Page 15 of The Biker's Forbidden Craving

I laugh and stand from the stool, grabbing two granola bars from the bowl in front of us. “Sure. I’ll let him know you offered.”

“Well… I’m just saying his nervous system is probably out of whack. He needs a reset, and maybe a woman.” She rubs the back of her neck, following me out the door. “Maybe you all need women. Something to ground you.”

Leaning in, I kiss the top of her head. “I agree. Idoneed a woman. Last night was torture without you.”

She smiles wide and turns toward me, tipping up onto her toes. “Then let’s not torture each other anymore.”

“That would mean telling Duke we’re a thing.” I laugh as I say, “We both know how that would go.” I wrap her against my chest and stare down at her light brown eyes, trying not to fantasize about a little cabin in the woods, our kids, the way we’d huddle around a Christmas tree together, the way she’d snuggle in with me every night at bed.

Jesus, that’s perfection, but I can’t have those thoughts. They’re more dangerous than thoughts of her body. Sure, acting on either could get me mauled by her brother, but the mind fuck of losing her from my life far outweighs the idea of never touching her again.It’s devastating.

“I know,” she finally says, breathing me in, “but it’s fun to pretend.”

I hook into her hand and guide her out the front door toward my bike.Duke’s Harley is still gone. I’m not sure where the hell he went last night. It’s not like him to stay away overnight.

The ride down the mountain is smooth and quick with the breeze blowing through our hair, the sun on our shoulders, and the scent of pine surrounding us. I loved Texas, but the mountains are next level incredible, especially with Abby on the bike behind me.

Main Street is just as charmed. The small-town street unfolds within the mountainside like a storybook with pages sprawled out, ready to be enjoyed. There’s the diner, an inn, a little bar, a grocery store, a pizza parlor, a few clothing shops, and at the end of the street, a tall brick building with the words Rugged Mountain Ink. I decide to check that place out first once I get Abby dropped off at the record store.

We pull up to the record store and Abby climbs off the bike, using my shoulders again as a guide for her frame as shelifts off. I anchor the bike and climb off with her, noticeably careful about where I touch her and how we interact in public.

“I’ll be right on Main Street all day. I’ll come check on you periodically. You text me if anyone comes to look for you or if you get any weird feeling about anything. Okay? Don’t hesitate. You’re better safe than sorry.”

She nods, and though I want to lean in and kiss her lips, I can’t. Duke could be anywhere, perched and watching, ready to take us both down.

Fuck. I hate this so fucking much.

“I wish your lips were mine,” I say, brushing my thumb against the outer edge of her hand.

“I’m pretty sure they’re yours.” She grins, biting the lower lip as she tips up onto her toes and then down again. “I’ll see you this afternoon. I have lunch at noon. We could go back to the diner. They have a lunch special with sky high apple pie. It’s pretty damn good. They make it with this hundred-year-old recipe. I hear it’s top secret.”

“Deal.” I grin, aching to touch her. I’m not sure what favors I’m doing myself, following her around like this. I should’ve asked one of the other guys to take care of this detail and kept myself as far away as possible. This is torture for both of us, and I reckon it’s also confusing.

When she’s safe inside the record store, I make my way toward the tattoo shop at the end of the street. There aren’t many folks inside, but there’s one truck parked out front. Maybe they know someone I can talk to. It’s the only shot I have right now. Besides, I’m killing time until the bar opens.

Inside, an older man with a long, white beard stands against the back wall. He wears long-sleeved flannel rolled to the elbows, and though he’s older, his muscle tone is still well defined. You can tell he’s no stranger to hard work.

“How’s it going? Here for some work?” The man turns toward me and smiles. “We’ve got some talented folks here.”

“It has been a while since I’ve had ink, though I could do some flash art. You do good work?”

“Oh fuck no.” He rubs his shaking, calloused hands together. “I used to own this place. My pride and joy. You wouldn’t want a tattoo from me anymore. My hands aren’t what they were back in the day. Used to be the best around, though.” He holds out his hand. “Name’s Henry. You?”

“Hank.” I brace myself for the incoming storm as I say, “Henry, as in Henry Baxter? Your family is royalty around here, right?”

“Not quite. People have a skewed view of what royalty is these days. My family owned this mountain. We’ve built it up, and the people came. Rugged Mountain Ink had a lot to do with that. My daughter and her husband work here now with a lot of other great folks.” He narrows his brows. “Hank… you’re with that biker group that bought a plot of land up near the mines, aren’t you? You guys own that bike repair shop.”

I nod. “It’s a work in progress, but we’re trying.”

“Kind of a ways out there for folks that need repairs, ain’t it?”

The man owns the mountain. His family has been here for generations. Of course, he has a load of things he wants to say about the hitmen that moved in.

“We wanted something off the beaten path. Hoping to catch travelers coming in from the west too,” I lie, realizing how terrible the lie sounds, and how little I can ask him about the men who took Maci now. He’s got us pegged. I can’t draw attention to the fact that we’re looking for anyone.

He lays a book out in front of me with small sketches of skulls, flowers, and other various art. “Well, pick what you’d like and I’ll set the booth up. Raven should be in soon. She’s gettingthe kids on the bus. I usually cover for her most mornings. Truth be told, we’re not actually open until eleven.”

I glance up at the clock that says a little after nine.

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