I think of huge spiders, that brain operation I watched the other day, anything to not get hard in front of people who’ve already laughed at me enough today.
It works, thank fuck.
He tilts his head, watching me. Beautiful blue eyes widen, then immediately narrow as he pushes off the door frame and walks down the steps towards us. I try not to but can’t help but watch him, greedily drinking in the way his jeans cling to his thighs, the ripple of muscle on those massive fucking shoulders that could?—
“Don’t think it’s theclubhe’s interested in,” someone mutters, and the others laugh again.
Kill me now.
“If you don’t want him, can I have him?”
Are they talking about me? Shit, I’ve read about people hanging around biker clubs and basically being sex toys, but I’ve never seen Harper or the others with anyone like that? Even in the Old Bell they don’t harass the bartenders or waitresses. I didn’t think they did that sort of thing.
Clearly, I was wrong.
So, so out of my depth.
I take a step back, drawing more laughter. I’m like a fucking comedy act.
“Aww, we’ve scared him.”
My face heats, and a wave of embarrassment hits me. What the fuck was I thinking coming here. I take another step back and another until I feel my bike behind me.
Lynx raises an eyebrow. “Don’t want to join our club anymore?”
I’ve dreamt about that voice since that day in the pub. Vivid wonderful dreams that left me achingly hard and panting as he whispered dirty, dirty things in my ear. But the mocking tone he uses now has the opposite effect entirely.
Anger, hot and sharp, flares in my chest.
I should’ve left after he said no.
I get on my bike, my spine tingling as I turn my back on them. The sudden need to get out of there makes my hands shake. And also makes me run my mouth apparently. “Nah. Don’t think we’d be a good fit.”
More. Fucking. Laughter.
“Think I’ll try the Feral Beasts.” I have zero intention of doing that, but humiliation fuckingburns. “Maybe they won’t be such rude cunts.”
The laughter cuts off and the eerie silence that follows is terrifying. I want to snatch the words back as soon as they slip out. You don’t insult a group of bikers to their faces in their fucking compound. Even I know that.
It’s like the air crackles around us, ready to explode at any second.
I need to get out of here.
Now.
“Who the fuck d’you think you’re talking to?” I don’t know who said that, and I don’t want to find out, but a hand grips my arm and hauls me backwards before I can start the engine.
Oh shit.
I stumble as I’m dragged up against a very firm, verybarebut unforgiving body.
Lynx.
I’m pressed up against Lynx Harper’s chest and held in place by a grip on my shoulders that fuckinghurts.
Warm breath hits the side of my neck.
And oh god, my poor body can’t decide whether it’s petrified or turned on.
