Page 81 of Riot's Thorn
Sighing, I find an outfit in my closet and strip off my pink silk pajama set. I’m suddenly aware he might be watching me right now. Holding my pajamas to my chest, I look out the window. Does it turn him on to watch me shower and dress? Or is he only making sure I’m safe? Stalking seems like something he’d be into.
Thinking about his eyes on me right now has my panties growing damp. Honestly, it’s kind of hot. For that reason, my movements become intentional. I turn and bend over, pushing my panties to the floor and making sure my ass is on full display. He’s a breast man, there’s no doubt about that, but he’s fond of my butt too, so I give it a little wiggle. Instead of sexy, it just feels weird.
Oh, god. Who have I become? I’m so stupid. I don’t even know if he’s out there, and even if he is, this is odd behavior I shouldn’t encourage. Riot needs to learn to make a phone call or knock on a door like an average person. Thorne is right; stalking is a red flag.
After this realization, I dress without any concern for who may be watching. I choose a simple, orange-red cap sleeve dress that comes to just above my knee and pair it with a skinny black belt with a small black bow over the buckle. I’m not trying to break an ankle today, so I pair the dress with black ballet flats that have a scalloped edge.
With a little mascara and blush, I start to feel confident, but it’s not until I’ve added loose curls to my long hair that I feel as though I can take on today’s challenges. I stop at my dresser to put on a pair of diamond studs and start to pull off the ring. I pause; seeing the ring on my finger, it doesn’t feel like Mom’s ring anymore. It feels like the ring Riot proposed to me with,and even though they’re one and the same, my mind has made a distinction.
Oh, god. I’m losing it.
Yet, I don’t take the ring off.
A knock disrupts my thoughts. “Roland is here, Parker.”
“I’ll be right out.” I dab some gloss on my lips and walk out to the living room, where Roland is making awkward conversation with my security team. “Ready?”
Roland’s eyes widen. “Wow. You look very nice, Miss Richter.”
“Parker,” I correct. “You’re only like, what? Two years older than me? It’s weird to be so formal.”
“I’m twenty-four,” he says.
“See? Not much older because I’ll be twenty-two next month.”
“Okay. Parker, it is. Are you ready?” He offers me his elbow, and I notice how nice he looks too. His suit is youthful and stylish in a professional way. The blue windowpane linen-wool sport jacket and matching slacks fit his trim body perfectly. Underneath the jacket is a trim-fit white dress shirt with the top two buttons undone. Then, as if he couldn’t look any cooler, he has a pair of brown leather Vince Forseta sneakers.
The comparison between his attire and Riot’s is laughable. Riot owns multiples of the exact same black T-shirt and jeans, some older and worn than others but still the same brand and color. The nicest things he owns are his motorcycle boots and leather vest.
While Riot’s light skin is marred with various scars and tattoos, Roland’s dark skin is unblemished and almost gleaming from being so moisturized and soft. It’s clear Riot never had braces, his lower front teeth slightly overlapping, but Roland’s teeth are perfectly straight and glowing white.
All those differences, and still, I’d take Riot over Roland any day. Turns out, my type is a possessive, alpha, badass biker covered in tattoos with finger-combed hair and a bad attitude.
“Let’s do it.” I take his elbow, allowing the security team to lock up after us. He opens the passenger door of his silver Audi, and I slide in. Yesterday, I was so worried Riot would chase us down, guns blazing, and take me back, I didn’t notice the luxury vehicle. Clearly, Dad paid him well, and so far, he’s been invaluable.
“Thanks for scheduling all the appointments today,” I say once we’re on the road, the Midnight Security Team following close behind.
“That’s what I do.” Roland glances over with a wide smile. He really is a handsome man, sexy even, but he’s too put-together, too well-groomed.
“Where to first?”
“Unfortunately, the funeral home. I’m sorry to do this to you first thing this morning, but the morgue is beginning to complain about storing Mr. Richter’s body for this long. So, decisions need to be made.”
I sigh. “Okay. What’s after that?”
“Mr. Richter’s lawyer. He’s put together a full day that starts with the reading of your dad’s will. But there’s something else I need to talk to you about.”
“What?”
“When you went missing, everyone was looking for you. Search parties went out, and your name and picture were everywhere, which means reporters are now inquiring about your status daily.” He makes a noise conveying his uneasiness with the topic. “Basically, the board is hoping you could make a statement so the calls will stop pouring in.”
“Oh.” I don’t know how to feel about that. I was hoping to just slip back into my life as if I were always here.
“If you can’t do it, I can tell them to release a statement, and hopefully, the press won’t hound you.”
“Would the board allow that?” I ask, picking at my nails. Nothing sounds worse than standing on a podium and lying. If the Sons are right and Bart comes after me, I won’t want to make it easier for him to find me. Putting myself front and center will do just that.
“They’ll have to. They can’t make you do anything you don’t want to,” he says with a reassuring pat on my knee.
