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“If I want anything else?” I sassed him back.
He grinned. “Get your ass off the damn bike.”
Then he turned and walked up to the front door, opened it, and walked inside.
Despite knowing him for such a short time, and despite being out in the middle of nowhere, I didn’t feel unsafe.
Instead, I felt turned on. Probably more than was wise, given that I was here for one purpose only: to gather information.
But I got off the bike, stowed the helmet, and followed him inside.
16
His house was nice – Spanish influence to the architecture, with exposed wood roof beams high overhead. There were sliding glass doors and a huge wooden deck out back.
As soon as we walked in, he punched out a code on a beeping alarm keypad on the wall. I thought that was ironic: heading up a motorcycle gang yet having an alarm for your place.
Then again, depending on who your enemies were, it might be really smart.
“What’s your poison?” he asked as he sloughed off his Midnight Riders jacket and walked over to a well-stocked bar set in one corner of the room.
I watched him appraisingly as he walked away from me. Broad, muscular shoulders. Massive biceps. And dozens of tattoos barely hidden by the wifebeater.
Damn, I thought as my mouth watered – and then brought myself back to the present. “What’ve you got?”
“What do you want?”
“Got any wine?”
He grinned. “For the ladies, yeah. Red or white?”
“Red.”
“One red wine, coming up.”
I walked through the open living room, traced my fingers across the leather couch, looked at the 60 inch flat screen on the wall. For a single guy’s home, it was nicely decorated. He had taste.
He walked over and handed me a crystal glass full of crimson. I sniffed it, tasted it. Not bad. Not bad at all.
He poured himself a double of 20 year-old scotch and clinked his tumbler against my wine glass.
“To badass bitches,” he grinned.
“How about just to badasses,” I said coolly.
He laughed. “To badasses, then.” He took a gulp, then gestured around. “Here’s my humble abode. You want the nickel tour?”
I was a little concerned the nickel tour might wind up in the bedroom.
“Later. Can we go out on the deck?”
“Of course.”
He unlocked the sliding glass door, and we stepped outside.
The stars were gorgeous. Despite the nearby city lights, hundreds of them twinkled over the rocky hills that stretched from his property into the dark distance.
We stood at the railing and listened to the wind rustling out in the underbrush. The faint smell of sagebrush and creosote hung in the air.
