Page 6 of Resurfaced Passion

“Do I hear you complaining about my first-born fur-baby, Ambrosio?” A feminine voice from the door enquired of her brother, using his given name. Even if Reaper hadn’t recognized Gia’s voice, the way the VP sprang into action by climbing to his feet and getting over to his wife in seconds, would have been a big clue as to who she was.

They connected at the mouths before Hawk buried his face in her neck and Reaper turned away, feeling the pinch in his lower belly.

A lot of the boys were married now. Whereas when he’d patched in just a few of the older non-active members had old ladies. Everywhere he turned now, someone was locked at the lips. Back then the parties were wild, and he’d needed the background noise.

All the overly sappy crap just made him hurt all the more and as much as he tried to lock those feelings out, the gut clawing jealousy of what he’d had once upon a long fucking time ago, he couldn’t fully achieve it.

They had what he’d held so dear and then lost.

They had what he craved.

Fuck his man-card, he wanted…

He cleared his throat and motioned his head to the door to his prez. “Heading out,” he grumbled.

Suddenly he was desperate for a fix.

Reaper didn’t stop to talk to Grinder, sitting alone at the bar with a coffee and a newspaper. He nodded to Krusher, the old man who’d arrived this past winter and stuck around. That was as social as he felt.

His bike, his first destination.

The diner, his end game.

When he stepped down off his Harley some fifteen minutes later, he unzipped his jacket and saw the glint of gold on his finger.

There wasn’t a day he forgot he wore it and he’d stopped punishing himself for being unable to take it off. It was his connection to an old life he couldn’t let go of. Call him all the fucking idiots under the kiwi sun, he didn’t care.

He used his thumb to twirl it a few times before he took the stretch of street down to the diner on the corner.

All the same familiar smells greeted him, and he knew anything made of sugar, Paige was the one to bake it.

Taking his usual seat, he slid into the red vinyl booth, leaving his bike helmet on the seat beside him, his eyes moving lengthways down the curved counter with every stool occupied. A frown creased his brow when he didn’t see her anywhere and his internal clock said it was past time to see her; andwhere the fuck was she?

His veins always burned with anticipation when he knew he was about to lay eyes on her. Not seeing her instantly and his lungs constricted.

Just as the door opened and one of his club brothers walked over the threshold, so did Paige as she came out of the kitchen carrying a tray in one arm and her pad and pen in the other hand.

She was fucking adorable with a pair of the sexiest little feet he’d ever seen pushed into purple sandals. On colder days she always wore brightly colored patterned tights. Her legs were bare today, and he streaked his greedy eyes from toe to knees where her peach uniform fell.

He completely ignored Capone in order to stare at Paige.

She was so tight and compact; it would be nothing to tuck her neat and warm into the inside of his jacket and carry her wherever he went and feed her bites of cheese biscuits. Skin so creamy with just a touch of makeup dusting over her face, she had luscious lips the color of a Bordeaux wine and a slim neck he ached to suck on. God, her fucking eyes… it was like they were constantly smiling.

She was his weakness; his eternal torment and he should have stayed away today until he got himself under control emotionally. But the truth of it was he couldn’t stand knowing she was here, with other men looking at her, growing hard, wanting her.

He was pitiful, playing guard duty to a woman who didn’t know the kinds of murderous thoughts he had about other men trying to worm their way into her panties.

God, if you’re up there, you gotta do a guy a solid and not let me do something to make her hate me…

His eyes continued to scan and take her all in as she headed over to a customer.

Paige was more than just a good-looking woman.

She was all dimensions and a softly whispered prayer. She was a marvel that any man would be obsessed with.

She was sarcastically funny and determined and about the kindest person he knew.

The quickening of his heart pumped blood to all the wrong places and still he couldn’t—wouldn’t look away from her. Thank fuck for the table covering his lap, hiding his swelling dick.

---