Page 16 of Biker Daddy's Girl

When I open the door to the hallway, it's silent. The house feels empty and still, which isn't unexpected. Luke has a life, obviously, and while I had been looking forward to seeing him, I'm perfectly capable of taking care of myself. I'm not here as his responsibility or burden.

After washing up, I head towards the kitchen, hoping there will be coffee.

There is, and there's also a note propped on the counter next to a bowl of fruit.

"Make yourself at home, Emma. There's coffee and cereal. I'm working in the garage next door if you need anything. Let me know when you need to head back to the university. Your things are on the dining room table."

The note is cute enough to make me want to sit on the counter and kick my feet, but the logistics of the day are making me hesitant about getting too swept up in all of this. What does he mean about my things? I came here with nothing but the pajamas on my back, the slippers on my feet, and my phone clutched in my hand.

The house is big, but not obnoxiously so, and I locate the dining room table easily enough. The construction of Luke's home makes it look older, more regal, but it's clear that he's done a significant amount of work on the space himself, including changing things to a more modern open floor plan. Sitting in the middle of a dark cherry wood dining table is my big blue duffel bag, which I know was sitting beside me in the closet I hid in. How the heck did it get here?

Confused, I approach slowly and open the bag with one hand. Inside is an odd—if extensive variety—of my clothes, my toothbrush, a few pairs of shoes, a tangle of random charging cables, and perched on top of it all, my laptop. Leaning against the duffel bag is my white and pink tie-dyed tote with all my school books, supplies, and papers in it that I carry to class.

Holy crap. I feel like I'm in shock. How did Luke manage this? It's only been hours since we got here last night. Did he really return to my dorm and pack this stuff for me? I didn't even think they would let him in. It doesn't seem like my dorm manager likes anyone.

I feel my heart swelling. It's hard for me to express, but knowing that he thought enough to take care of me this way is enough to send a shiver down my spine and leave a little warmth in the pit of my stomach.

I have to find him and thank him. Maybe even get some answers about how he was able to pull this off. But mostly to thank him. And see him. And maybe see if he'll kiss me again.

Rushing to the bathroom, I brush my teeth and hair but don't bother getting dressed. The two-piece pink pajama set—shorts and a loose shirt—aren't exactly modest, but I don't care about that right now. He already saw what I was wearing all night last night as he rescued me from a freaking burning building after I had frozen up.

Slipping my feet back into my slippers, I pour two cups of coffee into the black coffee mugs I find in the cabinet above the coffee pot, and head out into the daylight. Luke's garage is next door, and it takes no time at all to see where the sound of a classic rock song is coming from. I just follow the noise and the smell of oil, gasoline, and leather.

I'm a little hesitant to walk through the large wooden door into what must be Luke's workspace and try to talk to him. After all, he's probably pretty busy and focused, and the last thing I want is to be an annoyance or a distraction.

Then again, he did give me permission to make myself at home and come here. It's not like I'm a stranger, right? Well, not anymore anyway. So, I steel myself, push back the door, and walk through.

When I step inside, my eyes immediately land on the large figure bent over a motorcycle, tinkering with the engine. Even from across the room, I can feel the heat radiating from him. His sleeves are rolled up to the elbow, exposing his forearms and the strong, corded muscles underneath. A fine layer of sweat coats his skin, making him look like he's just stepped off the cover of a magazine.

I can't help but stare, drinking in the sight of him. He's so strong, so confident, so utterly in control of himself. My breath catches in my throat, and I find myself taking a step closer, as if drawn by an invisible magnet.

"Hey there," Luke calls out without turning around.

My eyes widen. How did he know it was me? "Oh, uh, hi!"

"What are you doing up so early? You need rest, Emma."

I feel my cheeks flush as I try to gather myself. "I, uh, found my duffel bag. Luke, you didn't have to do that. You had to have been up all night."

Luke's strong, broad back ripples as he shrugs. He wipes his hands on a greasy towel, leaving a trail of dark stains on the fabric, but doesn't turn around.

"I'm always up at dawn," he says simply. "It's just what I do. And you needed your things." He finally turns and flashes a grin, and the sight of those straight white teeth sends a wave of want through me. "Plus, I grabbed your keys on the way out of the apartment last night. Figured I might need them in a pinch."

He comes forward and takes one of the cups out of my hand, taking a long drink and sighing contentedly before continuing. "The girl at the front desk still wouldn't let me in, though. So I slipped her a few bucks to go up and pack the bag for me."

I shake my head, amazed that he would go through all that trouble. "You didn't have to do that," I insist, feeling a blush rising on my cheeks. "I'm not a child who can't be trusted to look after herself."

He looks down at me with an intensity in his blue eyes that makes my knees go weak. "I'm aware," he says. "But you're also someone worth looking after."

Before I can stop it, words that I really wanted to keep to myself slip out. “Well, at least one man thinks so.”

He raises his scarred eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

Hating that I even brought it up, I sip at my coffee to buy time before reluctantly admitting, “I don’t have a father. Or at least I don’t know who he is. He was a one-night stand of my mom’s when she was younger and when she told him she was pregnant he disappeared."

“What a fucking prick.” Luke’s voice is close to a snarl, which makes me jump. Woah. He really sounds like he’s pissed.

I wave my hand through the air. “It’s a long time ago. I don’t know why I even mentioned it.”