Page 38 of Property of Quake

“You okay?” Quake asks when I make no move to get out of the truck.

“Oh, um…” I slide across the seat and hop to the pavement. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

I follow him inside and nearly lose my ability to form coherent thoughts.

Dear Lord, where are we?

Women are everywhere. Beautiful women who are scantily-dressed as if they’ve committed to wearing as little clothing as possible.

I stare. I can’t help it. I tell myself to look away, but my eyes don’t listen. I’m so shocked that I run straight into Quake’s back when he stops walking.

He glances over his shoulder at me and grins. “You’re staring.”

“I am not,” I lie.

“You absolutely are.”

“I’m just surprised, that’s all.”

“You mean scandalized,” he corrects.

“I mean…” Words he spoke to me when we first met have me pausing.

I’m a biker, and you’re a nun. Those are just facts. I don’t expect you to change who you are, so don’t expect it of me.

I sigh. “Yes, I’m scandalized.”

Quake laughs, and it’s the first real laugh I’ve heard from him tonight. Not surprising under the circumstances, but it’s nice to hear.

“Who’s the nun?”

Quake and I look toward the voice, and my eyes widen at the woman approaching. She’s one of the least dressed ladies here, not that there’s anything ladylike about her. The black tank top she’s wearing ends just under breasts, which I can see the underside of at the hem. It’s cut so low that I can also see the tops of her areolas.

Without thinking, I lower my stare and almost choke on my own spit when I see that she’s not even wearing pants. Nope, the purple underwear, if they can even be called that, leave little to the imagination. And the matching heels on her feet are the icing on the very slutty cake.

“Judge not, lest ye be judged,” I whisper.

“What was that?” Quake asks.

“Nothing,” I blurt. Then, remembering my manners, I thrust a hand out to the woman. “I’m Sister Emiliani. It’s nice to meet you…”

“Glitz,” she supplies and then drops her voice conspiratorily. “Do I have to call you Sister Emiliani? I’m not religious or anything.”

The question is so out of left field that I snort a laugh and shake my head. “No. You, um, can call me Whitney.”

She smiles, which puts me at ease. “Hi, Whitney.”

“Hello.”

Glitz tips her head to look up at Quake. “I got your suite ready for your company. And I’ll be around all night if any of you need anything.”

“You were in my suite?” Quake asks, his tone suddenly dangerous.

“Well, yeah,” she retorts. “When Sister Beatrice called and told Lyric about our guests, he asked me to make sure your sheets were clean.” His cheeks become ruddy, and she laughs. “He also had me get any toiletries the two of them might need, and I restocked your minifridge."

“Oh, thanks,” he says.

“No problem.” Glitz bounces on her heels. “Well, I’ll leave you to it.”