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She let out a steadying breath. The little research she’d done on Macha MC was unrewarding. The club stayed out of the limelight until a rivaling MC, the Twelve Brothers, decided they wanted Macha’s territory. That’d been six months ago. She’d read the articles but never made the connection to her father.
After her mum’s death, she went to see Malcom Kerry—Phantom, as she’d heard his fellow bikers call him. Her father, while excited to see her, was more worried for her safety, she could only assume because he was the president and she was his child.Why couldn’t he have hidden me in Ireland?That was the root of contention, but she eventually obeyed his request to stay with the Colorado chapter of Macha. But only after her best friends encouraged her to have an adventure. She’d been scared out of her mind to leave, but the decision was simple: she needed to see a bit of the world, even if it was only Colorado.
The pilot came over the intercom and the seat belt sign flicked off, summoning Isa to shaky legs. Her head hit the lowered ceiling above the seat, and she grunted. Having her father’s height never pained her more than this moment. Normally, she adored her five-foot-eleven stature. Today, she loathed it. Being stuffed in an airplane with hardly any room to stretch out made flying drop lower on her preferred methods of transportation.
Phantom—not “Da” like he’d prefer—promised to retrieve her once the MC fight was put to bed. He couldn’t give a time frame, which pissed her off. She didn’t like to wait. Especially when it had nothing to do with her.
Retrieving her carry-on, she slung it over her shoulder and followed the crowd off the airplane. Phantom said to expect an MC man to be waiting.Just what I need. Another man giving me orders.She’d gotten used to being alone. Well, as alone as she could get living five minutes away from her protective Catholic mother.
The Colorado Springs airport wasn’t overly busy. Isa took her time weaving through the hallways, watching planes depart through the large windows. She was in no hurry to begin a mandatory exile from the land she loved. Her father’s Macha man could wait.He’s probably just some ratty old guy anyways.
After stopping at a Cinnabon and filling her belly with her favorite treat, Isa continued slowly toward the baggage claim. She stopped by a cute tourist shop and perused the trinkets. A tie-dye T-shirt boasting the Rocky Mountains caught her eye, and she had to purchase it. Wherever she went, she bought a T-shirt. She hadn’t been many places, so her collection was in dire need of a facelift.
When her phone started ringing, she pulled it out of her carry-on. “Orla, I miss Ireland.”
Her best friend laughed. “You’ve been gone a whole day. Give it some time.”
Isa plopped into an empty seat near a departing terminal. “My da—er, Phantom said he’d come for me when it was done. Why don’t I believe that?”
“Probably because he’s been a no-show your entire life.” Orla sighed. “We miss you at the shop. Niall is already driving me mad. He’s trying to recreate that dress you made last week. I’ll send you pictures. It’ll help your mood.”
“My mood is fine,” she snapped.
“Oh, aye, I can hear that.”
Knowing her best friend was right, Isa tried to steady her nerves. Leaving home without her blonde-haired twin was difficult. Most people assumed they were sisters, their height and eye color the only differences. Orla and Niall were her best friends since childhood, and the only time they’d been apart was on holiday. It’d taken longer than expected for Niall to admit he was in love with Orla, but now they’d been married two years, and their love antics only made Isa envious.
“I miss Mum.”
“That never goes away, love. But Niall and I are here for you when you return. Don’t you worry your pretty little head about it.”
She chewed on her bottom lip, eyes darting across the travelers passing by. “Are you sure you can’t come over?”
“Who’d run the shop—our shop?”
They’d opened the small candle and soap shop that also provided Isa the opportunity to try her fashion designs on the locals. Thus far, they loved her shirts, dresses, and skirts. Her plan was to become famous.As famous as a Northern Irishwomancanbe in fashion.
“I know. Wishful thinking is all.” She glanced at the clock on the other end of the terminal. Almost two hours had passed since she landed. Time was never something she managed well. “I better find my chauffeur. I’ll call once settled.”
Setting her laced-up boots on the floor once more, Isa hurried to the baggage claim and scoured the signs for her flight. Panic lined her gut when none of the signs showed her flight number. She ran a hand through her thick hair. “Eejit, I shouldn’t have dallied.”
“No, you shouldn’t have.”
The deep voice sent a tingle down Isa’s back. Slowly, she turned around and was pleasantly surprised as she looked straight into a man’s piercing eyes the color of a tumultuous sea. The look on his face said his attitude was equally stormy.
“Isadora Walsh?”
“Last I checked.”
The man wearing a leather cut and dark blue jeans nodded. “I grabbed your bags when you didn’t show up. They kept going around the belt, squeaking annoyingly. I don’t like to be kept waiting.”
“That’s too bad, because I like to dawdle.”
Isa slowly ran her eyes up and down the man she guessed was a few years her senior. He was definitely not what she expected whenbikercame to mind. A greasy-haired scoundrel, sure, but a man who could double as a model? No. This man had lean muscle and a wide chest. Tattoos curled around his biceps all the way down to his wrists. She’d bet her sketchbook there were more hidden beneath his black T-shirt and jeans. His blond hair was a bit too long and completely wind tousled, giving him a vibe she could only describe as smoking hot. His dark blue eyes were cautious, searching her curiously. For a moment, she saw a flicker of a smile, but he hid it just as fast.
Heat flushed her face when she noticed he was equally scrutinizing her appearance. Normally she’d mind, but with this biker, her pulse skyrocketed.
“Doc.” He held out his hand. That too held tattoos. Her mind went wild at the intricate designs and how fun it’d be to trace every last one. Her small village didn’t have many tattooed men. She’d Internet surfed, of course, but seeing a man like him decked out in tattoos of all colors made her pulse quicken.
