Page 18 of The Biker and His Bride

I closed my eyes as a million dirty thoughts came to mind. I wanted to touch her. Claim her… the sparks were getting to hot to ignore.

That was dangerous.

I sat on the edge of the bed, pulled her close.

“There’s a storm coming,” I said. “And I don’t know if I can keep you out of it.”

She touched my face, gentle but firm. “I’m not afraid of storms. Been through a to of them.”

“Me, too.” I kissed her palm.

“I want you. Badly.”

She but her lip.

“I-I can’t. I want to but I was involved not too long ago… it feels fast? But Right? I’m confused.”

I breathed in the scent of her freshly washed hair, feeling myself tighten, ready to go. Right fucking now.

“I’ll sleep downstairs. Because right now I hear what you are saying… and I respect that. But you can’t deny what’s building between us forever, sugar. You gotta face it.”

“I know. We haven’t known each other long,” she moaned as my finger trailed over her lower lip. “But I already trust you more than my ex.”

“I won’t let you down, girl. Just wait until you are really mine.” I got up abruptly because my hands itched to tough her all over.

It made a man reckless.

And I was already in too deep to dig myself out.

Sunlight crawledover the clubhouse yard, turning the dew on my tomato leaves to diamonds. I came out with a mug of black coffee and the intent to brood—but the sight stopped me cold.

Riley was crouched between the raised beds, loose tendrils of hair tumbling around her face, knees tucked under that borrowed Fire Skulls tee. She tugged weeds with quick, efficient flicks of her wrist, dropping them into a rusty bucket like she’d been gardening her whole life.

The woman had fought my ex on a dirty bar floor six hours ago, and now she was tender with basil sprouts.

Hell, I was in trouble.

I leaned on the porch rail, watching her. She didn’t notice until she reached for another weed and caught my shadow.

She looked up, squinting against the sun. “Morning.”

“Morning, angel.” My voice sounded rough—sleep, smoke, and too many near-fights.

She smiled—small, shy, and devastating. “Couldn’t sleep. Figured your plants could use some TLC.”

“Didn’t peg you for a gardener.”

“I’m a fast learner.” She stood, wiping dirt on her bare thighs. “Thought I’d throw together a salad for lunch if you’ve got tomatoes ready to pick. Something organic, you know?”

Organic. In a biker compound. I huffed a laugh. “You surprise me daily.”

“Likewise, Prez.”

I sipped my coffee, trying not to stare at the way her tee slid off one shoulder. “Need anything from town?”

She opened her mouth—paused. Hesitation flickered behind her eyes. No family money now. No credit cards. Just what little she’d saved in that backpack.

“Maybe… shampoo? I used the bar stuff. I can pay you back when we get paid next.”

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