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She grinned. “Okay,” she told him and took a short, black leather jacket out of the coat closet and slid it on. As she was zipping it up, Mark pushed her against the closet door and sealed his mouth over hers. “We may never make it out of here,” he told her. “I’ve been picturing you naked for the last hour. Bound, gagged, and at my mercy.” She shivered at his words. He grinned at her. “I think you like that idea,” he whispered.
Abby rolled her eyes to hide her embarrassment. She liked that idea a lot. She grabbed the arm of his jacket. “Come on,” she ordered.
She locked the front door and followed him to his Harley. He got on first and she threw her leg over, settling in behind him. Before he started the engine, she tapped him on the shoulder. He turned his head. “So, you’re gonna fuck me on this bike soon, right?” she asked.
She watched, feeling triumphant, as his jaw twitched. She leaned forward, lips to his ear. “I think you like that idea,” she teased.
“So much I might do it right now,” he replied in a gravel tone.
Abby had the good sense to be quiet. Chuckling over his defeat of her attempt at sass, he turned the bike’s engine over and pulled away from the curb. Abby slid her arms around his waist. She couldn’t decide which was more dangerous, the bike or the biker.
The Sullivan house was a large log cabin that sat just outside of town. It was nestled at the end of a country road in the hills and the sun was just setting behind it. Mark led her in through the front door without knocking and Abby saw that everyone else had already arrived.
Shooter took her jacket and hung it up. He mentioned Sarah was in the kitchen and Abby announced she was going to see if the other woman needed any help. She located the kitchen, which she could have done without the aid of Chris’ directions because of the mouth watering smell.
“Vegas!” Sarah cried as she saw her.
“Hey, Slick,” Abby replied. “Need any help.”
Sarah nodded. “I could use the head of lettuce in the fridge chopped while I finish these enchiladas.
“Um, yeah. I can probably do that,” Abby told her. But before she could, she felt two large hands clamp down on her shoulders.
“Cover me,” said a deep baritone voice. “I’m going in.” Hawk attempted to skirt around Abby and further into the kitchen, but Slick brandished a rolling pin.
“Out!” she demanded.
“Damn it, Vegas!” Hawk bellowed, turning on her. “You were supposed to cover me!”
Abby stared at him. “With what?” she demanded.
“I don’t know! Your feminine wiles!” he shot back.
“That doesn’t work on other females!” Sarah snapped. “Now go wash your hands! I’ll send Vegas out with chips and dip.”
Abby was impressed by the tiny woman’s ability to order around a man three times her size. “How do you get them to listen like that?” she asked.
Sarah laughed. “Easy. I’d just stop cooking. None of them is willing to risk it. Especially since Tex has been…busy.” The brunette gave Abby a sly smile. “He’s not cooking as much as he used to since he met you. They aren’t going to risk pissing me off and going back to ordering pizza.”
Abby blushed and washed her hands in the sink. “I’m not much of a cook. Which is about the same as saying I’m not much of an airline pilot. But I can follow orders.” She froze as she realized what she’d just said. Sarah giggled, though, which made Abby laugh, too. Twenty minutes later, after the cabbage was reasonably chopped, Abby stepped out onto the deck, balancing the bowl of chips and the guacamole dip precariously.
“So, it’s your weekend off,” Hawk said to Mark. “You gonna head to that club of yours like you do? Or are things with Vegas-”
“Hawk,” said Shooter flatly, looking past the large man at Abby.
Abby ducked her head and quickly walked forward. She pushed the bowls onto the table. “Here,” she said brightly. “I didn’t make the dip. So…it’s edible.” She spun and practically sprinted to the door.
“Abby,” Mark said from behind her and she heard him pushing back his chair.
“I have some more tomatoes to chop,” she told him. “You just hang out here.” She stepped inside and nearly broke out into a run back to the kitchen, but Mark caught her arm.
“Abby, stop,” he ordered.
She shook her head. “I wasn’t listening. I was just delivering food. I- I don’t-” She swallowed hard. “None of my business. You said I wasn’t…your type, really. I get it. You were up front about it. I’m just a charity case.”
He tilted her head up to meet his gaze, brushing his thumbs over her cheeks. “Hey. You are my type, Abby,” he assured her. “I’m not going to the club. I have no plans to go there anytime soon. And you are going to earn yourself a red ass if you ever talk about yourself that way again. You’re nobody’s charity case.”
