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He recaptured her chin between his thumb and forefinger and leaned in even as he drew her a step closer. Her body pressed against his thigh. Her lips parted but this time with what he guessed to be desire, going by her dazed expression.
Good—real good. She looked like a girlfriend would look. He still had game.
He meant to stamp a kiss to her lips but the minute he felt her mouth soften, he groaned and deepened it. Their tongues met in a slick sweep before he withdrew.
“Be here.”
That stubborn tilt of her jaw matched the way she shifted her hips to one side. He had to wonder if she was tapping her toes inside her sneaker.
“Look, Wren, I know you’re independent as hell. It’s apparent.”
Happiness glinted in the depths of her eyes. “Really?”
With a huff of a laugh, he nodded. “Really. Now get in there before you’re late. If you need me for anything at all, call my number.”
She nodded and turned around. Jennings watched every step she took and continued to stare at her until he could no longer see her beyond the glass door.
He had to return to the clubhouse. They’d mentioned another run, but after last night’s party, who knew if that would happen.
When he passed the cemetery, he automatically glanced over at the truck…but it was gone.
As soon as he walked into the clubhouse, he spotted several of the guys seated at a table, beers in front of them despite the early hour. Many of them looked to be nursing hangovers from hell. The bloated bags under their bloodshot eyes wouldn’t win the gang any beauty awards.
He walked behind the bar and grabbed a beer too. When he sat down with them, he took a deep pull. The woodsy brew hit his tongue, and he swallowed out of reflex and months of flying under their detection.
“What’s going on today?” he asked Cole.
The man swung his stare to Jennings’s. “Since you’re so chipper, you can clean up the place.”
He stared back at the man who called almost all the shots that their president didn’t deem necessary to bother with himself.
Cole narrowed his eyes at Jennings. “I’m serious, Jay. Clean this dump up.”
With an internal sigh, he shoved away from the table, carrying his beer to set on the end of the long wooden bar with a clank hard enough to break glass. Then he went to gather empty bottles, carrying them to the big trash can in the corner.
He tossed them in all at once.
Two Disciples looked up sharply at him, hands protectively cupped to their ears as they nursed their sensitive hangovers.
“Jesus, keep the noise down, would ya?” one muttered.
“Sure.” To add more insult, Jennings pursed his lips and began to hum as he continued cleaning up.
* * * * *
Wren carried a wad of dirty bedding to the laundry hamper and dropped it in. The smell of soiled sheets burned her nose, but she didn’t acknowledge the intrusion on her senses. How could she when Jennings’s words were looping through her head?
He’d listed all the things she couldn’t do.
Don’t call anyone.
Don’t check on your brother.
The man was so damn bossy. He believed he could boss her around just because he saved her from… Well, whatever Viper would have done to her.
She lifted a hand and stroked her fingertips over the spot on her scalp where he’d yanked at the strands of hair. If not for Jennings’s interference, who knew where she’d be right now. Viper was capable of violence. He’d killed a man in front of her brother. The way he grabbed her told her that violence extended to women. Add in the fact that Viper’s boss had put him in the hot seat, and Wren most likely would have been beaten, but probably worse.
Her stomach was in a constant state of upheaval. The few nausea pills she’d taken from the employee first-aid kit didn’t begin to touch the stress she was under today.
