Make You Burn
The Deacons of Bourbon Street # 1
By: Megan Crane
Releasing August 4, 2015
Loveswept
Make You Burn
Make You Burn
The Deacons of Bourbon Street
Meet the Deacons of Bourbon Street, bad boy bikers who are hell on wheels—and heaven between the sheets. Megan Crane revs up an irresistible new series co-written with Rachael Johns, Jackie Ashenden, and Maisey Yates.
Sean “Ajax” Harding’s oaths are inked into his skin. Once second-in-command of the Deacons of Bourbon Street motorcycle club, he left New Orleans to protect the brotherhood, and only the death of his beloved mentor, Priest Lombard, could lure him back. Walking into the old hangout gives him a familiar thrill—especially when he gets an eyeful of the bar’s delectable new owner. A wild ride with her is just the welcome Ajax needs. Then he realizes that she’s Priest’s daughter, all grown up and totally off limits.
Sophie Lombard loved her father, not his lifestyle. She’s done with bikers . . . until Ajax roars into town—arrogant, tough, and sexy as ever. And although he treats her like the Catholic schoolgirl he once knew, Sophie’s daydreams tend to revolve around sin. With the very real possibility of heartbreak looming, Sophie knows better than to get too close to an outlaw. But every touch from Ajax is steamier than the Louisiana bayou—and heat like this may just be worth getting burned.
“My daddy told me I could dress up
like a drag queen and wander the streets of the French Quarter over
his dead body,” Sophie Lombard said as she tugged off the glittery
mask— and there was no doubt about it, goddamn it, it was her. “So
it was now or never, really.”
Ajax knew that face, though he took
the stripper cosmetics and the hooker lashes as another insult, when
the face he remembered had been scrubbed clean and sweet and pure.
And when she peeled the acrobatic headdress from her head and sent it
skidding a few feet down the dull sheen of the bar, her long, dark,
wavy hair tumbled down past her shoulders, a thick and shining rope
of it he wanted to wrap around his hands while he took her—
Jesus Christ.
He stared at her, willing this to be
some kind of homecoming-inspired hallucination, but no. He was sober
at the moment, he hadn’t touched the funky stuff in years, and this
was Sophie Lombard all grown up. She was a lush little package, all
taut curves and a belly ring, just like a couple of his preferred wet
dreams. She had the most perfect set of plump, round tits he’d ever
seen, even with the stupid tassels jutting from them, and they
definitely should not have been on display for the entire fucking
city like that. Or ever. What the hell was the matter with her? More
to the point, he absolutely could not fuck her in the Priory toilets,
no matter what bad decisions his cock was agitating for even now.
A man did not fuck the daughter of
his beloved father figure when said father figure’s body was barely
cold. Even if the daughter in question was dressed for a long night
on the pole and had basically just advertised that she was for sale
to the better part of New Orleans.
Not in the toilets, anyway.
When she only slipped onto a bar
stool, making no attempt to cover herself or change what passed for
her clothes, Ajax decided he’d had enough. It was high time he took
control of this shit.
Before he lost what was left of his.
“Hey, Sophie,” he said. He
didn’t have to raise his voice to command the attention of the
entire bar. He saw her stiffen like she recognized his voice and he
couldn’t deny that he liked that. He was never meant to go
unnoticed, not here. Not in the only place he’d ever belonged. “Is
that what you’re wearing to the funeral?”
She turned toward him slowly. So
slowly he had a lifetime or two to remember her as a little girl.
Sophie of the big, wide eyes and sparkly little laugh. Sophie in
thick dark braids and skinned knees. Sophie, who Priest would have
died to protect, which meant any of the brothers would have done the
same. Sophie, who had never been meant for a sticky dive bar and a
pair of pasties, no matter how hot she looked in both.
Sophie, who glared at him down the
length of the bar with a notable lack of the respect Ajax was used to
receiving, especially from soft, breakable females who usually purred
and got silly when they took a good look at him.
“Oh, hey there, Sean,”
she replied after a long moment, her green eyes cool and haughty,
like she was a goddamned queen instead of a half naked girl with a
death wish, throwing around
names she knew better than to
use. “Long time no see.”
“Call me that again,” he
suggested, in what he considered a friendly manner given the
insult she’d just thrown at
him, though he wasn’t entirely surprised when Tulane backed away
from him in a wide-eyed rush, “and I might be the last thing you
ever see.”
“Let me guess,” she replied,
“you spent all this time in charm school?” Was it his imagination
that she sat taller on her stool, then arched her back just enough to
make those tits stick out a little further? Like she was trying
to fuck with him?
“Between you and me, you might think about asking for your money
back. I don’t think it took.”
He forgot who she was for a moment,
forgot the respect she was owed because of her father. He grinned at
her instead, the way he would any other bitch who got in his face
like that, flinging down challenges from across a public bar like he
was some dickless frat boy. Ajax had always had a pretty face. No one
tended to notice it much after the first time he grinned at them like
that, though.
“No need to resort to all this
flirting, baby,” he told her softly. “If you want to hop on and
ride my dick, just ask.”
Sophie smiled at him, and it was not
a nice smile. It was all the proof he needed that she wasn’t that
sweet little girl he remembered, and he was a sick fuck, because it
fascinated him to see she had her father’s fangs when she felt like
showing them. He wanted them sunk in his neck. He wanted her to draw
blood.
He wanted her, bad.
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