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She scoffed. “You’re loan sharks.”
His shrug spoke to his indifference to their illegal activity. “I didn’t say we were saints, just that we aren’t fucking assholes. The women associated with my club? Well, they’re fucking queens to their men. Not sure I’ve met other women who are treated so well.” He winked as he dumped some sort of puffed snack out on Caleb’s tray. “As they should be.”
Queens? As they should be? Who were these people? If he spoke the truth, everything she thought she knew about the Hell’s Handlers Motorcycle Club was wrong.
She chugged the rest of her drink. It’d take a few more to ease her tension. Tonight had been the most bizarre evening she’d ever experienced, and it didn’t seem to be ending anytime soon.
“You’ll see,” he added. “They’re great. You’ll love them.”
“What? No. Why would I meet any of them?” Was he insane?
He laughed again. Brenna refused to admit she liked the sound of his deep, rich laughter or the way it lit up his face with a genuine smile, making him even hotter.
“The ladies have a way of… let’s call it adopting women they like. And they’re gonna love you. Be prepared to be pulled into the fold.”
She shook her head. Never going to happen. “But they’re not gonna meet me, so it’s a moot point.”
Lock grunted. “Oh, you’ll meet them.” He leaned against the counter, folding those very nice arms across his chest. “If we’re gonna do this, there’s no way you won’t meet them. Trust me, as soon as they hear about you, they’ll be inviting you to their margarita nights or spa toe things or whatever it is they do that terrifies the rest of us.”
This time, she couldn’t help but laugh. It might have come out a bit hysterical, but at least she wasn’t crying. This conversation had gone off the rails like the rest of the day. “Spa toe things?”
“Whatever, you know what I mean. Bottom line, Brenna…”
She shifted her gaze to the infant. He was much easier to look at.
“Look at me. This is important.”
Damn him. She shifted her gaze back to him with reluctance.
He uncrossed his arms, pushed off the cabinet, and stalked to her. The closer he got, the more she had to tip her head up to keep eye contact. The man wasn’t huge, maybe an inch over six feet, but he was tall compared to her five feet five inches. He cupped her shoulders with a gentle grip. Those hands were warm on her. She fought to suppress a shiver of delight at how his calluses scraped her skin. It wasn’t him, per se. It’d been so long since any attractive man touched her that she’d respond this way.
Right?
“You’re safe here in my home or at our clubhouse,” he said. “You’re safe with any man in my club. Spec promised you that, and I’m reiterating it. You have nothing to fear from any of us. Oliver, on the other hand? Well, he’s fucked.” For the first time since they got to his house, darkness crossed his face, and she saw a man who could do severe damage if he wanted.
Her stomach plummeted to the floor.
What the hell had Oliver gotten her into? And worse yet, why did Lock’s promise of safety and protection make her feel all warm and gooey inside?
CHAPTER FOUR
“SO, WHAT EXACTLY is the plan?” Brenna asked an hour later as they sat on the couch finishing up a large pizza.
Lock had been pleasantly surprised when she’d let him pick the toppings, then smiled at his choice of sausage, mushrooms, and peppers. He liked a woman who ate more than lettuce and carrot sticks.
What he didn’t like was the way his dick reacted to her tongue licking pizza sauce off her lip or the tightening in his gut when she moaned her delight after the first bite. Getting a permanent hard-on for the woman Spec charged him with protecting would be the worst way to prove his worth to the club. Lock wanted back in their good graces more than anything. Brenna was a job, nothing more, and he needed to excel at that job so he could finally start feeling like he belonged with his brothers again.
He mentally kicked himself in the ass, then said, “Spec and my president are supposed to swing by tonight to iron out the details with us.”
She froze with the pizza slice halfway to her pink lips. “Your president?”
He smirked. “Not guilty, remember?”
“Yeah, no, I know. It’s just… never mind.” She took a bite and shifted her gaze to the table.
Lock gave her this one and didn’t press the issue. Sometimes, he forgot most people were wary of his club, if not downright afraid, especially its president. Throw in this overwhelming situation, and no wonder Brenna had serious concerns. If she hadn’t already begun to soften toward the club, she’d find out soon enough that her preconceived assumptions were off base.
“So, uh, am I going to have to contend with a jealous girlfriend or ex-wife or something when Caleb’s mom realizes I’m here?” A nervous chuckle followed her question. She’d probably asked hoping to diffuse some tension. Too bad she stepped into a minefield.
