Page 34 of The Biker's Brother

Schooling his features to look as nonchalant as possible, he dropped his backpack in front of his crotch to hide his reaction to the exhibition standing in front of him, making his mouth water. It would be a sure giveaway that her misimpression regarding his sexual orientation was far afield of reality. He’d led her to a faulty conclusion and was stuck with it for the duration. After cursing himself for stupidity, he had to replay what she’d just said in his head a couple of times to settle on an answer that sounded like his brain was working.

“About what?”

“What I said about the New York designer. I didn’t mean anything.”

Brand managed a smile.

“I don’t have thin skin and that guy probably plays up the flame because most muggles think that the more fabulous you are, the more creative you are.” His eyes flicked downward and he smiled more broadly. “Pretty bra. I can see you have an appreciation for fine lingerie.”

Looking down she ran her hands down the sides of her breasts, which almost brought him to his knees.

“Thanks. I like this one, too. Muggles?”

He swallowed hard. “It means…”

“I know what it means. I’m just surprised you do.”

“Got dragged to one of the movies by a friend.”

“Uh huh.”

When she reached to unzip her jeans, Brandon decided it would be an ideal time to step outside and make phone calls on the porch. He turned away, dropped the backpack on the floor, and left the discomforting sight of Cami Carmichael in pretty things made of see-through lace.

He called his lawyer first and gave him detailed instructions on drawing up a new will for Cami.

Then he called Brant.

“Yeah?”

“It’s Brand.”

“I know. I gave you that phone.”

“Right. We need a Plan B on this leg.”

“What’s up?”

“An unfortunate weather pattern. We’ve lost an entire day to heavy rain sitting right on top of us. Had to stop in Claremore, Tennessee because of high water. Bridge is closed to the south. You think you can find a local pilot who’s instrument rated and willing to fly us out of this?”

“Hold on.”

After a few minutes, Brant came back on the line.

“That weather’s headed this way and it’s big as the great state of Texas. You’re going to have to head west to get out of it. We want you to keep moving. It’s the safest thing.”

“I know.”

“Call you back with details.”

“Yep.”

Brandon heard the ended call beeps. He’d had a chance to survey the motel while he was on the phone. He’d walked the length of the porch. There were vehicles parked in front of every room, but none seemed unusual. Of course that wasn’t a conclusive inference. After all, their vehicle seemed innocuous.

Every room had lights on, curtains drawn. A motel like that one was a security nightmare, but it couldn’t be helped. He’d sleep facing the door, the Smith and Wesson with Crimson Trace under his pillow. It was a great gun for shooting while sleepy because the laser took accuracy of aim off the table. Point and pull. End of story.

When he reentered the room, he heard that the shower was still running. He turned on the TV to check stock prices. He’d been antsy about being out of touch with business for two days. He stood in front of the TV partly because he was tired of sitting down and partly because he didn’t want his damp clothes to get the bed wet.

The pipes made high-pitched noises of protest when she turned the water off. He took that as a cue to get his own dry clothes together. So he unzipped his athletic bag and pulled out a pair of clean black knit boxers, a long-sleeve cotton tee, and the oldest softest jeans he owned.

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