Page 75 of Texting the Wrong Bikers

Something unreadable flickers across his expression. “I needed Shadow for something else.”

My suspicion immediately rises. “That’s vague.”

“It was supposed to be.”

I narrow my eyes.

He smiles smugly at me, like he’s holding a winning hand of cards. “Unless you think Trigger or Dash are capable of honoring Shadow’s promise to remain invisible for an entire evening, you’re stuck with me.”

The image of either man attempting subtle surveillance is so ridiculous that it makes me laugh. “Okay.”

He nods and smirks. “Thought so.”

I point a warning finger at him. “Fine, but if you’re replacing Shadow, we’re establishing ground rules.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Should I be taking notes?”

“Stay away from me.”

“Always or?” he quips, unusually jovial.

I roll my eyes. “Tonight. And no lurking beside my table, either. Shadow was going to wait outside.”

He nods.

“And especially no interrogating men who speak to me,” I add for good measure.

His expression remains infuriatingly neutral. “I’ll do my best.”

“You sound like you’re already planning to fail.”

“I’m assessing the likelihood. In that dress, there’s going to be a lot of men speaking to you, not all of them with gentlemanly intentions.”

I groan. “See? This is exactly what I’m talking about. You are such a dominating control freak.” The words leave my mouth before I fully think them through.

A slow smile appears on his face. “Oh, am I?” There is something in his voice that makes my stomach tighten unexpectedly.

I fold my arms. “You absolutely are.”

His gaze holds mine. For a moment, neither of us looks away. Then, very deliberately, he takes a step closer. The movement is small. The effect is not. Suddenly, I am aware of everything—the warmth radiating from him, the clean scent of soap mixed with leather and something uniquely masculine, the sheer physical presence of him. My body reacts instantly, traitorously, in ways I would rather not examine too closely.

Chief notices, of course, the man misses nothing. Faint amusement appears in his eyes. “Control has its uses. It can be fun, if you allow it to be, when used in the right ways,” he says.

The comment sends a ridiculous rush of heat through me. God, Chief hasn’t talked to me like this in… well… ever, not since we were messaging anyway. “You’re acting as bad as Dash,” I reply, trying to laugh it off, but my voice comes out shaky.

His voice drops slightly lower. “Oh, trust me, I’m a lot harder to handle than any of the others.”

Something dangerous flickers briefly between us before he steps back again, the moment disappearing almost as quickly as it arrived. Whatever thought had been lurking behind his eyes vanishes behind the familiar calm mask.

“There you go again,” I mutter.

His forehead furrows. “What?”

“Being impossible to understand.”

For a second, something surprisingly vulnerable appears in his expression. Then it’s gone. “Let’s go. You’ll be late.” Before I can press him further, he turns and heads toward the door.

I stare after him, completely bewildered. One minute, he’s looking at me as though he wants to devour me, and the next, he’s retreating behind walls so thick I could spend the rest of my life trying to climb them. Honestly, the man is going to drive me insane.