Nick held Chloe tight, with a grim expression on his face, as he thought of all the things he'd like to do to Max and his idiot wife. But, Chloe seemed to perk up on the way to Max's house, as the breeze hit her. She looked more alert, and her eyes slowly lost the glazed look he'd seen earlier.

Pulling her chin up, he said, "How're you doing, baby?"

"Fine," she said softly.

"Just don't drink any more of Tessie's concoctions."

"Yes, she put something in it. I could feel it. I didn't want to say anything and spoil the evening. I think I'm okay now, though. Don't worry, Nick."

He kissed her forehead. "I'm sorry, Chloe."

"Hazards of the job," she whispered, "that's why we get paid the big bucks."

Nick snorted, thought of his paycheck, and wondered if any amount of money was worth all this. Yes, Nick had money. Plenty of money. He had so much money from investments, he really didn't even need to work. But, so far, jobs with the D.E.A. had brought excitement to his life. Until now, that is. This wasn't excitement, this was hell.

At the house, they went upstairs, and Nick ran Chloe a bath, while she slowly undressed.

He went downstairs to get some cold water from the refrigerator, then strolled upstairs again.

But, as he walked in the room, he saw her standing by the louvered doors leading out to the balcony. She wore a white, filmy nightgown that blew softly around her, as the fresh, ocean breeze entered the room. She was looking out over the ocean and, gazing at her, he felt as if he couldn't move, as if his boots were nailed to the floor. God, what a vision she was...soft, seductive, long hair flowing in the light breeze like spun cotton, with the gown billowing out behind her.

She turned, as she finally realized he was there. In the dim light in the room, he could see through the wispy nightgown; her lush breasts, with their large nipples showing dark under the fabric; the dark, intriguing triangle of downy hairs between her thighs. And he felt a familiar longing.

"I'll be right back," he said huskily.

Chloe watched him go into the bathroom then heard the shower running. She looked out over the ocean again, transfixed by the beauty of the half-moon shimmering, making bright silver paths on the peaceful water.

Her thoughts darted randomly, while she heard him come up behind her.

"Isn't it beautiful, Nick?" she breathed, as he wrapped his arms around her, and shared the picturesque scene. He wore just a towel around his waist, and his skin was still damp from the shower.

"Not as beautiful as you," he said as he began kissing her neck. "Where did you get the gown?"

"Oh, it was in the drawer," she said softly, as an erotic haziness crept over her. She loved it when Nick kissed her. His kisses were so gentle.

"Let's go to bed," he said huskily.

But as she lay on top of the sheet, he hesitated and stood next to her, looking down.

"Are you all right now?" he said, in a concerned voice.

"Yeah. Just a little tired. It wore off. I like these sheets, though. Feel, Nick." Her hand ran along the satin softness.

He lay beside her, and pulled her towards him. She saw his eyes glittering, as he said, "I love you Chloe. Tell me you love me."

But before she could answer, his mouth was on hers, his tongue moving slowly, tasting her sweetness. His hand hesitated before it moved softly on her breast, and the fabric of the gown slid and moved as his palm caressed her.

She moaned at the sensation, and his lips moved off hers briefly. "Chloe," he breathed, "my beautiful woman."

Closing her eyes, she felt his hands moving the gown up and over her head.

"I want to see you," he whispered, "all of you." Then, he said, "Look at me, Chloe."

She slowly opened her eyes. He was bending over her, with his head resting on one arm. "You're beautiful," he whispered, as his eyes held hers in a steady gaze, and his hand moved slowly, lazily over her breasts, her stomach, then her thighs...languid strokes...slow strokes.

She found herself unable to break away from his gaze. She was transfixed by it, immersed in the gray-blue depths of it. As his hand cupped her thatch of downy hairs, he whispered, "This isn't all I need from you Chloe." His fingers moved, played, teased, and her lips were parted now, as she gasped, and closed her eyes, "I need your love, Chloe," he continued, "give me your love."

His mouth plundered hers, and she felt his love. It wasn't just the physical sensation he was creating, but something more. Something special, unique.

"Look at me," he whispered urgently, as she felt his fingers slide to her most sensitive spot. Slowly, she opened her eyes, and she saw a fire in him that matched the growing need between them.

"Tell me," he urged, "tell me..."

"I love you, Nick," she whispered, as she felt his expert manipulation bringing her to ecstasy, "I do." she breathed. Then, as she peaked, her body shook, and she cried out.

His lips moved casually to her breasts, as his fingers still stroked her moist ache, and he sucked one, then the other, his tongue moving around each taut nipple, caressing, teasing, his breath warm against her skin, until she could stand it no longer.

"Nick, come in me. Please."

"Are you protected?" he whispered.

She nodded.

He straddled her, and held himself poised at her entrance. "Tell me," he whispered, "tell me again."

"I love you, Nicky," she moaned.

He entered slowly, gently, resting his elbows on either side of her, as his mouth hovered above hers. Chloe's breath caught in her throat. It was like the first time...the first time she'd held a man, the first time she'd felt a man's desire.

As he began a slow rhythm, she cried out and rose to meet him.

"Is this what you want?" he said softly, his breath hot and fiery on her lips, "You want me in you? Yeah. You do."

His slow thrusting gained intensity, and she knew he was watching her. Gazing at him now, she saw his eyes, dark, languid, full of love for her. A feeling flowed through her, a feeling of intense happiness, a feeling that whatever happened between them, there would always be this one night.

But then he stopped thrusting, and brought his lips down on hers. She began writhing underneath him, unable to wait. Then, as if he could control himself no longer, he thrust deeply within her, once twice, and she gasped as she felt her muscles contracting around his hardness.

As he continued, she felt a sensation new to her, and she cried out, as she spiraled towards the precipice, drowning in Nicky's fire, and her intense ache was relieved at last.

Gasping, she felt him shift, so she was on top of him.

"Yeah," he breathed, "that's how I want you, over me, with your hair falling down." his hand weaved into her hair, as he looked up at her. "Tell me."

He drove into her hard, and she sucked her breath, as the sensation started again within her. "I love you," she gasped, "I love you, Nicky."

His thrusting became more urgent, as his eyes closed, and his eyelids flickered. She felt his ecstasy then, and something seemed to burst inside of her, as he moaned.

Bringing her up with him, he sat, with her straddled on his lap. His hand came up and stroked her hair, and his eyes were half-closed. "Come for me, Chloe," he whispered, "come for me."

His words caused a sensation within her, unlike anything she'd experienced before. It grew, as his intensity grew, and seemed to thunder inside her like a huge, exotic tremor, as he thrust one last time.

They stayed wrapped in each other's arms, and the only sound in the room was the furious beating of their hearts along with their ragged breathing. And the only scent was theirs, the exotic, soft, lingering fragrance of two people in love.

"Chloe," he moaned, "believe me, Chloe." His hands wrapped in her hair, and she buried her face in his neck, smelling his subtle scent, feeling him, needing him.

But then, they heard a scream come from the next room. Chloe stiffened, but Nick chuckled.

"What was that?" she said, on the alert instantly.

"Max says Tess is a screamer."

She pulled back and looked at him. "What's a screamer? What do you mean?"

He grinned.

"Oh, you mean, oh." But her face still held a curious look, and it amused him.

Laughing, he pulled Chloe gently from him, and strolled to the bathroom.

When he came back, she was lying on the bed, watching him with bright eyes.

He lay beside her.

"How long has it been for you, Nick?" she said, as his hand stroked her face, "How long since you've been with a woman?"

"Oh, about three minutes."

"You know what I mean."

He grinned. "About three years, actually."

"Tell me about Anne. The one you said you were serious about."

He shifted onto his back, while her hand ran over the hard muscles on his stomach. Her touch was light and he closed his eyes. "She was my first love. We went together in high school. We never did marry. That was my fault. I guess I was stupid for not marrying her, although it probably wouldn't have worked out."

"Why is that?"

He chuckled. "She found someone else. I guess she felt like she needed to test the water, get her feet wet with him and probably others, too. Then she was back, six months later, begging to come back to me. I told her no. I just had too much bitterness towards her."

"Yes. I can understand. There aren't any guarantees, I suppose. Nicky, do you love me?"

His eyes met hers. "You're mine now, baby. Yes, you are. And it took you long enough to tell me, too. I thought I'd never hear you say it. Jesus." he ran a hand through his hair, and sighed.

"Then let's stop playing these games."

"I want you again..." his voice trailed off, and she looked down at his hardness.

"I can see that Nick."

He grinned, but then his lips met hers hungrily, like a dying man thirsty for water, tasting, wanting more and more of her.

Chloe stroked him with a gentle touch, increasing his throbbing with her caresses.

He groaned and turned her on her back. Poised above her, he whispered urgently, "Tell me again. I can't hear it enough."

"I love you, Nick," she whispered back.

As he bore down, deeply within her now, he relished the silken feel of her, as he watched her eyelids flutter, then close.

Bringing his hands up under her buttocks, so she could receive more of him, he said softly, urgently, "Come for me, Chloe. Come for Nicky."

She uttered a strangled cry, and her body writhed against him. He increased his thrusts, knowing, feeling she was close.

He hungrily sucked her breasts, one then the other, as she arched her back. He stopped, momentarily, and her eyes opened. Soft eyes, trusting eyes, so full of love for him.

He teased her lips with his own, sucking first the lower, then the upper. His tongue ran around her swollen lips, then inside her mouth, which was parted slightly now.

"Please." she whispered, "don't stop."

"Why not?" he said, with a small smile playing on his lips.

"I need you."

"You want to come for Nicky?" he whispered against her lips.

She nodded.

As he thrust the full length of himself into her, she gasped, but then he stopped again.

"You're sure." he was grinning down at her now, teasing. She opened her eyes, and when he saw the innocence there, and the passion, he couldn't control himself. The grin faded from his face, a groan emitted from his throat, and he pushed forward deeply, firmly, and his passion soared with hers.

She cried out, many times, as they moved together easily, as one. And Nicky felt a passion and a love for her like he'd never known before, closeness far from anything he'd ever experienced. And to his delight, Chloe came for him. Time and time again.
Chapter Nine

The next day, they were all in the pool, lazily soaking up the Mexico sunshine.

"This is nice," Chloe said, as she swam next to Nick.

"Yeah," he said, in a low voice, "we'll have to come back when we can enjoy it." He eyed her tiny bikini through half-closed eyes, then ran his hand along the waistband.

"Oh, I don't know," she said languidly, not moving to stop the roving hand, "you seemed to be enjoying yourself last night."

He grinned, and pulled her towards him.

The phone rang, and Max cursed as he went to answer it.

He came back a few minutes later, with a disgusted look on his face. "We've got to go home, Tess. The baby's sick, and Marisa's freaking out. This sucks. And you want another one?" He stared at Tessie hard. And as Chloe glanced up at Nick, the same thought was in both their minds...Max was not a happy man.

On the plane, Nick turned to Chloe. "Any regrets?"

She smiled, then whispered, "None whatsoever. Now, we won't have to play act. I really am your old lady."

The next few days passed blissfully for Chloe. The hovel seemed like a paradise, and the nights were spent in sensual abandon, with Nick bringing her pleasures she felt almost guilty receiving. And she found herself wondering what the future held for them both.

The day of their ride to Red Rock dawned sunny and bright. And Chloe realized she'd been so happy, she'd almost forgotten their purpose there; to catch the distributor, to nail the perpetrators. It was time to get serious.

"You ready, baby?" Nick called from outside.

"Be right there!" Chloe felt like she was forgetting something. Standing in the bedroom, she just couldn't think of what it was. It was something she needed to do before they left. Finally, shrugging, she gave it up and headed for the bike.

They proceeded from the clubhouse, two by two, on Pacific Coast Highway, like before. As they rolled down the highway, Nick yelled, "Let's catch up to Max and Tessie."

She nodded, and looked out over the ocean.

He accelerated, but as he pulled out to pass Tiny, the bike hit an oily spot in the road. And Chloe froze, as she felt Nick lose control of the motorcycle. The bike veered first to the right, then the left, with sickening sweeps, as he struggled. And she panicked when she realized Nick wasn't wearing a helmet. He'd forgotten it, and he hadn't wanted to go back.

The next few seconds were a blur. She saw traffic heading towards them; she screamed, heard horns blasting, and finally felt herself thrown free of the bike. She landed on her back with a hard thump, and she couldn't breathe. Her hands felt sand, coarse and grainy. Clutching at it for stability, her head reeled and the sun faded in and out.

Finally, when she was able to understand what happened, she realized she'd landed on a sand dune. Nick had tried to steer the bike towards the soft sand. But where was he?

"Nick?" she called weakly. Then she heard traffic screeching, voices, people running. Her breaths came in short gasps, and the sound of it seemed far away, like the breaths belonged to someone else. Then she heard someone calling her. Someone else screamed.

"Chloe!" Tessie's voice screeched. Then Chloe saw the woman's blonde head and concerned face peering down at her.

"Nick. Where's Nick?"

"Don't move, Chloe! Max called an ambulance. They'll be here soon. Nick's over there. I think...I think he'll be okay."

Then, everything faded to black.

When she regained consciousness, Chloe realized she was in a busy emergency room. Soft rustles sounded nearby. Her tongue rolled around her dry lips, and the faint odor of antiseptic was present. She felt all right, though, nothing hurt.

"Nick." she breathed.

An elderly nurse in green scrubs stepped over to her bedside. She said softly, as she smiled, "So, you decided to join us."

Chloe felt the nurse taking her pulse with a warm, practiced hand, as she said more insistently, "My boyfriend."

"What's his name?" The woman's gray head shook, and she clicked her tongue against her teeth. "There were a few people crunched in that accident. I hate motorcycles. I wish they hadn't asked me to fill in down here today. This is terrible. I can't tell you the amount of head injuries we've had in here-"

"My boyfriend," Chloe repeated urgently, "please! His name is Nick." She couldn't remember the last name he was using, and she didn't want to say Webster.

"Yes. He's across the hall. Nice-looking guy. He's got a head injury. That's all I can tell you right now, unless you're family."

Chloe thought for a minute "He doesn't have any family. I'm it." She wasn't sure. He'd told her his parents were dead. He hadn't mentioned anyone else.

"Oh, I see. That's different. Here, why don't you sit up? You're going to be fine, just fine," she soothed.

The nurse pushed a button on the bed. Chloe was sitting now, and said anxiously, "I'm okay. But what about Nick?"

Chloe's eyes searched, but a green curtain was drawn around her bed. Someone moaned in the next bed over.

A young doctor entered, examined her, then she asked him, "Nick. My boyfriend..."

"She's family," the nurse added.

"I see," he said, still making notes on Chloe's chart. "He's had a head injury and he has a slight concussion. It's hard to say how it will go with him." Then he smiled. "You'll be fine, though. You were in shock. Happens often after accidents like this."

"What do you mean? About Nick?"

"There may be memory lapses. Amnesia. He didn't remember his name when he came to. You'll have to watch him. I'd like to keep him overnight, but he's chomping at the bit to get out of here. Doesn't like hospitals much, does he?"

Chloe shook her head. No, she was sure he wouldn't. But, he was all right! Her relief was immense. "What should I watch for? Can he go home?"

"Yes. I can't keep him here against his will. Watch for dizziness, vomiting, and lethargy. Anything like that occurs; bring him back here, pronto. He can rest or sleep, but wake him up every few hours. He'll have quite a headache for a couple days. And see if you can convince him to stay off that motorcycle. It could save his life."

Chloe smiled at the thought of telling Nick to stay off his Harley. Then, she remembered the first time she'd seen him. Born to ride. That was Nick.

Nick's mind wandered, as he looked up at the tiles in the ceiling. He remembered riding on a motorcycle. But, where was he going? And who was he with? He felt hazy. He knew he hated hospitals, though, and he wasn't about to stay here. But then, he couldn't remember where he was supposed to go when he got out.

He felt someone moving next to him. A soft voice said, "Nick?"

A sweet sensation. He knew that voice. Who was it? Turning his head slightly, he saw her. Long brown hair, big exotic brown eyes. God, she was beautiful. Wracking his brain, trying to come up with her name, he watched her, unsure of what to say. Who was she? Was he supposed to know her?

The big brown eyes started filling with tears, and her hand came up to her mouth. Then, he remembered another time. She'd been crying then, too, for some reason, and he'd kissed her. At night...somewhere by the ocean. A wonderful kiss. He remembered that much.

"Don't cry," he said, "please." Her name, what was her name?

"Okay," she replied softly, and her hand came down and rested on his arm. Her touch was light, delicate, and he liked it.

"How's your head?" she asked, as she gazed down at him and squeezed his hand.

"It hurts," he said ruefully. What an understatement. He felt like it would explode any minute.

"Yes. The doctor said it would hurt for a few days. I was just so relieved when I found out." The tears started again, and she bent down and hugged him. Her hair was so soft, and she smelled like jasmine. The scent was familiar, but he still couldn't remember her name.

Chloe drew back from him. His expression was vacant, and she found herself almost relieved as Max walked in.

Then, she saw something flicker in Nick's eyes. Recognition. He grinned a lopsided grin and said, "Max. Hey man, good to see you."

"Yeah. Quite a spill you took. One of the hazards of riding. Good thing you have a hard head. Got the Lexus outside, to take you home."

"My bike?"

"We had it taken to your garage. You can work on it when you feel better. No hurry."

The doctor came in, explained some things to Nick, then reluctantly released him.

"Remember what I told you," he said to Chloe, "watch him."

Max dropped them off at the house, and Chloe put her arm around Nick's waist, and helped him inside. The same vacant look was in his eyes, as he gazed around the tiny living room. Leaning against her, he wondered where the hell he was.

"How do you feel?" she asked softly.

"Like I just got run over by a truck," he replied, looking down at her, trying to smile. Was this his house? Is this where he lived with this beautiful woman? Depression took hold of him suddenly, as she helped him to the couch and he held his aching head. He knew he should remember it, but he didn't. Not at all. Nothing made sense. It was as if he'd walked into someone else's life.

She sat next to him, and put her hand softly on his back. But her touch stirred something deep within him. She seemed like she belonged here, yet she didn't. It was strange, and it gave him an eerie feeling. Almost as if he didn't belong here either.

"Why don't you lie down?" she said softly.

He nodded, and stretched out. His large frame settled comfortably into the contours of the old sofa. Yes, he remembered sleeping here sometimes. His eyes closed, and he drifted off.

When he woke up, she was moving around in the kitchen making dinner, and it was almost dark outside. And a man sat with her, a big man, fat, with stringy hair.

"Tiny," he said. Yes, he remembered Tiny, his friend. The big guy. Not too bright, but good for a laugh.

The man lumbered over and sat on a chair. "Hey, asshole. How's your head, man?"

Nick sat up, and winced. "It hurts."

Chloe headed towards the front door, and said cheerfully, "Takin' the garbage out here, boss."

When she left, Nick looked at Tiny, and said urgently, "What's her name, Tiny?"

"Huh?" The man looked at him, shocked, and his mouth fell open.

"I can't...tell me her name."

"Wow. Her name is Chloe." Tiny frowned, and looked at him questioningly. "You don't know your old lady? Jesus, Nick, you musta got hit hard."

Chloe. Yes, of course. How could he forget that? His eyes met Tinys. "She's beautiful, isn't she?"

Tiny grinned. "Yeah. If you ever don't want her anymore, let me know, man. I could use an old lady. Hey, you want a joint?"

Something in Nick wanted to say no, but he nodded instead.

Chloe returned, and smiled at him as she stood by the couch. But for some reason he didn't quite understand, he wanted to take her away from this place. This house. And away from Tiny. And he just didn't know why. He felt uncomfortable. Odd. Out of place, like he didn't belong here either.

"Hey Nick," Tiny said, with a tinge of concern in his voice, as he leaned forward, "you want a joint, or what? Jesus, Chloe, he's a space-cadet. Maybe we should take him back to the hospital. To the psycho ward!" The large man laughed uproariously now, as his huge belly bounced.

Nick smiled ruefully, then grinned at Chloe. "Yeah. I guess I am. Pull it out, Tiny."

The man was still laughing. "What, my dick, or the joint?"

"Keep the dick in, and grab the joint, asshole," Nick said dryly, still looking at Chloe.

"You okay?" she asked, looking down at him tenderly, "No nausea or dizziness?"

He shook his head. "Nope. Just a sore head, baby. That's all." How did he rate a woman like this? And why would she live here, in this lousy house, with him?

She smiled before she returned to the kitchen. A beautiful smile. Chloe's smile. A memory shook him. Another time, another smile, seductive, sexy. Yes, he knew her. She was his woman. And jealousy seized him, as he watched Tiny gaze at her.

"So," Tiny said, as he lit the joint and passed it to Nick, "we're ridin' next weekend. Give you a chance to fix up your bike."

"The ride." Nick inhaled.

"Yeah, dipshit, we were headed to Red Rock, remember?" Nick nodded and frowned. But he really didn't recall it. "How bad is my bike?" He remembered his Harley. Black, long forks, comfortable.

"It's banged up, but I took a look while you was sleepin.' It starts okay. Hey, that was a tricky move you did, headin' for the dunes. Saved Chloe's ass. Probably saved the bike, too."

"Where did I end up?"

"Right smack on the street, man. Did it knock some sense into you, or what?" The man laughed, and his stomach jounced again. Yes, Nick certainly remembered Tiny. He was his best friend, and Nick observed him now with a lazy grin, and heavy-lidded eyes.

Chloe watched the interchange from the kitchen table, as she set out the plates. After Tiny leaves, she thought she'd better find out exactly what Nick did remember.

"Dinner," she announced, as she still watched Nick. His eyes met hers in an unwavering stare. And as he rose and walked towards her, a chill went up her spine. This wasn't Nick. This was someone different. The desire was plain in his eyes. The other Nick would hide it. Especially in front of the bikers. The other Nick would never look at her like that. Even in private.

He stood before her, and ran his hands up and down her arms. Trembling involuntarily, she stared up at him. His hands tightened on her upper arms. "Cold?" he said.

She shook her head.

As Tiny seated himself, Nick's mouth came down on hers brutally, taking, not asking. He was trying to take all of her now, her body, her soul, her mind. The kiss was different, savage, and it came from a man she didn't even know. This wasn't Nick, it was someone else. And fear shook her, a fear so strong, it rivaled Nick's brutal kiss.

"Ey," Tiny said, "the spaghetti's gettin' cold. Plus, you guys are makin' me horny with that shit. Knock it off."

Nick broke off the kiss, and smiled down at her. But, the smile didn't reach his eyes. They were still hard, lustful.

As they ate, dread filled Chloe's heart. He didn't remember who he was. Nick thought he really was a biker. Would he ever remember he was a D.E.A. agent? And if he did, what would happen? And when would he snap out of it?

Silent, staring at her food now and avoiding Nick's eyes, she started making plans. First, she'd have to get away and call Ellen. The supervisor would know what to do. Maybe they'd have to abort the operation totally. But how would they ever get Nick out of here?

"Chloe!" Nick's voice interrupted her thoughts.

"What?" she said, with her eyes still trained on her plate.

"Look at me, woman."

Her eyes came up slowly, reluctantly. Nick's stare was curious now, as he studied her face. But his eyes were the same, dark and dangerous, almost evil.

"Don't avoid me," he said softly, "don't ever do that. You're hiding something from me. I can feel it."

Tiny laughed. "Maybe she's knocked up," he said, as he took another sloppy bite of spaghetti. Sauce dripped on his grimy shirt, and Chloe was glad he was with them. And she wondered what would happen when he left.

A slight smile curved on her lips, as she asked, "You need a bib, Tiny?"

With a mouth full, he replied, "Nah. I need an old lady to do my laundry, that's all."

During the rest of the dinner, Tiny served as a buffer between them. The funny man. And, even he seemed to sense a change in Nick, as his glance met Chloe's several times. But Nick noticed the looks, and his eyes grew even harder.

While she cleaned the plates, Tiny lumbered over to her and said in a low voice, "You think he's okay? He's actin' weird tonight. Doesn't seem like the same old Nick."

She nodded. "I know. He'll be okay tomorrow, though." And she wished it with all her heart that Nick would wake up and remember.

Chapter Ten

Tiny left early. She heard his motorcycle noisily pull away, and she groaned as she stepped out of the shower. She'd hoped she could be in bed before he left, so she could feign sleep, and avoid dealing with Nick. Maybe he'd stay in the living room. He often did, at night. She needed time to think, and she just didn't want to be alone with him. Not now. Not until he was himself again.

Throwing on Nick's t-shirt, and after brushing and untangling her damp hair, she came out of the bathroom. Nick sat on the bed, shirtless, with his hands clasped together. And, the same look was in his eyes, as he studied her.

"Take it off," he said quietly.

She didn't want to. Not when he was looking at her like that. And her fear hung in the room like a ghostly shadow, creeping up on her until she could almost smell it. But, she finally acquiesced, slowly shucked off the t-shirt, and stood before him. She had no choice. Not really.

He let his breath out in a long sigh, as his moody eyes traveled the length of her body then moved back up to her face. As he stood, he said in a low, almost threatening tone, "What were you and Tiny whispering about in the kitchen?"

Her eyes darted around the room, as she replied, "When?"

"Look at me!" he commanded, as he moved closer and grabbed her shoulders.

She gazed into his eyes, and grew more fearful. This really was a different Nick. She didn't know this man, and yet, she did. It was bizarre, and the room took on an unreal aura with a faintly nightmarish quality.

"I said, what were you talking about?" His tone was ominous now, and his grip tightened.

But, she couldn't lie. He'd see it. "He...Tiny said he was worried about you. He said you didn't seem like yourself."

He smiled a crooked smile. "Is that right?" She could tell he didn't believe her, not a word, and her heart fluttered in her chest.

"Yes. That's what he said, Nick." And a flush moved up her face, as his gaze raked over her again.

As he backed her against the wall, she felt the rough fabric of his jeans, and the warmth of his chest, as he pressed against her. He began moving, thrusting, and his head came next to hers. "Is that all?" he whispered.

She stood, rigidly; afraid to let herself feel emotions for this man, the emotions she'd felt towards the real Nick.

His tongue grazed her ear, and she closed her eyes, as his hand moved to the nape of her neck. This felt like Nick, and her emotions stirred.

"Yes," she gasped, "that's all." Then, she inhaled sharply, as his hand tightened on her hair.

"You're my woman," he said, in the same ominous tone, "my woman, understand?"

His mouth claimed hers brutally, and she tried to push him away. But he continued grinding against her, thrusting insistently.

"My woman," he breathed against her lips, "my woman. Don't forget."

His hand fell from her hair, and he fumbled with his jeans, finally lowering them.

"Nick, let's go to the bed," she implored.

"No," he whispered, as he looked at her with hard eyes.

Lifting her slightly, he plunged into her then stopped. She felt him pulsing inside her, as he said, "No one else, Chloe." His hand gripped her hair again, "No one else."

Nodding weakly, she felt his lips against hers. He ground into her, but in spite of her fear of him this night, she felt herself responding. On some primitive level, she felt herself somehow responding to this new Nick.

His hands were rough against her breasts, teasing one then the other, as he whispered, "You like that, Chloe?"

"Yes," she murmured. She did like it. In some odd way, it was exciting, passionate, different.

The hands moved down and cupped her buttocks, and lifted her up. Thrusting now, rhythmically within her, he laughed softly against her lips. His tongue rolled around their softness, before he whispered, "Yeah. I do too."

His thrusting became urgent, and he groaned, "You're mine, tell me."

"I'm yours," she gasped, as she spiraled towards her peak, clutching his back, her nails digging into his skin. Yes, she was his. Whether he remembered or not, she was his. The decision was made. She'd stick by him. No matter what.

As his tongue flicked in and out of her mouth, he laughed softly again, and whispered, "If you ever go with anyone else," he stopped thrusting, and stared at her, the smile fading from his face, "I'll kill you."

Chloe froze. Then she realized he expected a response. "I'd...I'd never do that," she whispered urgently, "you know me, Nick, I'd never hurt you."

His look softened then, and he breathed, "Yeah. My Chloe." His look was one of dim recognition. Yes, he'd come out of it.

She closed her eyes, as his slow thrusts began again. In spite of her fear, in spite of the change in Nick, her body still wanted him. As his hands came down and lifted her legs, he plunged deeper, deeply into the core of her, and her breath came in gasps. It was savage, primitive, and somehow, wonderful.

His body took hers mercilessly, hard one minute, soft the next, caressing, demanding, until they seemed to melt into each other's arms. It was different, yet the same. The same man, but not the same loving.

When it was over, he gasped, "I'm sorry. I saw you, and I couldn't help it. I don't want to lose you." He buried his face in her neck, and she felt him trembling.

Stroking his hair, she murmured, "It's all right, let's go to bed, Nick."

"But I shouldn't have. Not like that," his muffled voice replied.

"It's all right," she soothed, "Let's go to bed now."

He nodded.

But Chloe woke the next day, and her body was sore all over. Her neck was stiff, and her back ached, along with her head. She moaned, and felt Nick move next to her.

Throwing his leg over hers possessively, he said, "What's wrong, baby?"

"I'm sore, Nick. Because of the accident, I think." And she thought of their lovemaking the night before, and knew part of her pain was from the hard wall.

"Where does it hurt?"

"Everywhere," she groaned, "especially my back. I must have wrenched it when I was thrown off the bike."

"My poor baby. Nicky will make it better." He turned her on her stomach, straddled her, and she felt his hands massaging, kneading her. And while she luxuriated in the sensation, her thoughts turned to more practical matters. She had to get away from him today, and call Ellen from a pay phone.

"Are you working on your bike today?" she asked slowly, her voice muffled by the pillow.

"Yeah. Why?" His voice was suspicious.

"I thought I'd go to the store. We need a few things. I can walk up. Walking is good for a sore back."

"Okay. But only if you feel better."

Later, Chloe's voice was frantic, as she spoke with Ellen's secretary. "Find her! I have to talk to her!"

A few minutes later, Ellen was on the phone. "Chloe! What's wrong? I haven't heard from you guys. What's going on? Making any progress?"

Chloe's relief was immense at hearing Ellen's voice again. She looked around the parking lot of the mini-mart furtively, as cars pulled in and out, hoping none of Nick's club members were around. "Listen, we have a big problem. We were in an accident on the bike- "

"Are you okay?"

"Yes, I am. But Nick isn't. He's lost his memory, Ellen. He thinks he really is a bike club member."

"Oh, my God." Ellen's voice drifted off, and Chloe could almost hear the woman thinking over the phone. What could they do?

But then, Chloe saw Nick's mustang pull up. She turned and bent her head, hoping he wouldn't see her. "Shit! Ellen, he just drove up. Listen, meet us in Ventura tonight. At that same bar. Maybe if he sees you, he'll remember. We can get away and talk, too." She hung up, and her mind raced, as she saw Nick walking angrily towards her.

"Who were you calling?" he said loudly.

Her mind spun furiously, as he grabbed her arm. Looking up at him innocently, she said, "You, Nick. My back was hurting and I thought you could pick me up."

His look softened, but then he frowned. "I saw you talking."

She smiled. "I was swearing when you didn't answer the phone. You know I always mutter to myself all the time."

Leading her to the car, he said, "You should have let me get that stuff at the store."

"Hey," she said lightly, "are we still meeting Ellen tonight?"

Opening the car door, his look was blank. "I guess. If your back is better. Ellen. Yeah, I guess."

"Remember? We were supposed to stop in Ventura on our way back from the ride. I'd like to see her, Nick. She's expecting us, and she's my best friend. I tried to call her, but she's never home." It might work, she thought. Sounds plausible.

"Yeah, right. I remember."

But she knew he didn't. And Ellen was her last hope. If he didn't recognize Ellen, she wouldn't know how to bring him back.

The drive to Ventura was a long one for Chloe, and she stared wistfully at her hometown of Thousand Oaks as they passed by. It had only been a few weeks since she'd been home, but she longed to stop and see something familiar, something that was her very own. She was tired of Nick's house, tired of dirty bikers. Tired of it all.

Nick watched her as they rode along in the Mustang. She seemed so sad tonight.

"You okay, baby?" he said softly, wishing he could read her mind. She wasn't like this last night at dinner. Although, even then, he sensed a reluctance in her. But she'd looked like a frightened doe last night when he'd...

"Sure," she said absentmindedly, as she continued staring at the view.

Guilt plagued him then, and he regretted last night. He shouldn't have taken her like he did. And he tried to remember their previous lovemaking, but he couldn't. He didn't deserve her. Not at all. Not the way he'd acted.

"How is Ellen these days?" he said casually. He couldn't recall this friend of hers either, much as he tried.

Chloe turned in the seat to look at him. She wore a white tank top and tattered jeans. They looked familiar, though, but when had she worn them before? He searched his mind, but nothing came.

God, she was beautiful. His woman. How could he be so lucky? He must have done something right. In the past, that is. Now, he couldn't do anything right since the accident. Reaching over, he stroked her wavy hair.

"She's fine," Chloe said softly, "we just saw her a few weeks ago." Her eyes searched his face seriously.

Something, an impression flashed across his mind, a fleeting memory, but then it was gone. "Right," he replied, as he tried to will it back again.

The bar was as nasty as Chloe remembered, and she saw Ellen waiting anxiously for them at the same table they'd shared several weeks ago. The same motley oil derrick bums were there, loudly shouting about a boxing match on the ancient television in back of the counter.

Chloe held her breath and watched Nick's face as they sat down. But there was no glimmer of recognition, nothing to indicate he remembered Ellen. Just the same blank stare.

"So, how are you guys doing?" Ellen said carefully, as her eyes moved from one to the other.

"Good, except for the accident," Chloe said nervously. "Tell her about it, Nick."

He frowned deeply, then stared moodily ahead. "You tell her."

"How's your head?

Chloe's eyes met Ellens, saying silently what the woman already realized. Then she told her about the accident, as the bartender brought their drinks.

Ellen looked at Nick with concern. "Have any dizziness?"

He snorted. "What are you, a nurse or something?"

Ellen raised her eyebrows. "Yeah. Something like that. Don't you remember, Nick?"

He was growing exasperated. He knew this woman. Somehow, he knew her, but he couldn't place her, and it was frustrating. "I gotta piss," he finally said. "Be right back."

As he walked into the restroom, Chloe quickly leaned forward. "What can we do, Ellen?"

The woman sat back against the booth. "We'll have to call it off." Her tone was quiet, and her mouth was firm.

"No!" Chloe whispered, "We're so close! And besides, how could you get Nick out of Culver City? He wouldn't go."

"If you tell him, he may not believe you. Plus you'll expose yourself." Ellen sighed. "But if you feel you want to continue with this thing, I trust your judgment. I'll call the hospital, and talk to the doctor who treated him. Maybe he'll be able to suggest some way to revive his memory. I thought him seeing me might trigger something."

"Yeah. No luck."

But, in a tense, low tone, Ellen said, "Listen, Chloe. You're in more danger now than before. If you feel things are getting out of hand, call me, and we'll get you out. Anything could happen now."

Chloe's face crumpled, not from facing danger, but from the thought of Nick never recovering. "I don't want to leave him. I'm worried about him, Ellen. He could get in trouble, and I want the old Nick back. The one I used to know."

Tears streamed down Chloe's face, as Ellen reached out and grabbed her hand. "You're in love with him, aren't you?"

Chloe nodded, and wiped her eyes with her fingertips. "Yes, I am. But I love the man he was. And I want him back. He's like an empty shell now."

But then, Nick returned to the table, and gave Ellen a sharp look. His arm wrapped around Chloe, and he said, "What's going on? Why are you crying, baby?"

He frowned at Ellen, and she let go of Chloe's hand.

"I'm...I'm just stiff all over, Nick," Chloe said softly, averting her eyes from his stony gaze.

"Let's go," he said harshly, before he stood and pulled Chloe up next to him. The look he gave Ellen was nasty, and Chloe was glad she wasn't on the receiving end of a look like that.

"Remember what I said," Ellen warned calmly, undaunted by Nick's stare.

Chloe nodded, and Nick led her from the bar.

After they were seated in the car, he turned to Chloe. "What happened in there?" he said. "What did she mean?"

Chloe sniffed and replied, "She just told me to take hot baths for the muscle stiffness." She was lying to him, and it felt uncomfortable. She'd never lied to him. And she hated doing it, but she had no choice. Not now.

Nick nodded, seemed satisfied, and started the car.

All the way back to Culver City, Chloe tried to think of ways she could tell Nick who he really was. But would he believe her? And if he didn't, what would be the consequences? She'd seen violence in his eyes since the crash, but so far, it hadn't been directed at her. But, it could be. If he didn't believe her, it could be.

They arrived at the house, and Nick followed her in. When she turned to look at him, his hand was rubbing his temple, and there was a grimace on his face.

"Sit down," she told him, "I'll get you a soda."

"Bring me a whiskey instead," he said irritably, as he sat on the couch.

"Do you think that's a good idea-"

"Just bring the damn whiskey!" he yelled.

Chloe hurried to the kitchen, so he wouldn't see her tears. He'd never yelled at her. Not like that. Then, she grew angry. And she knew she'd have to stand up to him, and keep at least a portion of the power.

Wiping her eyes, she returned to the living room, and said quietly, "Get it yourself. And don't talk to me like that again. Ever."

She started walking into the bedroom, but he caught her arm in a vice-like grip.

"Let me go," she said, from between clenched teeth.

"You're my woman," he said in a threatening voice, "and I can talk to you any way I want."

She looked down at him coolly. "No, you can't. And if you do, I'm leaving. Now."

"The hell you are!" he yelled, as he bounded up and grabbed her other arm.

They faced off, eye to eye, she standing rigid and he lurking powerfully over her like a jungle cat stalking prey.

He pulled her tight against his chest, until his lips were inches from hers. His eyes were wild, dark, and they seemed to sear through her soul, as he stared heatedly.

"You're not going anywhere, Chloe. If I have to watch you every second of the day and night. You're not going."

His breath smelled faintly of pot and whiskey and his eyes were cold and brutal. She searched his face, again, for any faint glimmer of the Nick she knew before. But there was nothing. Nothing but this fierce stranger holding her.

Slowly, she said, "I can walk out that door right now, Nick. And you can't stop me from leaving." She knew, in her heart, that she couldn't leave him. But he needed to know that she was serious. He needed to know that he couldn't push her around, that she wouldn't allow it. She couldn't back down now. He'd have the advantage.

And she remembered, almost with amusement, what he'd said at dinner one night. Women are soft, men are hard. And, looking at him angrily now, she thought, how wrong you were, Nick. How very wrong you were.

"Try me," he said, in a low voice, "just try walking out that door. See what happens."

Raising her eyebrows, she said, "You'd keep me here against my will?"

He sniffed, and backed up. "Don't worry. You'd enjoy it."

But just then, the phone rang. He cursed, let her go, and answered it, still watching her warily all the while.

His features relaxed, and she wondered who it was, as he talked for a few minutes.

"That was Max," he said, as he hung up. He seemed calmer now, but continued staring at her. "He wants us to come up there."

She gave him a disgusted look. "Oh, joy. Chinese take-out and naked in the Jacuzzi. I can't wait," she said sarcastically.

"Stop bitching," he snapped, as his hand came up to his temple again, "and you drive. My head hurts."

"Then you shouldn't go," she said firmly.

With eyes like steel barbs, and a tight voice, he said, "Get in the car. I'll drive."

She was afraid of him then, as she saw his hands clenched in tight fists and his mouth in a firm line.

"Suit yourself," she relented, finally, as she grabbed her coat and wallet.

But, in the car, he seemed almost apologetic. "Listen," he said, as he glanced over at her, "you don't really want to leave, do you?"

She was silent, as she stared out the window. Yes, she wanted to leave, and very badly, too. But not without Nick. They could go somewhere, and forget all of this.

He sighed deeply. "If it's last night...well, I just...that won't happen again. I love you, Chloe." His voice broke, and he clutched the steering wheel hard.

"I know," she said softly. "I love you too, Nick."

But she wondered where that love would take her, how deeply into Nick's world she'd have to venture, and what kind of sacrifices she'd have to make for this man beside her.

Looking over at him, watching his handsome profile in the dim light, she knew she'd try her best. She'd be strong, and hard, as hard as any man. And in the end, he'd thank her. If not right away, then later, when he knew who he was.
Chapter Eleven

Tessie gushed over them both, as she greeted Chloe and Nick at the door. And Chloe's nose wrinkled when she smelled the sicky-sweet odor of pot, as they entered the kitchen and saw Max in his favorite spot, rolling joints.

"Now, woman of mine, how about that drink?" Nick said dryly, as he sprawled in a chair. She was about to refuse him again, but something about the tilt of his head, the twinkle in his eyes, reminded her of the old Nick. So, she relented.

"Whatever," Chloe muttered, rolling her eyes at Tessie. She poured a shot from an open bottle of whiskey on the counter, then handed it to him. "Who was your slave last year?" she said disgustedly, as she stood by his side.

Max looked at her sharply, as Nick chuckled. Then the man sat back in his seat and stared at her. Not a friendly look on his face either, Chloe thought.

"You let her talk to you like that?" he said finally. "Tess knows better. You better take a lesson from her, Chloe."

Nick's arm came around Chloe's waist. "She's just kidding."

Max studied Chloe with unwavering eyes, and she returned the stare.

"Right, baby?" Nick prodded, as he pulled her closer.

She hated this. At this moment, Chloe hated all of it. The whole thing. The macho crap, the drug dealing, the bikers, and even the D.E.A. But, she loved Nick, so her lips moved slowly, and she said, "Right."

A smirk appeared on Max's face, as if he could sense her discomfiture.

She pulled away from Nick, and poured herself a drink. As Tessie chatted with the men, Chloe wandered out on the patio, sat on a wrought iron chair, and stared into the pool. A few minutes later, as she sat lost in thought, she felt a hand move on her shoulder.

"Have a little hassle with Nick?" Max asked, as his hand began moving and massaging. She shuddered, almost involuntarily.

Then, jerking her shoulder away, she replied irritably, "None of your business." She hated the man, and tried to keep it from showing. Why was he bothering her? Especially when her thoughts had been of Mexico, and the first time she'd made love to Nick.

He dragged up a chair, and sat very close to her, with his knee brushing her thigh.

"You're a little spitfire, aren't you?" he said softly, then chuckling to himself.

This man made her skin crawl. The tone of his voice was soft and sickening, with a strong, sexual undercurrent. "So what if I am?" she said tightly, still not looking at him.

"You're lucky you're not my old lady. I'd beat the crap out of you if you ever talked that way to me."

A chill went down her spine at the evil the man exuded, but the fear didn't show in her carefully composed features. Slowly, she replied, "I guess that's one way to get respect." She pitied Tessie then, and wondered if it really mattered to the woman that her husband was so brutal. The woman didn't seem afraid of him.

But his silence told her she'd crossed the line. And she cursed inwardly at her stupidity. She...they needed this man. He had to show them the Mexico connection. She would have to be nice to him, or at least civil. Temporarily.

Casually, she added, "But I'm sure you never have those problems with Tess. She seems like a good woman."

The lie must have been a convincing one, she realized, as she heard him chuckle. Leaning forward with his elbows resting on his thighs, he said softly, "So are you, Chloe. I've seen the way you take care of Nick. You're good in the kitchen, and you must be good in the sack, because I haven't heard any complaints yet. How are you in the sack, Chloe? Mmmm?"

The silky tone of his voice made her want to lash out at him, and run away. Far away, to call Ellen, so she could escape from this hell; this awful hell that Nick had, unwillingly, become a part of.

Then, with relief, she heard Nick's deep voice behind her. "You're right, Max. She is a good woman." He brought a chair and sat on the other side of Chloe, saying, "Listen, Max, come over tomorrow. I need you to help me with my bike. Oh, and for your information, Chloe's good in bed. Not that it's any of your business."

Max nodded, and Chloe finally looked over at him. And his face was hard and brittle, as he stared back at her. Why, Chloe thought, he's jealous! Jealous of me and Nick!

But then, her eyes narrowed and a smile played on her lips as she thought of him being led away in handcuffs by D.E.A. agents. She'd want to see it. She'd want to be there for that. It would make it all worthwhile to see the expression on his face.

"So," he said softly, "we goin' in the Jacuzzi?"

Chloe didn't want to. She didn't want this man to see her naked again. Not after the things he'd said, and how he'd looked just now. But she also didn't want to antagonize him. And, she'd already been in the thing once. It would raise his suspicions if she refused. The smile grew wider on her face, as she replied, "Of course."

And, as she and Nick moved over to the Jacuzzi, she realized that whatever happened, Nick would protect her anyway. It didn't matter. She loved him. And she couldn't run away now. He needed her.

Looking at Nick, with her back to Max, she shucked off her t-shirt, and held it over one shoulder.

Her unwavering eyes held his gaze, and he murmured, "Don't be doin' that, babe."

"What?" she said innocently. A seductive smile curved on her lips, as she began unbuttoning her jeans.

He took his shirt off and set it slowly on a chair. She watched his heavy muscles gleam in the soft light, as his gaze found hers again. "You know what." His eyes were heavy-lidded as they appraised her, and she saw desire, hot desire buried in their depths.

Hearing Max climb in the water, she raised her eyebrows at Nick, and ran one finger around the waistband of her pants.

"Shit," he muttered, "now I have to go cool off. I'll be right back." And, to her dismay, he left for the kitchen, leaving her alone with Max. She swore to herself, and took as long as possible slipping out of her jeans and underwear. She hadn't expected Nick to do this.

"Where's Tessie?" she said, over her shoulder. She was nervous now, but with Tessie here, he wouldn't try anything.

"Marisa was having trouble with the baby. She'll be right out," Max replied. "You gettin' in, or what?"

"Sure," she said.

But, turning to face him, and as she walked casually down the steps into the hot, bubbling water, she saw the same, raw emotion in Max's eyes she'd seen in Nick's moments ago. Sexual tension lurked in this man; in the tilt of his head, the slow smile spreading across his face, the angle of his body.

Lounging on the opposite side of the Jacuzzi, as far away as possible from the man, she tried to slip down, so her breasts were covered. But the water was well-lit, and she saw his gaze traveling over her, down to her breasts, then lower.

"Why don't you come over here?" he said. "I won't bite."

She smiled slightly. "That's not what Tess tells me."

"Tess has a big mouth," he replied irritably, realizing his wife had divulged details about their love life.

"Anyway, she wouldn't like it if she came out and I was cozy with you."

He shrugged. "She'd just cozy up to Nick. She's always wanted him anyway."

Chloe's heart began to pound wildly, as she glanced quickly towards the house, then back at Max.

His face was bland. "What do you think they're doing in there?" he asked softly.

She frowned, and wondered the same thing. Where was Nick? What was taking him so long? Jealousy clutched at her. The real Nick wouldn't go near Tessie. But the man he'd become, would he? She tried to keep her face in placid lines, but sweat broke out on her forehead, and she felt a flush crawling up her face. "Can't you turn this thing down?" she snapped.

He grinned, and moved next to her, reaching for the controls. She groaned inwardly at her stupidity. Again, as the controls were located directly behind her. He sat back, next to her now, and she felt his thigh brush against her own, as his hand and arm rested on the ledge behind her.

Trying not to be obvious, she fiddled with her hair, and inched away slightly.

"Are you afraid of me, Chloe?" he said in a silky voice.

The Jacuzzi lights made the knife-scars on his face more prominent, and she thought he looked like a gargoyle. Yes, something deep inside her was afraid. Not of the knife-scars, not of the drugs he put on the streets, but of Max, the man he was, and what he could do to her. That scared her.

"I'm not afraid of anything," she replied angrily, realizing she'd like to strangle Nick for leaving her alone with this man. Where was he? Max had planted doubts in her mind, and she glanced back at the house again uneasily.

Laughing softly, Max replied, "That's good, Chloe. That's real good. Yeah, I guess you aren't afraid. I like that in a woman. Guts."

To her relief, Nick returned to the patio. He avoided her eyes, as she slid over to look up at him. Removing his pants, he stepped across to join them.

As he walked in the water, her eyes raked over the wide, muscular planes of his chest, his bulging arms with their tattoos, then dropped down to observe his firm thighs and hard buttocks. Desire began in her, and her covetous look wasn't lost on Max, who now snorted derisively.

Nick moved next to her, and she wrapped her arms around his waist possessively. Relief flooded over her in great waves, as she gazed up at his chiseled face.

She heard Max say, "We're going back to Mexico in a week, after the Red Rock ride. You guys comin' again?"

Nick's expression was blank, then he replied quickly, "Sure." But Chloe was ecstatic. Mexico! She was ready. More than ready.

"We'll visit the factory this time," Max added.

Pulling her gaze from Nick's troubled face, Chloe looked at Max. "Can I go?"

"To Mexico? Yeah, we always take the women. Right, Nick?"

"No, I mean to the factory," she added quickly.

His look was quizzical, as Tessie walked out nude, and joined them. "Why would you want to go to the factory?" he asked.

She thought, because I want to see you arrested, and behind bars. I want to see you in prison, where you belong. "Just curious," she replied casually, "I've never seen one before."

Tessie pouted, as she moved next to Max, and she looked like a sullen child. "I've never seen it either. I never see anything, I'm just trapped at home. I'm either changing shitty diapers, or running around after Bobby. Even in Mexico," she complained, "you never take me with you on the dope runs."

His look was scornful, as he stared at Tessie. "Quit bitching, Tess. You've got it good, compared to some people. You never wanted to see the factory before. You're only interested because Chloe's interested. And besides that, this baby was your idea. I never wanted him, it's your thing. You've got to live with it."

She leaned back with a sulky expression on her face.

"Why don't we all go?" Chloe suggested, as her hand moved along Nick's thigh. She felt him tense, and her lips twitched.

Max frowned. "I don't want Tess to know too much. That way, if anything ever happens, she can say she doesn't know about it."

"But she does," Chloe countered, "she knows already." Too late for Tess, she thought. Why are you trying to protect her? You go down, and she goes with you. Then, she realized that in spite of all his trappings and wealth, Max was not very bright. Thankfully, for her.

"I'll think about it," he sighed, "I got a lot to do down there this time. More than the pickup. I'll think about it."

They were all silent for a minute, and Chloe wondered what he could be thinking about. Nick's arm came around her shoulder.

"So," Chloe said, "the ride's coming up in a few days. What do you guys do up there at Red Rock?" She realized her mistake, as the words left her mouth. Max would assume she'd been on tons of rides as, supposedly, she and Nick had been in a bike club for years. "Each club is different," she added quickly.

But, to her relief, Max didn't seem to notice her slip. Yes, this man was stupid, and it would benefit her in the end. He said, "You'll love it up there. At first, it doesn't look like much. But then, when you get further in there, you find these pools. You can swim. Plus, the usual. Sandy brings Limpy's truck loaded with beer."

"Sounds like fun." Chloe tried to sound enthusiastic. Then she looked up at Nick. His face still wore a frown, and he seemed deep in thought.

She told him, "Honey, this Jacuzzi is making me tired. Can we go home?"

He smiled down at her. "Sure."

When they were in the car, riding past other luxurious houses on the hillside, down the curving road to town, she said quietly, "Please don't leave me alone with Max again, Nick."

He glanced at her curiously. "Why not? He's one of my best friends. I trust him."

"Because he wants me, and I don't trust him."

He chuckled. "Baby, everyone wants you. Why, did he try something?"

"No," she said slowly, "but he will eventually. I can see it in his face."

"Well, let me know if he ever does. You're mine. No one else can touch you. Ever."

She smiled at him. "By the way, what were you doing in the house all that time?"

"Trying to get rid of my hard-on, what do you think I was doing? Jesus, every time I look at you, I get hard."

She laughed, relieved he hadn't been with Tess. Then she grew serious again. "Nick, do you remember the last time we went to Mexico?"

"No," he replied quietly, "did we have a good time?"

She observed him tenderly. "Yeah. We did. It was a wonderful experience." She paused, before asking him, "Do you remember what Max makes in the factory?"

Nick frowned. "No, not really."

"He makes that new 'Crash' drug down there."

He still looked blank, and shifted in the car's seat, uneasily.

"Nick, we haven't really talked about this."

"About 'Crash?'"

"No. About how much you remember."

He was silent for a minute, and he blinked quickly. "Not much."

"All right, what do you remember?"

Pulling the car over to the side of the road, he turned off the engine and sat. Closing his eyes, he leaned his head against the seat-back. A car whizzed by, and its headlights made patterns against the bushes, as it continued down the road. Then, silence returned.

Chloe looked out over the ocean and the twinkling city lights below them, until he was ready to speak.

"As far as I can tell," he began slowly, "I was born in the Mid-West. My parents are dead. I remember a few details about my childhood, and for some reason, I remember a childhood friend. His name was Dennis Daley. We used to call him D.D.," he paused, "or Double D. I can see his face so plainly in my mind."

"What else?" she asked hopefully.

Running a hand through his hair, he sighed. "That's about it, baby, that's about it. I remembered the club guys, though, Tiny and Max. For some reason, I remember them." Pausing again, he said softly, "I didn't recognize you, Chloe. I didn't even know my old lady. Tiny had to tell me your name, for Christ sake."

Her lips compressed, and disappointment shook her. "We need to see that doctor again, Nick." He had to remember! Somehow, she needed to get him some help.

"I'm not seeing any Goddamn doctor, Chloe!" he said heatedly.

"Why not? It can't hurt."

"I hate hospitals and doctors!" He opened the car window and breathed deeply.

"Why, Nick?"

He held his head. "I don't know! I just do, that's all!" As he dropped his hands, the eyes that now raked over her were dark, glittering and haunted. "Leave me alone, Chloe," he said, in a low voice.

"Nick," she said urgently, "you have to try. Try to remember who you are, and what you're doing here."

His look was wary now, and suspicious. "What are you talking about?"

She wanted to tell him. But what if he didn't believe her? Looking out over the city again, she said softly, "It will come back to you."

"Why don't you tell me, and cut the crap, Chloe?" His voice had an edge of desperation, and it tore at her heart.

Turning towards him again, she took a deep breath, and said, "You're a D.E.A. agent. You and I were sent here to bust Max and his whole operation."

His face seemed to turn to stone, as he stared at her. Seconds ticked by. But then, his lips twitched, and he burst out laughing. "You're a riot, Chloe," he gasped, "what a sense of humor."

As he started the car, and shook his head, still chuckling, Chloe's hands gripped the seat tightly. She'd taken the chance, and lost.
Chapter Twelve

Ellen was at her desk when the phone rang the next morning. Deep in thought, now irritated at the interruption, she picked up the receiver and snapped, "McGafferty."

"Ellen, it's Chloe. I have to talk fast."

"What's happening?" she asked, as she put her pen down.

"Listen, I talked to Nick last night. All he remembers is some childhood friend. His name is Dennis Daley, and they used to call him 'Double D.' I thought if we could find this guy and bring him here, maybe Nick would come out of it."

"Okay, I'll see what I can do. It's worth a try. Anything's worth a try at this point. What else?"

Chloe sighed. "I told him last night, Ellen. I told him he was a D.E.A. agent, and he laughed. He thought I was joking."

"Christ." And the thought occurred to Ellen that she should terminate this operation, in spite of Chloe's wishes.

"Have you spoken to the doctor yet?" Chloe asked.

"Yes. I talked with more than one. They said it would take time," Ellen didn't want to tell her friend, but then she knew she had to, "and they also said there's a chance the memory might not return. What do you want to do?"

There was silence for a minute, and Ellen heard traffic noises on the other end, before Chloe said, "I'll stay. And if I have to, I'll bring down these guys myself. We're going to Mexico in another week. I think I have Max convinced to show me the factory, so we can get the location."

"Hot damn!" Ellen cried excitedly, "We're getting close. This is great, Chloe. It won't be too much longer, and you'll be out of there. Listen, remember what I said. Call me if you're in trouble. Even from Mexico."

"I know. Okay, I'll try to keep you posted."

And, she hung up.

Ellen buzzed her secretary. "Lisa, bring in Nick Webster's file."

A few minutes later, Ellen sat at her desk, looking over the thick folder.

Nick was a good agent, and the file was peppered with remarks of praise. He'd been sent to Central America, undercover with another operative, and they'd brought down a large cartel. But, in the process, he was beaten badly, and had spent months in the hospital recovering. She remembered visiting him in the intensive care ward. For a while, they thought he might die. But Nick was too tough to die. Too tough. That's part of the reason she chose him for this biker assignment.

She proceeded further into the file, and found the data she needed. The parents were dead, but he'd attended Taft High School in a small, Iowa town.

But, before she picked up the phone to call Taft, she sat back in her chair and thought about Chloe. The woman had guts, that much was evident. Ellen wasn't sure, if she'd been in Chloe's place, whether she would have stayed in that situation. And Ellen wondered whether it was just Nick keeping her there, but then she discarded the thought. Yes, Chloe seemed to be in love with Nick, but she also was dedicated to her work.

Almost too dedicated. The woman reminded her of herself most of the time, as she seemed to live and breathe D.E.A., much like Ellen. And she smiled, knowing she'd put her friend on the assignment for more than one reason. Chloe and Nick were perfect for each other, in spite of the animosity when they first met, and in spite of his amnesia now.

Chuckling, as she thought of them both, Ellen picked up the phone and dialed Taft.

Dennis Daley lay deep in sleep. He'd arrived home from his concert at three in the morning, exhausted. An electric guitar lay on the floor of his large, luxurious penthouse apartment in Chicago, surrounded by items of clothing he'd dropped on his way to bed.

The persistent ringing of his private phone finally jerked him awake. Running a hand through his very long, brown hair, he groaned and banged his hand on the receiver.

"What?" he said into it, his voice cracking with the effort.

An authoritative female voice said, "Mr. Daley?"

"Yeah...what?"

"Or should I say, 'Double D?'"

Easing himself up against the pillows, he shook his head, and tried to wake up. "Who is this? And how did you know my nickname? No one's called me 'Double D' since high school." His voice was husky with sleep, and also from singing the night before.

She laughed lightly. "Sorry. My name is Ellen, and we have a mutual friend, Nick Webster."

"Nicky?" His face relaxed into a smile. "God, I haven't seen him in years. What's he doing now?"

"Well," then she hesitated, "that's why I'm calling. He's in trouble, and he needs your help."

Dennis had money, plenty of it. He was generous, and often helped friends financially. "How much does he need?"

She laughed again. He liked her laugh, it was low and throaty, and he wondered what she looked like.

"No," she said, "I'm not asking for money. What I'd like to know is, how'd you like an all-expense paid trip to California, Mr. Daley?"

"Huh?" He shook his head again, thinking he must still be dreaming. This whole thing was starting to remind him of the Twilight Zone. Besides, how had this woman obtained his private phone number? Nobody, but nobody outside the group knew his penthouse number.

"Let me explain," she began. "Nick's been in a motorcycle accident--"

"Yeah," he said, thinking of the man, "he was always a crazy son-of-a-bitch. Don't tell me, he's a Hell's Angel, right?"

She paused. "He's a Warrior, but the difference is negligible. Anyway, he had this crash, and you're one of the few people he seems to remember."

"Wow. Sure, I'll help Nicky." He understood now. Her words were sinking in. Nick had amnesia, and she was hoping his presence would pull the man free of it.

Just then, hearing he was up and around, his elderly maid popped her head in.

"Bring me some coffee, will you sweetheart?" he asked her with a grin.

"Listen," Ellen said hesitantly, "will your wife mind if you come out here for a while?"

Chuckling, he replied, "Probably, if I had one. That was my maid."

"Right." She paused, then said, "I'm surprised she didn't answer the phone."

"This is my private number, and there's only one extension in my bedroom."

Another silence. "Mr. Daley, can I get personal for a minute, here?"

"Well," he drawled, "I like your voice, honey. I guess you can get as personal as you want." This phone call was becoming more bizarre by the minute. But, interesting. Very interesting.

Her voice was clipped, as she said, "What do you do for a living? Are you able to get away for a week or so?"

"I imagine so."

The maid returned, and placed his silver coffee tray on the polished, black nightstand.

"Thanks, Etta," he whispered.

The old woman smiled at him. She'd been with him for years, and at times, seemed to keep his life from falling down around his ears. "Breakfast?" she asked.

"Yeah, thanks. You're awesome," he replied.

She shook her gray head, as she was leaving, and picked up clothing as she walked.

Ellen's curious voice said, "Mr. Daley?"

"Call me Dennis," he drawled.

"So, you didn't answer my question."

He took a sip of the coffee. "Sorry. Trying to wake up here. I play in a rock group."

"Oh." He wasn't sure, but he thought she sounded almost disappointed.

"We just finished up a tour, and I'm exhausted. I could use a vacation. But listen, I can get out there on my own. Don't worry about that." He had his own jet, and seldom flew commercial airlines. For Dennis, flying across country was a common occurrence.

"No," she said quickly, "I insist. I've got a ticket waiting for you at the airport. You leave at three this afternoon."

"You're pretty sure of yourself, aren't you?" His generous lips curled into a smile.

"No," she replied slowly, "I'm frantically trying to help Nick. He needs you badly. You're his only link to the past."

His smile faded. She did have a desperate edge to her voice. "All right," he said, "now let me ask you some questions, as long as you took some liberties with my schedule and all. What are you to Nick? His girlfriend?" He was more than curious about this woman now.

She chuckled. "No. Just a good friend. His girlfriend's name is Chloe. You'll meet her."

"Where do they live? L.A.?"

"Culver City, actually. He's in a bike club called The Warriors, as I told you earlier."

"And, what do you do for a living?"

He heard a long silence on the other end. "I'm...I'm on unemployment right now. Between jobs, so to speak. I have time right now to try to help Nick." Her voice was nervous, and he suspected she was lying to him. But, he didn't call her on it. He'd have time enough to find out about this woman.

"Okay. So, how do we connect?"

"I'll meet your plane at L.A.X."

His eyes narrowed, as he took another sip of coffee. L.A.X...he'd be mobbed. But for Nick, he'd do it. "What do you look like?" He was curious about this too. And he wondered if the woman was as sexy as her voice.

"Mmmm...I'm five foot even. Blonde hair down to my shoulders. I'll be wearing jeans and a white shirt. Oh, and black boots."

He heard a pencil tapping on the other end, and a typewriter chattering somewhere in the background. Unemployment, right. She was sitting in an office, he was sure of it.

He grinned. "Sounds interesting. How much do you weigh?"

Groaning now, she said, "Come on...that's personal. Not much, though, I'm still a size six."

He raised his eyebrows. Small woman. "And how old are you?"

She laughed that wonderful, throaty laugh. "I should have been expecting this. I'm thirty-two, and that's all the personal info I'm revealing. You'll know me. All right, what do you look like?"

He glanced at himself in the large mirror across from his bed. His tangled brown hair fell way past his shoulders, and his face had graced the cover of Rolling Stone Magazine more than once. He was famous...very famous. She knew him as Dennis Daley. The world knew him as Derick Sands.

He heard her voice. "Mr. Daley? Dennis?"

"I'm thinking..." He studied the face staring back at him. Lips a little fuller than they should be, but the women loved it. High cheekbones, along with brown eyes that Rolling Stone had labeled 'charismatic' and 'riveting.' To him, he was average. To them, to the rest of the world, he was a sex symbol. But he didn't mind. It was simply part of an image he'd created. However, the image was far from the man himself.

"I'm five-nine, a hundred seventy-five pounds, brown hair, brown eyes...and my hair is long...very long."

"That's good," she said quickly, "the bikers will be more likely to accept you."

The remark struck him as unusual. But then, this whole thing was turning out to be unusual. "So, what's the plan?"

"We'll have to play it by ear. I thought we'd go to visit Nick at his house. Sort of a surprise visit. See if we can jog that sluggish memory of his."

He sighed. "Sounds great. I'd love to see Nicky again."

"Listen, I really appreciate this, Mr....Dennis."

The maid signaled from the doorway that breakfast was ready.

"Gotta go, honey. Can't let breakfast get cold. See you tonight."

"Oh, by the way...what's the name of your group?" she asked.

"'The Hellcats,'" he breathed, before he hung up the phone.

Ellen stared at the receiver in her hand, not believing what Dennis just told her. Then, she buzzed her secretary. "Lisa, don't you like that rock group, 'The Hellcats?'"

"I'll say! Why? Don't tell me we're investigating them."

Ellen laughed. "No, nothing like that. Do you have one of their tapes with you?"

"Of course."

"Does it have their pictures on it?"

"No, but I've got a Rolling Stone magazine article down in my car, along with some other stuff."

"Bring it up."

A few minutes later, the young secretary entered, with a curious look on her face. "What's this all about, Ellen?"

She placed a pile of articles and pictures on Ellen's desk, before she brushed a hand through her short, black hair.

Flipping through them, Ellen came to a photo of the group. All the men had long hair, twice as long as Ellen's. Scanning the photo, she saw there was a blond—haired member, one had black hair, and two had brown hair. All were handsome, in a wild sort of way, and all four looked virile and sexy in their shiny tank tops and black leather pants. But one caught her eye immediately.

He stood slightly in front of the others, guitar in hand. It was a posed, publicity picture. The man had his hips thrust forward, his lips slightly parted, and his eyes were half-closed, as they stared forward. His hair flowed over his shoulders, and down his chest. But, he had such a blatantly sexual look, it nearly took her breath away.

"Who's that one?" she asked Lisa.

"Oooo, he's my favorite. Derick Sands. And can he play the guitar! I went to one of their concerts last year, and you just want to get on stage and start humping the guy. Wait, Rolling Stone had a cover picture." she leafed through the stack. "Yes! Here it is."

She pulled out the cover, and Ellen let her breath out in a gasp. The man was even more sensual-looking in this close-up shot. His full lips were just beginning to curve into a smile, and again, his brown eyes were languid. Ellen stared at the picture. "Looks like he just got out of bed after he made it with someone."

Lisa laughed. "He always looks like that. Isn't he a doll?"

"I'll say," Ellen replied dryly. Then she looked at the group photo. The other brown-haired group member was very tall. He couldn't be Dennis.

"This must be the one," she muttered, looking back at the cover shot.

Lisa crossed her arms, and tapped one foot. "I assume you're going to tell me why you have this sudden interest in Derick Sands?"

Ellen smiled at her. "Eventually. By the way, I'm taking a week off."

Lisa frowned now. "Well, isn't that a strange coincidence. Still won't tell me?"

"You know I can't." She handed the stack of material back to Lisa.

"Well," the secretary said thoughtfully, "I'm just speculating now. But, if I could some day meet Derick Sands, I'd probably never complain again about typing those twenty page reports of yours."

Sniffing, Ellen replied, "I'll see what I can do."

Lisa's eyes lit up. "Cool...."

Chapter Thirteen

Ellen spotted Dennis Daley, otherwise known as Derick Sands, as soon as he deplaned. Unfortunately, so did four teenage girls, who quickly clustered around him, eager for autographs.

Leaning against a wall, waiting for him to finish, Ellen took the opportunity to look the man over. His shiny, straight, brown hair was loose, and fell almost to his mid-back. He wore tight, black leather pants, the type Ellen's young secretary called 'dick revealing.' His long-sleeved shirt was a loud, brown, white and black jungle print, and the material looked like silk. His black boots were shined to a high gloss, and he wore dark, aviator sunglasses, although she didn't know why. It was fairly obvious who he was.

She watched him sign one girl's hand, then the other pieces of paper they held out to him. The teens seemed mesmerized by him, as they stared up at his lazily grinning face. He appeared to be enjoying himself, and didn't seem in any hurry, which Ellen found vaguely annoying. He also looked energetic somehow, and she tried to analyze it. There was an aura about the man, like a sexual tension under the surface. No wonder the women flocked around him.

Sniffing, as she crossed her arms in front of her, Ellen thought it must be nice to be rich and famous. Then, he finally looked up, scanned the area, and saw her. She raised her eyebrows and nodded her head. He nodded back, and started strolling towards her, as the teens bid him a sighing farewell.

"'Double D' I presume?" she said dryly, as he stood in front of her. She was trying to be casual, but having a hard time with it. The man was positively awesome up close.

"The same," he replied, slowly looking her up and down. He was even more attractive in person, and she fought the urge to tell him the sunglasses were hiding the view. She wanted to see those eyes of his.

"You have luggage?" Her voice sounded tight.

"Yeah. We'd better grab it and get out of here."

As they walked to the baggage claim area, people stared and whispered. Some pointed. And a gaggle of women seemed to be trailing them at a discreet distance.

"Do you always cause this much commotion?" she asked.

"Sometimes," he replied casually. "I'm used to it by now. I don't fly commercial planes ordinarily. Too much of a hassle. The concerts are worse, though. We had to hire a bodyguard, after some whacked-out babes tried to tear my clothes off one night."

"Is that why you wear leather?"

Looking down at her, his lips twitching, he replied, "No. I like the feel of it."

Touche, she thought.

They reached the baggage claim, and it became worse than the boarding area scene. About twenty women surrounded Derick, a few of them appearing as old as Ellen, thirtyish, all clamoring for autographs, all talking loudly.

"Which suitcase?" she yelled, over the din, wondering if she'd made the right decision by asking him to come here.

He grinned at her, a slow, lazy effort, and she felt her stomach contract. God, the man was handsome!

"White, with black stripes!" he yelled back, before he turned to another doting fan. Fortunately, she was able to grab the thing before two teenagers got to it. And they still eyed the suitcase hungrily, even as it was held in Ellen's firm grasp. What would they do with his clothes? Ellen wondered. Then she realized she probably didn't want to know.

Breaking away from the women, and as he reached her, he said under his breath, "Let's make a run for it, after we check out. You lead."

After they passed the security guard at the door, he grabbed her arm and they ran to the covered parking garage. She glanced back quickly, as they ran, and saw that there were three teenage girls in hot pursuit.

"Christ!" she gasped, "Have they no pride?"

"None," he laughed, "none whatsoever!"

They reached Ellen's Jaguar, which was parked in the dark recesses of the garage. She let him in then ran over to the driver's side.

Backing out quickly, she almost ran over one of the girls. They began pounding on the windows of the car, and Ellen cursed as she sped down the ramp.

As he laughed softly in the seat next to her, and took off his sunglasses, Ellen said dryly, "Sex sells, I guess."

"Nah, must be my music."

"Could be the leather pants," she countered. She paid the parking fee, refusing the twenty he offered, and they hit the freeway.

They rode along for a while, without speaking.

Ellen could feel the man's energy surging in the car.

Her Jag became too small, suddenly, and she became edgy. He was wearing some kind of subtle aftershave, expensive, and very, very heady. It filled the car with its pleasant scent, and that, mixed with the smell of leather, was entirely intoxicating. Too provocative. Too enticing.

"Well," she finally said with a sigh, shifting in the seat uncomfortably, as a warm sensation flooded her lower regions, "I had you booked at a hotel, but I'm thinking they'll find you there. Your fans, I mean."

He turned towards her, and stretched lazily. "You got a better idea?" he asked softly.

"Well, you could stay at my place. Not that I'm overly awed by your celebrity status, or anything--" Now why had she said that? He'd probably be offended.

"Of course not. A woman like you? I bet you're into classical, right?" Her words hadn't fazed him.

She could feel his eyes raking over her, but she concentrated on driving. Weaving her way through the tangled, congested 405 Freeway, she said, "Once in a while. Actually, I prefer old rock." She couldn't look at his eyes. Not now. She'd probably have an accident.

Breathing deeply, savoring the enticing, subtle smell of the aftershave, she tried to concentrate on driving. But she found his presence unnerving.

"How old?" he asked.

"This guy I dated for a while introduced me to it. Zeppelin, Hendrix, Cream, groups from the sixties."

"Yeah," he breathed, turning his gaze towards the mass of cars in front of them, "that's when it started. The heavy metal sound."

"Yes, I guess so. I like some of your songs, too."

"Which ones, honey?"

Ordinarily, Ellen didn't like nicknames like 'babe' or 'sweetheart,' or 'honey' but coming from Derick, she found she didn't mind. She actually liked it a little. More than a little.

"Mmmm, 'Cara,' and I like 'Tell Me Your Secrets.'"

They hit the 101 Freeway, finally, and she felt him gazing at her again, as he said, "The slow ones. You must be a romantic." His voice lowered a notch, "You look very delicate. Like you'd break if I touched you."

Again, she felt his eyes on her, and she rolled her tongue around her suddenly-dry lips. "Well, there's a solution to that. Don't touch me."

There was a pause in the conversation, filled with unspoken words, until he said, "I won't. Not if you don't want me to. But, you know what I mean. You're so...compact."

She laughed. "Well, that's the first time I ever heard myself described like that! Usually, people call me petite or say I'm a shrimp."

"How unimaginative," he drawled. "You remind me of a doll my sister used to have."

His voice took on a strange, wistful quality then, and she grew curious. "Are you very close with your sister?"

When he sighed, she looked over at him. With his head resting against the seat-back, his eyes stared straight ahead. "I was, until three years ago."

"Can I be nosy, and ask what happened?"

He smiled now, but his tone was bitter, as he said, "She died. Drugs killed her. I was sending her money. I didn't know she was using it to buy cocaine. Then, I got the call. They found her in a crack house. I just had no idea she was in that deep, and I was devastated. Felt like it was my fault, you know?"

"I'm sorry," she said quickly, "I shouldn't have asked."

He turned his head slightly to look at her. Glancing over, as she drove, she saw a deep hurt in the languid depths of his eyes. His voice was soft, as he said, "It's all right. Before that happened, I was a user too. Actually, I was probably more of an addict than she was. It just seems to go with a musician's life-style sometimes. But, after that, after my sister died, I checked into the Betty Ford Clinic. I stayed a month. It was the only thing I could do."

They were silent for a few minutes, as she thought about all he'd told her. And, he rose in her estimation immensely. It wasn't easy kicking a cocaine habit, or admitting to it openly.

"You must be a very strong person." she said, finally.

"No. I'm not. I'm weak. That's why I got addicted in the first place. But, I worked it out."

They approached her home in the hills of Calabasas, and she was trying to think of what to tell him. She couldn't tell him she was with the D.E.A. Not yet. But Ellen made a good salary, and her home was large, and would certainly broadcast the fact she had money. Searching her mind, she finally came up with a ruse.

At the turnoff, as they waited for the light to change, she glanced over at him and said, "I probably shouldn't tell you this, but my parents died a while back, and left me their house. Plus a few bucks."

His expression was bland, as he looked at her. "Why shouldn't you tell me? You can tell me anything, Ellen. Including who you really are. Let me know. When the urge strikes you, I'll listen." With that, he turned, and faced straight ahead.

Her lips compressed, as the light blinked green, and they proceeded through the intersection. But she didn't reply. What could she say? He knew she was lying.

Then, she sniffed. Let him guess. She wasn't about to jeopardize the operation just to spill her guts to some leather-clad rock singer. Even if he had opened up to her about his sister. She'd stash her briefcase in the closet, and any other items that might give her away.

"By the way," he said softly, "how did you get my phone number?"

"Well, the secretary at Taft told me she thought you lived in Chicago. I have a friend in the phone company."

Chuckling, he didn't reply.

She pulled into her curved driveway, and stopped by the house.

"Nice place," Derick said, as he strolled through the front door. The sprawling house had a sunken living room, which looked out over a large, woody back yard, and the furnishings were an interesting blend of antique and modern pieces. A huge, mahogany cabinet, he surmised, hid her television and stereo. Plants were scattered here and there.

Strolling through the living room, he got a feel for the woman. More of a sense of her was prevalent here, than in the car. She'd been so distant on the drive. He'd expected explanations, and had been questioned instead. But she was in control of the situation now. Maybe not later, but for now she was.

She led him to the left, down a hallway, to the guest bedroom. It was large, nicely done, again with an antique, mahogany dresser, nightstands, and a dark, paisley green print quilt on the bed. The bathroom was off to the right, and the shower curtain sported the same paisley print. A large Ficus tree stood in one corner of the room.

All in all, the effect on Derick was a soothing one, and he lowered his suitcase slowly. How long had it been since he'd been in a real home? He was on the road most of the time, staying at hotels and calling for room service. This was nice. He felt himself relaxing, finally. And he realized the scene at the airport had jangled his nerves more than he wanted to admit.

"Mind if I take a shower?" he said, as he looked down at Ellen. He was intrigued by this woman. The minute he'd seen her at the airport, lounging against the wall, he'd wondered who she really was. And he felt a growing attraction towards her.

She smiled up at him, nervously. "Not at all. Make yourself at home. Are you hungry?"

"Starving. But don't go to any trouble. I can fix myself a sandwich or something."

Unbuttoning his shirt, he gazed at her, and she seemed flustered, then hastily retreated, closing the door behind her.

As he showered, and let the hot water run over his head, he thought of her again. She really did remind him of a little, delicate doll, with her smooth, corn-silk hair, and her large, turquoise eyes. She was tiny, but he had the impression she didn't take any flack from anyone. And the thought made him grin. Tiny, but tough, this woman.

There was also an air of authority about her. He could tell she was used to being in charge. But of what? She was a mystery, all right. One he'd like to unravel. And not just her occupation, either, but the woman herself. Aside from that, he was glad she wasn't overly impressed by him. It made Derick feel good that there was one woman in the world who didn't fawn all over him.

He came out, as Ellen was busy making them both sandwiches. She didn't hear him come in, but then she felt his presence and smelled his aftershave. Without turning around, she said, "Find everything you need?"

"Yeah. This is a nice place. I didn't notice you had a pool at first, but then I guess most places out here have them."

She turned, with the plates in her hand, and almost dropped them when she saw the look in Derick's eyes. He sat on an oak, kitchen chair, lazily studying her. His eyes were languid, as in the picture she'd seen. His long hair was wet from the shower, and he wore only pants.

Moving slowly towards him, she said, "Something to drink?"

His riveting eyes continued their lazy study of her face, as he replied, "Juice, if you have it."

After she brought orange juice, she sat across from him, and tried to avoid looking at his chest. But, her eyes found it, in spite of herself. He was lean and muscular. She could tell there wasn't an ounce of fat on his body. And he had no hair on his chest at all. Not a one. It was smooth, hard, and now had a few drops of water running down its center, from his wet hair. She followed the path of one drop down, down, to where he did have hair.

Looking up suddenly, she met his eyes, and blushed at being caught in such an intimate appraisal. Yes, his eyes were fabulous, a person could almost get lost in them. If a person wasn't careful. And Ellen was a very cautious woman.

"You have a boyfriend?" he said, between bites.

"I used to. Actually, I was married." His eyes really were quite unusual, she thought, as she gazed back at him. Heavy, languid, sensual eyes that probably spoke of the man's true nature.

"Didn't work out, huh?"

She shook her head. How could she give him any details about this? She'd give herself away. She and Charlie were just two different people. He, a laid-back, almost lazy type-B personality, and she, a spirited, type-A. A workaholic, is what he'd called her. Actually, that's what everyone called her.

And it seemed like every time she'd been able to spend time with Charlie, he was out playing golf. No, he was not the man for Ellen. She'd spotted that fact a year after they married, but stayed with him for five years, probably from simple inertia.

"Can I be nosy, and ask what happened?" he said. "After all, you owe me one nosy question."

Pushing her plate away, finishing her last bite, she smiled. "Yes, I guess I do. We were just too different." her voice was thoughtful now, as she stared out at the well-lit pool beyond, "I need someone with more energy. Someone who could keep up with me."

He grinned slowly. "Do you mean what I think you mean?"

She thought of the many nights she'd approached Charlie and been rebuffed for her efforts. Yes, probably, she thought. But, then she replied, "No, sexually, we were fairly compatible—"

He chuckled. "That kills me."

She frowned. "Why?"

Now, he was laughing. "Compatible. What the hell is compatible?"

"He knew me," she countered, irritated at being laughed at, "he knew what I liked."

A strange expression crossed his face, before he replied, "Did you want him all the time? Sexually, I mean."

"No, certainly not. Marriage isn't like that. You can't think about sex all the time." Although, the thought came into her mind that with Derick, a woman would certainly think about sex more than usual.

He sat back and studied her. "I'm talking attraction. Did he make you feel special? Desired? Did you feel a hunger in him? Like he couldn't get enough of you?"

It was her turn to laugh, as she thought of Charlie, 'hungering' after someone. "No," she gasped, "I never felt like that."

His eyes caught hers, in a spell-binding stare, and she stopped laughing. The room was suddenly silent. Too silent. A frog chirped in the distance, and Ellen tried to quiet her drumming heart.

"That was stupid of him," he said softly, "stupid, stupid man."

Chapter Fourteen

Chloe peered out the window towards the workshop, and listened for the sounds of Max and Nick working on the bike. It was dark, and they'd been in the shop for hours. She wanted to check on them, but found herself hesitating, probably because of Max. His presence sickened her after the other night, and she kept replaying the thing over and over in her mind.

The phone rang, and after she answered, she heard Tessie's breathy voice on the other end.

"Are they done yet?" Tessie asked anxiously.

"I don't think so, Tess. You want to talk to Max?"

Chloe was glad when the woman said yes. It would give her an excuse to check on the men.

When she walked into the workshop, the two men were standing, drinking beer. And, Max frowned deeply at the news of Tessie on the phone.

"Christ," he muttered, thumping down his beer, "I'm gone for a few hours, and she starts having fits. She's like a Goddamn ball and chain."

Chloe followed him out, thinking Nick would take a break and join them. She was sure she heard him behind her.

But, he didn't come to the house. She stood in the kitchen, listening to Max's grumbled replies to Tessie, and she grew worried. She certainly didn't want to be alone with Max for any length of time.

Deciding to go back to the workshop, she was suddenly confronted by him, and he blocked her way out of the kitchen.

"Going somewhere?" he asked. His face was impassive; a mask over what she knew really ran under the surface.

"It's my house," she snapped, "I can go where I want to go." As opposed to you, she thought. After the arrest, you won't be going anywhere. Enjoy your freedom while you can.

He smiled a humorless smile. "Still that mouth..." moving closer, he took her chin in a firm grasp, and she couldn't jerk away. "I'd like to tame you," he whispered. "Oh, yes I would. Then you'd know what a real man was like."

Reaching up, she angrily pulled his hand from her face. "Nick's a real man. He's more of a man than you could ever be," she said in a low voice. She wanted to tell him to get out, and never come back. Stifling the impulse, she stared up at him instead.

He raised his eyebrows, and seemed amused. "How do you know? You haven't tried me yet."

She sighed, tired of his innuendos, tired of the man himself. "Listen, Max. I don't want you. It's as simple as that. Just accept it, and you'll be a lot happier."

Taking her shoulders in a tight grip, he replied softly, "Well, we got a problem, then. Because I want you. Do I have to force the issue?"

She laughed softly, but then her edginess made her temper flare. "Is that how you get your women? Resort to rape, when they won't come to you willingly?"

She'd crossed the line again. And, she wasn't in any mood to take back the words.

But to her surprise, Max dropped his hands and started to laugh. "You're priceless," he gasped, as he moved to the front door, "absolutely priceless."

As she watched him leave, and heard him laughing outside, Chloe knew she couldn't tell Nick. He'd be angry, then they'd lose Max. Her face hardened, and she knew she could handle Max on her own. But someday, Nick would know. She'd make sure of it.

The next morning, Chloe showered, dressed quickly in jeans and a blue tank top, and walked into the living room. Tiny lay snoring on the couch and Nick was asleep on the chair. Their usual places. This wasn't out of the ordinary for these two.

Shaking her head, she began cleaning up the mess. Beer cans, cigarette butts, and an assortment of stale, leftover food lay on the coffee table in a sickening display. Chloe had gone to bed early the night before, and she hadn't heard their noise. She was getting used to it by now. But then, she was getting used to a lot of things lately. Things she would have never, in her wildest dreams, even considered living with before, dirty houses, surly men, and threats to her safety. Sighing, she thought it was all very difficult.

Suddenly hearing voices, she opened the door, and was shocked to see Ellen standing there with a long-haired man she vaguely recognized from somewhere.

"Surprise!" Ellen said happily. "Chloe, I'd like you to meet Dennis Daley, alias 'Double D,' alias Derick Sands."

"You found him!" Chloe breathed, as she stepped back to let them enter. And a faint glimmer of hope started in her.

Derick looked around the room, while Chloe hurried over to wake Nick, who still lay asleep, sprawled in a chair.

"Nick!" she cried, "Nicky, wake up! You'll never believe who's here!"

Without opening his eyes, he said sleepily, "Whoever it is, can wait. Tell them to get lost."

"Hey, Nick the Brick," Derick said, in a loud voice, "I didn't come all this way for nothing. Get your lazy ass up out of that chair."

Nick's eyes flew open. "I'm dreaming."

Looking around, Derick said dryly, "If this is your dream, I'd hate to see your nightmare, Brick."

Slowly, Nick's gaze moved to Derick. "Double D?"

Chloe and Ellen watched Nick intently, as he rose from the chair. A grin started on his face, and grew wider and wider. "I can't believe you're here!" he said incredulously.

"Well, believe it, Brick. For a week, whether you like it or not."

The two men hugged, and Nick gestured to the chair. "Plant yourself buddy. I gotta wake up this fat piece of shit over here. Tiny!" he yelled, "Get up, asshole!"

As Tiny groggily sat up, Nick looked at Ellen. "Oh...hi. You're that friend of Chloe's we saw in Ventura."

"Yeah," she said softly, casting a furtive, disappointed glance at Chloe. It didn't work. He didn't remember. It was all for nothing.

"Ey," Tiny said loudly, "you're Derick Sands!" His eyes were wide, as he stared at Derick. "I got all your music, man. You guys kick ass."

Nick took a closer look at Derick, as Chloe and Ellen brought chairs from the kitchen and sat down.

Peering at him, Nick said softly, "You are Derick Sands. I never even recognized you in pictures. You look totally different now."

Then, as he sat by Tiny, Nick said, "You should have seen this guy in high school, Chloe. He was so...well, he had almost a crew cut then, and he was skinny. Man, you've filled out, Double D."

"Yeah. I guess I have," Derick replied with a grin.

Chloe watched Ellen's face, as the woman gazed at Derick. Her look was a soft one, and Chloe thought Ellen must be smitten. And she couldn't remember the last time she'd seen her friend in faded jeans and a t-shirt. She seemed almost relaxed, which was unusual too.

"But, how did you find me?" Nick asked.

"Ellen called me. Said you'd been in a crash and couldn't remember anything. Figured me being here would jog your memory."

"Remember, honey?" Chloe added quickly, "You told me the other night."

Nick frowned, and looked over at Ellen. "How did you find him?"

"Well, Nick," Ellen said casually, "you're always telling us about the wild things you guys did in high school. So, I called the school. They told me what city he was in, and luckily, I have a contact, a friend at the phone company."

Chloe held her breath, waiting to see what Nick would do.

But then, his face broke into a grin, and he said, "Damn!" Then he looked back at Derick. "Damn!" he repeated.

However, Derick was watching Ellen with a curious expression on his face. And Chloe wondered if he knew what was really going on here. Probably not, she mused. Ellen wouldn't tell a stranger they were operatives. It was too risky.

The next few hours passed quickly, as the two friends shared memories. More bikers dropped by, and now the front door was open and people spilled out onto the small porch of the house, including Tiny, Ellen and Chloe, who sat together on the steps.

"Ey," Tiny said, "who woulda thought it? Nicky knowin' Sands and all?" His cigarette smoke curled around in front of him, mixing with the sweet aroma of pot drifting out the front door.

Chloe smiled. "He seems very nice."

"He is," Ellen said emphatically. "He's been through a lot. I'll have to tell you about it sometime."

Nodding, listening to loud conversations and sporadic bursts of laughter from the house, Chloe realized how much she's missed her conversations with Ellen. And, it remained unspoken between them. The operation might fail unless Nick regained his memory. That thought remained in Chloe's mind, casting a gloomy pall over everything. She hated to fail at anything. Now, she'd failed Nick and possibly the mission as well. Depressed, she tried unsuccessfully to edge the black thoughts from her mind.

"Where is he staying?" she said, absentmindedly.

"At my place."

Chloe looked over at her. "My, that may prove to be interesting."

Ellen's lips twitched. "He's nice-looking, in sort of a primeval way, isn't he?"

"Yes, he certainly is. He's got the hots for you too. I saw the way he was staring at you. It's only obvious."

Tiny snorted, stood, and slowly moved his bulk to the opposite end of the porch, where he began good-naturedly harassing a fellow group member.

"You think so?" Ellen replied.

"Yeah, girl. He has that dirty-sexy look. But, only when he looks at you." Chloe narrowed her eyes, and grinned at Ellen.

"Huh?"

Chloe laughed. "Never mind. Just take my word for it."

Max pulled up then, with Tessie on the back of his motorcycle.

"Well, well." he said, as he thumped the kickstand down. "What's going on –"

His eyes raked over Ellen, and Chloe saw Tessie nudge him, as she frowned and got off the bike.

"Max," Chloe said, "this is my friend, Ellen."

He walked over, put one foot on the step, and leaned towards Ellen, who sat back nervously. "Big, blue eyes," he breathed, "big, beautiful, blue eyes."

"Don't get too attached to them," a voice said from the doorway.

"Derick Sands!" Tessie screamed, "Oh, my God!"

Max stepped back, and looked first at Derick, then at Chloe. "What the hell?"

Chloe said dryly, "One of Nick's childhood buddies."

"Son of a bitch," Max muttered. "How long you in town, Sands?"

"A week," Derick responded, with a slight edge to his voice, as his eyes flicked back and forth between Ellen and Max.

"We're goin' on a ride tomorrow. Why don't you come with us? See how the other half lives." The look on Max's face was the closest thing to respect Chloe had ever seen there. And that was unusual for this man. Max had no respect for anything.

"I'll have to ask my hostess, here," Derick drawled, sitting on the step next to Ellen, taking her hand possessively.

She shrugged. "Why not? I've got the week...I've got time."

Chloe noticed the slip. No, Ellen hadn't told Derick anything about being with the D.E.A. Then she realized her relief was immense, as Ellen would be there with them. For once, Chloe wouldn't have this pounding isolation she'd felt since Nick's accident. She'd felt almost alone, even when Nick was around. She had been alone, too alone. A lump grew in her throat, and she hastily excused herself and ran through the house, then into the bathroom.

Plunking the lid down on the toilet, she sat and tried to will the tears away. But Nick came in just then, with a worried look on his face. "You okay?" he asked.

She looked up at him, and a sob escaped her lips. He was half the old Nick, half the man she used to know. But he was still concerned. Maybe there was hope after all.

Kneeling in front of her, he said, "What is it, baby?" His face held stubble, his hair was rumpled, but it was still Nick.

Throwing her arms around his neck, she cried, "I feel so alone!"

As his arms folded around her waist, he said, "Jesus Christ, Chloe, there are about twenty people in the house!"

"No!" she cried, "You don't understand!"

He pulled back, and his face was inches from hers. "Tell me. Tell Nicky." When had he said that? By the ocean, so long ago.

But, she couldn't. Tears streamed down her face, but she couldn't tell him that he seemed like a different person now. He just wouldn't understand.

Nick watched her, his eyes roved over her tear-streaked face, and a memory assaulted him. They were by the ocean...she was telling him...

"Your husband," he breathed, "you're thinking about your husband."

Her eyes widened, and her tears stopped. "Nick! Tell me. Tell me what you remember."

"We stopped by the ocean at night. On the bike. You told me you were thinking about him."

"Before that!" she urged, "Where were we?"

He sighed. "I don't know."

Suddenly, she raised both fists and pounded him. "Remember!" she screamed, "You have to remember!"

Grabbing her wrists, he glared at her. "Stop it!"

Her face collapsed, and she was wracked with sobs again.

Pulling her close, wrapping his hands in her hair, he whispered, "It doesn't matter. It doesn't matter if I remember or not. We still have each other."

"But you aren't the same," she sobbed, finally saying out loud what she'd been thinking for days.

She felt him stiffen, and his hands dropped to his sides. And his eyes were hard, now, as he stared at her. "You don't want me?" he asked tightly.

"Nick, please, I didn't say that."

"You didn't have to," he replied, smiling briefly, trying not to let his hurt show.

As he stood, he said, "Don't worry, you'll find a replacement for me."

"I don't want a replacement!" she screamed, now losing the slight bit of control she'd had before, "Don't you ever leave me! Not ever!"

She stood and faced him, her hands clenched in tight fists, tears streaming down her face.

Nick watched her impassively, not revealing the inner turmoil her words created. What was he supposed to do? Conjure up the old Nick? Who the hell was he? And, why was he so different now than before?

Rubbing his temples, he sighed deeply, and looked up at the ceiling. Feeling her arms wrap around his waist, he was filled with dread about their future together. Would he lose her? Was she already seeing someone else?

Then, he felt her body shaking. "God help us," he whispered, "God help us, Chloe."
Chapter Fifteen

Ellen was worrying, glancing back at the house periodically, wondering where Chloe was. Then, over the loud din of the bikers, she heard Chloe scream.

"Wait here," she told Derick.

Jumping to her feet, she ran into the house. Following the sounds, she banged on the bathroom door, and yelled, "Chloe! Are you all right?"

Nick's voice answered, "Yeah, Ellen. She's okay."

"I want to hear it from her!" She didn't trust Nick to tell her. Not anymore.

The door opened slowly, and Chloe's tear-streaked face appeared. "I'm all right. I...I just got upset."

Ellen's face was filled with concern. She knew the pressure must be intense for Chloe. "Is there anything I can do?"

Chloe shook her head. "I think I'll have Nick clear everyone out of here."

"Okay," Ellen replied briskly, "we'll start the procession. Listen, call me at home if you need me, please."

"Sure, thanks, Ellen."

"And, don't forget, we're joining you on the ride tomorrow. We're driving up with Limpy's old lady in their truck. See you then, Chloe."

Ellen walked back to the porch steps, and grabbed Derick's arm. "That was our signal to get the hell out of here," she said under her breath.

Nodding, he waved a hand at the bikers, and the two walked towards the street.

When they returned to Ellen's house, along with being worried about Nick and Chloe, Derick felt exhausted. He was often this way after a tour; after days of adrenaline pumping through his system, and too little sleep. He felt like he couldn't even think right now, much less take one step further.

Excusing himself, making apologies to Ellen, who seemed to understand, he fell into a deep sleep on the bed.

When he awoke a few hours later, a little groggy, he saw she'd covered him with a light blanket. Tossing it off, he stood, stretched, and looked out onto the patio. Dusk was approaching, but he could see the well-lit pool gleaming.

He heard splashes, and realized Ellen was swimming. Donning his bathing suit, he went out to join her. The evening was warm, and he heard a frog chirping in the distance. The enticing smell of roses came to him from somewhere, and he breathed deeply, enjoying the fragrance, enjoying the mellow feeling this home seemed to bring to him.

Leaning casually against the patio door, not wanting to intrude, he watched her swim. She was graceful, fluid in the water, as she swam laps.

Then, not realizing he was there, she stood at the shallow end, wiped the water from her face, and smoothed back her hair. Breathless, her chest rose and fell with effort, and her face was pink from the exercise.

As she got out of the pool, his eyes raked over her body. She wore a plain, one-piece blue bathing suit, almost the same color as her eyes. Her backside was tightly honed, yet still rounded pleasantly. Her legs were long, he thought, for such a short woman, and very shapely. As she turned this way and that, bending down to dry herself, he saw her breasts were high and firm, good sized for such a small woman, and he noticed her nipples contracting with the cold.

Desire stirred in him at the sight of her. She seemed so soft, feminine, and somehow, untouched. He knew she'd been married. But the guy, Derick thought, must have been crazy to let her go. And obviously, their sex-life had been boring. He'd seen it in her face when he'd asked her about it the night before. 'Compatible' was not Derick's idea of good sex. No, she hadn't been touched the way a woman deserved and needed to be touched.

Seldom did Derick feel these urges towards a woman. In spite of his rock-star image, he was still somewhat old-fashioned when it came to sex. Making love without any feelings for a woman, he'd often thought, was like masturbating. There just wasn't any point to it, and unlike his fellow band members, he couldn't do it.

Yes, he enjoyed women, and they sometimes pursued him with a passion that amused him. But he'd only had two serious relationships in the past six years. And with those, jealousy on the women's part and his chaotic schedule had interfered.

Ellen looked up, sensing someone's presence, and saw Derick lounging in the shadows by the patio door, watching her. She flushed at his intense gaze, but continued drying herself.

Wrapping a towel around her hair, she finally said, "You're up! Come out and join me."

He walked slowly towards her, and her flush grew deeper as she realized he wore just a small, black speedo. His body was muscular, and his long hair didn't detract from the image. Actually, it added to it. It made him seem graceful, like a wild jaguar or a leopard. He was sleek, hard, and his eyes glittered in the faint light.

The flush wandered through her body, and she felt more than mildly uncomfortable. He was awakening feelings in Ellen that she wasn't even aware of before this. "Why don't you go for a swim?" she asked casually, trying to ignore her warmth, as she sat on a patio chair.

"I think I'll just laze," he said quietly, as he stepped into the shallow end, and she noticed the nice sized bulge in the front of his bathing suit.

Smiling, he continued, "Isn't that what California people do? Laze in the pool? I'm from the Mid-West, you have to fill me in here."

She laughed. "I never do. I just swim my laps and get out." Her voice was tinged with nervousness, and it seemed to echo in the stillness of the night.

His hair fanned out in the water, as he lay back, placed his arms on the side of the pool, and stretched his legs out in front of him.

"You don't get into lazing too much, do you?" he asked, as he watched her with a steady gaze.

She laughed again. "I'm hyper during the day, but I do have my lazy moments. When I wake up, I'm like a slug!"

"I'd like to see that," he said slowly, "I bet you're beautiful when you first wake up."

The implication of his words was clear and, suddenly, the creeping warmth settled between her thighs with intensity. She tried to ignore it, and simply smiled. "I never thought I was."

"But, you don't see what I see," he countered, as a smile tugged at his lips.

"What do you see?" she asked softly, curious, yet wondering if she really wanted to hear this.

"A beautiful woman...feminine...provocative..." his eyes slid over her body and his voice was silky, like a verbal caress. Her nipples tightened involuntarily, and she knew it must show under the light fabric of her bathing suit.

"Responsive..." he added, obviously noticing her reaction to his words.

Smiling tightly now, she replied, "That's not what my husband used to say."

"Well," he drawled, "I get the distinct impression that he didn't have much of a way with women."

"I wouldn't know. I've never been with anyone but Charlie. I have no basis for comparison."

He looked at her curiously now, as she watched his hair swirl around him in the water.

"Really? Now that surprises me. A beautiful woman like you, with no boyfriend or lover."

She shrugged. "The opportunity never presented itself. I get so busy with my job." her eyes widened, as she realized her slip.

"Your job," he repeated softly. "When are you going to tell me what you really do? Who you really are?"

"I can't," she said, her voice barely above a whisper, "not yet. You'll have to trust me on this."

He nodded. "I can respect that. All right, let me ask you," he paused, and his eyes were soft, as he watched her, "if the opportunity presented itself, if a man hungered for you, lusted after you, wanted you, what would you do?"

She shrugged again. "Buy a box of condoms," she said, grinning at him awkwardly.

"You should keep some around," he said slowly, "you never know who might drop by."

They were silent now, and his eyes came up to meet hers with that famous, sensual gaze. The eyes were half-closed, but she could see desire in their depths, and she almost felt his desire flowing towards her, from across the pool. Yes, he was hungering, lusting, wanting her. She could feel it.

Time seemed to stop for Ellen, as she tried to still her beating heart. But it began pounding furiously in her chest, and she realized she'd been holding her breath. Sighing deeply, she said, "I should start dinner."

"Nah," he replied, giving her a lazy grin, "come in the pool. We can play."

She eyed him suspiciously. "What kind of play?"

The grin on his face grew wider. "Foreplay."

"I don't think so," she said, as she stood up, laughing. "I've got to start dinner." Throwing the towel off her head, she shook out her hair.

"No you don't," he countered, "besides, I'm not hungry, and we've got all night."

Looking towards the kitchen, wondering what to do, she heard him splash his way out of the pool.

"Come on," he urged, "come in the pool, Ellen. Laze around for a change. Forget your laps, and your schedule. Enjoy yourself."

"No, really," she protested weakly, "I can't." I can't go in there with you, she thought, I'll never want to come out.

She felt the shock of his wet hand on her own, as he guided her down the pool steps.

"Just for a little while," she added weakly, finding herself unable to resist the invitation, or the man.

But she moved to the opposite side of the pool, afraid to be near him. His cologne was too enticing, his body too hard and inviting. Then she wondered, was she really ready to be intimate with this man? She barely knew him. Her body screamed yes, but her sensible mind cried no.

Her gaze wandered around the pool. She was afraid to look at him, at those eyes, those spectacular, magnetic eyes of his.

"What are you doing over there?" he asked softly, as he resumed his former position.

"Avoiding foreplay," she said, smiling slightly.

He chuckled. "How come? You might like it."

She finally met his gaze. "Because I don't know you."

Laughing now, he replied, "You know more about me than I know about you."

"That's true," she admitted, "but don't you go with a lot of women? That scares me too."

His face was serious now. "I can see why you'd think that, with the tours, and the women hanging on me. But that's not the case." His eyes seemed to change, and they took on a new intensity. "I need an attraction, before I can act on sexual impulses. I need that gut feeling that I want this woman, not just in bed, but the totality of this woman, her life, her dreams, and even the way she looks so beautiful in the morning."

The man was powerful. She almost felt him pulling at her from across the pool. And his message was clear. He wanted her. She'd never seen desire like this in any man. He wanted all of her, every bit, and to Ellen, the prospect was frightening.

More frightening than the emptiness she'd felt with Charlie, more frightening than being alone.

"Come here," he commanded softly.

Ellen felt herself moving across the pool, almost in a dream state, as the water swirled around her.

Dropping down next to him, she started to shake. And, as his arm wrapped around her shoulders, he said, "Are you scared, Ellen?"

"Yes," she whispered. He pulled her against him, and she felt the hard planes of his chest, as they leaned against the wall together.

"Of what? Me?"

She smelled his cologne, and it swirled around her senses like an erotic cloud, as she replied, "Of this. Of being engulfed, of losing control."

"Well," he said slowly, "I guess you can't ever know if you're really in control unless you lose it once in a while."

She smiled, and lay her head back against his arm. "Interesting," she whispered, "I never thought of it that way." Closing her eyes, she felt his lips brush hers softly.

He slowly moved out in front of her, while his arm still protected her neck. She felt a surge of water, as his body came tightly against hers, hard, muscular, and she could feel his masculine firmness below, against the silky fabric of her bathing suit. His free hand slid across her breast, then down to her waist, pulling her even closer.

With his lips against hers, he whispered, his breath warm, his voice husky with desire, "Lose it, lose that control, Ellen."

His kiss was light, casual, teasing, then more insistent. His lips, those famous lips, were soft, gentle, as he prodded her mouth open and slipped in his tongue.

Ellen felt on fire, with his kisses, the feel of his half-naked body against hers, and she sucked his tongue hungrily, wanting more and more of him. No man ever made her feel sensations like this...not in high school, not Charlie, not anyone.

His hand slipped to her buttocks, and he pressed her closer, closer. His hair swirled softly around her, as she felt his desire pulsing. She felt as if she would melt into him, drown in the force of him.

Then, pulling his lips from hers, he whispered, "I knew you'd be like this."

She opened her eyes, slowly, and gazed at him. "Like what?" she said.

"Incredibly," she felt him pulse, "incredibly sexy," he whispered, as his lips came softly on hers again. But it was a light kiss, and he pushed away from her, with a rush of water, and moved to the other side of the pool.

He placed his arms over the sides, and sat, staring at her heatedly. The water came in and cooled her hot body, and she felt an acute disappointment. Why had he moved away?

"Is," she said hesitantly, "did I do something wrong?"

A smile tugged at his lips, as he replied, "God, no, you felt wonderful. I just don't want to rush you." The smile faded, "You excite me too much. I was losing control. I see what you mean. It is frightening."

She raised her eyebrows. "How about that dinner, then?"

Grinning now, he replied, "Lead the way, honey."

Once in the house, Ellen padded to the refrigerator and brought out two steaks. She'd wrapped her towel over her shoulders, and it hung against her breasts. They still felt tight, and almost uncomfortable, as the nipples brushed against the silky bathing suit she wore.

The air in the house was silent, yet still somehow held an excited, anticipatory feel.

She sensed, rather than heard, Derick come up behind her, as she reached up to retrieve a can of seasonings from the cupboard. When he pressed against her, she felt his hard desire. His hands rested on her breasts momentarily, and she knew he heard her sharp intake of breath.

Slowly turning her to face him, he touched both ends of the towel around her neck. "You don't have to hide them, you know," he whispered, as he drew her closer, pulling on the towel. While one of his hands wrapped around her waist, the other slid across her breast, in a light, teasing touch.

Looking up at him, she finally understood what he'd told her before. It was happening, and it was wonderful to know a man wanted you, needed you, hungered for you.

Pressing her back to the counter, with his hips flush against hers, and his leg edging between both of hers, he bent his head to kiss her. But this kiss was different than before; harder, urgent, insistent, it almost demanded a response.

Rising on her tip—toes, she wrapped both her arms around his neck, and bent her body against his. Unafraid now, she met him eagerly, willingly.

Breaking the kiss, he whispered, "Yes, I want you, Can you feel it? Even when we're not touching like this can you feel it?"

She nodded weakly, as she struggled to open her eyes.

"Good." He moved back slightly, and the heavy disappointment settled inside her again. She wanted him now. Here and now.

But he just smiled, and looked down at her, again tugging at the ends of the towel around her neck. "Let's eat," he whispered softly.
Chapter Sixteen

The next day, seated next to Derick, Ellen watched the long motorcycle procession from her vantage point in Limpy's truck, as two by two, the hard-looking bikers rode down the highway. She noticed they were careful to obey speed limits, and she mentioned this to Limpy. He'd taken Sandy's place, driving the truck, when he discovered Derick was to ride along.

"Yeah," he said, "who wants to fuck up the weekend, man. If a few get busted, all of us gotta mess around gettin' them out. It just ain't worth it."

"It's happened before then?" she asked curiously.

"Yeah. We was ridin' over to Tahoe. Got stopped in King City. Butthole of a place, too. Rinky-dink little town, and a asshole sheriff. Max mouthed off to the guy. Said he wasn't sorry afterwards, either." He paused for a minute then laughed. "You know what we did?"

"What?" Ellen asked, as she felt Derick nudge her.

"We found out where the guy lived. Went back a few weeks later and fucked up his house bad, while he was out bustin' some other poor sucker. Serves the guy right."

Breaking and entering, Ellen thought. Add it to the list, along with vandalism.

But when they passed Thousand Oaks, Ellen saw Chloe glance quickly in the direction of her house. She knew Chloe was getting anxious, but Ellen knew also, with their Mexico trip a mere four days away, it wouldn't be long before the D.E.A. could move in.

And she doubted whether Nick would remember anything by then. They'd probably have to hog-tie him, and take him somewhere until he did remember. It was tough. What a bad break for the case, and for Nick himself. She only hoped that Max would relent, and take Chloe to the factory. They had to know the location, it was critical. Everything rested on that one thing. And with Chloe's testimony, Max and crew would be put behind bars for a long, long time.

"Penny for your thoughts," Derick said softly, "you have a really strange look on your face, honey."

Ellen had been intensely aware of Derick's presence all morning, his thigh brushing hers, his arm over the back of the truck seat, occasionally gripping her shoulder when they hit a bump.

And a smile started on her lips, as she thought of last night, and how he'd chastely kissed her on the cheek before they both retired to separate bedrooms. This man was very different than he appeared to his fans. Totally different.

Now, he leaned his head over, and whispered in her ear, "Are you thinking about the same thing I am?"

A pleasant sensation began inside her, and traveled down her body. She laughed, and replied, "Maybe."

"I love your laugh," he whispered, "it's low and sexy."

His tongue grazed her ear, and she closed her eyes. This man was positively intoxicating.

His thumb came up and pulled at her lower lip slightly, and her mouth opened in response.

"I love your lips, too," he whispered, "soft and kissable."

And, as last night, she felt an intense heaviness settle between her thighs. Yes, she wanted him. But would he want her, when he found out what she really did for a living? And even if they started a relationship, how would they ever keep it going? Questions ran through her mind like speeding freight trains. Doubts plagued her.

Maybe she should lose control, for once in her life, and not be sensible for a change. Give in to temptation. And Derick was certainly tempting.

Opening her eyes, she looked up at him, as she leaned her head back against his arm. His eyes studied her, roved over her face, stopping at her lips. Then, they moved back up and settled on her eyes again. Without breaking the gaze, his lips touched hers in the gentlest of kisses. And the sweet feel of that one kiss created more of a sensation than she'd felt with her husband in years of marriage. Her whole body cried out for him.

As she turned, and settled her eyes back on the road again, she wondered if this was love, or lust. Whatever it was, she liked it.

Trying to calm herself, she watched Nick, who rode with Chloe directly in front of them. His thick, black boots were thrust out on the pegs of the bike. He wore a Nazi helmet, and, of course, the colors on his leather coat proclaimed loudly to the world who he was. Or, who he thought he was.

And her heart ached for Chloe, who sat behind him, leaning on the sissy bar, her long braid blowing in the breeze.

Chloe felt Nick lean back against her. Her hands came up under his jacket, and she splayed her fingers over his hard stomach muscles. She'd missed him in her bed. Every night now, he slept in the living room. They hadn't made love since the one night he'd taken her so savagely against the wall.

Did he still love her? And was something inside him, some little inner voice, some conscience of the former Nick, telling him that this new person he'd become should stay away from her?

They exited the freeway, and started up a huge grade. As Nick kicked the bike into a lower gear, Chloe watched the view. As they rode higher and higher, she saw greenish—brown hills, and homes scattered here and there on the mountain, dotting the parched landscape. And, an entire city sprawled below, with people living normal, quiet lives.

But the uncertain future yawned before Chloe, empty, barren without the real Nick to share it with her. And she blinked back tears of frustration.

When they arrived at the crest of the grade, the view of the mountains beyond nearly took her breath away, as they seemed to go on forever. Varying shades of blue and purple, high and awesome, they towered above the small city below like a protective barrier, like an ancient reminder that some things were simply unconquerable.

They began a steep descent into a valley, and rode far, far back into the mountains. For miles, the bikes made clouds of dust on the winding, dirt roads, and Chloe was glad for the protection of her black helmet.

It was parched and dry, and Chloe wondered where the water was. From all appearances, this place was a barren wasteland, nothing like the pine-filled camp sites Chloe was used to. And the thought of camping brought memories of her dead husband, as they had camped together many times before his illness struck. But for once, for the first time in years of mourning him, she didn't cry.

They arrived, finally, at the huge, group camp spot. Chloe slowly got off the motorcycle and stretched. Nick still sat, looking around, and he took off his helmet and shook his hair out.

"I feel like I'm still vibrating!" she laughed.

He grinned at her. "Nothing like the feel of a Harley between your legs."

She stood very still. That was what she'd told him, the first night they met! Yes, it would all come back to him. She grinned happily, as he dismounted, leaned back against the bike, and pulled her against him. With his legs pushed straight out, he pulled her into the V they formed.

"I love it when you smile," he breathed. His arms wrapped around her waist, and his lips came against hers hard. She received his tongue, and welcomed it, feeling as if she'd been in a place as barren as the landscape they'd ridden through. And, Nick was her water. Nick was the deep stream to drink from, as his kiss wound around her senses, drowning out everything going on around them.

Pulling from her slightly, he whispered, "Been a long time, Chloe."

She nodded, and her fingers ran across the hard leather of his jacket, as she looked into his eyes. "Too long," she replied. A breeze blew, bringing with it the smell of exhaust, mixed with sage, and the sound of laughter and more motorcycles approaching.

Limpy's truck rolled up, and club members climbed into the back, eager to unload the beer. Ellen stepped out, after Derick, and waved to her.

She broke from Nick's grasp, and ran to Ellen. "Have a good trip?" she yelled breathlessly.

"Yeah." Ellen replied, "You guys are quite a sight rolling along the highway. Hot Damn! It's warm up here! Hi, Nick."

Chloe felt Nick's arms wrap around her, as she talked with Ellen. She felt the wide, very muscular planes of his chest, as he'd taken off his shirt and jacket now. His lips grazed her ear.

"Nick! Stop, I can't concentrate!" she said, as she giggled.

"Want to see the water?" he asked, his voice sending tremors through her body.

"Water? I can't believe there's water up here. Ellen, let's go see the pool."

Ellen looked down at Nick's bare feet. "I see you're all ready to wade, Nick."

Chloe laughed, as she looked down at the feet, but suddenly felt herself lifted up effortlessly into Nick's strong arms.

"What are you doing?" she squealed.

"Well," he drawled, as he walked towards a slight incline, "I'm taking you to the water..."

They came up over a rise, and there, almost hidden from the camp spot, was a wide, sparkling clear pool of water. Thick, green bushes surrounded it on either side, and a large, flat rock on the far side rose into the steep side of the mountain. The shoreline was sandy and inviting.

"Nick," she breathed, clinging to him, with her arms around his neck, "it's beautiful."

"How'd you like to see it close up, Chloe?" he crooned, as he continued walking towards the water.

"Nick!" she protested, "Put me down! You wouldn't dare!" She kicked her feet in mild protest, but she was enjoying the feel of him too much to do anything but squeal.

"Oh, but I would." he replied softly, wading in up to his knees, as she struggled and laughed.

The shock of the cold water hit her, as he unceremoniously dumped her in. She came up sputtering, swearing, glaring. "You prick!" she yelled, "You didn't tell me the water was this cold!"

Looking down at her breasts, which were clearly exposed now, her large, dark, nipples showing through the pink tank—top she wore, he murmured, "Now that's nice."

Pulling off her boots, with much effort, she threw them on the shore. Then another shock hit her. His hot chest came hard against her cold one, as he grabbed her around the waist with one hand, and jerked her up against him.

"Yeah," he breathed, as his mouth hovered above hers, and his free hand held her face, "now that's what I wanted to see."

Rolling his tongue into her mouth, then out again, he laughed softly as she closed her eyes. "Want to go under, Chloe?"

She nodded. His mouth pressed against hers urgently, as she felt his arm tighten on her waist, he pushed her back, and they fell into the chilly water together.

She felt him push off the bottom with his foot, and they were gliding underneath the water, slowly, still joined in a kiss. He brought her up to the surface, and they finally broke from the kiss. The water was chest—high, and they both stood on the sandy bottom.

Still wrapped in his arms, she pushed her hair back, and spat, "Bastard!"

"That I am." he replied, his lips twitching. She could feel his hardness pressing against her, and the slippery water made their bodies glide together delightfully. Drops of sparkling water cascaded off his hair, down the planes of his handsome face, and she wished the others weren't around. She wanted him, with a growing need. It had been so long, such a long, lonely time.

Grinning now, he said, "Let me unbraid your hair. I want to see it all around you."

She turned, swirled in the water, and he caught her around the front with one hand, while his other hand undid the braid. When he was finished, and as his hand gently untangled her hair, he pulled her closer.

Nuzzling her neck, he murmured, "We haven't done it like this yet, have we?"

"Like what?" she replied. But then, his hardness came against her buttocks, and his hand cupped the zippered front of her jeans.

Rubbing her, still kissing her neck, he replied, "From behind."

She shook her head, and a languid sensation crept over her, as his other hand came up and rubbed her breast. Her nipples were already hard from the cold water, but now they tightened even more from his touch.

As her hair moved slowly around them both, his lips grazed her ear. "How about it, Chloe? Mmmm?"

His voice sending shivers down her spine, she replied weakly, "Just don't miss and hit the wrong place."

Chuckling, he held her even tighter, massaging her breast still. "I never miss," he whispered, as his tongue rolled around her ear, "I know where I'm going, Chloe."

She closed her eyes, and felt as immersed in the heady sensation of Nick as she was in the water that flowed around them. She'd missed his touch, the feel of his arms around her, his solid, powerful arms.

"Let's swim to that rock over there," he said. She nodded, as he pointed to a large, flat, sunny rock.

Gliding smoothly through the water, she wondered if the old Nick wasn't slowly returning. This seemed more like the teasing, gentle Nick she used to know.

He arrived at the outcropping first, and hoisted her up beside him. The rock was hot from the sun, and it warmed her, as did the brilliant sunshine. He smoothed her heavy hair back from her face, and rested an arm across her shoulders.

And they laughed, as they watched all the other women being thrown in the icy water now.

Derick held Ellen at the shoreline, grinning, as she struggled and kicked her feet.

"You started something," Chloe said dryly.

His lips kissed a trail across her cheek to her ear, where he whispered, "I'd like to start something, all right."

Closing her eyes, she felt his lips brush across hers briefly, then he pushed her back on the hard rock.

Drips of water from his hair fell onto her face, as he whispered against her lips, "You want me, Chloe? You want me inside you?"

Nodding, as he pressed his hips against her leg, then threw one leg over hers, trapping her, she said softly, "Yes but not now, Nick."

He chuckled, and kissed her eyelids. "I know," he rumbled, "how about later, then? Under the stars, you'll be like this..." he gently turned her on her stomach, and she rested her head on the back of her hands. Heat from the rock was intense, and her body felt languid, as his hand lazily stroked along her back and came to rest on her buttocks.

Gently kneading, he said softly, "Have I ever told you, you have a nice ass, Chloe?"

"Not lately," she murmured.

"You have a nice ass, Chloe."

She smiled, but then others joined them on the rock, and their peaceful interlude was interrupted, much to her disappointment.

"You are such a jerk!" she heard Rhonda tell Squirrel.

"Awww, poor baby." he replied.

"Nick," Rhonda's voice was cloyingly sweet now, "you're really built, honey. I never saw you without your shirt. My, my."

"Don't get any big ideas," Chloe mumbled, "or I'm telling Squirrel on you."

The woman cursed, and Chloe grinned. A little blackmail never hurt. But then she found herself wondering idly whether Rhonda still carried a gun.

And, as Nick's leg wrapped around the back of hers, Chloe realized she felt secure. For the first time since the accident, she felt safe next to him.

Chapter Seventeen

From an incline, Max watched the two lovers on the rock. Smiling slightly, his mind raced with plans for Mexico, and Chloe. After all, Nick had no memories of their previous trip. He remembered nothing, nothing of Tessie's 'blender bomb,' nothing of what they did the last time they were down there. His plan was perfect and he'd have Chloe, finally, all to himself. And his hardness surged against his pants, as thoughts of her writhing beneath him raced through his mind.

Then, he snorted, as he watched Nick's hand moving on Chloe. This would be easy. Very easy. He had everything over Nick, money, property, and maybe even Chloe, eventually.

Then he heard Tessie's voice. "Aren't you going to throw me in?" It was a whine. The woman was always whining about something. He'd have to do her soon, and dump her body somewhere. Bob could help him. She was getting on his nerves, and after almost two years of marriage, he needed a break. He regretted the day he married Tess. And he wanted someone else, someone ultimately smarter and certainly more beautiful. Chloe.

He snorted again, while still gazing at Nick and Chloe. "You'd better get back on the pill, Tess. I mean it. Or I'll put you on the streets, working for me, like Sandy works for Limpy."

Hearing her sharp intake of breath, he smiled, and added softly, "I mean it, Tess. Listen up." He felt her moving away, heard her sigh, and looked back. She was gaining weight already. Another squalling brat around the house? His eyes grew hard. No way.

Ellen came out of the water with Derick at her side. Laughing, dripping wet, she said, "You wrecked your pants."

He shrugged, and started unzipping them. "I've got other pants." Then, he grinned, "It was worth it. The hardest part now will be getting them off."

"Well, I've got to change too." She looked around, "Hey, Sandy! Where's the outhouse around here?"

The woman tromped sulkily out of the water, with her large breasts heaving. "Jesus, now I gotta do my make-up all over again. These guys are a bunch of jerks. Yeah, come on, I'll show you."

Hiking a short distance with Sandy huffing and puffing in front of her, Ellen was relieved to see not an outhouse, but a concrete building with regular toilets and mirrors. It's the little things in life that make such a difference, she thought, as they entered.

"Yes, I know what you mean about the make-up," Ellen said, her voice echoing in the cool dampness of the place, as Sandy disappeared into one of the stalls. "I've got some repair work of my own to do."

"Shit," Sandy's voice replied, as Ellen heard her struggling out of her wet clothes, "I hope Limpy don't expect me to work tonight. He told me some assholes from the city are comin' up. And I look lousy right now. I had my hair all perfect before."

Ellen frowned. "What kind of work do you do?"

There was silence in the stall now. "What do 'ya think?" Another silence, then the sounds of more struggling. "Someone's gotta support his ass. Who the hell's going to hire a guy that looks like him?" She laughed at her own words.

But, Ellen wasn't amused. Her face staring back from the mirror was stony, now, as she tried to untangle her hair. "That must be tough," she replied, not knowing what to say, and thinking angrily of the woman prostituting herself for a worthless biker. But, that's the way these women were. Poor self-image, possibly growing up as battered children, they grasped at any form of love they could find.

Sandy sighed. "Yeah...it's hard once in a while. But you know it brings in a lot of cash. And it ain't so bad most of the time. These guys come quick." She laughed again, "Real quick. Not like my Limpy. He's a baller."

Ellen's mouth was in a hard line now. Well, she thought, add prostitution to the list; the growing list of crimes these bikers were involved in. It seemed never ending. The more she knew these people, the worse it was.

She changed quickly into shorts and a crop top, not wanting any further conversation with this woman, and said, "See you later, Sandy."

"Hey," the woman yelled, "how's Derick Sands in the sack? You his girlfriend or somethin'?"

"No, not really. We're just friends." Best of buddies, actually, Ellen thought. But my private life is not for your ears, or the topic of any idle conversations.

"Oh," the woman said, disappointedly, "well if you ever hear, let me know. I've always wondered."

You aren't the only one, thought Ellen, as she walked out the door.

When she returned to camp, she saw Limpy and another man unloading huge speakers from the back of his truck.

"What's going on?" she asked Derick, as she sat on the ground next to him. He'd changed into jeans, and was shirtless.

Smiling, he replied, "I think they've got plans for me. They even brought a generator for electricity, see? And a guitar. It's beat-up, but I can probably make some music come out of the thing."

She observed him fondly. "Can't get away from it, huh?"

"I don't want to get away from it," he replied softly, "I love music. It's my life."

She nodded, and understood perfectly. The D.E.A. was Ellen's life. They were silent, then she asked, "Derick, what do you think of these guys?"

He sat back, resting on his elbows. "They're playing a part. Reminds me of the outlaws in the Old West. Complete with guns and long hair. We all take on a persona of one sort or another, like me. I'm the wild, rock star." He paused, and peered up at her. "Who are you, Ellen? What part do you play?"

Smiling, avoiding his eyes, she replied, "Nice try, but it's not important, Derick. It really isn't."

"I guess not," he said softly, "it doesn't matter what a person does, but how they are underneath it all. That's the important thing. And I like the way you are, in spite of your mysterious nature."

"Yes," she whispered, "but these men scare me, Derick. They're evil, very evil."

Derick's voice was thoughtful now, as he said, "I can't figure why Nick is in a motorcycle club. I mean, in a way, it didn't surprise me. He was always wild and crazy. But in a different sense, I can't picture him with these guys. It doesn't seem to fit, somehow. Under the surface, he's really not the same as these guys."

His hand came up and stroked her back, as he sat up again. "But you know about Nick, don't you, Ellen?" he said softly, "You know he's not evil like the rest of these animals."

She nodded, enjoying the feel of his hand on her back. He tugged at her top, then smoothed the fabric. Pulling her chin up with his other hand, he said, "You'll tell me soon, right? When you're ready?"

Nodding again, she looked into his eyes then scrutinized him. His face was smooth, and her gaze flitted over the high cheekbones, and then to the hollows beneath.

"You're part Indian, aren't you?" She could picture him on a sleek, black stallion, riding like the wind, over scorching prairies.

As his mouth drew into a smile, he replied, "Yes. A quarter, on my mother's side. You're very observant. Not everyone catches it. You look Scandinavian, and your nose is getting pink. Why don't we move into the shade?"

The large tree they found rustled softly as they sat in its shade, Derick leaning up against the trunk, and Ellen resting against him.

A few minutes later, Rhonda wandered up, wearing a red bikini top and cutoff shorts. And Ellen wondered if all biker women had large breasts, or whether it was just this particular group. The woman was stacked, and Ellen watched with amusement, as Derick's gaze flickered over her.

As his hand ran along Ellen's arm softly, he said to Rhonda, "How 'ya doing, sweetheart?" Ellen knew by now that he was using his 'fan' tone. He had a different voice when he spoke to Ellen. Different voice, totally different man.

Rhonda sat on the other side of Derick, then leaned forward so her breasts showed maximum cleavage. It was obvious she'd been thrown in the water, then must have repaired her not-too-subtle make-up. But her black hair hung in damp strands around her shoulders. And to Ellen, the woman looked almost comical, as she sat, lustily eyeing the famous rock star, trying to look as sexy as possible.

"Oh, I'm good," she replied, "I'm real good, Derick. Mind if I call you Derick?"

"Not at all," he answered lazily.

Two motorcycles started up just then, their noise drowning out all attempts at conversation. The men were holding races down the center of the camp spot, and Ellen smiled as she watched the two bikers bragging loudly to each other, before they finally took off in a cloud of dust.

The winner cracked open a beer and laughed loudly, while he swaggered around. As Derick answered Rhonda's many questions in monosyllables, Ellen surveyed the camp spot. It was hot here, dry and barren, except by the water, where green bushes grew in abundance, looking oddly out of place.

The camp spot was hidden from the outside world, nestled in a valley, a perfect hangout for these outlaws. The men were getting rowdy now, and some were drunk already. Swaggering, boasting, swearing, they roamed the dusty camp spot, probably, Ellen thought, in search of their manhood. And she wondered, idly, what the point of it all was. To prove who could get drunker? Or who could swear the most? Ride the fastest? Get the highest, with the aid of drugs and alcohol? It seemed like a losing proposition.

Then, she realized they were far, far from her perception of real men. These men took, without asking; put their women on the streets to work and make money in the worst possible way; sold lethal drugs on the street without a qualm; and probably killed strangers, and even each other, without remorse.

Her mouth hardened, as she sat staring at them. And, her eyes narrowed, as she thought of breaking up this organization. How macho would they be in jail?

Rhonda drifted away, finally, and Derick turned to observe her. "Does that bother you?" he asked, as he searched her face.

"What?" she asked absentmindedly, still thinking about what a real man was.

"Other women coming on to me."

She grinned, as she looked up at him. "That woman? Come on, Derick. I don't feel threatened by her."

"That's good, but what about other women? Women so beautiful, it almost takes your breath away. What about them?"

Shrugging, she replied, "I don't know. I haven't been faced with that yet."

"You will," he said softly, "eventually."

"If I hang out with you? Is that what you mean?"

"Yeah. Would that bother you?"

"Hanging out with you? No. The women? I don't know, Derick. I can't answer that," she said softly, wondering what life with Derick would be like.

After a minute, a fight between two club members caught her eye. And she realized one of the combatants was Nick.

"Derick, look, Nick's fighting," she said, moving to get up.

But he stopped her. "Nick can handle it."

"That guy outweighs him, can't you see?"

"It doesn't matter, Ellen. Nick is faster."

Ellen watched the two men circle each other. Nick jabbed, and struck the man in the face. Then he struck him again, harder, faster. The man reeled. But Nick continued pounding him, with the big man falling back farther with each blow.

Then, as Nick let loose a string of Spanish words, Ellen gasped. He thought he was in Central America again! He'd kill the man!

"Stop him," she said tensely, not looking at Derick, "Nick's going to beat him to death. Stop him now, Derick. Before it's too late."

Derick heard the warning note in her voice, and jumped to his feet. "Brick!" he yelled, hoping the old nickname would get Nick's attention. And it did.

Nick paused, stopped dead in his tracks, and shook his head. His arms came down to his sides, and he appeared confused.

Chloe ran up and checked the man who now lay on the ground. Then, one of the other bikers poured beer in the man's face, and he sat up, rubbing his jaw.

"He never knew Spanish before," Derick said softly, as he waved to Nick.

"Yes," Ellen replied, "there's a lot you don't know about him."

He chuckled to himself. "Whenever you're ready, we'll talk, honey."

The afternoon passed quickly into evening, with occasional shouts and fire crackers sounding in the stillness, and echoing through the canyons beyond. The loud cawing of crows gave way to owls hooting, and other night sounds began.

The bikers, cranked up on speed, downers and cocaine, still shouted, brawled, drank, swam and partied hard, even after the sun went down.

And strangers were arriving in truckloads, obviously aware of the presence of Derick Sands at the gathering. A huge bonfire was lit in the center of the camp, with the assistance of many bikers and much gasoline.

At dusk, Chloe wandered back from the restroom, and searched for Nick, but he was nowhere to be found. Sitting on a large rock, some distance from the noisy campfire, she sighed, and hoped he hadn't been fighting again.

Then, she heard a familiar voice in back of her. "Tired already, Chloe?"

"No," she snapped, realizing it was Max. He stood behind her, but she didn't look around. His hands came down on her shoulders, and she tried to pull away, but his grip tightened.

"Now why are you always trying to get away from me, Chloe?" His voice was slurring, probably from the pills she'd seen him taking earlier. Her eyes darted around, as she searched in vain for Nick.

She felt Max's hardness, as he thrust himself against her. "Get away from me, Max," she said in a low voice.

"Now, Chloe, do you know what we do to women who don't cooperate?"

Her heart began pounding in her chest, and fear clutched at her as she replied, "You probably rape them first, then shoot them, right?"

Laughing softly, he said, "Yeah, something like that. I guess that doesn't appeal to you." Moving slowly against her, he continued, "Tell you what, Chloe. If you'll blow me in Mexico, I won't let it happen."

From between clenched teeth, she said, "I'd rather be shot. I'd rather be dead than do anything with you."

He stopped thrusting, and she heard his soft, evil laugh. "That can be arranged." Then his grip tightened even more on her shoulders. "But first, you'll come to me. You'll come to me on your own, without Nick. You wouldn't want me to shoot Nick, would you?"

Her jaw clenched. "Is that a threat?"

But then, to her relief, she saw Nick walking towards them, and Max dropped his hands and stepped back.

"No," he whispered, "that's a promise."

She ran to Nick, and threw her arms around his neck. But, his eyes were different now, they had an edge of hardness, and she smelled pot on his breath.

"What were you doing with Max?" he said in an ominous tone.

"We...we were just talking."

A sardonic smile appeared on his lips. "Right."

She stood back from him. This was too much. One man threatened her life, and the other didn't believe her. "Go to Hell!" she said in a low voice.

Nick watched her walk quickly towards the campfire, and his smile disappeared.

"Trouble in paradise?" Max asked dryly, as he walked up.

Fixing him with a level stare, Nick replied, "Leave her alone, Max. She's my old lady."

"Hey," Max replied innocently, "ever since the last Mexico trip, she's been all over me. Don't you remember what happened down there? Man, how could anyone forget it? We swapped, you took Tess and I took Chloe."

"I'd never do that," Nick replied slowly.

Max stepped out of the shadows, and firelight flickered on his face. Nick looked him up and down. Had they? And had this man been with Chloe?

A puzzled frown pierced Nick's features. What kind of man had he been before? What kind of man was this other Nick? Why was he so different now than before?

Then a thought hit him. Maybe this was why Chloe cried in the bathroom yesterday. Maybe she wanted to go back to their lifestyle of swapping. And maybe, she really did want Max.

Nick said harshly, "She said the other night she didn't want you, Max. Told me you were coming on to her."

Max chuckled. "Man, you really don't remember the game, do you? Chloe loves to play hard to get." his voice lowered, and he moved in closer to Nick, "she loves to struggle, and fight. She told me it's the only way she can get off, man." Then, he casually shrugged, and looked at Nick blandly. "Some women are like that, they like it rough." And, he grinned.

For some reason, Nick wanted to punch the smirking face in front of him, break the nose, blacken the eyes. But this was Max. The man probably was telling him the truth. After all, Nick had remembered this man, after his accident, where Chloe had been like a stranger to him. Perhaps she really was the type of woman Max said she was. Maybe he should just resign himself to it.

Max, still grinning, moved past Nick, and strolled over to where the speakers stood.

A few minutes later, as Nick stood brooding, Tiny lumbered up. "What's happenin' Action?"

Staring at Chloe, who now sat by herself gazing into the fire, Nick replied, "Tiny, before, did I ever talk about Chloe?"

"Sure, man. All the time."

"Did I ever mention the trip to Mexico? What we did down there?"

The man looked thoughtful. "Well, not really. But one time, you had this shit-kickin' grin on your face. You ain't no talker, Nick. I dunno what you guys did down there."

Nick nodded, and strolled over to where Chloe sat. "Come with me," he said roughly.

But she wouldn't look up at him. "No," she said softly.

Grabbing her arm, he pulled her up. "I said, come with me."

Struggling now, trying to pry his hand off, she said, "No! Leave me alone, Nick!"

He dragged her down a trail, far from the noise of the bikers, and far from the spitting campfire. Sounds of the night folded around them; the soft rustle of bushes, dirt crunching under their feet, a howling coyote.

Stopping by a large tree, he thrust her against it, so her back was towards him. Holding her hands on the rough bark, he moved close to her. "Tell me about Mexico, Chloe," he whispered.

He felt her stiffen, and she stopped struggling. "What about Mexico?"

Thrusting himself against her now, enjoying the feel of her curving backside, he replied softly, "What did we do down there, Chloe? Mmmm? Did you like it?"

She nodded, then gasped, as he kissed her neck. "Yes, I liked it, Nick."

"We'll do it again, Chloe," he whispered against her ear. She nodded weakly, but he knew he never could. He couldn't share her again, with anyone, regardless of what the other Nick had done.

Loosening his grip, he pulled his pants down with one hand, and thrust his hardness between her legs. As his hand caressed her breast, he said, "Feel me, Chloe."

Her free hand came down and gently felt the tip of his shaft.

"That's yours," he whispered heatedly, "that's all yours, Chloe. Do you want it?"

She nodded.

"How do you want it, Chloe?" he asked sharply, "Like in Mexico?"

She moaned, "Yes," and he let her other hand loose. She fumbled with her pants, finally sliding them down to her knees.

Grabbing her wrists again, he raised them, and slapped them against the tree. Pushing against her, he paused at her entrance. "Is this how you want it?" he asked softly.

Her head fell back against his shoulder, and she murmured something he couldn't hear.

Plunging into her, he thrust hard, harder, and she cried out. He surged, and then felt her smooth warmth tighten around him. Unable to control himself, he ground into her, savagely, taking what was his.

"No more," he said, now thinking of Max with Chloe, "you're mine."

He thrust one last time, spilling his seed into her, releasing his aching desire.

Breathing hard, he released her hands, and pulled himself from her. She remained against the tree, her body shaking, her breaths ragged.

As he zipped his pants, her hands came down slowly to her sides. Shakily, she bent down and fastened her own jeans around her waist again. Still not looking at him, with her back to him, she said softly, "I still love you, Nick."

Then, he saw her body shake with sobs, and her hands came up to her face.

Turning her towards him, he was puzzled, as he looked down at her. What did this woman want? And, whatever it was, could he ever give it to her? She hadn't enjoyed this, not rough. And his mistrust of Max grew.

Folding her in an embrace, he looked up at the star-speckled sky. Sounds of a guitar filtered through the night.

"I still love you too, Chloe," he whispered, as she continued sobbing in his arms.
Chapter Eighteen

People poured into the camp spot by the truckload, as Derick began tuning up his loaner guitar. He realized the thing was ancient, but it still had a good sound. And he thought it would be nice to play outdoors. He tested the microphone, and it squealed in protest.

The evening was mild, balmy, and he spotted a half-moon, creeping up over the mountain-top, as he plucked at the strings. And he glanced up to see Ellen observing him from a distance. She sat on the tailgate of a truck, and an obviously enamored biker sat next to her, recklessly flirting, while she rolled her eyes and laughed.

Derick frowned, and a spasm of jealousy seized him. How, he wondered, could he ask Ellen not to be jealous? He felt it himself whenever he saw her with another man.

He'd sensed it creeping up on him all day. The men at this campout outnumbered the women three to one, and he'd seen more than a few men check her out. Yes, she was fine.

"You're fine," he purred into the microphone, "and you're mine, Ellen."

She grinned, but also appeared embarrassed, as people turned to look at her. And he thought the flush that often crept up her face was endearing. She was so damn cute. Compact and cute.

"Come closer, honey," he said, rolling his tongue around his lips, "I need inspiration before I can sing."

"Hey!" one of the bikers yelled, "So do I! Yeah, I can sing too. I got a good voice."

A loud chorus of boos chimed out.

"Well," Derick drawled, "you people don't get any music until my baby comes up front here."

"I'll get her!" another drunken, burly biker yelled. To the cheers of the growing crowd, the man picked up Ellen, threw her over his shoulder, and proceeded unsteadily towards Derick.

"Hey," Derick said, as he smiled at her yells of protest, "don't drop her, now. That's precious cargo, dude."

"Yeah!" another person yelled.

The man deposited Ellen on her feet, in front of Derick, and she glared at the biker angrily. "Butthead!" she spat.

"Nah!" someone yelled, "He's an asshole, you got the wrong end!"

"Honey," Derick crooned into the microphone, "this song's for you."

And, grinning at her flushed face, he began.

Ellen looked at Derick and smiled, as she heard the slow, Zeppelin song begin.

"You know you shook me," he sang, "you shook me all night looong..."

Memories of their night in the pool came back to her in a rush. Did he have trouble sleeping that night too? And as the blues song continued, his amorous looks couldn't be denied. He sang to her, and only her. Glancing around, Ellen saw other women staring at her enviously.

Yes, this man was hot. And not just his singing, either, she realized, as the sensual song continued.

Derick was bare-chested still, in jeans and bare feet, but his look was erotic, almost primitive, with his long, flowing hair, and his muscles gleaming in the firelight.

Guitar sounds bounced and echoed off the canyon walls, as he wailed, "I got a bird that whistles, I got a bird that sings..."

He made the song live, and he was vibrant, an energetic masterpiece of a man, as he strummed, and bent backwards, singing to the sky. His body was powerful, compelling, and she thought her secretary was right. She did want to get up there and hump him, and she wasn't sure if he was sexier singing, or in the pool. Either way, he sorely tempted her.

As the song neared the end, his half-closed, languid eyes raked over her, creating a spreading warmth through her body, as he sang, "You shook me aaaall...niiiight," he paused, and someone in the audience hooted, "looooong." And with a few casual notes plucked on the guitar, he was done.

The bikers went wild, clapping, hooting and stomping, spraying beer everywhere.

And, more people arrived. She was suddenly jostled back by the crowd, and Ellen looked around nervously, wondering if there would be trouble. A biker was already shoving one of the clean-cut newcomers, and she knew some of the men were roaring drunk.

Then she heard a slow laugh come through the microphone. "Yeah," Derick drawled, "you shook me, Ellen." And he laughed softly again, as he idly plunked a few notes.

Watching her intensely, he ran his tongue around his lips and laughed softly again.

Someone hooted, then another person yelled, and the sound echoed in the distance.

"Now," he said, as the microphone squealed, "I'm going to sing 'Cara,' because she likes it. Ellen likes it, and I like Ellen."

After a few introductory chords, he wailed, "Cara... you are my only love..." As he continued singing, she felt her emotions stir at the haunted quality of the love song, and the intensity of his voice. Had he really known a woman named Cara? Or was he acting now?

As the song ended, a few minutes later, she heard a woman scream loudly behind her. Whirling around, she searched through the throng of people milling about, but she couldn't see anything.

Anxiously glancing back at Derick, then to the crowd again, she heard him say, "None of that now or I'll stop playing. The first hint of rough stuff, and I'm done. Ellen's getting nervous. You guys behave."

Hearing hoots and laughter, she turned again to watch him play, as she tried to ignore her growing apprehension.

But now, Derick started thumping out hard rock songs, one after the other. She watched him jump and move, as if he really was in concert. Sweat poured down his face, down his bare chest, and his hair flew around him wildly.

Ellen was stunned at his performance. He was magically, powerfully alive, one with the music. It was hard, sexual, seductive music, brutal, wild...almost feral. Derick's music. Derick's life.

A bright light hit him, as he played a song, and Ellen realized news crews had arrived, and were filming the event. And Derick seemed unaware of anything but his music, as he continued playing. Unaware of the restless crowd, unaware of the bright lights, he remained immersed in the music he produced from his soul.

But then, shots were fired, and people started running, shouting, and she panicked and started towards Derick, her heart thumping wildly in her chest. But something struck her hard on the head and she reeled with the impact of it, as she heard glass shattering. Reaching up to her forehead, she felt a sticky wetness, and she realized it was blood. She was bleeding. More gunshots sounded in the distance.

Derick's guitar twanged, as he dropped it, and ran to her.

"Ellen!" he yelled, over the din of people screaming and fighting. When he reached her, he grabbed her around the shoulders, and guided her to the back of one of the large speakers. Lifting a towel off the top of it, he pressed it against her forehead.

"We need to get you to a hospital," he said breathlessly, as a grim look spread across his face. "This is crazy. I never thought anything like this would happen."

"The truck." she replied, trying to wipe the blood out of one eye, trying to stay on her feet, trying to remember where she'd seen Limpy last. But she swayed, and Derick caught her, picking her up easily in his arms.

"Christ!" he muttered, as motorcycles began tearing through the dirt, and the sounds of a riot erupting sliced through the night air. More bottles smashed, then exploded in the campfire. Women screamed, and as the other speaker fell over, Derick pulled back further into the darkness.

But then, a nice-looking, blond teenage boy ran up to them. "You need a ride or something?" he said, looking at Derick with admiration. "I just got here. Missed the whole thing. My truck's at the end over there. Anything I can do..." his voice trailed off as he saw Ellen bleeding profusely.

"Yeah, thanks, man," Derick replied gratefully, "I'd appreciate it. We don't have a car here."

Carrying her quickly around the throng of people, seemingly unnoticed, he placed her tenderly in the cab of the man's truck. But then, before he climbed in, she saw him hesitate, and look back towards the riot.

"I wonder where Nick is?" he said, frowning, as he sat beside her, still holding the cloth in place on her head.

"And Chloe," she breathed, "oh my God, Derick! We have to go back."

"Listen," he said, as he applied pressure to her cut, "they're on their own. Nick can handle himself. You saw him today." Then, to the teen, he said, "Is there a hospital near here?"'

"Yeah, no problem, be there in twenty minutes," the teen replied, as he started the truck and sped down the dirt road.

Ellen was bleeding badly. It seemed as if most of her blood now covered the front of her shirt, Derick, and the man's truck seat. She grew queasy at the sight of it.

"Your truck," she said weakly, "I'm ruining your upholstery. I'm sorry."

"Who gives a shit?" the teen replied, grinning, "It's worth it to give Derick Sands a ride to town."

"You're going to be all right, honey," Derick said, with a worried voice, as he continued the pressure on her head.

"Must have really hit me," she said groggily.

"I don't know, I didn't see it. If I'd have seen it coming, maybe I could have warned you."

"Happened so fast," she whispered.

"Don't talk," he said, as he kissed her hair. "It's over now. You're safe."

When they reached the hospital, Derick lifted her easily, and carried her in. "We need help!" he shouted.

Nurses scurried over, and showed him where to put Ellen, in an exam room.

"You better prepare this place," Derick said to the nurse, "there's a riot at Red Rock."

She rolled her eyes, and replied, "God, okay, I'll get the doctor. Keep the pressure on that cut."

Ellen felt Derick's firm hand on the towel, pressing, and she closed her eyes. "I feel weak, sort of shaky," she said softly.

"You've lost a lot of blood," he said quietly, "I've never seen so much. You know, you must be a healthy woman to have all this bright, red stuff in you."

She smiled weakly. But she knew, for some reason, right now, she had to tell him.

"Derick," she said softly, as she opened her eyes, "I have to...I'm with the D.E.A., and so are Nick and Chloe. The bikers are smuggling a designer drug in from Mexico. That's why I had to bring you here. We were desperate. Nick's in a lot of danger, Derick. You don't know."

Smiling, he replied calmly, "I know, Ellen. I just didn't want to press the issue. I think I've known since day one of this thing."

"But how."

He sighed. "Nick was always anti-drugs. He had a cousin who was killed in a car wreck by a guy doped up on pills and alcohol. That's how I knew. But I still think he can handle himself. I know Brick. He's a fighter, and when his memory does come back, he'll nail those assholes."

She smiled weakly then a woman doctor entered.

"Well," the small, red-head said, "this looks nasty. What have we got?" She lifted the towel, and Ellen winced.

"Head injury from a bottle," Derick said blandly.

The doctor observed him suspiciously. "Who's bottle?"

"Not mine, doc," he said, chuckling, "I'm no drinker."

"Okay, let me get my suture kit."

"Your Frankenstein kit, you mean?" Derick asked, with a straight face.

Shaking her head, she said, "I'll be back in a few. Oh," she looked down at Ellen, "don't worry honey, I can't imagine you ever looking like Frankenstein. It's a large cut, but with my expert stitching, it shouldn't even show. If it does, you can have plastic surgery later on. No problem." And she left.

Ellen smiled wanly, "Great." Then she looked up at Derick, who held her hand now. "You need some soap and water," she said softly.

He raised his eyebrows, then looked down at his blood-spattered chest. "Yeah, I guess so." Then his warm, brown eyes found hers, and he added softly, "Maybe you can help me scrub down."

She smiled. "I think the expression is scrub up. Which of your areas need attention?"

"All of them," he breathed, as his look became more intense. Then he smiled. "I can't wait 'til you service me, Ellen. I want the full treatment, too. No excuses."

While a nurse came in and cleaned Ellen's gash, he strolled over to the sink, and washed off his chest and face.

When the doctor returned, Derick said, "I'll have to rent a car, so we can get back to Calabasas. Is there a pay phone around here? I lost my cell somewhere."

Ellen winced, as the doctor began a series of numbing shots in her forehead.

"Listen," the doctor said, as she worked, "I've got a male orderly out there who's quite a fan of yours, Mr. Sands. I'm sure he'd be thrilled to drive you home. He gets off in half an hour."

Derick grinned down at Ellen, and her eyes were filling with tears now, from the shots. "And you think you've got connections," he said, as he squeezed her hand.

Looking into his eyes, trying to ignore the pulling sensation as the doctor tugged the sutures; she saw a new depth in his gaze she'd never seen before. And she didn't know whether it was the situation they were in, or just the fact that she'd opened up to him about the D.E.A. In any case, she thought he must be the only man in the world who could make a woman almost forget her face was being sewn up.

"Okay," the doctor said, as she finally finished, "Come back and see me in a week, and we'll check your stitches, maybe even take them out." She handed her card to Derick. "Make sure she gets here, okay?"

He nodded, and slipped the card into his jeans pocket. "Okay, Doc, I'll make sure she does everything she's supposed to do." His lips twitched.

"I'm sure you will," the doctor responded dryly, "I'll get Harry now, and you two can be on your way. I'll send a clerk in for your insurance info."

During the ride home, Ellen leaned against Derick in the front seat of the orderly's ancient Buick. His arm around her shoulders, she leaned against him heavily as he and the young man talked music.

They'd given her a shot of pain-killer at the hospital, and she felt like she was floating. She sighed deeply, and nestled closer to Derick. Words drifted around her like magical clouds she could reach out and grab. Guitar. Shows. New York. Hong Kong. London.

When they arrived at her house, she was still in a languorous state, only half-awake.

"Honey, where's the house key?" Derick whispered in her ear.

"My pocket," she slurred, "you get it."

He grinned. "My pleasure." Reaching into one of her pockets, then the other, he said, "There it is, next to that sweet little..." Then he laughed, and kissed her.

Then, to the driver, he said, "Thanks man. Free concert for you. I got your address. I'll send the tickets to you. Front row center. I'll be back in L.A. in a month. And thanks again."

Ellen felt herself lifted up, and her arms wrapped weakly around Derick's neck. "Mmmm," she murmured, enjoying the feel of him, "You're really something. Yeah, I'll give you full service, Derick. Full, full service."

She felt him laughing, and after they were inside, he placed her gently on the couch, saying, "I've got to see this on the news. Then we can both get cleaned up. God, it's only twelve o'clock. I thought it was later."

Ellen looked down at her blood-soaked clothes, and groaned.

He flipped on the television, and sat by her side. After a few minutes of advertisements, the announcer's voice said, "And tonight, a riot broke out at Red Rock campgrounds in Santa Barbara."

Ellen tried to focus on the television picture, while Derick stared intently at the screen.

"That's you," she slurred, as she watched him writhing on the film footage.

"God, I'm an ugly cuss, aren't I?"

"No," she said softly. They'd caught it. On film, they'd caught his blatant sexuality, his primal look. Then, the film footage switched to bikers, swinging chains, throwing bottles, fighting in the dust. There was even a quick shot of Ellen, as she stood holding her head.

"And this impromptu concert," the announcer continued, "caused fifteen injuries tonight."

"That's my last Red Rock concert," Derick added dryly, "I'll call the hospital tomorrow. I feel responsible for this. I'll pay everyone's bill, too. I feel terrible about it. Guess I misjudged the situation."

He paused, and took her hand. "Listen, I've got to get cleaned up, and so do you. How does the idea of a bath sound?"

Smiling weakly, she replied, "Wonderful."

"Okay, wait here. Don't go anywhere, now."

Ellen heard the sound of a bath running. In a few minutes, Derick came back out.

"I don't know if I have the energy," she said, trying to lift her head.

"It's all right," he said softly, "I'll help you."

He carried her into the guest bedroom, and laid her on the bed. Slowly, he inched up her crop top, exposing her breasts. As she reached her hands over her head, he gently pulled it off, easing it by the bandage on her head.

"You have a beautiful body," he whispered, as he gently kissed one of her breasts.

Ellen felt spreading warmth at his touch, felt as if she were in a dream, some wonderful dream. He eased off her shorts, then her panties, and stood looking down at her.

"You're perfect," he said softly, as he picked her up in his arms. His chest was sinewy, but his skin felt soft and smooth against hers. Warm, and wonderfully comforting.

He stood her up by the tub then helped her climb in. She relaxed in the hot water, and he sat on the edge, watching her. But she didn't mind his gaze. She felt comfortable with him, like they'd known each other for years.

Her arms felt heavy, and as she reached slowly for the soap, he said softly, "Allow me."

Sitting on the floor, he took the soap. Using his hands, he lathered her. Her shoulders, her arms, then her breasts, with slow strokes. He lingered on her breasts, his hands caressing the very tips of her nipples.

"This is a treat," she whispered, as she watched his intense face, "I've never had a man bathe me before, or touch me so gently."

Rinsing her with the washcloth, he replied, "Ellen, anytime you need assistance with your bath, just let me know, honey. I'd love to oblige. Anytime. Any place. Anywhere."

Smiling, she closed her eyes. She felt the wash cloth against her face, as he said, "Let me pour some water on your hair. Here, put your head back. I won't get the bandage wet."

As he supported her head, she felt water trickling through her hair, and Derick's hand smoothing it, helping it through. His fingers raked her hair once, twice, before he said, "There. That's better."

Now, leaning her head back, she heard him soap his hands again. Her eyes were still closed, and a languid sensation flooded over her, and an ache between her thighs, as he began soaping her legs, then her feet.

"I think I like this," he whispered, as his hands moved back up her legs to her inner thighs. Slowly, he touched her thatch of downy hair. As he smoothed his fingers into her, and down the petal-like folds, she gasped.

"Yes," he whispered, "I think I like this a lot." His fingers slid, soaped, rolled over her bud provocatively. Then his other hand sent a rush of water towards her ache.

Opening her eyes, as she felt his hands move away, she flushed deeply, as she realized he'd been watching her face the whole time.

A smile touched his lips, as he leaned on the side of the tub. "You ready?"

"For what?" she whispered, feeling aching desire for him between her legs, tingling in her breasts, and just about everywhere else he'd touched her. But she also felt limp, as if she couldn't move. It was frustrating.

"To get out. I'll put you to bed here, in this room. And I think I'll stay with you for tonight, in case you need anything."

"You can wait for the full-service, then?" she slurred.

He nodded, laughed, and helped her up. Wrapping a fluffy towel around her, he said, "My turn. Can you make it to the bed okay?"

"Yes." She looked up into his eyes. "Thanks, Derick."

He grinned, and held the top of her towel between both hands. "My pleasure. Yes indeed, my pleasure."

Weaving her way into the bedroom, she sat on the bed, in a daze.

Derick came out a few minutes later, and looked at her curiously. His hair was damp, and a towel was wrapped around his waist.

Strolling over to her, he lifted her chin with his hand. "You want to lie down?"

Looking at him, she nodded, but didn't move.

He pulled her up and threw back the covers. Easing her down, he sat beside her. "You ready for bed, honey?"

She nodded, but still didn't move. One of his hands came around her shoulders, while the other gently ran through her hair. His thumb made a path down her face, then came to rest on her lower lip.

"Soft," he breathed, "kissable."

Gently prodding her lips open, he whispered, "God, I need you, Ellen. I need you badly."

His clean scent came to her, as she closed her eyes. "Then let's——"

"No," he said, as he stood. "Not tonight. Not like this. You need to rest."

She sighed, as he gently pushed her back against the pillows. "You'll stay?" she said groggily, as she tried to keep her eyes open.

Grinning down at her, he replied, "I wouldn't miss it."
Chapter Nineteen

When Ellen woke the next morning, Derick was lying next to her, observing her with sleepy eyes. And she realized in spite of how he looked during the day, he was his sexiest in the morning. His hair was tousled, he was relaxed, and she was attracted to him more than she cared to admit. Maybe even more than last night.

A smile curled on his lips, as he said, "You're beautiful in the morning."

She blushed, as his hand came up and stroked her face. "You're not bad yourself, Derick."

"How's your head?" he asked, lightly touching her bandage.

"It hurts. Feels kind of tight. But at least I'm not a space-case, like I was last night." Then her flush grew deeper as she remembered the bath, the erotic, unusual bath.

"Yes, you had your moments," he teased softly, as he played with a strand of her hair.

The phone rang, and Ellen groaned, as she reached over to answer it. "Hello?"

"Ellen, its Chloe. Are you all right? I saw you get hit, but I couldn't get to you. You disappeared on me."

"I'm okay. I had a few stitches though."

"Listen, Nick's in jail. I spent all night over there trying to get him out. Can you help?"

Easing herself up against the pillows, Ellen replied, "Sure. I'll make some calls. Santa Barbara jail?"

"Yes. It's some kind of disorderly conduct charge. He was fighting again." She sighed. "They hauled some of the bikers in, with Nick included."

"He'll be out in an hour. Wait for him there." She hung up and turned to Derick. "Can you get my briefcase? It's in my closet. I'd get it myself, but I feel like I can't move. Remember, I'm a slug in the morning."

"Sure," he said, grinning. As he rose from the bed, she watched him walk out the door. He was nude, and his thighs and buttocks were temptingly tight and muscular.

"What's going on?" he said, as he returned with the briefcase.

Her eyes traversed the length of his body, then back up to his face. He stood very nonchalantly, apparently thinking nothing of his nudity. Ellen, on the other hand, felt a fierce desire to pull him down on top of her, which she promptly squelched. She had business to take care of.

Instead, she replied, as her lips twitched, "Nick's in jail, and I need to pull some strings." She paused. "You're very nicely put together, you know? I may have to buy some condoms today."

Grinning, he replied, "Too late. I already bought some. Full service, remember?"

After she found the number for her Santa Barbara contact, she dialed then watched Derick pull on his pants.

"Harrison, it's Ellen McGafferty. Yes, fine thanks. Listen, we have an operative in Santa Barbara jail. He's going under the name of Nick Duncan. We need to get him out pronto, with the charges dropped. Okay, call me with problems. Thanks, Harrison."

"My woman," Derick breathed, as he lounged on the bed beside her, observing her with warm eyes, "the D.E.A. honcho."

She laughed then grew serious. "Derick, does it matter to you? That I'm in the D.E.A. I mean."

"God, no. Why should it?"

"I don't know." She almost wanted it to make a difference. Any excuse to relieve her of this heavy responsibility, to relieve her of a relationship she wasn't sure she could handle.

In a light tone, as if sensing her anxiety, he asked, "Hey, how about some breakfast, honey?"

She eyed him suspiciously. "Are you cooking?"

Grinning, he replied, "Yeah. In more ways than one."

He'd already begun mixing pancakes when she joined him in the kitchen.

Flipping on the small television, she changed channels until she found a news broadcast. She watched Derick cooking for a few minutes, then she heard the announcer say, "And on the local front, a Red Rock concert led to the death of a woman last night."

Derick froze, and Ellen turned up the volume. Clutching at her robe, she took his hand and led him next to the television, where the same footage of Derick they'd seen the night before was rolling across the screen.

"God," he breathed, as he ran a hand through his hair, "I can't believe this."

The smell of burning pancakes came to her, but all that entered her mind at that moment was the picture of the woman on the screen.

"Why," she gasped, "that's...that's Max's wife!"

The announcer continued, "The woman, Tess Young, was shot once in the head, and died instantly. No suspects are in custody at this time, although a number of rioters were arrested. Police are investigating the shooting, although it appears to have been an accident."

She hugged Derick, and trembled.

He said morosely, "Why? Why did I play out there? I should have known. It was stupid. It was crazy to play there. It's my fault..." his voice broke, "my fault, Ellen."

"Chloe didn't say anything," she said, looking up at him. "She doesn't know, Derick, she doesn't know. And how can you say it's your fault? You didn't bring guns and drugs there. The bikers did."

His face was grim. "Yeah, but I feel responsible. I'll need to hold a press conference. Let me use your phone."

Chloe and Nick arrived home a few hours later, after they retrieved his bike from the impound yard.

Watching Nick nervously as they came in the door, Chloe said, "Are you okay?" He hadn't said a word to her on the way home.

"Yeah. I want to call Max, though. I haven't seen him or Tess since last night."

He dialed the number.

"Max, you made it home! That was a wild one, wasn't it?"

Chloe watched as Nick's face grew serious. Then his hand came up to his eyes, as he whispered, "No, oh, shit. Christ." He paused, then his hand came down, and his eyes met Chloe's momentarily. Then, he looked away. "Okay," he said softly, "I'll tell her."

He hung up the phone slowly, but kept his hand on the receiver.

"What is it?" she said, frowning.

"Tess died last night," he said softly, not looking up. "She was shot in the head with a thirty-eight."

Chloe gasped. "No...Nick. No!"

He nodded glumly.

Then a thought occurred to her. An ugly thought, but one she needed to consider. "How's Max taking it?" she asked.

Nick shrugged. "He sounds pretty broken up. Wants us to come up there."

"Okay," she said slowly, "I guess we should."

But when they arrived at Max's house, after fighting their way through reporters at the front gate, Chloe knew. Max opened the door, looked at her, and, she knew. Max had killed his own wife.

Nick grabbed his arm. "Max, I don't know what to say. I can't believe this happened."

"Come on in," he said quietly.

They sat at the kitchen table. And Chloe watched Max for signs of emotion. There was nothing...nothing showing on this man's face to indicate he'd just lost his wife.

Chloe thought he was a monster, and she tried to keep her face impassive, as they talked to him about the funeral arrangements. When this was all over, she vowed to herself that she'd see him hung out to dry for this. She'd get a match from the bullets in his gun. He had a thirty-eight special. And she'd make sure it was found.

Tessie's funeral was held the next day, with much press coverage. And Chloe thought Max should have taken an Oscar for his performance as the grieving husband. Hanging his head at appropriate moments, wiping his eyes, he looked the part. Outwardly, that is.

Chloe spotted Ellen and Derick after the service, and she walked quickly to Ellen's side.

Derick was dressed in black, wearing dark sunglasses, and Chloe had seen his emotional press conference the day before. He looked haggard, and his face was grim.

"Derick," Chloe began, as she looked up at him, "don't blame yourself, please. You didn't do anything. It wasn't your fault. Believe me."

He grimaced, but didn't answer, just stood looking off into the distance. Then he said, almost to himself, "I better go face them." He motioned towards the reporters, who stood a respectful distance from the throng of people at the funeral. "You wait here," he told Ellen, "I don't want you involved."

Ellen sighed, as she watched him walk slowly towards the news vans. "He's taking it hard, Chloe."

"Yeah, a lot harder than Max."

Ellen's face was curious, and somewhat shocked, as she looked back at Chloe. "What do you mean?"

Chloe's face grew hard. "He killed her, Ellen."

"What?"

"It's true. He did it. I can see it in his face."

With her voice almost a whisper, Ellen replied, "Can you prove it?"

"Not yet. But when I get my hands on that thirty—eight special of his, I will."

Ellen's breath escaped in a long sigh. "Jesus, add that to the list. These guys are bad. I can't believe he would. But why, Chloe? Why would he do it?"

"Who knows? The opportune time presented itself. My guess is, he was tired of her. I could see that in him too. And she told me he was furious that she was pregnant again. She said he never wanted any kids."

"Makes you feel sorry for their son," Ellen said dryly.

Sniffing, Chloe replied, "The baby's with her sister. Probably permanently."

They stood for a few minutes, watching Derick talk to the press.

"What about Mexico?" Ellen asked in a low voice.

"He still wants to go," Chloe said tightly, "Sooner the better, as far as I'm concerned. I want to whack these guys big time, and get the hell out. I'm sick of it, Ellen. It would be different if Nick...well, you know."

"Yeah, I know. Keep me posted, okay?"

Chloe nodded, and observed Max again. He stood solemnly while people milled around him. Then his gaze met hers. And a smirk appeared on his face. Then she realized she hated him. Hated him with a passion she didn't know she was capable of.

*****

When Ellen and Derick arrived back at her house, she made some coffee and they sat at the kitchen table.

"You," she began, "I know how badly you feel, Derick, but you need to put it behind you."

His lips curved into a half-smile, then it disappeared, as he stared out at the pool. "Makes me want to get out of the music business altogether."

"No!" she cried, "You can't stop playing, Derick." She wrapped her hand around his. "You're a wonderful performer. You told me it's your life. You can't stop. Please tell me you won't stop. Her death was an accident."

"But does my life have to lead to someone else's death? No, Ellen. I have to think about this." His brown eyes fixed on hers. "I have to leave. They're...the press is already asking about you. If they get wind of who you are, those bikers will kill you."

She nodded. The same thing had crossed her mind. The bikers knew her already. They'd seen her face. They knew her. And, Derick Sands brought publicity. She, and the whole operation, could be in danger if she was exposed. As usual, the D.E.A. took precedence over her personal life.

"I'll come back," he said, squeezing her hand. "After it dies down. And I'll call you every day. I have a tour coming up in Europe, which I'll complete. After that, I don't know what I'll do. But I'll be back in L.A. in a month, maybe for my last concert. Then you and I can finish what we started." He squeezed her hand again, as he gazed at her.

A lump grew in her throat. She'd miss him. Much as she hated to admit it, she'd miss him. "Maybe it wasn't meant to be, Derick," she said huskily, "between us, I mean. Things seemed to be conspiring against us. Maybe it's a sign."

"You don't really believe that, do you?" His eyes took on a new intensity, and she looked away, avoiding his penetrating gaze.

"I don't know," she said softly. "I don't know what to think. You're so...I feel like you want all of me. Like I'd be lost, and swallowed up by you. It scares the hell out of me, and I find myself pulling away."

"Well, take the month and think about it. Think about us. Whether you want a relationship. Because I want one with you, Ellen. Badly. But I won't force myself on you. Not ever. You need to come to me of your own accord. Not because I'm famous, but because you want the man underneath all this."

She was silent, and the lump in her throat grew worse. The man underneath...yes, she knew him. She knew the real Derick.

His voice was soft, as he continued, "Maybe a close relationship scares you. God knows, you were never very close with your husband. No one's ever touched you, Ellen, and I don't mean physically, but your soul, deep inside. The hidden, vulnerable spot. I think you need me. Probably more than you realize."

Then he rose, and pulled her up into his arms. "Think about it," he said softly, as he stroked her hair.

Her arms came around his waist, and she breathed deeply of him, thinking this could be the last time she'd be with him. The last time she'd smell his subtle aftershave, the last time she'd feel his hard body.

"I've called a taxi, and my jet is waiting for me at the airport," he said softly. "You'll think about it?"

She nodded, unable to speak.

"And I've packed everything but the condoms. I won't need them where I'm going, but I might when I return here. Yeah, maybe."

He sighed deeply. "And take care of Nicky. Get him out of that situation. He's a good man. I'm worried about him, Ellen. I just wish I could have done something. I feel like my visit here caused more harm than good."

Pulling back, she looked up at him. She opened her mouth to say something, then closed it again. She couldn't tell him. The words wouldn't come.

"I'll be back," he said softly. "Think about it, Ellen." And his lips brushed hers slightly and he was gone.

She looked around the house. It was silent now, too quiet without Derick. And Ellen felt empty, drained. Like she'd lost a significant part of herself somehow.

Strolling out to the pool, she realized that almost everywhere here, he'd left memories. Sizzling, hot memories that tore at her heart.
Chapter Twenty

On the plane to Mexico two days later, Chloe went over the plans in her mind. Without Tess there, it would be a lot easier to follow Max to the factory, if he refused to take her, that is. He had a three-wheeled recreational motorcycle at the house. She could have Nick show her how to ride it, just in case. She could do it. She was sure she could do just about anything now.

But, she was just as sure Max would take her. With just the three of them there, it would be easy to convince him. Then, when they got back, she'd call Ellen, and finally, the D.E.A. could move in. She was waiting anxiously for the moment when she'd leave all this behind.

As they deplaned, Mexico was as barren as she remembered, as barren as Chloe's feelings. She was hardening herself. She could feel her emotions changing. She was different now. This whole experience had changed her, and possibly not for the better, either.

Watching Nick as they walked along in the airport, doubts hit her. Did she still love him? There must be something of her old feelings left. Just like there was a part of him that was still the old Nick.

She sighed, and realized she wasn't sure anymore. Then, as if sensing her thoughts, he looked over at her. A slow, lazy grin started on his lips, and his hand came out and brushed along her hair.

"How's my baby?" he said softly.

With that simple touch and those words, she felt her emotions soar. He was beautiful, this man, with his shining black hair, blue-gray eyes and muscles bulging under his white t-shirt. But, more than that, she knew he really cared about her. Deep inside, he cared.

"I'm fine, Nick. Couldn't be better." And she realized if he came-to after the accident, and didn't even know her, he must have fallen in love with her all over again. Twice!

She grabbed his hand. "Remember the satin sheets, bandito?" she said with a smile.

Laughing softly, he said, "No, I don't. But I can't wait to try them out."

However, Max hurried them along, stepping back to grab Nick's arm. "Let's go, you two. We haven't got time for romantic bullshit."

But it was hot outside in Mexico, hotter than before. So hot, Chloe felt as if she couldn't breathe in the taxi to Mazatlan. Her stomach roiled, and sweat broke out on her face and neck as she slunk down in the seat.

"Baby, Chloe, are you all right?" Nick's face was worried, as he peered at her.

"Here," Max handed him a napkin from the front seat, "it's probably just the heat. Damn, it's scorching down here." He gave Chloe a long look, then turned back to watch the road again.

Nick wiped her face, dabbed away the perspiration, then stroked her hair. "You'll be okay once we get to the house," he told her, his voice tinged with concern.

But, she wasn't. It seemed even hotter at the sprawling house, in spite of its close proximity to the ocean.

Nick carried her in, and placed her on the sofa. Max threw open the doors to the balcony, but barely a breeze stirred.

The heat grabbed at Chloe, unmercifully, and as her stomach did flip—flops, she began to panic. This had happened to her before, in other places, this intense reaction to hot weather. Perhaps it would cool off in the evening. Just a breeze, that's all she needed to relieve this intense nausea.

Nick and Max stared down at her, after Nick brought her a cool cloth for her head.

"Listen, baby," Nick said, "while you're resting, we'll go make the pick-up at the factory. You can rest while we're gone."

No! They couldn't go without her! She had to think of some way to keep them here. "But Nick, I want to go with you." she searched her mind, "Please don't leave me alone. You know I hate being alone in strange places." She grabbed his hand. "Please, Nick!" And it was true. She didn't want to stay in this house, this horrible house, built on the misery of others.

He looked at Max and sighed. "Can you wait a few hours? Just until she's feeling better?"

Max shrugged and looked unconcerned. "Whatever."

Chloe breathed a sigh of relief, and tried to will her stomach to cooperate. But it was still heaving unmercifully. "Maybe if I sleep," she suggested weakly.

Kissing her lightly on the cheek, Nick said, "Okay, baby. I'll wake you up in a bit."

She dozed fitfully, sometimes hearing bursts of laughter from the kitchen, and a buzzing sound. About two hours later, she woke and stretched. Yes, she did feel better now. Her stomach was calm and, although it was still hot, she wasn't sweating like before. And a cool breeze flowed through the open patio door.

But, it was quiet in the kitchen, and she frowned. Had they decided to go without her? She didn't hear a sound.

Rising quickly, she checked the kitchen first. No one was there, but the blender had obviously been used, and it contained a familiar, lime-green, frothy mixture.

"Oh my God," she breathed, remembering her own reaction to the drugged brew. As she whirled around, her eyes searched the pool area. Max sat on a lounge chair, with a beer in his hand, looking moodily out over the ocean. But Nick. Where was Nick?

Silently, slowly, she backed out of the kitchen, then flew up the stairs two at a time, to the bedroom she and Nick shared before on the last trip.

Nick was lying on the bed. She ran to him, and shook his shoulder. He groaned, but, he didn't move.

Sitting on the bed, she felt his chest. Yes, at least he was still breathing. She peered under his eyelids, and saw dilated pupils. He'd been heavily drugged by Max.

Standing now, she looked down at Nick, and let her breath out in a long sigh. Then, fear hit her in a rush. She'd be alone with Max. Now, she was truly on her own. She pulled on every reserve she had, so she wouldn't panic. This was no time to panic. She had to think clearly.

"He's out," Max said from the doorway.

Her face hardened, and she didn't turn around. "What'd you use on him, Max?" she said stiffly.

"Aw," he said softly, as he moved into the room, "a little 'Crash' never hurts, Chloe. He'll sleep it off."

Not that! Chloe thought. He could die! "How much did you give him?" she asked, from between clenched teeth. Then she turned slowly and faced him. "And why, Max? Why?"

He shrugged, but continued moving towards her. "I didn't give him much. He loved it, you should have seen him, Chloe. He was flying high. I know the doses. It won't kill him. He'll sleep it off this time."

Her eyes narrowed. "I thought we were all going to the factory. What happened to that idea?"

Taking her shoulders in a firm grip, he smiled, and said, "We are. But not him. Just you and me, Chloe. Just you and me."

He paused, and his hands moved up and down her arms. The sensation made her skin crawl, but she tried to keep her face impassive.

Softly, he said, "You're the woman I want, Chloe. You can I can run the show, here and back in the States. You're smart, and I like that. Tess was stupid."

"Is that why you shot her?" Chloe's eyes were hard, as she stared at him. She knew she shouldn't have said that, but she had to know, from his own lips.

His face changed, momentarily, then his mouth quirked into a smile. "See what I mean?" he said softly, "You catch on quick. Sure, I did her. She was a bitch."

Chloe's eyes narrowed again. "So, if I'm a bitch, you'll shoot me too?"

He grinned. "Not likely. You're worth ten of Tess if you'll join with me." His grip tightened now on her shoulders.

"And if I don't?"

"You will, Chloe," he said, with undue confidence, "you will."

Her mind clicked furiously, as she tried to think of ways she could dissuade the man. Finally, she realized she'd have to play along. There was no other way. "I'll have to think about it," she said finally. "But I want to see the whole operation first. From start to finish. If it's rinky-dink, I don't want anything to do with it or you."

Dropping his hands, he looked at her with new respect, his gaze appearing much like the one he'd given Derick Sands. Then, he grinned. "That's my girl. Let's go."

Turning back, she bent over the bed, and checked Nick. He was sleeping peacefully, so she was satisfied. They wouldn't be gone that long, and she'd check on him when they returned to the house. She had to leave him now. But she never would again, not for any reason. They'd go back, and she'd get him some help for his amnesia. And they'd be together at last.

Chloe memorized the landscape on the way to the lab, while Max explained the operation, as they rode along in the jeep.

"We have a contact named Miguel Ortiz," he said. "He's an ambassador at the United Nations. He carries the stuff back for us in his diplomatic pouch. They never hassle him. You'll meet him later tonight."

"You pay him?" she asked.

"Yeah, in drugs and some cash, too. I think he's addicted to 'Crash.' The guy can't seem to get enough of the stuff." He snickered.

She tried to keep her face from showing her disgust, as she looked over at Max. Now was the time she could ask questions without raising suspicions. "What exactly is 'Crash' made of?"

"You got me. You're talking to the wrong person there. I don't know that much about the ingredients. The chemist at the lab stumbled onto it, when he tried to make Quaaludes. It's a variation of that, he keeps the formula somewhere around. However..." he paused, obviously wondering if he should tell her any more.

"Yes?" she prodded.

He smiled. "I may as well tell you. I'm sure, after you hear everything, you'll join me anyway. You won't be able to resist this, Chloe."

"Tell me. Then I'll decide," she said dryly, wondering what could be worse than selling a deadly street drug.

He laughed. "Well, there's a by-product from this stuff. A gas. It's already killed one worker." He glanced over at her quickly, then back to the road again.

"Yeah?" What the hell was he getting at? There were quite often by-products from the manufacture of drugs. Deadly by—products like cyanide.

"You bet. My chemist came up with a formula where the gas is released by a pellet. You throw the pellet, and this gas is released into the air. Fills the room. He showed me one time. At any rate, I'm in the process of negotiating with some guys from Tehran. They want to start buying the pellets in large quantities."

Chapter Twenty-One

Chloe sat, momentarily stunned, as the jeep rumbled down the dirt road. Max played a more deadly game than she'd ever realized. And this whole thing went a lot deeper than just selling drugs, as she'd suspected in the beginning.

Slowly, she said, "Sounds interesting. How did you ever run into these guys?" As Ellen would say, add this to the list. Yes, she was sure Ellen would be more than happy to add this to her list of crimes.

"Who? The Mideast guys?"

"Yes." She had to know his connections. They were all going down. Every last one of them.

"Ortiz. You wouldn't believe this guy, Chloe." He talked excitedly now, "He knows them somehow. I told him about the byproduct, and he turned me onto these guys. They're paying big money, too. Wait 'til you meet them. You think the guys from the club are crazy." Then he laughed.

Yeah, she thought, as she watched him out of the corner of her eye, they're crazy...crazy enough to use this stuff in the United States, you stupid maniac! But, you don't think that far ahead, do you? Stupid man, Chloe thought, too stupid for words. But at least he'd retained the formula. If he ever let loose of that, no telling what would happen.

They arrived at the factory, which was a plain looking, wide, low beige building, standing by itself on the outskirts of a small settlement of tin shacks. From the outside, it had the appearance of a business of some sort, with a sign in front that said, 'Mangem Corporation.'

"Nice name," Chloe said, as they walked towards the front, glass doors.

"Yeah. Manuel's Gem of an idea!" Max laughed. He seemed in good spirits, as they entered, and she almost pitied him then. Almost. He was so blissfully unaware of what would happen later on. And so terribly stupid.

There was even a receptionist, completing the phony picture, a young, pretty Mexican woman with long, dark hair and a nice smile. "Buenos dios, Senior Harrigan."

He waved to her, as they pushed through a set of double doors and walked down a long, deserted hallway.

"Does she know anything?" Chloe asked.

"Nah, everyone around here thinks we're a pharmaceutical company. You can pose as anything down here, if you pay off the right people. Hell, for fifty bucks, you can have someone bumped off!"

Chloe had no love for Mexico to begin with. That statement made it even worse. She thought she'd never want to even visit the place again, when the job was over.

Through a glass enclosure, they watched the chemist at work, as he stood surrounded by beakers and lab instruments. Totally immersed in his work, he didn't even look up once. He was older, stooped, with grey hair and a slovenly appearance. And he wore only safety glasses.

"Doesn't he wear a gas mask or something?" Chloe asked curiously, as she heard a loud blower click on in the lab.

"Sometimes, it depends what phase of the operation he's in. Yeah, he's quite a brain."

Not too bright, Chloe thought, or he wouldn't be doing this in the first place.

"See those canisters back there?" He pointed to some small, drum-like tins in the very back of the lab. They almost appeared to be cookie canisters. She counted six. "Those are for our first shipment to Tehran. The guys are picking them up tomorrow at noon." He leaned against the glass, and observed her. "You'll meet them. We'll have them to the house afterwards. They'll love you, Chloe. Well, quite an occasion, wouldn't you say?"

She nodded. Yes, quite the occasion. Trying to keep her voice neutral, and forget her dislike of the man and his grizzly trade, she said, "I'm impressed, Max. You have quite an operation here, quite an operation."

But at the house, Nick's head was pounding, as he slowly came to. Where was he? Slowly opening his eyes, he looked around, and his hand slid along the sheets. Mexico. And the cotton taste in his mouth told him he'd been drugged. But why? And where was Chloe? Slowly rising, he sat on the bed, heard the thundering ocean below, and realized it was almost dark outside.

He took a deep breath. How long had they been in Mexico? And had they seen the drug plant yet? His memories were hazy, and he shook his head, trying to clear it. Where were they in the investigation? And why was he here, and not with Chloe, Max and Tessie?

He sat for a few minutes, as darkness fell, then he heard voices below. Weaving slightly, he went down the hallway, started down the stairs, then stopped as he heard Chloe's voice.

"He's still sleeping, Max. You shouldn't have drugged him. I don't like that."

Max laughed. "You know we'll have to get rid of him. He'll never give you up. He's too jealous."

"No," she said firmly, "if any harm comes to Nick, I won't do this, Max. I'll talk to him. He'll come around."

Max snorted. "Don't count on it, but we can talk about that later. Come and sit next to me."

But then the man cursed, as a knock sounded on the door.

What was going on? Nick wondered. What was between Chloe and Max? Then a terrible realization came to Nick. Chloe had crossed over. It happened once in a while, even to the best D.E.A. agents. The lure of money, big money, was too much, and they crossed over to the other side.

And, he thought, perhaps that's why they drugged him. He looked at the date on his watch, and his eyes flew open. It couldn't be...they must have drugged him all along, so he'd have no conception of time.

A deep voice with an accent came from below. "Well, well, where did you get this lovely senorita?"

Chloe's cool, calm voice answered, "How do you do, Mr. Ortiz?"

"And, where is your wife, Max?"

Max replied, "Her head ran into one of my bullets, Ortiz. She's six feet under, where she belongs."

Nick held his head. They'd killed Tess? When? It was worse than he thought. Chloe not only defected, she may have been an accomplice to murder. What else?

Her voice again. "I saw the factory today, Mr. Ortiz, a very good operation. Clean. I especially like the gas pellets. That will bring some big money."

Nick frowned. Gas pellets? What were they talking about?

"Ah, yes," the man replied, "it is good, isn't it? You are to join us, then? What a pleasant thought."

She laughed. "I may. Max and I haven't talked about my cut yet, though. It depends."

"She'll join us," Max said, with confidence, "I'll make it worth her while."

Chloe laughed again.

Nick's face grew hard. So, that's how it was. He slowly retreated to the hallway, and stood, shaking and trying to control his anger. How could she? He'd never seen it in her. Disappointment hit him, then fear. What were they planning for him? He'd have to stop them now, while he still could.

He crept down the hallway, to Max's room. Rummaging through drawers, he finally found a gun. It was only a twenty-two, but anything would do at this point. He checked, saw it was loaded, and realized he was prepared to use it. Even on Chloe, if necessary.

Hearing the front door slam, he slowly, carefully made his way back to the hallway, and then to the bottom of the stairwell.

Chloe's voice. "So, what is my cut, Max? Make it worth my while, or I'll stay with Nick."

Max's voice, husky with emotion, replied, "I'll give you anything, Chloe, anything."

"Let's stick to basics, Max, and leave the romance for later. I want numbers. Let's go over your books."

Nick stepped out of the shadows, with his gun trained on both Chloe and Max. "Yeah," he said loudly, "let's hear the numbers, Max."

The two of them were standing in the center of the room, and Max had his arms around Chloe's waist. She pulled from him, looked startled, then cried, "Nick!"

"Hey," Max said, as his hands came up in front of him, "take it easy, Nick, we'll cut you in, man. Don't worry."

"Sit down," Nick said in a low voice. And as Chloe moved towards him, he gestured with the gun, and said, "Both of you."

"But, Nick--" she cried.

"Sit down!" he said harshly, "I don't want to shoot you, Chloe, but I will if I have to."

He could see the hurt in her eyes, but it didn't faze him. She was a traitor, and now, she was his prisoner. She sat, with her hands folded in her lap, while her eyes darted to Nick, then back to Max.

"You're under arrest, Max, for drug trafficking, smuggling and murder. You're under arrest, Chloe, for aiding and abetting. You have the right to remain silent..."

He went on reading them both their Miranda rights, as Chloe's face registered shock.

"What are you doing, Nick?" she cried, "You can't arrest me! What the hell is wrong with you?"

"Shut up!"

Max snorted. "F.B.I.?"

"No," Nick sneered, "D.E.A., asshole."

Max looked at Chloe with disgust. "And you?"

"She's the bad seed," Nick breathed.

Chloe's eyes grew wide. "What are you talking about?"

He smiled slightly. "Too much for you, 'eh Chloe? The money, the big houses? Too much of a temptation?"

Her eyes grew wide, then she clenched her hands into tight fists. "Fuck you!" she yelled, "You think...oh, Jesus Christ, Nick! Think whatever you want! Just call Ellen now. We have to set this thing up for tomorrow, so we can net everyone. We can get Ortiz, and the chemist, and the Mid-East guys all at once. I've seen the lab. I know where it is, Nick. And there's more going on there than you think."

He observed her coldly. "Coming back over to our side now, are you?"

"I never left it, you asshole! Call Ellen. Now!"
Chapter Twenty-Two

At noon the next day, in conjunction with the Mexican authorities and the F.B.I., Drug Enforcement agents stormed the lab, closed it down, and arrested the chemist, as well as Manuel Ortiz, and four Mid-East terrorists.

Simultaneously, in the United States, twenty bikers were arrested, their drugs and property confiscated, and their clubhouse shut down permanently.

'Limpy' Simms was arrested for drug possession, drug trafficking, and prostitution, along with his girlfriend Sandy. 'Ace' Harding was arrested for possession of a stolen weapon, gun-running, and drug possession. 'Big Bob' Thompson was arrested for drug possession, drug trafficking, and possession of stolen merchandise. 'Tiny' McAllister was killed in a shootout with F.B.I. agents at his home.

Later that afternoon, Nick sat on the plane, next to Chloe, while Max sat the next row over, handcuffed to the seat.

"Still mad at me?" Nick asked softly, as he grabbed Chloe's hand.

Jerking away from his grasp, she spat, "You, how dare you think I'd crossed over! After all I put up with. You and your damn memory lapses, and your jealousy, and, oh, never mind! I hope I never see you again in my life!"

He chuckled, but then looked concerned, as he noticed she was sweating, and clutching at her stomach. "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine!" she snapped, "Just leave me alone." But she wasn't fine. She stood up suddenly, edged past him, and ran down the aisle to the restroom.

Sighing, Nick looked over at Max. "Women." He stretched, "Well, fella, guess you won't be having any women for a while, will you? As a matter of fact, you might even be one in prison, how's that grab you?" Nick laughed softly, as Max glared at him.

Ellen met Chloe as she got off the plane in Los Angeles. Hugging her friend excitedly, she said, "You two are the talk of Washington, not to mention the D.E.A. Look!" She held up a newspaper. A front-page article announced the seizure of the 'Crash' factory, and the ensuing arrests.

Chloe smiled wryly. She didn't care about the newspaper article, or any kudos they might receive from anyone. She was bone tired, as well as furious at Nick. How could he have done that? Thought she'd crossed over! What an insult. He'd hurt her deeply. "I just want to go home, Ellen. I'll rent a car, so you can take Nick and Max downtown."

Peering at her, Ellen said, "You all right?"

Then, Chloe started laughing, and she couldn't stop. Finally, almost hysterical, clutching Ellen's arm, she gasped, "All right? Yeah...yeah, I'm okay. See you later, Ellen." Picking up her flight bag, wiping the tears of mirth from her eyes, she added, "I assume I can take a couple weeks off?"

"Sure," Ellen replied, watching her curiously, "let me know when you're really okay again."

She watched Chloe walk down the hallway until her friend was out of sight. But Ellen knew she'd be all right. It might take a little time, but Chloe would get over this whole thing. And she'd really cheer up, after Ellen told her the other news. The D.E.A. wanted Chloe to take Ellen's job, after her promotion papers went through. They'd both been promoted.

Nick walked up, with two other D.E.A. agents, and a handcuffed Max in tow. "Where's Chloe?" he asked. His gaze was anxious, as he searched the aisles and corridors of the airport.

"She went home," Ellen replied.

As another D.E.A. agent held Max, Nick pulled Ellen to one side. "Think she'll ever forgive me?"

Ellen smiled knowingly. "I imagine so. Give her a few days. She's been through a lot, and she's exhausted. You look tired, too. Can you make it home okay after we take Max in?"

Nick's eyes were bleary, and his face sported a stubble. "Where do I live again?" Then he grinned, as Ellen's expression grew serious. "Just kidding."

"Get out of here, Nick. Read the paper, too." She thrust the newspaper into his hand, and laughed.

*****

Two days later, Chloe sat on the sofa, watching dusk approach as shadows crept across her living room.

Events of the past weeks were replaying over and over again in her mind. Meeting Nick, living with him, loving him, catering to him.

And Tess. Poor Tess, she was the innocent victim in all this. But then, Chloe felt like a victim too. Nick's little toy.

She shifted in her seat slightly, as thoughts of Nick ran through her mind. The beach, the Jacuzzi, their tiny bedroom, where they'd shared so much passion for such a brief time.

But then she remembered the other Nick, the one she'd been forced to deal with, carefully, cautiously, fearfully. And then, to have him turn on her in the end! To think so badly of her, and mistrust her so much, he'd actually arrested her. After all she'd been through!

However, after a few minutes, she found herself wondering what else could he think? After waking up like he did then hearing her conversation with Max.

She tried to put herself in his place. Would she have arrested him? Mistrusted him?

Sniffing, wiping her eyes, which had suddenly filled with tears, she realized she'd never know.

And as darkness finally descended, she barely heard the light tapping on the front door.

As the sound finally entered her racing brain, she was tempted to ignore it. But then, she cursed as it repeated.

Drawing her dressing gown tightly around her waist, she answered the door, after flipping on the porch light.

But her mouth fell open when she saw Nick standing there, while her disbelieving eyes took in his appearance.

He'd cut his hair. It was still on the long side, but styled now, and brushed back from his face. Clean-shaven, he stood in a spotless, white, silk shirt, open at the collar. He held a gray Armani suit jacket slung casually over one shoulder, and gray loafers showed under his tightly creased matching pants. And as he gazed at Chloe heatedly, silently, the heady scent of his aftershave came to her.

"What do you want?" she said warily, her eyes still roving over him.

His lips twitched. "What do you think?"

She moved to close the door, but his hand shot out and held it. "No, Chloe. Don't. We have things to discuss, you and I."

"I have nothing to say to you," she said in a low tone, as she looked away.

Laughing softly, he pushed his way in the door. "That's too bad. Because I have a few things to say to you." Flipping on the kitchen light, he turned and observed her closely. "You look terrible. Have you been sleeping?"

"Gee, thanks. Now that's what a woman wants to hear. Yes, I have been sleeping," she lied, "and what's more, I've been sleeping alone. It's been heavenly."

One of his eyebrows quirked up, and she could tell he was holding back a smile. "Really? Good. Because we're going to dinner. Go get ready, woman."

Her mouth hardened at his tone. "You can't tell me what to do anymore, Nick. And I don't want to go anywhere with you."

But he continued staring at her silently, his gray-blue eyes intense, until she finally relented. After all, she thought, dinner wouldn't hurt. She hadn't left the house in two days. Maybe afterwards, she'd tell him what she really thought of him.

She said slowly, "Well, all right. But just for old times sake. And I want to get home early."

He nodded.

"Where are we going?" she said with a sigh.

"You'll find out when we get there."

"Well, what should I wear?"

He grinned. "How about that red number I saw you in when we first met?"

Smirking, she replied, "I was supposed to laugh at that dress, remember? When we got back from downtown. Way downtown, wasn't it?"

He said nothing, but his eyes held a hint of humor, as he replied, "You look sexy in that thing. Wear it for old times sake, Chloe."

She sniffed. "I might. Give me a few minutes."

Chloe came out fifteen minutes later, with her hair down, wearing the red dress, and a pair of red heels.

"You're beautiful," he said softly.

"Right...let's go, Nick."

After following her out, he led her to a black Lexus.

"This yours?" she asked, as he opened the door for her.

"Drug dealers aren't the only guys with a Lexus, you know."

She looked over at him, as he drove. "Where are you taking me?"

Grinning, he replied, "I'm fixing you dinner."

"Oh, great! What are we having, macaroni and cheese?"

He laughed. "No. Actually, I'm fixing chicken Picatta, with a Caesar salad, and noodles Florentine."

"Right. Tell me another one, Nick. Where do you live? A hovel again? I can't wait to see it. Really I can't."

"See that house up there?" He pointed to a large, sprawling, Spanish-style house on the hillside, lit with dramatic, bright lights.

She shook her head. "I think your amnesia is back."

But he exited the freeway, and headed up the hill towards the huge house.

As she walked in the front door, she looked around in disbelief. "This place is a palace, Nick." She eyed him suspiciously, as he threw his suit jacket on a chair she was sure must have been purchased at Ethan Allen. "You're house-sitting, right?" she added, as she studied the chair seriously.

He sighed. "Why is it so hard for you to believe I live here, Chloe?"

Her eyes wandered over the length of the large living room. Beige, designer furniture, a massive stone fireplace, a large painting in bold colors hanging over the sofa. They all struck a chord in her. He did live here. This place was definitely Nick.

Hesitating, glancing over at him, she said slowly, "It just seems odd, that's all."

Curious now, she strolled into the kitchen, and opened the refrigerator. The picatta was ready to cook, and the salads already prepared. Then she gazed at the counter, and spotted a bag of noodles.

Slowly, she turned, and looked at him. "Who are you, Nick? I don't even know you, do I?"

He shook his head. "Not the real me. But you basically know me. In a raw sense."

She narrowed her eyes. "You have so many personalities, I can't keep up."

He grinned.

"Let's talk," she said slowly.

"Let's not," he replied, still grinning as he moved towards her.

Two hours later, the chicken and salads still lay in the refrigerator, untouched. The noodles sat on the counter, still in the bag. And, a trail of hastily discarded clothes led to the master bedroom.

Chloe's eyes were languid, sensual, as she lay wrapped in Nick's arms.

Running a hand over his chest, she began, "Nick..." then she hesitated, "there's something we need to talk about."

"About how brave you were? Shutting down this operation almost single-handedly? At great personal risk? About how you took more crap from me than any woman has a right to take?"

But she was silent, and he drew her closer. "What, baby? What is it? Tell Nicky."

"Well, Ellen got promoted, and she wants me to take her job."

"You'd be good at it. Do you want it?"

"Well, yes, but I won't be able to take it for...well, do you remember the first trip to Mexico? You see, I knew I was forgetting something, even when we got home, and then the accident happened, and I got caught up in that, and..."

He felt her shaking. "What is it baby?"

Her voice was barely a whisper, as she said, "My birth control pills. I was so concerned about other things, I forgot. Could be my diaphragm slipped in Mexico, I don't know." She took a deep breath, "I'm knocked up, Nick."

She felt him tense, then he started laughing softly, and she pulled away.

Angrily, she said, "What's so funny?" Then, in a shaky voice, she said, "If you don't want it..."

Still chuckling, he rose and strolled to the dresser. "No, that's not it. I've been suspicious about that for a while anyway, the way you've been feeling." He pulled something out of a drawer, and tossed it to her, before he rolled in bed beside her again.

Opening the small box, she gasped. "Nick! It's beautiful!" A glittering, multi-carat engagement ring twinkled at her. The marquis diamond was surrounded by many small facets in a raised setting.

"Well?" he said, expectantly.

"Well, what?"

"Will you marry me? Yes or no, Chloe?" then he lay back with his hands behind his head, and drawled, "And hurry up with your answer, woman. I've got things to do."

Flipping the box closed, she replied, "Why you arrogant—"

Pulling her on top of him, he whispered, "But I do have all night."
EPILOGUE

About a Month Later

Ellen looked expectantly towards the stage, and thought for the third time that night, she shouldn't be here. But when her secretary had mentioned going to Derick's concert, she'd finally relented.

For two weeks after he left, he'd sent her flowers almost on a daily basis. He'd called her from Paris, Hong Kong, Thailand and Germany.

And she'd let her machine pick up the calls. She just knew it wasn't going to work between the two of them. She didn't have time anymore for a relationship. With the promotion, and trying to wrap up her own items so Chloe could take over for her, after she and Nick got back from their honeymoon, she knew, in the midst of it all, she knew. A relationship would have to wait at least another two years.

She felt like she had control of her life now. Yes, everything was in order. And she was moving in the direction she'd planned. She had goals...dreams...aspirations. And no rock-star would come between Ellen and the life she'd planned for herself. She'd made the decision. And besides, it wouldn't be fair to Derick. She'd never be home, then he'd be gone too. It would end up like her marriage.

But, something inside her longed to see him, just one last time. He'd stopped calling a week ago. But she just had to see him, and venture into his world just once more.

Universal Amphitheater was packed this night, and the large crowd was chattering noisily before the lights dimmed and a loud cheer erupted.

Ellen and her young secretary sat in the middle, a few rows from the very front.

"These are great seats," Ellen told her.

Lisa laughed. "Yeah, I got lucky. Hey, here they come!"

The crowd roared as the four musicians strolled casually on stage. But Ellen only had eyes for Derick.

His long, brown hair gleamed in the bright lights of the auditorium. Black leather pants hugged his sleek, muscular legs and, as she gazed at him, she realized he wore the same shirt he'd worn when she first met him, except now it was unbuttoned to the waist.

And energy flowed from him, as he looked out over the crowd. "Hello, L.A.!" he said into the microphone. Another cheer erupted from the crowd, and whistles sounded.

As the band started the first song, people stood up. And Ellen was annoyed when the couple in front of her got to their feet also.

"Damn!" Ellen muttered, as she stood, cursing her small height. She was finally able to peer through and watch Derick's fingers move on the guitar. He was good, very good. His hand moved like lightening, as he stroked and cajoled his guitar. He almost made love to the thing. It was a long rock song, and when it ended, she could see a sheen of sweat already on his face and chest.

But the song ended abruptly, and just as abruptly, the couple in front of Ellen sat down. And Derick spotted Ellen instantly, as he looked out over the crowd. His eyes fixed on her, and she stood, mesmerized. She felt as if she couldn't move, as his stare continued.

He plunked on his guitar, and said into the microphone, "Well, look who's here." A seductive smile crept onto his lips, and people turned to look at Ellen. A woman screamed in the audience then someone shouted.

Ellen sat down quickly, as a flush moved up her face.

Derick laughed softly into the microphone, and another woman screamed. "I have someone I want you all to meet," he said with a lazy grin. "Come up here, Ellen."

Now people were really curious, and craned their necks to get a better look at her. And she heard Lisa snickering.

Ellen shook her head violently, then glared at her smirking secretary, as she finally realized she'd been set up.

"Ellen..." he crooned, "come on, honey. Right up here." Another woman screamed, and a chant started in the crowd.

"Go! Go! Go!" the audience cried, in unison, as they stomped their feet.

Sighing, Ellen realized she had no choice. Brushing by her secretary angrily, she made her way out of the row.

But she hesitated, as she reached the stairs to the stage. She couldn't do this! There were H.B.O. film crews here!

Derick saw her hesitating, and handed his guitar to a grinning group member. Raising his hands up, in a gesture of exasperation, he strolled quickly across the stage, down the stairs, and hoisted Ellen up over his shoulder.

The crowd cheered loudly, and women screamed.

As he deposited Ellen next to the microphone, he laughed at her red, flushed face and angry expression.

"Now I've done it," he said to the crowd, "she'll never speak to me again." He paused, as the audience laughed.

And as he waited for the ensuing quiet, he studied her curiously. "Was it something I said?" he said into the microphone.

Ellen shook her head.

"Was it something..." he paused again, and looked out over the audience, "something I did?"

Someone hooted, a woman shrieked then everyone laughed.

Ellen shook her head again, scarlet with embarrassment, wishing she was anywhere but here.

"Then why won't you see me?" he said loudly, as he grinned.

A woman in the audience cried, "Take me, Derick!"

But his grin faded, and now his eyes were trained on Ellen with a look so intense, she felt hypnotized. She didn't hear the audience. She didn't even notice the glaring, bright lights on stage. She just saw Derick.

"I'm sorry," she said softly.

Quickly, he lifted her into his arms. "You gotta say it into the microphone, honey," he said loudly. The audience cheered. "Now, what was that again?"

His hand came down on her buttocks, as he shifted her against himself, and another woman in the audience screamed.

"I'll see you..." Ellen said softly, as she heard her words echo across the auditorium.

The audience cheered again, and stomped their feet.

Then, Derick kissed her, and the place went wild. People stood, clapping and yelling.

Pulling his lips from her slightly, Derick said, "You're going with me on a vacation."

"I can't," she protested weakly.

Laughing softly, he said, "I already cleared it with your boss, and he seemed relieved. He said you haven't taken a vacation in two years. Kind of a nice guy, your boss. See, you aren't the only one with connections, honey."

And, as they kissed again, passionately, and while women screamed and men cheered, a lone band member began plunking notes from the bridal march.

THE END

Other books by Nancy Fornataro:

Romance in Hollywood - The Director:

Ever wonder what goes on behind the scenes in a movie? You're about to find out. From stinky leading men, to sex starved extras, exposes, humor on set, and the forever striving towards awards, this is it. Janis 'Baby' Storm, trying to make a comeback, wonders if it's even possible, as she turns to director Holt for guidance.

Romance in Dallas - Tycoon!

Ramsey Knowles amassed great fortune and fame, but at what price? Rich, powerful, successful, he craves the one thing he can't have.

His physical condition creates a need within him to be whole again. But would Jace, a professional in her own right, be the one to fulfill it?

Jacine seeks to help him forget his past, and in the process, realizes her own weakness. How could she help him when she couldn't even help herself?

Also:

Romance for Luke

Romance for Kinkade

Romance for Matthew

Romance for Lee - A Christmas Story

Romance for Angel - The Biker

Whirlwind Passing - Death Kiss

Whirlwind Passing - Pyro!

From Above - Sunset of the World

Lacene Lords

The Dream Club #1 - Corpse

The Dream Club #2 - Hunted

The Dream Club #3 - Camp Roughneck

The Dream Club #4 - In Between Ghost
