Page 62 of StoryTeller's Tale

Blissfully unaware of the thoughts flying through my mind, he takes my hand and leads me into the restaurant. It’s basic fare, but a burger will do for now. There’ll be time in the future to start eating healthier. When I get out my purse to pay, he responds with a scowl, making me hastily put it away.

I ask for a milkshake while he gets a soda, then we go to a table and wait for our food. Luckily it comes quickly. I feel ravenous and quickly pick up my burger and start to eat. It’s actually good and after a couple of mouthfuls, I lick my lips.

It’s then I look up and see him staring at me, his own food held halfway to his mouth. There’s a quirk to his lips and amusement in his eyes. Embarrassed, I chew, swallow then replace my burger on the plate.

“Fuck, woman. You even eat sexually.” He shifts himself in his seat, then he catches my expression. “Talk to me,” he demands.

I glance at him then turn my head away. “You’re making fun of me.”

“What the fuck? Sheri, I have no idea what you’re talking about.” His eyes crease as though in confusion.

I should be on a plane right now or doing something to sort out my life. I’m not sure what made me come with him, and no idea why I got on his bike. I hadn’t missed the way the waitress eyed him up when she delivered our food while none of the men here have looked at me twice.

Taking a deep breath, I turn to look him straight in the eye. “I know nothing about you, StoryTeller—”

“Jake,” he offers quickly. “When we’re alone, I’d like to hear you call me Jake.”

I tamp down the pleasure at him giving that to me. “Jake,” I say, obediently. “I know nothing about your club. The only real-life bikers I’ve seen have been the Dominators.”

“We’re nothing like them,” he snarls.

“How would I know?” In reverse to his vehemence, I gentle my tone. “Jake, you must know what you are. You’re the type of man who’d excite any woman you meet. You’re handsome, built, you ride a motorcycle and wear a cut. You’ve got the confidence which comes with having a club around you. I bet you have women falling at your feet.”

His agreeing smirk that he can’t keep off his face shows me I’m not wrong.

I give a small shake of my head, unable to stop a tear dribbling from my eye. “I can’t trust you. What do I know of what you’ll do to me if I go with you to Arizona? At best, I’m no more than a flash in the pan and you’ll quickly get tired of me. Or maybe you’ll share me with your brothers.”

“Fuck that,” he growls. Leaning across the table, he takes my hands and jerks them. “You’re right. You don’t fuckin’ know me. If you’re mine, you’re mine. Ain’t no one else who’s going to be touching you. And why do you think I’ll get tired of you?”

“Look at me. I can’t be anything like the normal women that throw themselves at you.”

He huffs a short laugh. “You’re not. And don’t you think that might be why I’m so attracted to you? Because you’re different?”

“Different?” He’s got that right. “Try boring and plain.”

He moves around the table, coming to sit at my side, and cups his palms around the sides of my face. “Darlin’, you’re fuckin’ gorgeous.”

My watering eyes widen, and I try to push him away, but he refuses to move. “You must need glasses.”

His eyes flare. “What the hell are you talking about?”

I know he’s seen her, so I bring up the comparison. “My stepsister is gorgeous. I’m not.”

“Your stepsister is a piece of fuckin’ work, as I told you before. I wouldn’t look at her twice.” He mouths words as if he’s trying to bring himself under control, and when he speaks again, it’s more softly. “What’s all this about, Sheri? Why is it so difficult for you to accept that I want you?”

Because no one ever has.I thought I said the words under my breath, but I must have been louder, or his hearing is excellent.

“No one has wanted you? Look, I’m struggling here. Help me understand.” His eyes stare into mine.

Unable to bear his scrutiny, I fix my gaze on the table. “My parents decided on only having one child. They had a boy they were delighted with. Trouble was, he was diagnosed with a rare and acute form of leukaemia. They tried for another baby who’d be a match for bone marrow treatment, so along came me.”

As my voice trails off, for a moment lost in the memory, he prompts me, “Did it work?”

“No,” I reply, simply. “I was a match, but he died anyway. I could never replace him.” I swallow hard. “I didn’t know why my mom was never loving with me. Dad was okay, but Mom? Well, she was the boss in our house, and he wasn’t allowed to get close to me. She blamed me that the treatment for Adam didn’t work.”

“Fuck that,” he swears. “You were a child.”

But not enough for my mother. “She’d wanted her son. She ended up with a girl.”

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