He smelled good too, like charcoal and the kind of expensive cologne no fucker I knew would ever waste their money on. Wood. Spice. Musk. Whatever the fuck it was, I liked it. A lot. Enough that it took me a full five seconds to remember he’d asked me a question. “Iwasstaring at you,” I said eventually.
Cool amusement glittered in his eyes. “I think we’ve established that.”
“Oh, you think, do you?”
“Yes.” Shirt Dude folded his newspaper on the bar. For whatever reason, he’d brought it with him. “Would you like a drink?”
I held up my Guinness. “Got one, thanks.”
Shirt Dude hummed, his gaze turning speculative. “I have one too, so the question remains: why did you want my attention? I see only two options.”
“That right?”
“I usually am, so tell me...?” He raised a brow in question.
“Cam,” I supplied.
He continued, “Tell me,Cam, what’s your poison? Business or pleasure? And I should probably tell you that I’ve had my fill of business today, so choose wisely.”
Colour me surprised. Either my dick was twisting whatever he was really saying into what I wanted to hear, or Shirt Dude was up for some fun.
Despite my earlier conversation with my cock, I didn’t give it that much credit. I necked my pint and set the glass on the bar while fixing Shirt with another smirk. “I choose pleasure.”
He returned my leer tenfold, and it held a wickedness that sent a shiver down my spine. Those grey eyes were something else, fucking mesmerising, and as he leaned in closer, his scent got me too, reeling me in likeIwas the one who’d been hooked. “Good choice. My home is across the street. But first, a warning. If you’re planning on mugging me for my Rolex, I have some advice for you.”
“Oh yeah?” I licked my lips. Truth be told, though sizing people up was kind of a habit, I hadn’t clocked his fancy watch. I’d been too busy drinking in the way his expensive threads curved around his knock-out body. “What’s that then?”
Shirt Dude’s smirk turned predatory. “Don’t.”
2
Cam
We left the pub. My hog was parked outside, but if this dude’s place was as close as he said it was, I didn’t need it.
We wove through the humming city crowds without talking, and I was okay with that. I wasn’t trailing him for small talk. Nah. I wanted to see what was beneath those dapper clothes, and I wondered if he was as curious about me as I was about him. I mean,damn. We couldn’t have been more different. Did he pick up dudes like me all the time?
Doubted it. There weren’t many bikers out there living the life in the open. The old timers at the club tolerated my wild ways because I kept their bank accounts fat—for now—and I had a council around me that would light them on fire if I gave the nod. A council of brothers. A goddamn fellowship. Mostly, anyway, but I didn’t want to think about politics right now. Couldn’t, or I’d lie down and smash my face into the concrete pavement. Anything for some fucking peace.
Could I find inner-tranquillity in tracking a fuck-hot dude back to his place for nothing but sex and zero stress? Zero heartache and pain?
Yeah. Sometimes I could. I needed this shit in my life, and I loved it more than I loved my Harley.
As promised, Shirt Dude led me to an upmarket building a few hundred yards away and across the street from the pub. I took note of the address and tapped it into my phone, creating a location pin.
I opened my contacts and my thumb hovered, indecision warring with the need to return my attention to the pretty bloke in front of me. There were any number of brothers who had my back, but... I took the easy option and sent the pin to my vice president. Nash didn’t give two fucks where I was or what I was doing. He didn’t look at me with smothered hurt in his gaze or his jaw set so hard it might break. He accepted the message with a thumbs-up and went back to his own life. An easy exchange, and Christ, I needed something to be easy, given the week we’d just had. The only reason I wasn’t scoping Shirt Dude as an assassin or a fed was the fact that he’d ignored me until he’d caught me ogling his damn fine self.
Besides, despite his warning about trying any shady shit, I had a stone on him in weight, and I’d been born with my hands curled into fists. I could handle this sweet fucker in my sleep.
He let us inside and we took the lift to the top floor, to thepenthouse.
I whistled. “You’re a rich motherfucker.”
“If you say so.”
“Are you going to tell me your name?”
“Is it important to you?”
