Page 13 of My Single Dad Biker

"He liked having you there."

"I liked being there."

Her hand is resting on the seat between us.

I'm looking at it. At her fingers. At the shape of her palm.

Before I can think about whether this is smart, I reach out and touch her hand with mine. Just once.

My fingers brush over her knuckles and I feel the softness of her skin and the warmth and then I pull back.

She doesn't move. Her eyes are on mine and her breath catches and I see the moment awareness shifts into want.

She feels it too.

"Goodnight Katherine," I say.

She opens the door and gets out. I watch her walk to her front door and unlock it. She turns before going inside and waves once.

I wait until the door closes and I hear the deadbolt before I pull away.

I drive home with my hands on the wheel and the imprint of her skin still on my fingers.

Katherine Hayes is Louis's teacher. She is a civilian. She is someone who should stay far away from the world I operate in.

And I want her anyway.

That is the problem.

I'm going to have to figure out what to do about it.

Chapter 3 — Katherine

I wake up at five in the morning thinking about Holt's hand on mine.

His fingers brushing over my knuckles, so quick I might have imagined it except I didn't imagine the way my breath caught.

I lie in bed staring at the ceiling and replay the entire evening.

I give up on sleep at five-thirty.

Shower, dress in leggings and a burgundy tunic that's looser than yesterday's but still doesn't hide the curve of my hips or the soft weight of my stomach. I stopped trying to dress like my body is a problem years ago.

I make coffee and drink it while the sun comes up, trying to figure out what I'm doing.

Holt is Louis's father. He's part of Vigil MC. Being near him makes me visible to Marrow. I should probably step back.

I don't want to step back.

I want to know what would have happened if he'd actually taken my hand instead of just brushing it. I want to know what his voice sounds like when he's not being cautious.

I'm at school by seven. The building is empty. I unlock my classroom and the piano is sitting in the corner where it always is, slightly out of tune but playable.

I sit down and start working through a piece I learned in college. My fingers remember better than my brain does.

The sound fills the empty room and I close my eyes and let it take up all the space in my head that was occupied by thoughts of Holt.

I'm halfway through the second movement when I feel it.