Page 12 of Her Possessive Biker
I hesitate, then swipe the plate of lemon bars off the counter and set it gently on top of the duffel.
Because comfort looks different to everyone. Tonight, mine is sugar-dusted and still warm.
He doesn’t say a word. Just opens the door and waits.
Chapter 4
Holt
The Harley growls low beneath us, the night winding cold around my shoulders as we take the mountain road slow. One hand on the throttle, the other clenched tight around the handlebar, but it’s the weight pressed against my back that owns me.
Cassie Jean. MyAngel.
Her arms wrapped around my waist, her cheek resting between my shoulder blades like I’m the one thing in this world that feels safe. She doesn’t say anything. Just holds on.
I threw her duffel over my chest before we left, kept it tight between us for the ride. The lemon bars went into the saddlebag, because of course she brought them, and now they sit beside the only thing that really matters.
We roll into the woods just past the edge of town. Gravel crunches under the tires as the cabin appears. Dark wood, metalroof, quiet porch wrapped in shadow. It’s not much. Not fancy. But it’s mine.
And now, for tonight at least,she is too.
I kill the engine. The silence after the ride rings in my ears.
She slides off the bike behind me, boots hitting the ground, and I hear the quiet exhale like she’s only just remembering how to breathe.
“You good?” I ask without turning.
“Yeah,” she says softly. “Just… tired.”
I nod once, swing off the bike, grab the saddlebag, and peel the duffel off my chest. Then I motion her toward the door.
The porch light flickers on when I flip the switch. It paints her in gold.
She looks like something holy.
And then a growl cuts through the night.
I sigh. “Don’t start.”
A gray cat leaps onto the porch railing like she’s been waiting. One ear’s half missing. Her eyes gleam with judgment. Her tail twitches like a loaded gun.
“My cat,” I explain. “Lucy.”
Cassie raises a brow. “Lucy?”
“Short for Lucifer.”
The cat hops to the table and gives Cassie a full-body death glare.
“I like your cat,” she says, a little amused, a little wary.
I scratch behind Lucy’s ear. She glares at me like she might slash my wrist for the offense, then rubs her face against my hand anyway.
“She likes you,” I say. “She hates everyone.”
Lucy stares at Cassie another second. Then, slowly, she hops down and brushes against Cassie’s calf.
Cassie blinks. “That’s… unexpected.”
