Page 70 of Diary of a Biker Queen

He sniggered and brushed some crumbs off his fingers. “I had fun, princess. Way too much fun, probably. Didn’t know you had it in you.”

I rolled my eyes at him. “Don’t pretend like you thought I was a virgin.”

He leaned in closer, so the others moving around us didn’t hear. “I know you’re no virgin. But I didn’t know you’d moan for my dick in your ass either.”

I gaped at him. And then swatted his arm. “It’s barely eight in the morning!” I hissed at him. “You cannot talk about anal while people are eating their cornflakes!”

He twisted on his seat and folded his arms across his chest. “What are you doing today?”

I snorted at that. “Oh jeez, I don’t know. I was thinking about visiting the Queen for tea. Then I thought maybe I’d duck into Hollywood in the afternoon and maybe do a bit of movie producing. But I do definitely want to be back in time to make that business meeting Warren Buffett asked for. Dear old friend he is.”

Luca gave me a deadpan stare. “You done?”

I gave it right back to him. “What do you think I’m doing, Luca? You and Dax and Lynx and everyone else have had me locked up in this clubhouse ever since Virginia died. I’m bored stupid. I have nowhere to go. Nothing to do. And I’m losing my mind.”

“You’re growing a baby,” he said seriously. “In safety.”

I blew out a breath of frustration. “I know. And trust me, I don’t want to sound ungrateful. But I am also going stir crazy. So please, for the love of all things holy, whatever you’re doing today, let me come with you. Be my bodyguard if you must. I don’t care. Just spring me from the prison.”

His mouth pulled into a tight line, and I was sure he was going to say no and force me to hide in the trunk of his car, just so I could see something other than the trees surrounding the clubhouse.

Except then he shrugged. “You sure you want to come? I have to—”

“Yes!” I scrambled off the chair, excitement flooding me. “Yes, yes, yes. Whatever it is, I’m in. Let’s go.”

“Can I finish my toast?”

“Finish it in the car. I can’t sit here a minute longer.”

He shook his head at me but let me tug him off the barstool. He grabbed his keys from the hooks by the door and trotted after me, the two of us pausing only to put on our shoes. I practically ran to his car, transferring my weight from foot to foot in excitement of actually leaving.

Over the hood, his expression turned troubled. “I didn’t realize how badly you were struggling with being here. You never complained.”

The locks popped up, and I sat in the passenger seat, waiting for him to get behind the wheel before I answered. “I would have looked like a spoiled brat if I had. Oh, poor little Nyah, tucked up safe with a roof over my head, food to eat, and nothing to do except love on the baby I’m growing. No financial worries. No job to go to. Do you know how many working women would kill to be in that situation?”

He put the car in reverse, and then his hand found the back of the passenger seat as he reversed out of the parking lot. “Yeah, but you were bored and lonely, right? You didn’t sign up for any of this.”

I went quiet. “No, I didn’t. But I don’t want everyone pitying me either.”

“You can say what you need without everyone thinking you’re weak or selfish, Nyah.”

I breathed out heavily. Like his hand on my seat while he reversed, his tattoos all on display as his muscles flexed beneath his skin wasn’t attractive enough, he had to go and say things like that.

Jesus Christ. He was going to get a blow job while he drove at this rate.

He steered the car out of the Slayers’ compound and nodded at the prospect on the gate, who didn’t question why I was leaving. I was grateful it wasn’t War or Hawk or Reaper, who probably would have.

The compound disappeared behind us, and a weight lifted off my shoulders. I kept glancing over at Luca, thoroughly obsessed by how good he looked behind the wheel. Despite the fact he hadn’t seen his father since we’d gotten back from Scotland, he was still wearing the suits that had filled his closet when we’d lived beneath Carlos’s roof. He’d lost the ties and jackets, so his style had become slightly more casual, with his business shirts rolled to his elbows and scruff growing thick along his jawline.

He wore jeans and hoodies and sweats around the clubhouse, but he played the part of well-dressed sports team owner well.

I ran my gaze all over him while he drove, obsessively checking out every inch now that I felt like I could. I had no doubt this truce between us wouldn’t last long and we’d be back to antagonizing each other in no time, but I realized, every time that happened, we both enjoyed it. It was barely concealed flirting and only made the sex hotter when we eventually did cave in and admit we wanted each other.

“Stop looking at me like that,” he said eventually.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You fucking do. And I can’t stop thinking about what we did last night. So if you don’t stop looking at me, I’m gonna pull the car over and do those things all over again.”