I swear I sat there for a good five minutes before the huge gates eased open and I assumed I was free to drive through.
Time to face the music.
* * *
Stoney
“Stoney!” Aero bellowed.
I walked out of the kitchen, beer halfway to my lips. “Yeah?”
“You got a visitor.”
I frowned. “Who?”
“She said her name was Sabrina Moretti.”
I’d only ever remembered meeting one Moretti. A hot little bitch who climbed into my bed and did amazing things with her mouth. But that was a long time ago, and it had only happened once. “She at the gates?” I asked.
“Yeah.”
“Open ’em.”
Aero nodded, and sent the order for the gates to be opened. I set my beer down, grabbed my jacket and walked out onto the porch to wait.
Sabrina
––––––––
Idrove slowly down the long road, a giant log cabin coming into view and I couldn’t stop myself from slowing down to appreciate the view. It would be incredible in the snow.
Bikers milled in and out, some smoking, all drinking, except one. A tall, gorgeous man leaned against one of the pillars, his arms crossed, his eyes on me, and my breath left my body. I had never seen a better-looking man. Tall, dark hair that was slightly longish, with an epic beard, he looked beyond imposing.
Was this Mr. Stonewell?
And why did his name sound like some Jane Austen hero?
