Total pages in book: 73
Estimated words: 66480 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 332(@200wpm)___ 266(@250wpm)___ 222(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 66480 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 332(@200wpm)___ 266(@250wpm)___ 222(@300wpm)
"Distracted?" I asked, moving in to take my turn. Our bodies brushed as we exchanged positions, and I felt a jolt of lust. While I wasn’t above using sex to get what I wanted, I wasn’t entirely certain sex alone would work with this girl.
"By what?" But her voice had a slight huskiness that hadn't been there before.
I leaned over the table, lining up my shot as I frowned, shrugging. "No idea. Just seemed like an easy shot to miss."
“Could say the same for your miss.” She smirked at me. Yeah. Little thing was playing with me. Like a kitten with a ball of yarn. And didn’t the idea of tying this kitten up for hours while I pleasured her bring this whole thing into greater perspective.
We continued our game. Game was the code word here for foreplay. Because there was absolutely no way I didn’t get this woman in my bed tonight, whether I intended to or not. When she leaned over for a difficult corner shot, I allowed myself to admire the curve of her ass in that tight black dress. Pretty sure her ass would make angels weep, too.
"See something you like?" She caught me looking as she straightened up. “Maybe you’re the one distracted.”
"Oh, I definitely like what I see," I replied smoothly with as much innuendo as I could. Wren rolled her eyes.
"So what kind of connections you looking to make in this town?" she asked, watching me sink another ball.
"The useful kind." I straightened up, meeting her gaze. "People who know their way around. People worth knowing."
"And you figured the Valentine's Ball and a local biker bar was a good place to start?"
I shrugged. "Heard it was neutral ground. Figured it was safer than walking into a club bar on a regular night."
She laughed, a genuine sound that made heads turn our way. "Smart. Most new guys aren't that careful."
"I'm not most guys." I missed my next shot on purpose, giving her another turn.
"Clearly." She swept around the table, her body briefly pressing against mine as she passed. Not an accident. "Most guys would've tried a cheesier line by now."
"Would it have worked?" I watched her line up her shot, admiring her focus.
"Not a chance." She sank the ball and straightened, suddenly close enough that I could smell her perfume. The unexpectedly delicate scent beneath the whiskey and cigarette smoke that clung to everyone in the bar was some kind of pheromone. The more I smelled, the more I wanted. The more I wanted, the closer I needed to get to her. The closer I got… Yeah. The more I needed to fuck her. To claim her. To completely ruin her then make her mine forever.
"Guess I'll stick with what I'm doing." I held her gaze, letting the genuine interest show. No use hiding what I wanted. I got the feeling Wren could see through bullshit like she had some finely tuned detector. Besides, the fact was, I wanted to fuck her like I wanted my next breath.
She sank the eight ball with a clean shot that left no doubt about her skill. "You just lost."
"Did I?" I asked, not talking about the game.
Her eyes flickered with interest before she nodded toward the bar. "You owe me a drink."
I followed at her side this time, my hand possessively at her back. I got a few raised eyebrows from men around the room, but no one made a move to intercept us. Maybe because Wren allowed my touch. I had no doubt if she indicated in any way I was annoying her, I’d have myself an accident on the way out of the club.
As I ordered another round, I watched her from the corner of my eye. She was texting someone, her face briefly troubled. When she caught me looking, she tucked the phone away.
"Your old man checking in?" I asked casually, sliding her whiskey across the bar.
Her eyebrow raised. "What makes you think my dad’s checking up on me?"
"Everyone's got someone wondering where they are." Careful territory here. I couldn't reveal I knew about Ghost, but I needed to gauge her connection to him.
"You’re right about it being my dad." She said it simply, taking a sip. "But he texted to say he's running late."
"You two close?"
"Very." The single word carried weight, a warning even. She studied me over her glass. "What about you? Anyone wondering where Rocky the mechanic disappears to?"
I laughed, letting real bitterness flavor it. "Not for a long time." I shrugged. “I might be the sole exception to my earlier statement.”
Something in my tone must have registered as truth because her expression softened slightly. "Their loss."
The conversation flowed easier after that, moving between casual topics like bikes, local hang outs, and music, while we finished our drinks. I found myself genuinely enjoying her company. The way she called bullshit when I tried to bluff about a custom exhaust system. The flash in her eyes when she talked about rebuilding her own bike. The subtle tells when she described her father as protective and proud, but something complicated underneath.