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Shane and his men don’t fit in around here. Half the town refuses to accept them.

Yet, Shane is constantly going out of his way to help when he sees someone struggling, and I caught Aiden doing the same last week when there was a bulb out in the M for Maureen’s Eatery. He climbed up on a ladder and changed it.

Maureen hadn’t asked. He’d seen her slip on the lowest rung and calmly asked her to step aside. He climbed up, took care of it, and left, barely waiting for her to thank him.

The bikers at Ironside Ridge are working hard, building a home for themselves, and fighting for a fresh start. It’s too bad this is where they decided to set down roots because none of that matters to most people around here.

I close my eyes and soak in the lukewarm shower. It runs so long there’s a bit of a chill after a while, but with how hot it is outside, it feels good. I hoped Shane would drop by the bar tonight so I could offer him a drink to thank him for helping me with the graffiti earlier, but only East made an appearance.

He flirted while he waited for his drink, then disappeared down the bar like he usually does. Women flock to him, and I get it. East has a certain look. Dangerous but playful. I doubt anyone in his company would be bored.

But only one biker is occupying my thoughts. And today, when our fingers brushed…

Something so simple became strangely erotic. One brush of his skin had my nipples pebbling. My stomach clenching.

Closing my eyes, I can still feel his rough, calloused palms. There’s nothing soft about him. He’s clearly no stranger to hard labor, and his body has benefited. His muscles weren’t carved in a gym. Shane works hard.

His body is steel, but his touch is gentle.

I shampoo my hair, imagining Shane’s fingers gripping the sponge as suds run between mine. Bubbles dripped down his corded forearms. His tattoos became even darker when they got wet. He’s a painting of snakes and skulls and red flags I should probably pay attention to. But he has this silent strength I can’t deny.

It’s intoxicating.

My skin prickles as water runs in rivers down my body. For a second, I give in to that feeling, sinking into my imagination.

I picture Shane standing over me, looking into my eyes with the same intensity he always shows me. Like I’m the only one in the world worth looking at.

When was the last time someone looked at me like that?

When was the last time I felt so alive?

There’s undeniable strength in everything he does. Purpose to his movements. Power in his touch. A balance of passion and patience. He takes his time like there’s absolutely no rush.

I can only imagine all the ways that benefits him in a relationship.

My stomach somersaults with the images that stir, so I blink my eyes open and shake it. The last thing I need is to fall under another man’s spell. Especially when Shane is at odds with the one who already has a target on my family.

I finish the rest of my shower quickly, refusing to think of how good Shane would look standing under the water with me.

Or, at least, trying not to think about that.

Between heat and exhaustion, I don’t bother drying my hair before climbing into bed. It will be a mess in the morning, but I don’t care. Perks of living alone. No one is here to complain about my messy hair or snoring.

Outside, insects chirp so loudly I can hear them through the windows. The sound of the Texas desert, mixed with the hum of the air conditioner, is relaxing. I leave one leg outside the sheet, rolling over and giving in to the weight of my eyelids. Thoughts ease as sleep pulls me under until something drags me back out.

A tickle in my nostrils.

A thick scent in the air.

Smoke.

I shoot to sitting, blinking myself out of my dream as I look around. It takes me a moment for my eyes to adjust. At first, there’s nothing amiss apart from the thick smell of a fire.

Except, no one would have one burning on such a warm night. And the darkness clouding the room isn’t just the lack of moonlight; it’s something foggy hanging in the air.

I’m on my feet as I take in another breath. This time, there’s no denying that something is terribly wrong. Smoke billows out of the vents, filling the space overhead. Throwing on a pair of boots, I rush to the door. But the lock sticks when I try to turn the dead bolt, and I can’t get it open. Humidity sometimes makes the door swell, but it’s like the metal is stuck. It’s never given me this much trouble.

I tug again, finding resistance.