Page 9 of Burly Biker of Misty Mountain

“We’ll see,” Bristol chirped, unfazed by my skepticism.

On Sunday morning, I yawned and shuffled into the kitchen, switching on my coffee maker. Running a hand through my tousled hair, I checked my phone. A few texts from Bristol came in when she finally boarded her plane last night.

As the coffee pot began to hiss and steam, my phone buzzed with a call. Probably Bristol after her flight landed, extra chatty from the jet lag. While I reached up into the cabinet to grab a mug, I answered the phone.

“Good morning, dove. Sleep well?”

I nearly dropped the phone at Maverick’s voice.

Tugging at my nightshirt self-consciously, I clutched my mug to my chest and fumbled for an answer.

“I’m—good. I didn’t—um—didn’t think you would call this early though.”

Yesterday at the bar had been…wonderful. Exhilarating. And nerve racking. The memory of his dark eyes, tattoos, and big callused hands made my skin hot and prickly all over again. I bit the inside of my cheek, set my cup down, and leaned back against the counter.

“Did I wake you?” he asked.

Dear God in heaven, his voice sounded even better than I remembered. Low and deep, with a rasp that made me feel like I’d swallowed a giant bottle of bubbly champagne in one gulp, lightheaded, dizzy, and giddy. A smile spread across my face.

“Actually, I’ve already got my coffee started.”

He grumbled, punctuated by the rustle of fabric…sheets, maybe? Was he still in bed? That thought made my stomachtwist into a knot, imagining him with the covers pooled around his waist, naked chest exposed, tattoos on display…

“I had a feeling you were an early bird,” Maverick said. “Does that mean you’re still wearing your pajamas?”

I wedged the phone against my shoulder as I poured my coffee.

“Is that why you’re calling at six-thirty in the morning? To ask about my pajamas?”

“Can’t blame a man for his curiosity. Are they lacy?”

I paused with my fingers curled around the handle of the coffee pot, glancing down at my pajamas—a large t-shirt with a teddy bear holding a pink heart, and pastel pink shorts with a cupcake print.

Not exactly the sultry combo Maverick was probably hoping for.

“Um…no.”

“Silky?” he prompted. “Satin? Wait. Don’t tell me. You sleep in the buff.”

“Maverick—”

“If I brought you breakfast in bed, would you reward me with a little peek?”

I huffed a laugh and shook my head.

“I’m hanging up now.”

He snorted.

“No, you’re not. Otherwise you would have done that already.”

I sighed and set the coffee pot back, fiddling with my mug.

“Maverick, I don’t really…know how to do this. Flirting. Being sexy.”

“Just follow my lead, sweetheart. I’ve got you.”

I said nothing, comforted by his reassurance, even though we only met yesterday. What if he was simply saying what I wantedto hear so I would play into his hands? What if Maverick was toying with me?

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