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Chapter One
Riley Grayson glanced at her mother’s old wristwatch: 2:00 AM. Closing time. She let out a sigh of relief as she moved behind the bar, wiping down counters as she prepared to close for the night.
“Last call,” Riley announced to the remaining patrons at the bar. “We’ll be closing up soon, so finish your drinks.”
Most of the customers, her regulars, gave her understanding nods before downing the rest of the drinks. Her gaze lingered on the dark-haired gorgeous man wearing a leather jacket seated at the end of the bar. He probably wasn’t considered handsome by most women’s standards, but she certainly couldn’t look away the moment he entered the bar.
He sauntered in like a king, like he owned the place, but he didn’t talk or acknowledge anyone but Riley. Riley could feel the weight of his grey-eyed stare all evening.
As she served his beer, Riley had wondered what it would feel like to have such experienced hands and lips on her body. She always had a thing for older men and this biker hit all of her buttons from the get-go.
Then she remembered her responsibilities, Rob’s expensive habit, and the stack of bills on her kitchen table. Riley had no time for romance.
In fact, it always seemed she had no time for anything, especially after her parents passed away in a car accident when she was 18 and Rob was 19.
As she approached him, she couldn’t help but feel a subtle flutter in her chest. His eyes met hers, and the connection was electric, as if they had known each other for years, though they had only exchanged a few polite words throughout the night.
“I hate to interrupt, but we’re closing up now. Time to call it a night,” Riley told him.
The biker looked up from his drink. He focused his slate-grey eyes on her and Riley’s heart hammered. At that moment, he didn’t look the least bit drunk. His gaze captured hers, as if he was trying to read her like an open book.
Riley worked as a bartender. Men hit on her all the time. She always dismissed the attention as harmless flirting but the look this biker gave her was that of pure, wild hunger.
What would happen if she bent down and kissed him? Where did that line of thought even come from? Riley didn’t kiss or get involved with her customers. That was one of her personal rules.
“What time is it?” he asked.
“Two AM,” Riley answered.
“That late already?”
“I can call you a cab,” Riley offered when the biker didn’t make another move.
He hesitated and Riley followed his gaze. He looked out the windows, staring at the lone motorcycle in the parking lot. Of course, a man like this rode a Harley, Riley thought.
What would it be like to ride such a powerful machine, the engine purring beneath her thighs? Riley would probably have to wrap her arms around this biker’s inked and muscled body.
God. Her imagination was on overdrive tonight.
Eventually, the biker relented. He nodded in agreement. “All right, fine, call me a cab,” he mumbled, sounding irritated.
Riley flashed him a warm smile, before picking up her landline and dialing the local taxi service. While they waited for the cab to arrive, she chatted with the biker to pass the time.
“I didn’t catch your name,” she said.
“Ben Quinn, but most people call me Breaker,” he said.
“Why do they call you that?” Riley asked, intrigued.
She couldn’t help but notice the patch on his leather jacket. It was a grinning skull and crossbones. The word “President” was embroidered above the patch.
“I have a tendency to break everything I touch.” Breaker let out a hollow laugh.
Most people, Riley guessed, would’ve been intimidated by the big, tattooed biker who could probably break a man in half, but she wasn’t. Riley was intrigued and maybe that ought to scare her.
Breaker had the eyes of an unrepentant killer. Riley knew, because when she was 18, she sat across the courtroom from the man who ran over her parents.
“This is my first time in here,” Breaker was saying.
