“Thank you.”
“Don’t mention it.”
Lacey brushes past me, her breasts grazing my arm. “Sorry,” she whispers, a blush staining her freckle-peppered cheeks.
Once the bathroom door shuts and the water is on, I grab a pillow and a light blanket from the hall closet. I’ll take the couch and give her the bed.
I take a minute to tidy up. Tossing old food and junk mail into the trash. I’m not used to having anyone crash at my place. On the rare occasion, some of my crew from my shop will crash on my couch, but that’s different. They’re all like family.
This is uncharted territory.
I’ve invited a woman into my place who doesn’t even know her own name.
The club is known for violence and getting rid of complications. Laundering money and illegal shit. None of that sets a man up for how to handle discovering a woman washed upon the beach wearing a wedding gown with blood in her hair and dripping from her head.
Nothing prepared me for the need to protect her that would pour over me the second she looked at me like she was seeing her own personal sun. Like I was some kind of hero.
I pull out the sleeper sofa and kill the lights.
She’s been in the shower a while now. Thinking of her in there naked all soaped up with water spraying down her sets my blood on fire. There’s no denying I find her attractive, but I don’t trust her. Not fully. Prez is right. I know shit all about her. And yet the stubborn streak that lives inside me vows to keep her safe. To protect her from the world and maybe even from herself.
I can’t deny that gut instinct.
I have two sisters. I was raised to take care of the women in my life.
It’s why I won’t send Avery packing every time she fucks up, which is more often than not lately.
I flop down on the pullout, trying to get comfortable as I flip through movie suggestions, looking for something to put my mind at ease. Nothing is capturing my attention. My brain is more focused on worrying about Lacey and what Buford may or may not find out about her.
She merges from the bathroom wearing one of my Harley tees that swallows her frame. Dark, damp curls dust her shoulders. Her steps are small and tentative as if she’s still learning how to move in her own skin.
I stop scrolling and put the remote on the floor. “You find everything okay?”
“I did. Thanks.”
“Can I get you anything? I don’t have much in the fridge but can order delivery if there’s something you want.”
“I’m okay. You don’t have to give up your bed for me. I can take the couch bed.”
“All good, sweetness.”
She smiles at that and my cock twitches. I know I shouldn’t be thinking about her mouth. Wondering how good her lips will taste but I all I want right now is to wrap my fist in her hair. Pull her down on this bed with me and claim her.
That’s not what she needs, but I want her nonetheless.
“There’s not a TV in the bedroom, but you’re welcome to join me here.” I pat the empty space next to me, knowing I’m playing with fire inviting her to be so damn close. “I promise to keep my hands to myself.”
“I’m not worried.” She walks around to the other side and plops down next to me smelling like the ripest of cherries. Sweet. Tempting.
She draws her knees up, tucking her feet under one thigh. Her eyes do a sweep of the room—studying the ceiling fan’s lazy rotation, the dim city glow leaking around my blinds, before settling on the tv.
She picks at the hem of the tee absentmindedly, pretending to be absorbed in the action flick I turned on.
Eventually her gaze moves back to me, and I realize I have been staring at her this entire time.
I run a hand over my head. “Sorry.”
“For what?”
