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Taking her hand, he led her inside. The patrons had quieted some, and a few had left because the hour had grown late. Someone had cleaned up the glass and alcohol from the floor, for which she was thankful. She was less thankful for the speculation and curiosity on the faces of Micah’s teammates as he walked her toward the back, and she decided to pretend she didn’t notice.
Just through the double swinging doors leading into the kitchen, to the left, was the office. The door beside the office was the staff restroom, complete with a first-aid kit. As they reached the restroom, Jack came out of the office.
“Oh, there you are. Need some help with that cut?”
“I’ve got her,” Micah answered before she could open her mouth.
Jack hesitated. “When you’re fixed up, fill out a workman’s comp form and go home. It’s slowing down now, so we’re good.” Then with a smirk, he turned back inside and shut the door.
In the restroom, Micah fished under the sink and brought out the plastic container with the supplies. While he worked, she admired the way his muscles moved under his T-shirt and snug jeans. How his brown hair fell around his face and to his shoulders. Damn, she had it bad.
He proved to be a gentle caregiver, dabbing alcohol on the wound to clean it, then dressing it with a square bandage and some medical tape.
“Thank you,” Jacee said.
“You’re welcome. I’ll walk you out.”
The man was patient, waiting while she gathered her purse from the office, quickly filled out the form, and told Jack good-bye. He was so solicitous of her as well, placing a broad hand on her back as they left and shielding her from his Pack’s stares with his body until they were outside.
“Which car is yours?” he asked.
“Over there.” She pointed to a silver Chevy pickup that had seen better days.
“Nice truck.”
She shrugged. “It’s fifteen years old, but it gets me around, on a good day.”
“I’m a motorcycle guy myself.”
“Yeah?” He pointed to a black Harley parked on the side of the building, a few yards away. “Nice.”
“It gets me around.”
He grinned at her, and she couldn’t help but grin back. There was something about the man that called to her. It was more than the years of loneliness, of mourning her lost family, of yearning for the touch of another. It was the possibility of a man who might be hers to keep. What would that be like?
Their boots crunched on the asphalt as he walked her to the truck. At the driver’s door, she turned to face him—and found herself gently pushed against the side of the vehicle with one of his hands braced on the roof above her head. His front was flush with hers, his body heat branding her like an iron.
Slowly, he lowered his head, giving her time to protest the kiss he was about to take. In answer, she wrapped her fingers in the soft hair at the back of his head and pulled his head the rest of the way down.
Explosive. That was his taste on her tongue, assaulting her senses. Hardening her nipples and making her sex ache. She couldn’t have stopped her reaction to him any more than she could have halted a tidal wave, and she didn’t want to. Her coyote growled in pleasure. Now she’d know his essence, his scent, anywhere. She knew what he was to her.
But she wouldn’t use that name for him. It was too soon.
After exploring her mouth for several moments, he pulled back and stared down at her, expression warm. “You taste so damn fine.”
“You’re pretty yummy yourself.”
He sighed. “You are so getting the short end of the stick with me—”
“No. Stop right there.” She glared at him. “If this is about your scars, save it. I don’t care about those, except I hate that you had to get hurt. They don’t make you any less attractive to me.”
“Thanks,” he said, sounding sincere. Reaching up to her face, he tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. “But I wasn’t really talking about the scars. I’ve got baggage, Jacee. Loads of it.”
“So do I. But we’ll get to know each other and share the burden, right?”
Again with the sadness. She didn’t like the look on him. “Right.”
“I’m off tomorrow night,” she told him, “in case you wanted to know.”
