“Yeah, I know.” He laughs and threads his fingers through mine, so I slap his chest with my other hand.
“You’re still so full of it.”
“That’s why you can’t get enough of me.” He tugs me close as we make our way to his bike, parked outside the bar. “You good to ride in that?” He eyes my short skirt, fishnet-covered legs, and leather ankle boots. “I’ve got leathers you can wear.”
“Hell, no. I’m fine.” I’ll probably freeze, and if we’re in an accident I’ll be toast, but I was practically weaned on the back of a bike, and until I met Gage I hadn’t realized how much I missed the freedom of riding.
Admiration glows in his eyes. “That’s my girl.”
I love the way he says that, and can’t stop myself. “This feels like a date to me. Our second one, in fact.”
“You got a problem with that?”
“You said you didn’t date. I’m just trying to figure out what we’re doing here, that’s all.”
“What do you think we’re doing?’ He grabs my other hand and pulls me toward him. “I’m taking you out and showing you off.”
There’s no mistaking the possessive note in his voice, and I remember the way the Wolves were when they laid claim to a girl.I can’t keep comparing Gage to them.But I can’t help it. The Silver Wolves were a huge part of my life, and I’ve measured every guy I’ve known since to their standards.
The Wolves are the reason why I’ve always avoided bikers, guys with ink or any links to a shady underworld. I didn’t want to get mixed up with someone who thinks more of his club than of me, a guy who’d never take my word above that of one of his brothers.
The Wolves only took a girl out and showed her off if they were serious about her. Jesus, I’m doing itagain. Gage isn’t a Wolf. His comment doesn’t necessarily mean anything.
Stop jumping to conclusions, Amy…
Somehow I drag my tumbled thoughts together. “Okay. Well, so long as I can show you off as well, I guess that’s fair.”
He gives a snort of laughter and swings his leg over the bike. “Get on before I change my mind and tie you to my bed all night.”
…
Gage
This time she wraps her body around me, and if I hadn’t already decided that tonight I’m going public with my claim on her, I would’ve made good on my threat and taken her inside.
The Hammer is in downtown L.A., and I park in the small private lot behind the club—one of the perks of knowing the owner. I wrap my arm around Amelia, and she’s shivering so bad she can’t keep still.
I pull her closer and whisper in her ear. “I’ll soon warm you up.”
She nods, her teeth chattering, and I grin down at her as we approach the entrance to the club. Her gaze sweeps over the fuck-ugly brick wall, and I can guess her thoughts. “Wait until you see inside.”
“It’s got a real unwelcoming vibe going on.”
“Yeah. It keeps out the wrong kind of clientele.”
She gives ahuhof laughter. “Let me guess. It’s got connections to the Bastards, right?”
“This is Ty’s baby. We’re nothing if not subtle.”
“Like a flying brick.”
There’s a new bouncer at the door, but he takes one look at my colors and lets us in without a word. The thudding music from the live band downstairs hits us straightaway, and as soon as we’re inside, Amelia starts fussing with her hair.
“You look great.” I tug her around so she can see herself in the huge mirror that takes up half the wall in the small reception area. She frowns and fusses some more, forking her fingers through her hair and tugging at her bangs before heaving a sigh and shaking her head. Her earrings jiggle, catching the light, and for a second I stare, mesmerized, as a gift brainwave hits me right between the eyes.
She pulls off her scarf and catches my gaze in the mirror. I give a satisfied smile at the marks of my possession on her throat, and she rolls her eyes in mock disgust. “Animal,” she says.
“Don’t you forget it.” I wind my arm around her waist and head toward the iron staircase that leads to the subterranean club. The bar and seating area are on the far side, and I lead Amelia over there, away from the band and dance floor and past a small stage where a couple of strippers are doing a show.
