Page 12 of The Biker and the Professor
Nero sets the picture down and brushes past me to the kitchen to switch the stove off.
“What are you doing?”
“You said ‘make yourself comfortable,’” he replies with a shrug. “So, I’m making us tea.”
Wow. This kid. The nerve of him. He moves about my kitchen as if he’s lived here all his life. The weight of his masculinity in my house is undeniable. His height, his muscles, those broad shoulders, his biker vest, shit-kicker boots, and most of all, that damned beard. It’s what I’m most attracted to, and why it’s so darn hard for me to see him for his age. He just doesn’t look it. Not with that face.
An involuntary shiver rocks through me as I imagine how it would feel to have that beard against my—Holy crap, I’m doing it again.
With a determined shake of my head, I clear it free of all perverted thoughts. My thirsty, orgasm-starved self definitely needs a cup of tea. “Chai Spice for me, please. No sweetener.”
He pours hot water from the kettle into two cups, then flips open my wooden tea-box and plucks out a Chai Spice for me and an Earl Gray for himself.
“Come here,” he beckons after he’s done. He points to one of the leather-tufted barstools at the breakfast bar. “Sit.”
There’s no point in arguing with him about giving me orders. By now, we both know it will end with him getting his way. If I want to win this game he’s playing, I’ll have to choose my battles.
Placing my teacup on a saucer, he slides it to me.
“Thank you,” I murmur.
From the Chipotle bag sitting on the counter, he takes out two foil-wrapped burritos. “One’s vegan and one’s steak. Which one?”
Gosh, he’s just so…grown. And bossy. “I think I’ve eaten enough junk for the week, so vegan.”
He partially unwraps the vegan burrito before passing it to me, then moves around the counter and plops down on the stool beside me.
He’s just…so much. His presence is too imposing, arousing, intimidating. It’s so damn hard to concentrate with him this close.
“You always sleep ‘til midday on weekends?” he asks as he unwraps his burrito.
“No. I think it was the limoncello squares.”
He snorts. “If you ended up in a ditch after Cookie’s limoncello squares, then don’t try her brownies, or you just might end up in my bed.”
I almost choke on my burrito. Did he—did he seriously just say that? Eyes damn near bugging out of my head, I take a sip of my tea to calm down. My body is liking the idea of landing in Nero’s bed way too much.
Desperate to change the subject, I say, “So, a mechanic, huh?”
“Yup. I’mexcellentwith my hands.”
Sweet Jesus,now I’m thinking about his hands. Strong and greasy.Onme. Doing forbidden things.
Focus past the lust, Toni. Remember, he’s just a cocksure kid with a ‘bang-my-professor’ fantasy, looking for something to brag to his friends about.
“Have you assessed the damages to my car as yet? Cost to fix?”
“Don’t worry about it,” he says around a mouthful of food.
“What do you mean? It’s not the first time I’ve hit that car. It cost me a pretty penny to fix the last time and the damage wasn’t nearly as bad,” I tell him. “Let me pay. I can afford whatever the cost is.”
“It’s taken care of.”
“No,” I insist. “Let me at least pay half the cost.”
He slides me a side glance. “You always this stubborn?”
This guy is unbelievable! “Areyoualways this bossy?”
