Page 15 of Stone
“No,” he answered before she even finished. “No one I’ve ever even kissed,” he added. “Until you, it had been a long time since a woman caught my interest.”
“It’s not really any of my business,” she said, her tone not giving anything away.
“It is your business. It is very much your business,” he said, rubbing his thumb over her hand. “This may be jumping the gun, but until you tell me to get lost or until we decide that this thing between us isn’t going anywhere,youare the only woman who will have my interest, my attention. I need you to know that. I want you to believe it, too, but that’s something only you can decide.”
The home he’d grown up in hadn’t been a happy one. He’d suffered the effects of his parents’ profligate lifestyle, including strings of nameless lovers, drugs, alcohol, violence, and worse. Joining the military had severed his ties to that period, but only years of therapy had helped him understand that he had a choice in how he wanted to live, as his own man. Now, with the exception of a drink or two, he never invited those vices into his life. He never had meaningless sex, never touched drugs, and only ever used violence to defend himself or someone needing protection; he never threw the first punch.
“You can’t possibly believe I’d ever tell you to get lost,” she said, her smile lightening the comment even more than her tone.
“You might,” he replied.
“If nothing else, I’ll keep you around because you’re pretty.”
He snorted. “You want me to decorate your wall?”
“I suspect I’ll want you for a lot more than that, but I’ll keep the offer in mind.”
Heat shot through his body and his hand involuntarily tightened around hers. If not for the arrival of Monk on his bike—the rumble of the engine interrupting the moment—he would have kissed her. Probably even hauled her onto his lap so he could feel her curves against him, her legs straddling him.
Later, he told his body. His priority now was keeping her safe.
9
Simon held his hand out to her after she slid from her seat. Curling her fingers into his, her attention strayed to the clubhouse. The massive building did a good job of camouflaging its size, and the way the tall windows reflected the trees and sky fascinated her. She didn’t have the patience to be an architect, to think about all the tiny details that made a building exactly what the owners wanted, but it was clear that considerable thought had gone into this one.
“Stone.”
Juliana turned as a tall man with brown eyes, dark brown hair, and a thick beard approached them.
“Monk,” Simon returned the greeting. Then pulling her to his side, he added, “This is Juliana. Juliana, this is Monk. Or Collin.”
Though large, the man had a quiet, almost peaceful air about him. “Nice to meet you. Do you prefer Monk or Collin?” she asked, holding out her hand.
His engulfed hers. “Either, but most people stick with Monk. Sorry to hear about what’s going on,” he said.
She glanced at Simon.
“Monk’s going to help us,” he replied.
“Viper gave me an update,” Monk said. “I don’t know the details, but let’s go inside. Philly will be here in fifteen minutes or so.”
As they crossed the gravel parking lot, she focused on the building rather than the feel of Simon’s hand wrapped around hers—as if it were a perfectly normal occurrence. One coffee date had ended with her rushing out to lead a tour of the presidential library that hadn’t been properly scheduled, and the other with a quick (and slightly awkward) hug. They’d touched more in the past twenty minutes than in their previous three hours together. And she liked it. A lot.
Monk held the door, and Simon ushered her in. Stepping out of the morning sunshine, she blinked, then took in the room. Two women were playing a serious game of air hockey in one corner, and another sat curled in a chair, reading. Her attention didn’t linger on the women, though. Instead, it shot upward to the massive (and gorgeous) beamed ceiling, then to the calm, earthy light beige walls, before finally drifting to the huge stone fireplace that anchored one wall. Of all the ways she imagined a motorcycle clubhouse looking, this cozy, airy, lodge-like building hadn’t even been close to making it on the list.
Before she could comment, a tall, lean, older woman pushed through a swinging door. Black flip-flops smacked against the hardwood floor as she strode out. Her spiky gray hair, tipped a bright purple, was an intriguing contrast to her black jeans and gray tank top.
Spotting the trio, her eyes lit up, and she changed direction to head their way.
“I’m Dottie,” she said, holding out her hand. “You must be Juliana.”
Juliana couldn’t help but smile back. “I am. It’s nice to meet you,” she replied, greeting the woman Simon referred to as the club’s house mom/house manager. Curiosity flared, andshe wondered how Dottie had come into the lives of the fifteen former military men. Though old enough to be Simon’s mother, he hadn’t mentioned anything about any relation.
As if sensing her questions, Dottie smiled. “About six years ago, the boys helped me out of a bad situation. One I’d been in for nearly thirty years. I had no family, no kids, and thanks to my now-ex, no friends. So I decided to stay with them. I take care of the cooking, finances, those sorts of things, so that they can focus on helping more people like me. I don’t touch the cleaning, though, just FYI,” she said with a wry smile. “I have a little cabin out back. If you need anything and can’t find me, I’m probably there. Or out running errands. Make sure Stone gives you my number.” Without waiting for a reply, she turned to Simon and Monk. “If you need a late breakfast, there’s cowboy casserole in the fridge, and believe it or not, there are even a few pieces of coffee cake left.” She paused, her already welcoming eyes softening with affection. “Mantis stayed at Charley’s last night,” she added, as if that explained it. “Amber and I are headed into town to pick up a few things for dinner. Tacos tonight. With lots of fresh fixings from her garden.”
Both men groaned in anticipation, making Dottie smile again.
“Go do what you need to to keep our Juls safe,” she continued, startling Juliana with both her knowledge of the situation—apparently news traveled fast among the Falcons—and her reference to “our Juls.” She’d never been part of a “we” or “our.” Caution told her to take it with a grain of salt, but still, a tendril of warmth wrapped around her.
