She’s using her loud, Sarge of a biker club voice, but not quite. But there’s nothing stern on her face as I open the door for her, standing there in just my boxers, the noon sun in my face.
“I brought some coffee and breakfast,” she says in a breathless voice and pushes past me into the room. She’s dressed in her full biker get-up, the leather jacket zipped up to her throat. If she knew how much I want to peel that tight leather thing off her body, she’d probably wear something more loose-fitting. The urge to do it is even worse than it was with the silver dress yesterday.
She puts the coffees and brown paper bag filled with muffins, judging by the smell, on the small table by the single window in the room.
“Good thinking,” I say in a groggy voice. “I need coffee. I just hope it’s not some soy latte bullshit.”
“It’s black, extra-large,” she says. “I figured you’d need it.”
I feel her eyes on me, but whenever I turn to her, she’s looking anywhere other than me.
“And there’s muffins… blueberry and chocolate chip.” The paper bag rustles much too loudly for my hungover state as she opens it. “All they had, but apparently this town is famous for these muffins.”
“First I’m hearing about it,” I say, trying to be sarcastic, but my voice is still too groggy so it just came out harsh. Plus, I’mfinding that people on the West Coast don’t really hear sarcasm, not the way New Yorkers do, anyway.
She takes a seat by the window, while I chug about half my extra-large coffee. It’s bitter, it’s strong and a couple more of these should wake me up and chase away my hangover.
“Nice ink,” she says, inclining her head towards the lone wolf tattoo that’s in the works on my chest. But she’s not meeting my eyes.
A wide smile stretches across my lips automatically. I don’t need her to look me in the eyes as long as she’s checking me out otherwise.
“Thanks. It’s Bella’s work,” I say. Bella’s my cousin and the girlfriend of the Rogue Angels MC vice president. She’s also an amazing tattoo artist.
“I’d have thought you’d be covered by more ink,” she says, chewing on her muffin and still not meeting my eyes. But I feel hers on my skin like little pinpricks of electricity.
“Never felt the need for anyone to draw on my skin,” I say and bite into my own muffin. Famous or not, it’s one of the best things I’ve ever tasted. “But Bella finally convinced me. Said she loves working on a blank canvas, but hardly ever gets to.”
I used getting the tattoo as an excuse to hang out at the Rogue Angels’ clubhouse more, but it’s also been good talking to Bella, while I tried to kick the worst of my coke habit. She’s an ex-addict, and we both have the whole betraying our families thing in common too. Though we tried not to dwell on that too much, because as she wisely put it, “That’s the surest way back to addiction.”
“She is an amazing artist,” Alice says, and it sounds like there’s abutcoming, but she falls silent instead.
“As long as you approve,” I say, flexing my pecs a little and winking at her as her eyes finally meet mine.
She blushes the most amazing shade of pink, just a hint, but unmistakable against her milky white skin.
“About last night…” she says, but then falls silent again, the expression on her face suggesting she surprised herself by speaking.
I just cock an eyebrow at her and stay silent, because I’m not gonna make this easier on her. Maybe I should, but my dick is still half-hard for her and if she’s not gonna help with that, she might as well explain herself. Or something along those lines. My thoughts still aren’t all that clear.
“I thought you’d be gone,” she mutters and takes another bite of her muffin, chewing for a while. “I couldn’t believe it when I saw your car still parked here this morning.”
There’s something so soft, so lost, so wounded in her voice that it takes my breath away. And erases all those thoughts of hardons, being owed an explanation and the rest of that nonsense.
“I promised I’d help you take down that priest,” I say. “And I wouldn’t leave you to do it alone just because you didn’t want to fuck last night.”
She shudders at my words, and I’m not sure it’s just because my voice is still harsh even though I don’t want it to be.
“It’s just… it’s just that I’m not really comfortable…” she clears her throat and looks at her muffin like she wants to stuff the whole thing into her mouth so she can stop herself from talking. But then she squares her shoulders and finally looks me in the eyes. Hers are a deep silver in this light, grey on the verge of black.
“I find it hard to be with a man,” she says. “So if you’re hoping for more, I’m afraid you’re going to be disappointed.”
There’s the Sarge’s sternness in her voice, but also something so vulnerable it tugs at a cord in my chest that’s never been pulled before.
I put my muffin down, stand up, start dressing automatically.
“You don’t have to explain yourself to me,” I say. “If you say no, that’s enough.”
Doesn’t mean I’ll stop trying. I’ll just not be so aggressive about it. But she doesn’t need to hear that right now.
