Page 81 of The Biker and the Baker
“Thank you, Ley.”
She sighs before she hangs up, and a few minutes later, the gates slowly spread open.
I drive straight to the back gardens and park. Though all the lights in the mansion are off, I know I’m being watched.
Out of the car and into the torrential downpour, I break into a run. Just as I get to the fishpond bridge, I trip and tumble, crashing to the wet wood. Pain ricochets through my body, but I don’t care. In no time, I’m up and moving again, through the gardens and straight up to the blue-lit RV.
Sopping wet, I pound my fist against the door. “Onyx!”Bang bang bang.“Onyx, open up!”
A clap of thunder cracks and booms above, making me jump, as if condemning me. Yep, I’m definitely hated up there.
Bang bang bang. “Onyx!”
I’m trembling now, teeth clattering. What if he’s not home? There’s a thunderstorm, he might be atherplace. Or, maybe she’s here…
The door swings open and I jump back lest I get smacked in the face.
A bare-chested, sleepy-faced Onyx frowns down at me. “Jesus Christ, Pia.” He backs up and waves me in. “Get in here.”
I start to, then stop. “Is y-y-y-your f-f-f-f-fiancé h-here?”
“Come the fuck inside, Pia,” he orders, sounding both worried and angry at the same time.
Warmth envelops me when I do, and I feel like the prodigal son. Inside is so toasty and cozy from the heater that I want to curl up into a ball and snore.
“Wait here.” He makes his way to the bathroom and returns shortly with a large towel, wrapping it around me. “Sit down. Lemme make you something warm.”
Sliding into the dinette booth, I watch him move about the kitchen, filling the electronic kettle and switching it on. His blue basketball shorts hang low on his hips, and the absence of a peeking waistband tells me he’s freeballing. That thought sends a welcoming dose of heat through me.
I salivate at the flexing musculature of his back that shows as he opens the top cupboard and takes out a tea box.Mytea box from when I used to sleep over. After our breakup, I’d been too chicken shit to come collect it and figured he’d throw it out, considering it has a customized carving of my name on the front.
But it’s still here…
“W-w-here is s-she?” I ask his back.
He doesn’t answer me. He doesn’t evenlookat me. He just folds his arms across his broad chest and leans against the counter, waiting for the water to boil.
Since I’m still shivering and unable to speak without stuttering, it’s futile to force conversation, so I close my eyes and pull the towel tighter around me, letting the warmth percolate.
At the sudden sound of the kettle’s artificial whistle a few minutes later, I snap open my eyes and catch Onyx watching me. He turns away and switches off the kettle.
“Chamomile, peppermint, lemon and ginger, oolong, green tea, Earl Grey, chai or echinacea?” he asks, looking down into the tea box.
“I’ll take the chamomile. Thanks.”
He finishes up and brings it over to me. I cup my hands around the mug, soaking up the heat.
Instead of sitting in the booth seat on the opposite side of the table, he goes to the built-in couch on the other side of the RV, as if needing to be as far away from me as possible.
After taking a hot sip of tea, I ask him, “What’s her name?”
“Mary.”
“How saintly,” I mutter under my breath.
He leans back on the couch, with crossed arms and one hell of a manspread. “Tell me.”
I’m distracted by the unbridled bulge at the center of those legs. “Tell you what?”
