Page 18 of Never Wed an Outlaw

The boy had talent.

How the hell did he tie my tongue in knots and make my heart beat a hundred miles an hour over nothing?Damn.

Those steel grey eyes piercing into my soul narrowed, and the ghost of a smile tugged at his lips. “Looked more like you were thirsty for somethin' else, darlin'. You want some of that, be my guest any time. Funny, I always thought you'd at least say good mornin' first before moving straight to fuckin'.”

“That'snotwhat I was after,” I lied, turning around in the sheets and pulling them tight, dragging myself out of his grip. “I told you already, I was thirsty.”

“Mm-hmm,” he said, rolling on his back, barely suppressing a smug smile. “Soda machine's down the hall. You take whatever you need off my nightstand, or below my belt line. Your choice, Hannah.”

I stood, keeping the sheet around me. It wasn't like he was blind to my body, seeing how I'd stripped down to my bra and panties. Still, I'd lose it if he had a second look withthatexpression on his face.

“Actually, I think I need a shower. Why don't you go find us something to help wake ourselves up? I could really use a snack, too. Haven't eaten since the crappy salad theyserved on the plane last night.”

“Whatever you say, babe. I'll take care of all your needs.”

God! Is there anything he won't say that isn't loaded with innuendo?

I seriously had to stop and wonder how much was Dusty screwing with me, and how much was in my head, making it worse.

My nose wrinkled, unsure whether I was more annoyed with him or myself for getting wetter the longer he stared at me, the more he teased.

I couldn't even fire back. Sauntering past him, I held my sheet tighter, grabbing my little suitcase for a fresh change of clothes.

The long, cool shower helped. I took my time, hoping to God he'd be dressed and looking normal by the time I stepped out.

We'd started the day on a bad note. I wasn't going to deal with his biker bastard flirting the whole way back to Knoxville, even if it was only a short stretch home.

A couple hours on his bike might be an eternity with this kind of tension hanging in the balance.

No, we had to go on. Which meant touching his stupidly huge, hard, arrogant body, feeling him bristle with joy whenever my hands moved a little too low on his abs for their own good.

I hated this ridiculous dance, wilder than the pheromones that must've swirled around us every time we shared the same room. Hated it straight down to my core, which ached like a fiend for Dusty's hands, his lips, hissavage, sexy threats smoldering in my ear.

Hated it.

Hated myself.

Hated him and his defiantly gorgeous looks, his testosterone incarnate, his ability to put every woman under a spell that made her want to drop panties and slide down on his stereotypically huge cock.

By the time I stepped out of the shower, dried myself off, and changed my clothes, I pressed my ear against the door, listening intently for him outside. The TV was on low, a morning weather report or something droning in the background.

Had he gone out to get us food and coffee? At least it meant he was up and about, which hopefully meant dressed, too.

Of course, I had to turn my head and catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror. There I was, bent over with my ear cocked against the door, worried I couldn't handle a naked man in the next room when I'd just walked away from the latest round of death threats.

Ridiculous. I jerked up, blushing, annoyed with myself for trying to spy on him like an anxious little schoolgirl.

I'd only known him half my adult life, after all. He was a fixture in the distance since the time Huck started wearing his prospect patch, bringing us spare food, giving rides, and doing everything to support a family down on its luck like a good brother in the MC should.

Club life fascinated me. Maybe my more sensible side had done everything in its power to run from the past,forget I ever lived in a trailer with meth addicts down the block, and had to fight to learn everything I knew because the defeated teachers at the run down school we went to stopped caring a long time ago.

I rose above all that. Made myself better. I'd been on track for riches, fame, stability, maybe a good man in a button down shirt and tie with a graduate degree...and then I took that fucking loan from a bloodthirsty shark, and blew my life to pieces.

It always came back to where it started, didn't it? Dust was practically family. My big brother's friend and boss since I'd been old enough to understand what those patches meant, and why that space between my legs began to burn every time I looked at him long enough.

The issue between us – the reason why we'd never be friends or one night stands or even more than that – didn't have anything to do with me being 'too good for him.' The drama it would create in the club with Firefly and everybody else didn't even matter either.

None of it did. I had to keep my distance, screw my head on, and pretend we didn't want to rip each other's clothes off for one simple reason.

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