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Turning his back to me, he grabbed a gym towel from his desk, and I drank in the wide shoulders and the broad back tapering down to a thick waist. On his back was a massive Kings of Mayhem tattoo with the words For Life inked in black beneath it.
He wiped the thin mist of sweat from his heavily tattooed arms and across his broad chest, his muscles flexing and clenching with every movement.
“Are you going to come in?” His voice cut into the air between us. “Or were you planning on standing there all afternoon?”
Fuck.
I was busted.
I let out a shaky exhale.
“I’m sorry,” I said awkwardly, taking a cautious step into his office.
“For what?”
He turned around, and for a moment I was distracted by his chiseled six-pack and all that damn muscle.
A small grin played on his lips. “Taylor…?”
You’re being ridiculous, I told myself.
I lifted my chin. “I heard a noise.”
“And?”
“I thought you might…need…assistance?”
Wow.
He raised an eyebrow. “Assistance?”
“I thought I should check to make sure you were okay.”
I shrugged like it was nothing.
Because it was nothing.
It wasn’t like I was standing there with soaked panties and a thumping heartbeat.
Okay, I was standing there with soaked panties and a thumping heartbeat, but the important thing was he didn’t know it.
Or did he?
Fuck, he did.
It was written all over his ridiculously handsome face.
He took a step toward me, bringing with him an aura of heat and pure manliness. “And you thought you could save me from whatever it was that was happening in here?”
I stepped back. Because I could feel the pull of his orbit, and it was powerful. “I thought I should at least try.”
For every step I took backward, he took one forward. Predatorily.
“And what if I was in here with a woman. Would you have saved me from her? Or would you have…joined us?”
It was my turn to raise an eyebrow. “Seriously?”
He grinned. He was fucking with me.
I shook my head, deciding this whole encounter was stupid.
“I’m sorry. I should’ve respected your privacy.”
He stepped past me, his deeply carved chest only inches from my body as he reached for a shirt hanging on the door behind me.
“Don’t be,” he said, his voice low and seductive. “I like it when you watch me.”
A shiver rippled through me. His words excited me. And the raw scent of him hit me like a drug.
He slid his t-shirt over his head and down his body, but didn’t make an attempt to move away. “Can I help you with anything else?”
“No,” I said under his warm gaze.
And with legs as steady as Jell-O, I walked out of his office.
TAYLOR
I settled into life at the clubhouse with ease.
But it was an MC clubhouse. It was an unpredictable world. Anything could happen at a moment’s notice. Peace and quiet couldn’t be taken for granted, because a peaceful afternoon could easily be spun on a dime, and I could find myself with my guard down, exposing a little bit more of myself than I would like.
Like this afternoon, when I was startled by the sudden bang bang of shots being fired. My eyes darted to Randy, who looked more annoyed than concerned. We were alone in the clubhouse. I followed him outside into the midday sun where we found Tully, Nitro, Vader, and Cool Hand in the parking lot. Cool Hand was standing as straight as an arrow with a gun in his hand, aimed at a wall of sandbags. He let another round of shots ring out across the compound.
“Have you guys lost your minds?” Randy said, walking over to them. “You almost gave our new girl a fucking heart attack.”
Tully, Nitro, Vader, and Cool Hand glanced over at me.
“That might be a bit of an exaggeration—” I mumbled, feeling a little embarrassed. I hadn’t been scared. I’d been startled. There was a big difference. I was no scaredy cat. And the last thing I wanted was these guys treating me like I was a little porcelain doll who jumped at the sight of her own shadow, or the bang bang of a handgun. I wasn’t that kind of girl. Never had been. Never would be.
“Sorry, sweetheart, but it ain’t nothing to be scared of. Just Cool Hand getting a feel for his new Beretta,” Nitro said.
I thought of my Beretta in my purse.
“You got a new one?” Randy asked with a raised eyebrow.
“Check it out, brother.” Cool Hand gave him the gun, and after admiring the sleek-looking firearm, Randy fired three shots into the target on the sandbag. He was an awful shot. All three bullets landed outside the painted lines.
“She’s beautiful,” Randy said, admiring the weapon. “Nice and smooth. Little kick back.”
Cool Hand glanced over at me. “You want to try?”
Nope. I didn’t want to try. I didn’t like guns. They were an unfortunate necessity in my life because of my past, so standing there and shooting at a wall of sandbags for fun was about as appealing to me as a root canal with a pair of pliers.
