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I spend the next hour going over the books and highlighting some trouble spots. We could definitely turn more of a profit with a few changes. I want to make sure I talk to Mom about those when they make it back. Once I get all that done, I pack up. It wouldn’t do for me to still be in the club by the time it opens. Nailer would probably come in and haul me out over his shoulder—which might hurt him. He’s definitely on the slimmer side of life, even with muscles.
Nothing like the guy last night.
I sigh out from the memory. He was pretty, but I need to get him out of my mind. Chances are, I’ll never see him again. I get my stuff together and walk to the door. Once I get it open, I can’t stop the gasp that leaves my lips. Standing there against the wall in all his glory, is the guy from last night.
Chains.
He looks like he’s just been standing there waiting for me. I do my best to ignore the trail of heat that runs through my system.
I fail… Especially when he grins at me.
Oh my. He has a beautiful grin. This time that trail of heat he causes shoots through me like a rocket.
Houston? I think we have a problem. Ovaries scheduled to burst in about T-minus ten seconds. 10, 9, 8…4ChainsI’m a fucking fool. She’s much too young, her dad’s the president of one of the biggest clubs around, and she’s nothing but trouble. Still, after one look last night, I want more. I’ve been standing outside this damn office for twenty minutes—ever since I walked by and heard her humming happily through the door.
She gasps in surprise, shock clear to read on her features. She didn’t expect to see me here. No, it’s probably more than that. She didn’t expect me to follow up on our meeting.
You ain’t alone, baby. You ain’t alone.
“Hi,” she says, her lips moving into a grin, pleasure slowly replacing her astonishment.
“Hey.”
“Were you waiting on me?”
“Probably,” I respond with a shrug.
“You don’t know?” she says with a small laugh.
“Not entirely. All I do know is that you are grade A trouble.”
“You don’t know me. How do you know I’m trouble?”
“Baby Girl, you reek of it.”
“Maybe you shouldn’t be here then,” she says softly as she walks toward me, stopping only when she’s within touching distance. I curl my hand in a fist to keep from reaching out. I usually have really good control over my actions, but this girl definitely tests me.
“Oh, I definitely shouldn’t be here.”
“Then, why are you?” she asks, her head tilting to the side, watching me carefully with her dark eyes, the irises almost black. A man could get lost in those eyes.
Or found.
“You don’t know me either.”
“What’s that mean?”
“Maybe I’m the kind of man who likes trouble.”
“I think I like you, Chains, which sucks.”
“Does it?” I say, not able to stop a surprised laugh. “I would have figured liking me was a real good thing, considering what I want to do to you.”
“With a normal girl, yes. Not with me.”
“Don’t believe I’m following you, Kayden.”
“I like you. It’d be a shame to get that pretty face of yours all messed up,” she says.
That does make me laugh. I’ve just turned thirty and I don’t think I’ve ever been referred to as pretty in my life.
“How about you let me worry about my face?”
“You’re not from around here.”
“What difference does that make?”
“The last guy to take an interest in me hopped in his truck and fled the state after one look at my Uncle Bull.”
“I don’t spook easily.” I shrug, not concerned.
“That’s what he said.”
“How old was he?”
“He was twenty-two,” she answers, frowning at me.
“Maybe your problem is that you were dealing with a boy and not a man.”
“How old are you?” she asks.
“Old enough to know better and still too damn—”
“Young to care. Yeah, I’ve heard that before.”
“How old are you, Kayden?”
“You know my name.”
“The guy last night said it.”
“And you heard him,” she says with a nod.
“When things are important, I make sure to listen.”
Her face goes soft and she likes what I said. I can tell. It’s strange how she doesn’t try and hide her thoughts from me. They seem to reflect right on her face. I’ve never known a woman like that before. I like it. With her, I’ll never have to guess where I stand.
“I’ll be nineteen next month,” she responds and I do the quick math in my head.
“Almost eleven years difference.”
“Eleven?” she asks, but I don’t respond, there’s no reason to. She frowns and then reaches over and touches the rocker panel on my cut. Her finger, which has a glossy red polish on it, traces my road name. “Am I too young for you, Chains?”
