Page 19 of The Biker and His Bride

“You’re covered,” I said, already making mental lists. “Anything else?”

She shrugged. “Couple pairs of socks. I’ll figure it out.”

I watched her tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. Simple gesture. Turned me inside out.

“Stay around for breakfast,” I told her. “Then I’m heading out.”

She tilted her head. “Club business?”

“Of a sort.”

She didn’t push. Just smiled and bent back down to the basil. The curve of her spine, the concentration in her brow—sweet mercy.

I finished my coffee and headed for my bike, helmet hanging on the bar. On the ride into town, I couldn’t shake the warm ache in my chest. Last night, watching her throw down with Brielle—wild, unapologetic—had lit something feral in me. But this morning? Seeing her fingernails lined with earth, wanting to feed the crew leafy greens? That lit something deeper.

I parked outside the only boutique still open at 8 a.m.—a place that sold tourist tees, cheap perfume, and a small rack of women’s lingerie. Trigger would laugh his ass off if he saw me standing among lace boyshorts and pastel bras, but I didn’t care. I picked soft cotton: black, white, pale blue—no wires, just comfort. Grabbed matching panties. Socks, plain white. Thatshampoo she liked, with the argan-oil label. And on a whim, a tub of coconut body lotion.

The scent hit me—warm beaches, bare skin, midnight promises. My throat went tight imagining her slick with it, soft under my palms.

I paid cash, shoved everything into a brown paper bag, and kicked up dirt all the way back to the compound.

She was still in the garden, barefoot now, toenails dusty.

“I brought supplies,” I said, holding out the bag.

Her eyes widened. “That was fast.”

“Town’s small. Priorities were clear.”

She peeked inside. Color rose on her cheeks. “You… bought me underwear.”

“Seemed practical.”

“And coconut lotion?”

I scratched the back of my neck. “Smelled nice.”

Heat blossomed across her chest, spreading up her neck. She bit her lip—a wicked, grateful curve that made me want to ditch the bag and haul her straight to my room.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

“Welcome.” I cleared my throat. “I’ll, uh, start the grill for lunch.”

She nodded, still staring like she couldn’t believe I’d done something so domestic. Hell, I couldn’t. But it felt right.

The brothers filtered in,drawn by the promise of food. Riley’s salad vanished faster than the burgers. She laughed, cheeks flushed, that coconut scent drifting every time she breezed past with a tray of beers.

God help me.

I stood at the far end of the bar, fingers drumming the counter, watching her pass a plate to Diesel. Her skin glowed, slick with a hint of lotion. She leaned over the counter to grab a napkin; the hem of her shorts rode up. My jaw clenched.

“Earth to Rogue,” Trigger teased, sliding beside me. “You staring a hole through that girl.”

“Shut up,” I muttered.

He smirked. “Just saying—never seen you thirsty.”

I flicked him off. He laughed and wandered away.

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