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Crap! He’d known she was home last time?
Of course, he did, you idiot! He didn’t become club VP by missing details like the car in the driveway and the TV playing when he got on the porch!
Ugh. She rolled her eyes at her own stupidity. But she didn’t have time for self-recriminations, there was an angry biker outside, and wouldn’t go away until she opened the door.
He pounded again.
“I’m waiting, Cilla. Open the goddamn door. You ignoring me, hiding from me—that fucking stops right now!” he commanded, his voice carrying through the wood and straight to her lady parts. She shuddered, her nipples going hard.
Shit! If he got any louder, she’d get noise complaints from the neighbors, and the Plains PD pounding on her door next.
Dammit!
Shooting to her feet, she rushed to the door, unlocked it, and swung it open.
She gasped.
Standing there, his massive arms braced against the two sides of the doorframe, was six feet plus of sexy as hell, pissed off biker.
His greens eyes flashed, pinning her to the spot, and she suddenly felt exposed under her loose “sittin’ ‘round” clothes.
Pushing off the frame, he crowded her until there wasn’t space to breathe between them. He leaned down until his mouth was close enough to hers for her to feel the words he growled.
“We need to talk.”
Before she could even get her brain back online to respond, he’d moved around her, forcing his way into her home, the door gaping open behind him. She flicked her gaze out the door and saw Mrs. Spencer across the street, peering through her windows, her eyes all squinty.
Ugh. That woman was a gossip, so Cilla knew news of her late-night visitor would be spread far and wide before morning.
Frustrated, tired, and just about freaking done with the bullshit of the day, she grit her teeth, stomped forward, slammed her door, then spun on her heel to face the giant asshole in her living room.
She planted her hands on her hips and glared at him…in all his glorious glory. Oh lord, the man was delicious. Was it possible that he’d gotten more gorgeous over the last four days? His dark hair was loose around his shoulders and down his back, and his beard looked just this side of sexy-disheveled. Usually, he was meticulous about his facial hair, but this scruffiness was…arousing. Because all she could think about was how all that soft hair would feel against the inside of her thighs.
Dammit!
Getting hot and bothered by facial hair…that’s what she got for being so inexperienced. Her one sexual encounter was nothing to write home about, since the man had stuck it in, grunted a few times, then filled the condom, before pulling out. She hadn’t even had time to work up a sweat before he’d pulled up his pants and headed out the door without a backward glance. And that’s what she got for giving in to the internal pressure to “live a little”—she got a drunken one-night stand that left no impression at all. That was the last time Cilla let Stephie talk her into tequila shots.
I bet Patriot would get you all sweaty…and he’d definitely leave an impression…in your mattress where he pounded you until you screamed.
Struggling to keep her glare from slipping, she narrowed her eyes at the intruder.
He, obviously not intimidated by her, simply crossed her arms over his massive chest and glared right back. Except he’d perfected the look—because he was the freaking VP of a biker club!
She dropped her hands but didn’t stop the glaring. She was angry at him. What the hell was he doing?
“What is it that you need to talk about that couldn’t wait until the morning?” she snipped, copying his stance—arms crossed, again, and legs wide.
His gaze dropped to her chest, then slowly, so very slowly, slid down until every inch of her five-foot-seven frame had been visually cataloged.
She knew her nipples were hard, but could he tell, just from looking at her, that every single one of those inches of hers wanted to be all over every single one of his…inches?
She cleared her throat, forcing his gaze back to hers, and she could swear that flames of desire were blazing through his eyes—before they were quickly banked.
Yeah, nah, she definitely didn’t see that. The man had Jaime, there was no way he would look at fat, ugly, awkward Cilla that way.
“Funny,” he finally spoke, “it’s a little difficult to have a conversation with someone when they are constantly running the other fucking way or making themselves so busy, they can’t stop and even say a goddamn ‘hello’.”
Oh no, he didn’t!
