Chapter 1

Ilived for Saturday mornings. I’d show up at my bookstore at nine a.m. and enjoy a solid hour of peace and quiet before the doors opened and customers started arriving. I’d sip my coffee, restock shelves, and sometimes steal a moment for reading if I had time left over.

Not this morning, though. This morning, my bookstore resembled an audio hellscape, where any thought could be interrupted by the obnoxious growl of an engine. Magnify that by at least five hundred times, and that was Biker Blast weekend here in Rosewood Ridge.

Vroom.

I dropped my almost-empty cup of coffee at that sound. A surprisingly close sound. It was so loud, it wouldn’t surprise me if a bike came right through my front window.

“Sheesh!” I called out, snatching up my coffee cup, which had lost its lid in the fall.

Coffee now stained my area rug, which was covered in books and had the words In a world of bookworms, be a book dragon printed on it. I stared down at it, wondering if I’d ever get the dark brown blotch off the cream-colored material.

After throwing away the cup, I started toward the bathroom to grab a roll of paper towels. But instead, my gaze was drawn toward the large windows that lined the front of the shop.

My parking lot was suddenly covered in bikes. Not the entire parking lot, just the area closest to the road where the sidewalks encouraged pedestrians. Biker Blast had been covering more and more of the city, and now they were taking over my parking lot.

Worse, one of the bikes was blocking the entrance. The only entrance to my store.

“Oh hell, no.”

I tried not to cuss, mostly because customers didn’t like it, and almost all my interactions were with customers. But some occasions called for a good cuss word.

Spill forgotten, I spun on one heel and headed straight to the door, tugging on the handle before remembering it was locked. Adrenaline fueled my steps as I finally shoved the door open and walked straight for the motorcycle that would keep paying customers away for the better part of four hours.

“You can’t park there!” I yelled out halfway across the parking lot.

My focus had zeroed in on the buffed dude wearing a helmet. That meant I’d shut out the dozen or so other bikers standing behind the row of motorcycles that weren’t blocking the entrance. All those guys turned at once and gawked at me like they’d never seen an angry woman in a cardigan.

But I kept going, despite the fact that it was already almost unbearably hot out here, and my cardigan was meant for the chilly temperature in the bookstore. I couldn’t lose sight of my purpose.

Helmet and all, the guy turned to look at me, causing me to nearly trip over my own feet. He wore sunglasses, and most of his head was covered, but I could still see that strong jawline and those lips that seemed to be perpetually holding back a smile. A smile that no doubt would melt any other woman’s heart.

But not mine, not now. My bookstore was my baby, and I was one protective mama.

“Why’s that?” the guy in the helmet asked.

Oh God, his voice was deep but somehow friendly, as was his whole demeanor. Then he tilted his head slightly, and the move went straight to my heart.

Okay, so maybe I wasn’t so immune to this guy’s charms.

“That’s the only way into my parking lot,” I said firmly. “I open at ten and close at five on Saturdays.”

Why I was spouting off all that information was beyond me. The guy had turned me into some sort of weird robot, only able to force out facts.

He straightened his head. Behind the lenses, I could barely make out his eyes, and they were narrowed at me. Was he studying me? Trying to figure out what I was all about?

“Do you think customers will be looking for books today?” he asked. “It’s Biker Blast.”

I was well aware of that fact. I’d lived in this town all my life. This guy was either an out-of-town biker or he lived up in the mountains with the other guys who played football, worked in construction, and barely spoke to the locals.

I crossed my arms over my chest and gestured toward the street, where cars were whizzing past. “Not everyone’s here for Biker Blast. Saturday is my busiest day, and I can’t afford to?—”

I stopped myself there. No need for him to know about my financial troubles. Nobody needed to know that I bought this bookstore thinking my love of books would be enough.

But love didn’t pay the bills. My regulars were slowly dying off without enough of the younger generation to make up for it.

“I just need you to move your bike, maybe scooch it over with all the others,” I said.

Scooch. Had I actually used the word scooch?

I motioned toward the row of bikes, but even as I did so, I realized the problem with that suggestion. This guy had parked here because there wasn’t a square inch of space available over there.

When I turned back to face him, he was removing his helmet, revealing dark hair that matched the stubble along his jawline. Just looking at him made me feel a little swoony. No, I couldn’t let the fact that he was drop-dead gorgeous steer me off course.

“I can’t do that,” he said, flat out refusing to budge.

“I could call the police,” I said. “My next-door neighbor is head of the local police force.”

I crossed my arms and stared him down, but I felt anything but confident as we engaged in a stare-off. I could barely keep my eyes open right now. The sun was bright out here today. Why hadn’t I grabbed my sunglasses on the way out?

“Garth is a good friend of mine,” he countered, referring to my next-door neighbor.

And then, without warning, the guy removed the sunglasses. His eyes were a grayish-green shade, but it was their intensity that almost had me taking a step back. He was looking at me like I was the only woman in the world, and it tied my insides in knots.

“I’m Nate Donnelly, head of the Rosewood Ridge Riders,” the guy said. “That’s your local motorcycle club.”

He extended his hand for a shake. I was still staring at those eyes. I was drawn to this guy in a way I’d never been drawn to a man before. I wanted to do far more than shake his hand.

“Terra Page, owner of Turn the Page.”

I gestured toward the large sign on my bookstore. I always said that I was born to run a bookstore. It was built into my last name.

Absently, I then slid my hand into his and…uh-oh.

As his hand engulfed mine, I felt things. Things I couldn’t even understand, let alone explain. Warmth spread through me, settling in the area between my legs. My heart raced, my breathing quickened.

What was happening?

“You run this place, I assume?”

He nodded toward the bookstore, only briefly taking his eyes off me. He didn’t withdraw his hand, either. In fact, we’d stopped shaking hands. Did that technically mean we were just holding hands?

“You’re the owner?” he asked.

I nodded. “It was my favorite place to hang out when I was a teenager. When the owner decided to sell, I bought her out.”

It was a purchase I’d talked my parents into making. They were going to pay for my college. My argument was that this was an investment in my future. How could a bookstore, the only one in this town, fail?

I was twenty-four, and I still felt the pressure to make this work for my parents’ sake. I never wanted them to regret the decision they’d made, giving me that money.

“Okay,” he suddenly said, withdrawing his hand from mine.

My hand hung in the air for far too many seconds before finally dropping to my side. I was shocked by how much I missed his touch.

“I’ll move…on one condition,” he said.

“What’s that?”

“You agree to go for a ride on my motorbike.”