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Except her—Simone Holland.
Four months ago, when Atlas stupidly asked me to run a background check on Jo, the woman who’s now his wife, the day came when I knew I was irrevocably screwed.
While I was investigating Jo’s social media, I got distracted by the silver eyes, ash brown hair, and hourglass figure of her sister, Simone. All her images held me captive, but one video from two years prior had me feverish with need.
The video showed the sisters helping their mom, Stella, decorate holiday sugar cookies. All was sweet until Jo made a joke about Simone’s love life, or lack of one. In retaliation, Simone flung a spoonful of frosting at Jo’s face, landing square between the eyes. A massive food fight ensued between the sisters, with Stella hollering, “Stop!” at the top of her lungs. To anyone else watching, the situation was humorous. For me, it was the moment I discovered the sexy vixen I was transfixed with was a brat.
Ilovebrats. Love the way they clap back when being told what to do. Love how they test my patience. And I love punishing their asses when they go too far.
My heart tugged at my chest, squeezing uncomfortably as my fingers reached out to touch her image on my monitor.
Tug, tug, tug.
Without a doubt in my mind, I knew she was the woman who’d put me in my place.
For months, I tortured myself by stalking her image all over the web. She was in more places than I was comfortable with, but I thanked God she was at the same time. It meant I could see more of her, learn more about her, feel closer to her. The more I learned, the deeper I fell.
Simone was committed to her job, working tirelessly to complete accounting projects. She was shrewd, with a no-bullshit attitude. It took a lot to gain her trust, but once you earned it, she was loyal to a fault. In many ways, I could relate.
It agitated me how this unknown woman was getting under my skin, making me crave the fucking romance that came with it. She was messing with my life, and she didn’t even know me.
This beauty wasn’t another pretty face. I’ve had my fair share of beautiful women to recognize a superior woman when she’s right in front of me. Simone was a checklist of every desirable and wicked quality I wanted in a partner: beauty, brains, class, commitment, and plenty of sass.
I tried to ignore my feelings. Tried to get lost in my fuck ’em and leave ’em lifestyle. But the urge to be with anyone else just disappeared.
Celibacy isn’t a lifestyle choice when you’re a horny bastard like me, but my body was betraying me. Ever since I found Simone’s pictures on Jo’s social media accounts, I haven’t fucked another woman—which has made me one sexually angry prick.
I thought if I approached Simone, won her over with my charm—and got her in my bed—maybe I could screw her out of my system, then return to the life I loved.
But that misguided dream turned to pot four weeks ago, when she showed up at headquarters with all her belongings in her posh Mercedes-Benz SUV.
As soon as I laid eyes on her in real time, standing on our headquarters’ front stoop in her expensive-ass high heels and body hugging business clothes, I threw in the towel. There was no way one good lay was going to be enough to rid my system of her. Trying to deny myself what Ireallywant would just be futile.
And what Ireallywant is to make Simone Holland my old lady.
Subtlety is not my forte. From the moment she arrived at our club’s compound, I made my intentions clear, warning all my single MC brothers Simone was off-limits, claimed, and spoken for. They didn’t need to be told twice.
Possessive? Yeah, but I don’t give a shit. I know what I want, and I’m not afraid to go after it.
Doesn’t matter where she is. My eyes follow her like a puppy dog trotting along, chasing its favorite scent in the air.
Speaking of scents…
The wind shifts, wafting the alluring floral musk of my obsession in my direction. It’s enough of a stimulant to pull me out of my thoughts and into the present moment at Prez and Jo’s wedding. I drag Simone’s unique floral fragrance deep into my nostrils, closing my eyes a moment to cherish her scent before opening them to find her standing a few feet away from me on the dance floor.
Simone looks sexy as hell every goddamn day, but tonight she’s exceptionally radiant. Like Venus in human form.
She’s wearing an emerald green Grecian bridal gown that hugs the voluptuous curves of her heavy breasts, tucking in at her tapered waist before flaring at her round hips. Her hair is up in an elegant twist, showcasing the flawless, creamy skin on her long ballerina neck. Her gray eyes shine like silver dollars under the twinkling outdoor wedding lights.
Fucking magnificent.
While she watches Jo and Prez dance their first dance as husband and wife, I watch her over the rim of my bourbon tumbler.
Simone smiles, happy her younger sister found the man of her dreams. But I notice the sadness in her liquid mercury eyes. She hides it well, yet I see her emotions as clear as day. I would do anything,everything, to wipe the sorrow from her life.
Trent Grills, her fucking ex, thought he could have his cake and eat it, too, when he cheated on Simone with her boss. The loser may have gotten away with it had Simone not walked in on the two of them doing the deed, shattering her heart in the process. Her ex’s infidelity drove Simone out of Sacramento, right to our doorstep at the MC, confessing everything to her sister—and one step closer into my arms.
His fuck-up is my gain. I intend to mend her broken heart, strengthening it to make it all mine.
