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Sliding out of my car, I lazily strode toward the bar. It doubled as a store for motorcycle parts and accessories as it was also attached to Chrome Canvas Cycles—or CCC, as it was often referred to—which specialized in manufacturing custom motorcycles. I thought the bikes were out of this fucking world, but it would be fair to call me biased, as CCC was co-owned by Sherry’s husband, Dodger. The big, bearded teddy bear was one of my favorite people.
Really, I didn’t have the personality suited to waitressing. I wasn’t outgoing or chatty or helpful. If you stuck me in a party setting, I’d alternate between clock-watching and playing with my phone, intending to duck out once I’d stayed for a polite amount of time. Honestly, I knew more about my favorite book characters than I did about the actual living, breathing people around me.
Sherry said I made her think of a flighty she-wolf—always existing on the periphery of my pack of people because the social aspects of pack life were simply too draining. It was pretty close to the truth.
I’d originally started working at the bar, which Dodger also co-owned, to help Sherry after her waitress took off with a biker. I’d stayed for the simple reason that Sherry asked me to. The big-busted, big-haired, biker babe was another of my favorite people, and I owed her a lot. She’d been there for me in ways that Clear, despite loving me, never could.
As the roll-up bay door of CCC was open, I could see Dodger crouched beside a black and neon-blue monster of a bike. I was just about to call out hello when I heard the click of claws on concrete. One hundred and ten pounds of blue/brindle fur and hard muscle loped out of CCC. It was one mean-looking, badass dog. He was also absolutely gorgeous. Tall and well-proportioned with dark, almond-shaped eyes and a short, sleek coat.
A growl rumbled out of him, and he peeled back his upper lip. With an inner smile, I snarled right back at him. His own snarl melted away and, with a happy bark, he padded toward me. I crouched down to his level. “Morning, Bandit.” I petted his sleek fur, and the Cane Corso Mastiff practically melted against me. It was kind of our morning ritual—he’d growl, I’d snarl, and then he’d playfully dive at me and demand some attention.
Looking over his shoulder, Dodger smiled, flashing a gold tooth. “Hey, Kenz.”
“Morning, Dodger.” Straightening, I walked into CCC. It smelled of metal, grease, and paint. A few bikes were raised on lifts, and stacks of wheels and rims sat here and there. Power tools and large equipment were propped on workbenches while cans, bottles, tubs, and jugs lined the metal shelving. A few stools were positioned beneath the large pegboard on which a variety of tools hung.
“How was the festival?” he asked.
“Great. Until Sarah punched a security guard right in the face. Long story; don’t ask.” I adored Sarah. She made me think of a Pitbull terrier. Loving, loyal, strong-willed. She’d also bite the face off anyone who threatened her.
Dodger chuckled. “Can’t say I’m surprised.”
“No, neither can I. Where’s Cade?”
Dodger sighed. “Probably still recovering from his bender. He’ll be here.”
Cade worked for him and was equally as talented at the job. People came from all over the world to have the father-son team work on their bike. “Listen, I just wanted to give you a heads-up. Some true crime writer left a voicemail on my phone. He wants to interview me about Michael. I deleted it and won’t be returning his call, so he might turn up here. Might even ask you some questions.” It had happened before, sadly. “His name is Noah Linton.”
“Noah Linton,” Dodger echoed. “I’ll remember. I really wish assholes like him and the journalists would just leave you alone.”
Yeah, so did I. “Pass on the warning to Cade for me. I gotta get to work.”
“Will do. Hey, do me a favor, Kenz, and bring me out a coffee, would you?”
“No problem.” I gave Bandit one last stroke. “See you later, big guy.”
I turned … and stilled as I caught sight of over six feet of solid male muscle slipping out of a black, shiny Maserati, talking into his cell phone. All that muscle rippled beneath his shirt like waves of sea water. With tailored black slacks, gleaming shoes, and the top few buttons of his white shirt undone, he had that business-casual look going on. And, yep, my mouth just dried up.
He walked with long, relaxed, confident strides as he breezed through the parking lot. Moved slowly. Calmly. Fluidly. Totally in control. The slight breeze ruffled his short dark hair that shimmered and shined in the sun like black water.
Damn if my hormones didn’t do a happy dance.
I studied him, trying to gauge how old he was. Probably in his mid-thirties, I decided. He had a mature air about him that—
Hard, bottomless, glacier blue eyes suddenly found mine. And everything sort of went tits up. An electric snap of attraction hit me hard, sending a buzz of sexual energy sweeping across my skin, leaving goosebumps in its wake. It wasn’t lust. No, lust didn’t snare you or make your breath stutter. This was so much more powerful. And intensely fucking scary.
Sarah talked about sexual chemistry all the time; talked of how it sent your pulse racing and scrambled your thoughts. Honestly, I hadn’t believed it existed. I just hadn’t. I had a wild imagination, sure, but I was very practical in many ways. I’d rolled my eyes at the idea of such intense, intoxicating chemistry. I hadn’t seen how anyone could be reduced to a hot mess from nothing more than a brief look.
Yet, here I was, dazed by an unmistakable, blindsiding, uncontrollable force of sexual chemistry. There was nothing rational or intellectual about it. No, it was visceral. And I felt … ambushed. Seriously. It came out of fucking nowhere and now … It was like when you were watching something enthralling, hanging on the edge of your seat as you waited anxiously to see what happened next.
He ended his call just as he strode toward CCC, eyes still holding mine. My stomach clenched almost painfully, and my nerves seemed to suddenly explode. He was—no exaggeration—smoking, mind-meltingly hot. There was more to his appeal than that, though. He was alarmingly compelling. Blatantly dangerous. Had such a strong, imposing presence that I’d bet he caught people’s attention the moment he entered a room. Add in all that dark energy he spilled and the raw sexual magnetism he projected and, yeah, you had yourself a lethally seductive specimen.
I felt my face heat and knew there’d be a slight telling flush on my cheeks. He didn’t miss it. He didn’t miss a thing; his eyes raked over me, drinking in every detail. There wasn’t anything impressive to see. My long, dark ruler-straight hair was styled into a simple, high ponytail. My shirt and skirt were casual and nondescript. And I used a minimal amount of makeup—mostly because I was too lazy to spend much time on it.
When his eyes once again caught mine, there was a curious, irrepressible tug in my stomach that seemed to draw me toward him. At the same time, my scalp prickled, and I felt uncomfortable. His dangerous vibe would have reeled in many girls, but I made a point of staying away from bad boys. I was not my mother.
I didn’t hang around for Dodger to introduce me; I headed straight for the bar. If I hadn’t been so shaken, I might have smiled at the sound of Bandit snarling at the stranger behind me.
Pulling open the door and stepping inside, I was assaulted by the scents of wood, beer, and coffee beans. The bar-store hybrid was awesome, in my opinion. The windows were tinted in a way that minimized the natural light. Framed pictures of bikes hung from the red brick walls near the shelves that were lined with helmets, bike parts, and accessories.
