He grunted.
“You don’t have to call me Mr. Mangler. Or Bonemangler. Or ‘The Bonemangler.’ You may call me Abraham.”
“Abraham,” I said, feeling how it sounded on my tongue. “Now, you don’t have to worry about me,mylips are sealed. I know I might seem like a real chatterbox, but now that I’m an employee I will keep your secrets.”
“Jesus Christ, woman. It’s not that bad. We’re the hub for parts for illegal motorcycle racing. That’s all. Don’t go telling people I rob banks.”
Oh.
“Even better. I don’t think I’d have a very good poker face if anyone asked me.”
“No shit,” he said dryly. “Now, a few ground rules. You will be available for me whenever I wish or you will be let go. Is that understood?”
“Yes, sir!”
He eyed me.
“You look like a nice, respectable lady. Like a damn bank teller or something. You really want to do this?”
“Of course I do,” I said indignantly, because I could alreadyfeelthat this was going to work out. Something in me was trulyitching to put a big sunflower on his windowsill, and paint the room buttercup, and I wasn’t going to do it,yet, even though I thought he would secretly like it.
“Then get down on your knees and put your mouth on it.”
CHAPTER 4
Abraham
Now why the hell had I thought this was a good idea? I wasn’t sure which of my MC brothers had put an ad in the paper for me, but I was going to make it very clear that I could find myownclub girls.
This woman was entirely too smiley.
What the hell did she have to smile so much about?
If I thought I was going to shock her with my request, she only instantly dropped to her knees on the shag carpet.
“First things first, this is purely a business arrangement. No thinking this is going to lead to a relationship.”
“Yes, sir,” Polly said obediently, pushing her glasses up on to the top of her head.
“How old are you?”
“42.”
She looked absurdly younger in some ways, even though she had silvery strands in her hair, the eyes behind her glasses huge and glimmering.
There were freckles sprinkled all along her nose, and she was wrinkling it up at me as she reached small hands up to my belt buckle.
“And you don’t have a boyfriend?”
Her cheeks were flushed. “No. No boyfriend.”
“I’m not a very patient man and I’m not going to appreciate any of your lovers sniffing around my clubhouse.”
“No—just an ex-husband. And trust me, he won’t care what I do. My son is at college.”
I grunted.
My first instinct as soon as I saw her in the waiting room had been to send her packing. She looked like Trouble. And I didn’t like Trouble. But there had been something about the way her ass looked in that tight skirt, those plump, round cheeks hugged by a thin layer of fabric.
