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Dog pulled his bike into the gravel drive, parked behind Charley’s car, and killed the engine. “Somebody home?” he asked.
“No,” Charley replied. “I have a couple of lamps on timers, so the house looks lived in.” She dismounted, took the helmet off before Dog could help her, and handed it to him. He met her gaze, and she gave him a quick smile and headed to her car.
Dog searched up and down the street. No dark SUV. Thank fuck for small favors. But Nate had seen Charley’s car, and Dog didn’t want it to be the giveaway as to where she was. He swung a leg over his bike and crossed the drive to the car. “Hey, let me put your car in the garage.”
Charley opened the car door and bent inside, giving him a beautiful view of her ass. Damn shame she needed to rest. After her response to his kiss, he wanted to see what else she liked.
When she pulled back from the doorway and stood, key fob in her hand, she said, “It’s fine for now. I’ll take care of it tomorrow. I have to figure out where to get the tire replaced anyway.”
Dog stepped forward and dropped a kiss on her cheek as he slipped the fob from her hands. “Humor me. I’ll pull the car in, and then put you to bed before I take off.”
Her eyes widened. Dog bit back a laugh at his words. Shit, he’d love to put her to bed and climb in with her. Maybe there was something to this Freudian slip thing after all.
Dog folded into the car, adjusting the seat to fit his legs. A garage door opener was clipped to the visor. He pressed it and eased the car in.
The car’s headlights illuminated the cleanest garage he’d ever seen. A few paint cans lined two shelves mounted high on the wall. What could have been a work bench lay empty in front of him. A broom hung on a hook. Garage was small, like the house. Not much else would fit after the car.
He dropped the garage door and angled out of the vehicle. A side door let him back into the yard.
Charley stood behind the house in the moonlight, hair wind-tossed from the ride. She had been something on his bike in her business suit. He’d liked her there, tits pressed against his back, thighs wrapped around his.
He crossed the yard and handed her the fob. “Let’s get you settled, then I’ll let you rest.”
She turned and mounted the few steps to the back door. She put a key into the top and bottom locks before twisting the knob.
When she moved to enter, Dog grabbed her arm. “Let me check it out first.”
“That’s sweet, but this is Edwards. It’s fine.”
“Can’t be too careful.” Not with Nate around.
He entered a small laundry room with Charley on his heels. The lamp in the main room lit his way through a small dining area and kitchen. Yellow walls, tile floors, granite countertops, cherry cabinets. Classy, like her. A large fire extinguisher on the counter by the stove argued that, yes, she was prepared for anything.
Charley flicked on a light, and her voice was right behind him. “Sorry if the house smells a little musty. I haven’t been up here in a while. I’ll turn down the air.”
Dog whipped around. “The idea is for you stayputwhile I check things out. Run out the door if you hear anything you shouldn’t, not be on my tail and right in the middle of it.”
She rolled her eyes. “I’m not made of glass, you know.”
The flash of memory—Charley falling into his arms, unconscious—made Dog’s palms sweaty. “Close enough. Now, stay put.”
She crossed her arms over her chest. “Bossy.”
After Dog did his walkthrough of two bedrooms with very tidy closets and lamps evidently on timers as well, and a tiny hall bathroom with a shower/bathtub combo and no thought of mold, he found Charley in the main room, fiddling with the thermostat.
“You need to get an alarm system,” he said.
She shrugged out of her suit jacket, leaving her arms bare. He liked seeing her skin again. It reminded him how soft it was. Made him want to run his fingers over it and not stop. His cock had softened some on the ride to the cottage, but it was now taking notice.
She plugged in her phone and left it on the kitchen bar. “I know. I’d hate for someone to break in and damage the place. I just haven’t had time.”
Dog huffed. “Security is your number one priority. Or it should be.”
“Keeping my business doors open is my number one, two and three priorities,” she said as cool air flowed out of a vent above Dog’s head. “Everything else falls way behind.”
“Keeping your doors open a problem?”
“It didn’t used to be, before my father died,” she said, fanning herself with her hand. “He was a business magnet. He could just talk to a potential client and they’d sign on. Me? I have to sell it a lot harder. Plus—where are my manners? Would you like something to drink? I have soda and water, of course. If you want something harder, I have a pretty nice scotch. My dad liked it, so I keep it around.”
