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He doesn’t remember at all.
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Talon
Talon pulled away from his parking space in front of the Hilton and roared into traffic, his bike an extension of his body, the two of them flowing down the city streets like water.
After diving into that hottie on the back of her Audi, his body was replete. Relaxed. She was magnificent, just like he’d known she would be.
But Talon couldn’t shake the feeling that the whole scene hadn’t gone like he’d intended.
He’d planned to leave her satisfied and begging for more. Hell, he’d be happy to give it to her.
But then she’d looked at him with hurt in her eyes, like a quick fuck in a parking lot meant something to her.
Talon drove through an intersection, trying to place her. If he’d seen her before, he’d definitely remember. She was unforgettable. All hair and tits. Great ass.
He lifted a hand to his mouth and licked his fingers.
Fuck, she tasted good too.
Talon’s phone buzzed in his pocket. At the next red light, he stopped and glanced at it. Time to ride with Gate.
So Talon focused on the problem ahead, riding third watch with his brother and trying to get the whores to talk.
It was a good while before the woman in the Audi crossed his mind again, but when she did, he realized that he should have given her a hell of a lot more thought.
Chapter Four
Car Conversation
Jenna
Two days. It had been two days since I’d completely humiliated myself with Talon.
Sitting at the breakfast nook in my kitchen, I blew on my coffee and stared absently out the back window. Images played across my mind. Talon bleeding in my kitchen. Talon carrying me across my backyard. Talon grinding into me against the trunk of my car.
I put my coffee down and dropped my head to the table. I was never leaving my house again.
“What’s up, mamalicious?” Cassie asked, bouncing across the kitchen to the Keurig.
I rolled my head to the side to look at her. “Nothing.”
“Where’s your Mr. Harley-Riding Hotness?”
I watched Cassie doctor her coffee. Lots of cream and lots of sugar. Just like her daddy.
“He is resoundingly not mine.”
“Uh-oh, you sound like a literature professor,” Cassie said, crossing to sit beside me.
“I am a literature professor,” I said, rolling my eyes.
“Yeah, but you don’t usually sound like one. The more upset you are, the bigger your words get.”
“Resoundingly’s not that big.”
“Four syllables big,” Cass argued.
