Page 5 of Riding Dirty
She takes the bottle from my hand and sips, cringing afterward as though she doesn’t care for the taste. “Woah. That’s a strong one.”
I laugh. “It’s a local beer. They make it up at Whiskey Falls. I think the guy was trying to make turpentine but ended up with beer.”
She sets the amber glass back on the counter and glances toward me. “Wow. Yeah, I see that.” Her tongue stretches out of her mouth, and she makes a soft noise as though she doesn’t care for the taste. “Sorry, I’m sure that’s rude. It’s probably me. I’m not a huge beer drinker. I, umm, I threw my clothes in the dryer. I hope that’s okay. They must be done by now, so I’ll get changed and get out of your hair.”
I nod and watch as she makes her way to the back room, noting how her tattoo pokes from beneath the flannel. She looks too damn good in my clothes.Fucking hell.I take another swig of the paint thinner that’s disguised as beer and push away the thoughts that have been creeping in all afternoon. Thoughts of her beneath me with her lips parted. Thoughts of her sighing in my ear. Thoughts of her bare body against mine as I manhandle every inch of her innocence.
Fuck, I need help. Serious fucking help.
“I meant to ask you about that tattoo. It’s interesting. Why an octopus?”
She tilts her head out from the doorway. “An octopus is the definition of defying adversity. He regenerates his legs. I guess he’s a reminder of how capable I am.”
I have a million questions, but I divert back to her current situation because I feel our time together waning. “I see that you’re capable. There’s no doubt in my mind. Is that why you’re working in town this week?” I’m hollering back to the room where she’s disappeared. “Where are you staying?”
“What?” She peeks out the doorway as she unbuttons the flannel. “Oh. I saw an inn on Main Street. I’ll go back into town and stay there tonight.”
“You said you don’t have any money.”
She disappears back into the room and pauses for a long moment before speaking. “I do. I’m working at the repair shop. I just told you that.”
“But you’re not getting paid until the end of the week.”
“I can work something out with the innkeeper, I’m sure. Maybe they have work for me to do. It’s fine.”
While I appreciate that everyone in town is a do-gooder who would put someone to work before they left them high and dry, I’m not interested in letting her go work for room and board. “You’re staying here. I’ll make dinner. You get settled back in.” I twist back toward the fridge, pulling out two steaks.
“Settled?” She slides out, my flannel hanging further off her shoulder where the top two buttons have been undone.
Maybe this is a bad idea. My cock is already threatening to misbehave. I’m not sure I can trust myself to act like the gentleman she deserves.
“You’re staying here for the week while you figure things out. The bedroom is yours. Go ahead and get settled.”
She laughs. “Thank you, but no. You’ve already done way too much for me. Besides…”
“Besides what? You’re running low on excuses.”
She stands in place, hand on her hip, searching hard for some reason to deny this offer.
“I don’t know you. You could have just spent the afternoon at a murder convention.”
“Worse. It was an MC meeting. Sit down and have dinner with me. I have a few questions myself.”
Her gaze falls and rises again as she thinks over my request. Finally, she says, “I’ll have dinner, but I’m not promising to stay.”
“Deal.” I reach out my hand for hers, warming as she bites back a sweet smile.
“You’re that big into motorcycles, huh?” She rounds to the counter and takes two potatoes out of the bowl on the counter, slicing them into french fries as though she planned out the dinner herself.
I like it. There’s a comfortability in her that’s warm and familiar. It’s as though we’ve been making dinner together all our lives.
She fills a bowl with warm water and glances toward me. “Does that mean you beat people up and love illegal activity?”
I laugh. “Not exactly. We don’t do the violence thing unless absolutely necessary. We’re here for the people of Rugged Mountain. We’re more security than anything. My parents have long since passed, but my dad was a military guy turned MC rider and I guess I followed in his footsteps. We go where the law can’t.”
She tilts her head to the side and studies my face as I toss the steaks into the sizzling pan. “What about your mom?”
“She raised us, ran the farm, kept the house in order, and painted when she got some free time. She did the piece above the mantle. It’s my father coming back from the barn. I think she dreamed about being a famous painter, but her time was spent caring for us. Sometimes I feel bad about that. Like her whole life was spent caring for other people and she missed out on her own dreams, you know?”