Page 3 of Johnny Gun

“You can leave first thing in the morning. After you’re rested,” Deacon continued, offering what could pass for a smile.

Well, what do you know?Once upon a time, the grouch in front of him knew how to be pleasant. Not anymore. Was it related to the uncomfortable vibes in this place? Did Johnny G want to spend the night just to figure out what the hell was going on in this clubhouse?

No fucking way.

What about Isolde?

The thought insisted.

The truth?

She’d enchanted him in the moment, and he’d fallen headfirst. Whatever was left of his sense of self-preservation told him to run home tonight without looking back. The safest course was to keep matters as they were: don’t go poking around, don’t test, don’t taste, and don’t touch. Don’t complicate life. Let it be. Pretend this chance meeting never happened.

Should be easy for her.

As for him…he was lost already. In a matter of seconds, Isolde had permanently ensconced herself in his heart.

“I appreciate the offer, but I prefer to go home.”

“Suit yourself.” Deacon continued signing. He put his pen down when he finished, gathered the sheets, and slid the small stack inside the bag. “Would you like a beer… Well, maybe not a beer, but something else to drink?” He folded his hands; sharp blue eyes peered Johnny’s way.

“If you have it, a water’s great.”

Leaving his desk, Deacon moved to a small refrigerator tucked under a set of shelves. He pulled out two bottles and brought them over. Johnny Gun stood quickly, put the bag strap over his shoulder, and accepted the man’s offer.

“Thanks. I’ll take one for the road. I’ll see myself out.”

“Send my regards to Blade.” Deacon returned to his seat. “Ride carefully. You should have daylight all the way home.”

“I’m counting on it.” He bowed lightly.

With his heart in his throat, he exited to the hallway and closed the office door, hoping he wouldn’t run into Isolde. Because if he did, he’d change his mind to stay the night, and neither one of them could afford such an awful decision.

The hallway was empty, and so was the living room. The poker game must have ended while he was in Deacon’s office. Johnny Gun stood a moment to down the first water in a couple of gulps. Crunching the plastic, he searched for a trash or a recycling bin and found nothing. The brothers in this clubhouse didn’t seem to care about neatness or much else. Their nasty attitude went well with the odd vibes. He left the crushed bottle on the gaming table with the rest of the trash, then walked out to the front yard. The only parked bike was his. The guys had left.

Opening his bike’s side compartment, he put the bag inside, then wedged the bottle of water into the clamped holder. He straddled the bike, hit the kickstand…

“Johnny.”

Oh, fuck.

Her musical voice pinned him in place.

There goes my quick escape.

Taking a deep breath, he glanced to his right. Isolde waved from the rear corner of the house. She must have snuck out the back of the clubhouse.

Unable to speak, he just sat there, enthralled and paralyzed.His mind reeled as he searched for a harsh or curt remark. Anything abrupt enough to make her think twice about him and send her running back into the clubhouse. To scare her far, far away from him.

Somehow, she must have misunderstood his silence for acceptance, because she quickly came to his side.

Daylight was his enemy. How could someone wearing a pair of jeans and a simple T-shirt look so stunning?

Isolde was a dream.

His dream.

In all his life, he’d never seen skin so flawless or eyes this pure shade of green. Hers sparkled like unblemished emeralds. Isolde’s long hair gleamed in shades of mahogany from the deepest dark to a lighter brown and waved lightly with the breeze. Her curves were soft and feminine, the kind a man would love to hold between his hands, and she was…

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