1. Chapter One

Chapter One

Clara

Leather and wind.

A man took the empty stool beside me at the bar without asking if it was free. As soon as he sat down, his scent told me something important about him: this man was a biker. Not unusual in this establishment—simply named The Tavern—which I estimated to be half bikers and half wannabe cowboys.

Closing my eyes, I inhaled, catching the same scent on myself. I loved when I smelled like this. It meant I'd been riding for hours, nothing between me and the road except my Rossi Triumph Classic.

"Your glass is empty."

His voice rumbled across my skin, leaving goose bumps in its wake. Low and gritty, he sounded like he ate gravel for breakfast every morning. In his case, it wasn't a bad thing.

Not a bad thing at all.

I tilted my head to the side, letting my eyes skim his profile. His jaw was covered in golden-brown stubble, and the proud line of his nose was interrupted by a bump that spoke of a break or two somewhere along the way. His focus was on my glass and my hand around it.

"That's true," I murmured.

"Shame," he replied.

"Why's that?"

He hummed a clash of thunder. "Woman like you should never have an empty glass."

A startled laugh fell out of me. "Oh? You can tell the kind of woman I am just by sitting beside me at this bar?"

"Yep."

The hairs on the back of my neck rose at his single-word answer. He'd loaded a lot of meaning into that sole syllable, like he'd wanted me to hear it—wanted me to ask.

If he truly knew the kind of woman I was, he would have predicted I'd never be one to ask a man's opinion of me.

I waved at the bartender. "I'll take another, please." Then I gestured toward the man beside me. "And whatever he's having."

Motorcycle Man went still as the bartender filled two tall, icy glasses with frothy beer. She slid one in front of each of us, and I passed her cash, telling her to keep the change. She smirked at us and stuffed the bill in the pocket of her tight jeans as she walked away.

I chanced another glance at the man next to me, surprised to find him focused on me and not how well the bartender's jeans cupped her high and tight ass.

His eyes narrowed into icy blue slits, intense in their scrutiny. I lifted my beer and took a sip, acting like none of this affected me while my insides quivered. I wasn't a cool woman who flirted with growly men in bars. Pretending I was was both terrifying and exciting.

I wasn't certain I was doing a great job of it, but if me buying him a drink had turned him off, his fragile masculinity wasn't worth my time. I danced around men's delicate egos daily at work, and that was more than enough for me.

Before I could take another sip, a hand landed on my knee, and my body was spun sideways on my stool, putting me face to face with Motorcycle Man.

His legs were spread, trapping mine between them, pinning me like butterfly wings with his hard stare and the words spilling from his soft lips.

"I'd been watching you before I came over."

A shudder tried to work its way through me at the sound of his low, gritty voice. It was only by sheer will I suppressed it. He drawled each word with a lazy cadence while dropping the ends off some. Like a southerner without the twang. And it wasn't so much an accent as an economical disbursement of effort like he'd decided the ends weren't necessary, so he hadn't bothered using energy to finish them.

I raised a questioning brow, my throat too thick to speak.

"Two other men approached before me, and you turned them away." He dipped down, coming so close I felt the warmth of his breath. "Why didn't you turn me away, sweetness?"

I licked my dry lips. I couldn't remember the last time my heart had fluttered in this distinctly unfamiliar way.

"Simple," I pushed out, almost feeling silly for the precise way I spoke in comparison. "You didn't ask. You took the seat you wanted."

"Hmmm…you like when a man takes what he wants?" he asked, though I wasn't sure he actually wanted an answer—not with the way his gaze skimmed over the shape of my body, following every curve and valley like he was riding it. This he did not skimp on. His perusal was as thorough as could be.

Awareness washed over me. My nipples scraping against the lace of my bra, the seam of my jeans aligning with my center, the feel of my clothing on my skin, my hair resting on my shoulders, the way my thighs and ass spread on my stool—it all pushed to the forefront of my mind, and I forgot how to sit, breathe, drink my beer naturally.

I made an attempt to lick my lips again. "I like when certain men take certain things."

He almost smiled, one corner of his mouth kicking up. "Are you trying to be mysterious, sweetness? It's cute, but you don't need to waste time playing around. The second I spotted you, I thought you were the sexiest thing I'd seen in a long time."

My stomach pitched, and I gripped the edge of the bar so I didn't go with it. Suddenly light-headed, I sucked in a breath to steady myself. How was this man able to send me topsy-turvy with sweet words?

Probably because I was starved for attention like this.

Well, not strictly like this. I couldn't hunger for something I'd never had or known possible for a woman like me. Even though I felt like a badass when I climbed off my bike, wearing my leathers and skintight jeans, certainly no one had ever claimed I was the sexiest thing they'd seen in a long time.

That corner kicked up farther. "Did I fluster you?" he practically crooned.

"You did," I admitted.

He trailed the rough pad of his index finger along my cheek and down the column of my throat. "You're pink, CeeCee. Love that color on you."

I bit down on my bottom lip, eyeing him from beneath my lashes. Not playing coy, giving myself a moment to gather what little cool I had.

"You seem to bring it out in me quite easily, Jake."

A full grin now, he dragged his fingers through my hair, cupping the back of my skull, and pulled me into him. His mouth hovered over mine, and for a beat or two, we traded breaths.

"I wonder…" he drawled.

Before I could ask what exactly he'd been wondering, his mouth covered mine, and I lost my train of thought, just like I had the first time this man kissed me a year ago.

He pulled back, eyes on my parted lips. "Yep."

I sucked in a sharp breath. "What?"

His lips grazed mine. "It wasn't some fairy tale I made up. You are just as sweet as I remembered." His thumb took over for his mouth, pressing against my bottom lip. "You have a hotel room?"

I nodded, an earthquake shifting my insides into an unrecognizable landscape. "Yeah. Are you going to wreck it with me?"

He chuffed and dragged his thumb down to my chin. "Finish your drink, CeeCee, and we'll see where the night takes us."

We both knew why we'd shown up here tonight and while it was in me to argue that we shouldn't waste time, I didn't.

I had no idea if we'd have another night like this. Maybe I'd wise up and not return. Maybe he would.

Picking up my glass, I raised it in front of me. "To not rushing things."

He tapped his glass to mine. "To patient good girls getting their rewards."

I was nowhere near a girl. Tonight, though, I'd be this man's good girl. If his rewards were anything like they'd been the past three times, I'd be anything he wanted me to be.