Page 3 of Bedding the Biker Next Door

And his only family was dead.

Unwillingly, the memory of the torn letter in his kitchen flickered through his mind and—

“Damn it!”

Leaving the bedroom, he grabbed his helmet and the keys to his Harley Sportster 883, parked inside his apartment complex garage. He’d take a drive to clear his head.

Five minutes later, he was speeding down the highway, his bike rumbling beneath him in a way that never failed to make him feel at ease. The air felt cool and refreshing, even more so the closer he got to the beach. About an hour later, he recognized the turnoff to his mother’s house and veered left. In minutes, he was parked out front but didn’t get off his bike.

The house was a three-bedroom ranch-style home accented by a small oak tree in the grassy front yard. At one point it had been painted yellow, but now, it barely reflected a pale cream. He’d been meaning to take care of that for his mom but never got around to hiring a painter. The grass had grown tall with a few bursts of feathery weeds sprouting out. For a woman who’d once loved to garden as much as she had, who loved a clean, she’d have been mortified to see it this way.

He hadn’t set foot in her house since she died, not even after her funeral. He knew it was stupid, but part of him felt if he avoided going inside, it would be like she wasn’t really gone.

He glanced at the house next door, the one his mother owned and rented out. She’d be happy to know it was being carefully kept. Since he’d last seen it, someone had added white shutters to the ’70s style jalousie windows and a gated white picket fence around the yard, giving the light gray house a magazine cover appearance. Artfully placed around the porch were terra cotta planters in all sizes, displaying a variety of cacti and bougainvillea.

Before getting sick this last time Mom had purchased her former neighbor’s home, figuring that if she rented it out, the money might become a good investment that she could use to supplement her retirement and travel the globe someday. She’d told Cole, though, that she wouldn’t rent it forever. Her secret hope was that once he was ready to marry—after he’d done all the traveling he’d dreamed of doing but had never gotten around to—he’d want to move in and start a family.

She’d even tried to play matchmaker between him and her tenant. A sweet girl, she’d called her. Beautiful and smart, too. Said they’d be perfect together. Cole had just hugged her and laughed it off. Wasn’t like he’d been in the market for anything permanent. He’d had enough on his plate with work and caring for his mom. He’d wanted to give her all the attention he could in the time they’d had left together. And he’d known after his mom was gone, the last thing he’d want was a committed relationship to tie him down. He’d have the freedom to do whatever he wanted. And a sweet woman who enjoyed suburban life wasn’t going to be part of the picture.

Finally, Cole started up the Harley again and pulled away from the curb. He’d come back first thing in the morning to start going through his mom’s things, he promised himself. Then he’d sell both houses and use the money to expand Frontline. It wouldn’t be easy, but right now he was just making things harder on himself.

He drove a few blocks and stopped at a red light, glancing at Metro Pub, a posh bar to his left. He’d been there before, knew it mostly catered to businessmen and women. It was nothing like Liquid Cooled, the dive Cole and his biker buddies liked to hang out in, but maybe a drink in a place filled with strangers was what his restless soul needed right now. It was worth a shot.

Cole pulled his bike into the parking lot, then walked inside, his eyes adjusting to the semi-darkness. He made his way to the bar and ordered a beer. The bartender—a young guy fresh off campus—sat the bottle in front of him and popped off the cap. Cole spun on his stool and surveyed the crowd as he took a drink.

Just as he suspected, the bar was filled with people dressed predominantly in business suits even on a Saturday night. With his leather vest, jeans, and tats on full display, he stuck out like a sore thumb, as evidenced by the awkward glances flying his way from a few patrons.

His gaze fell on two women sitting at a high table not far away. One of the women was partially blocked by two people, but he could see the one closest to him. She was probably in her mid-forties, nice-looking with light brown hair, dressed casually in jeans and a cotton tank top. Nearby, a couple of guys whooped and hollered as they played darts, their lack of coordination indicating they were well on their way to wasted.

Movement caught his eye, and he brought his gaze back around to the first high table. The people blocking it had moved, and this time, Cole got a clear look at the second woman, also dressed casually in jeans and a cap-sleeved fitted T-shirt.

He paused the bottle of beer en route to his mouth so quickly, it sloshed around inside.

She was petite and dark-haired, with big eyes. Light eyes. Not a flashy woman. In fact, some might say she was on the plain side, but that was only if you were stupid enough to discount her delicate, perfectly symmetrical features. She had prominent cheekbones and a long, graceful neck that reminded him of a ballerina, and there was something about the way she talked to her friend—her eyes bright and her hands gesturing wildly—that made him think sweet and wild.

Staring at her, something stirred in his chest. As if she sensed him watching, she glanced over. As their eyes connected across the room, something in Cole’s jeans stirred too, something that hadn’t stirred in a good long time. Just like that, he felt a tug low in his belly, and red-hot need surged through him. His cock twitched and came to life, throbbing in a way that made him catch his breath.

It was a good kind of breathlessness, like the exhilarating rush he experienced while surfing, riding his cruiser, or having fabulous sex. It hadn’t taken a redhead or blonde or the promise of sex in an airplane to remind him of those things, only a lovely, unassuming brunette watching him over her drink with those big, light eyes of hers.

As his body worked overtime, so did his mind—from two different points of view. One urged him not to delay—stop wasting time and go to her, you dick.

But another part of his brain cautioned him—stop being ridiculous, you’re just tired. She didn’t seem the type of woman a guy casually picked up in a bar unless he wanted more from her than one night in bed.

And he didn’t have more to give any woman right now.

Certainly not anytime soon.

Probably not ever.

He had to focus on taking care of his mom’s things. Selling the houses. Expanding his business. And maybe finding out what the fuck was going on with Eric.

That was enough for anyone to handle at the moment.

Deliberately, he turned away and signaled the bartender. He’d have one more drink. Then he’d get the hell out of there.

Chapter Two

“It will be a good investment,” Jill Jones told Liz Monroe, her friend and partner in her daycare business. “Five tablets the older kids can use for learning and the occasional game. What do you think?”

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