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“You’re early.” I nod as though I don’t feel like my entire body has melted an inch into my shoes at the sound of his voice. “Thanks for coming in.”
The man filling the doorway of my office has shoulders so broad he fills up the entire width of the space. He’s wearing a dark gray T-shirt that looks like it’s painted over his sculpted chest and arms. The distressed black leather vest he wears over his tee has his biker name embroidered on a patch over his heart. I can’t see it now, but I know the distinctive Disciples logo—the one that marks him as a member of a motorcycle club—covers his broad back.
I suck in my lower lip as I take in thick arms covered in colorful tattoos—some faded, some fresh—when he lazily lifts one and leans it against the doorjamb. He tugs dark aviators from his eyes with the opposite hand and looks me over.
“Mornin’, Lacey...” His voice is low and a little raspy. A bedroom voice. The voice of a man who can bring chills to a woman’s skin by just whispering in her ear. His eyes, bright blue like the Florida sky on the most perfect day, seem to study my lips, waiting for me to find my words.
I clear my throat, feeling every bit as awkward as I probably look, and walk back to my desk, putting as much of the solid cherrywood between him and me as possible. Then I set down my mug and motion for him to come in. “Have a seat,” I say, my voice trembling slightly.I give my head a little shake, hoping to clear my muddled thoughts.
He’s still a good ten feet away from me, and yet I swear as I pull in a breath through my nose, a subtle whiff of aftershave and soap reaches my nose. I take in as much of the heavenly scent as I can before I realize he can probably tell what I’m doing.
As he approaches, the thick, well-worn soles of his boots scuff lightly against the floor. He looks down at the pristine silver fabric of the guest chair in front of my desk like he’s afraid he’s going to dirty it or break it.
He mutters something low in this throat but drops into the chair and looks helplessly down at the armrests. He’s so big, he has to comically wedge himself into the seat. A lost expression, like he doesn’t quite know what to do with his hands, comes over his face. His denim-clad legs are spread wide when he finally decides to rest his hands on his knees. I’ve been watching him this entire time like a weirdo, and as soon as I realize it, I snap my eyes to my laptop and start tapping at the keys just for something to do.
“So, am I fired?” he asks.
His pale skin is dusted with freckles and fine lines, weathered from years riding in the wind and sun. His hands are muscled like they’ve seen years of hard work and the white threaded through his reddish hair and brows makes him look like a man not a boy.
I chuckle, a little too loudly. “Fired? Oh God, no. Why would you think that?”
He motions around with a tattooed hand. “Been working security for these fancy parties of yours for what, now? Two years. I think this is the first time I’ve been called to the boss lady’s office.”
I swallow, thankful for the reminder. I’m the boss lady. His boss.
I can’t lust after the biker.
Even if I can hardly help myself.
I force a smile, grateful he can’t read my thoughts. “Uh, no,” I tell him. “You’re not in trouble. Not at all. We have a special request for the wedding this weekend. We’ve arranged for formalwear for you.”
At that, a slow smile lifts one corner of his mouth. “Formalwear.” He repeats the word, his eyes sparkling like he’s about to burst out laughing.
“Yes, a tuxedo,” I explain. “The bride and groom have covered the cost. We just need to fit you so you’re comfortable at the event.”
“A tux? There ain’t no way tux and comfortable fit in the same sentence. And there ain’t no way you’re getting one of those things on my body.” He stands to leave.
“Wait. Are you serious?” I rush to my feet.
He must be because he’s halfway to the door before I realize I have to stop him. I scurry around my desk as he turns back to me, and I reach for his arm. “Eagle, wait. Please. I need you at this wedding.” My fingers are only resting on the bare skin of his arm, but my traitorous bitch of a body tells me to hold on much tighter than is necessary.
His skin is so smooth and hot. I don’t know what I expected him to feel like, but this is the first time I’ve touched him since I shook his hand when I hired him. I know because I’ve been so, so careful not to touch him for this exact reason.
He looks down at my hand and before things can get any more awkward, there’s a knock at my door.
“Excuse me, Lacey?” A familiar voice calls past the mountain of man blocking her view of me. “You ready for the fitting?”
I snatch my hand away and wave Eagle aside. “Margaret, yes. Come on in.” Then I turn back to Eagle, pleading with my eyes. “This is the tailor,” I tell him. Then without thinking, I blurt out, “We need to get you out of your clothes.”
CHAPTER TWO
EAGLE
I would take my clothes off for this woman any day of the week, but if either of us are going strip down to what the good Lord gave us, I’d prefer to see her without that gray pencil skirt and white blouse.
As soon as she says the words, she gasps a bit and shakes her head. I jerk a thumb at the woman in practical flats who’s got a tape measure around her neck and a little bag of what I assume are pins and scissors or some shit.
“Nuh-uh.” I say, shaking my head. “Sorry, doll, but I draw the line at the monkey suit.” I give the wedding planner a look that’d make my worst enemy soil his shorts. But this lady ain’t shaken. Lacey meets my stare with a look that almost has me reconsidering my feelings about tuxedos.
