Total pages in book: 38
Estimated words: 33577 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 168(@200wpm)___ 134(@250wpm)___ 112(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 33577 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 168(@200wpm)___ 134(@250wpm)___ 112(@300wpm)
Jack watched the whole thing with barely contained amusement, his eyes occasionally flicking to my face to gauge my reaction. I must have looked as shocked as I felt because his mouth twitched into something close to a smile.
His shrill whistle pierced the room. "Knock it the fuck off," he said, his voice carrying the weight of command. The men immediately separated, mumbling apologies. "You're scaring my old lady."
Both men shot me apologetic looks before returning to their food, this time with such exaggerated manners that were almost comical.
Later, after the kitchen had been cleaned and Jack had taken care of whatever mysterious business occupied his time, we sat on the couch in his room. The TV droned in the background, some action movie neither of us was really watching. My mind kept circling back to the way he'd called me his old lady so easily, like it was an absolute fact rather than this bizarre charade.
I was hyper aware of his presence beside me, the couch suddenly feeling much smaller than it had last night. When he reached for his beer on the coffee table, his hand brushed against mine. A jolt of electricity shot up my arm, and I jerked back slightly, startled by the intensity of my reaction.
Jack froze, his eyes finding mine in the dim light. Something dark and hungry flashed in those blue depths, making my breath catch in my throat. He didn't move away. Instead, his fingertips ghosted over my knuckles deliberately this time, a touch so light it might have been my imagination if not for the goosebumps rising on my skin.
My pulse hammered in my ears as we sat there, barely touching but connected by something I couldn't name. His gaze dropped to my lips, and I found myself leaning forward unconsciously, drawn by some magnetic force I couldn't resist.
The door flew open with a bang that made me jump nearly out of my skin. A young man with a patch on his leather vest that labeled him a prospect stood in the doorway, breathing hard.
"Prez! Copperhead bike spotted near the south fence!"
Jack was on his feet in an instant, all traces of whatever had just passed between us gone, replaced by the hard lines of command. "How many?" His voice was ice cold.
"Just one. Our scout thinks it might be Shank."
"Lock down the compound. Get Ghost and meet me at the armory." Jack's orders came rapid-fire. “And Dice?”
“Yeah, prez?”
“Don’t you ever fuckin’ barge in here again. Hear me?”
Dice swallowed hard, glanced at me, then ducked his head. “Yes, sir. Sorry, ma’am.”
As he moved toward the door, Jack paused, turning back to place a large, warm hand on my shoulder. "Stay here. Lock the door behind me." His voice was softer now, meant only for me. "I'll be back."
Then he was gone, leaving me alone with the phantom feeling of his touch still burning on my skin and the sudden, unwelcome realization that I might be in danger of feeling something for a man who called himself "Bloody Jack."
* * *
I woke with the sun, my body clock still set to farm time despite years of trying to break the habit. Probably why I made a good barista at the coffee shop. Getting up my whole life with or before the sun dominated my sleep schedule. Funny how I wanted to change my life but somethings refused to budge.
Jack's side of the bed was empty and cold. He'd never returned after the Copperhead sighting last night and it bothered me more than it should even as not having to deal with his presence eased my mind. I had no business feeling any attraction for the guy. Yet I’d nearly kissed him. Not the show he put on for Shank when the other man had me cornered, either. Like really kissed him. Twice.
I stretched, wincing at the stiffness in my neck from sleeping curled up in a tight ball on the edge of the mattress. Yesterday's cooking adventure had taught me a valuable lesson about biker appetites. Today, I'd be ready.
After a quick shower, I pulled on the clothes Jack had provided which was another pair of jeans and a tank top, plus that damn property vest. The leather was already softening against my skin, molding to my body in a way that felt disturbingly like acceptance. I frowned at my reflection in the mirror, wondering how I'd gone from independent woman to marked property. Just that fucking talented, I guess.
The clubhouse was quiet as I made my way to the kitchen, though I spotted a few members passed out on couches or slumped over tables. The aftermath of whatever had happened with the Copperhead sighting, I guessed. I stepped over a snoring body and pushed through the kitchen doors, spending the next hour and a half cooking like my life depended on it. Pancakes stacked high on platters, bacon and sausage sizzling in pans, hash browns crisping in the oven, and enough scrambled eggs to feed a small army. The rhythmic chopping and stirring calmed my nerves, just like it always had back on the farm when Mom was too sick to cook and Dad needed a hot meal before heading out to the fields.