Page 45 of The Biker and the Baker
Something beeps, followed by a strange whirring sound. When I turn to the source, a flat-screen TV is rising slowly from a pocket just above the chest of drawers.
Oh, cool.
I shift my attention back to him. “What do you mean by ‘none’?”
“Exactly what it sounds like.” He gets into bed, back against the headboard, and powers on the TV. “I never bring women where I live.”
“So where do you usually…you know…?”
“At their place. Despite what you think of me, I think independence is hot in a woman. Nothing cute about bums or damsels in distress.”
“But you brought me here,” I point out.
“No, I didn’t. You interloped.”
“Interloped?” What an ass! “I got invited to abarbecue. How was I supposed to know you lived here?” I tilt my head. “And that was a week ago. Did I bully myself onto the back of your bike and ride here tonight?”
“Well, you already marked your territory by leaving your flowery scent all over the place, so…”
I glare hard at him and his lips twitch. The sonuvabitch is messing with me.
“You really expect me to believe that I’m the only woman who’s ever been here?”
“You don’t gotta believe it.” He sets down the TV remote and picks up the Fire Stick remote beside it. “But youdohave to get in bed.”
Because my middle name is defiance—and also childish—I cross my arms and glare at him. “Do I?”
He cuts his gaze from the TV to me again and sighs. “Pia.”
“Ask menicely.”
He doesn’t even fight it, no macho hulking to prove himself. He complies, “Pia, babe, please get in bed.”
He even gives me puppy dog eyes as he pats the spot beside him. Now here’s a man who knows how to get what he wants. Plays the game so damn well. Makes me think I’m winning when I’m not.
Sure, he might be the one capitulating each and every time, but I’m not the one getting what I set out to get in the end.Heis. The fact that I’m standing five feet from his bed in nothing but a towel says it all.
Onyxgetswhat he wants, however he needs to play me to get it.
Like the sore sucker that I am, I climb in beside him and sneak under the covers.
A smirk plays on his lips as he watches me burrow under the comforter, tugging for more since he’s sitting on top of it and refusing to move even an inch.
“Hiding?”
Yes, because I’m at a disadvantage in a towel while you’re fully dressed.“Just cold.”
His deepening smirk tells me he knows I’m lying. “Want me under there to warm you up…?”
“No need,” I say quickly. “This is working.”
At that, he full-on grins. The asshat is laughing at me.
Shifting to the nightstand, he opens the drawer and gets out a pack of Twizzlers.
“You watch Chopped?” he asks.
“Are you kidding me? I freakingloveChopped.”
