Total pages in book: 37
Estimated words: 33713 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 169(@200wpm)___ 135(@250wpm)___ 112(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 33713 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 169(@200wpm)___ 135(@250wpm)___ 112(@300wpm)
“Do it.”
I hang up and pull Serenity in tighter, pressing my mouth against her hair. She’s trembling, but she’s not breaking. “I won’t let anything happen to you, sweetness.”
She leans back a little and stares up into my eyes. “I know that.”
“Good.” I lean closer and nip her lower lip. “Because I won’t fucking stop until that psycho is out of the picture for good. I’ll bury him in the desert if he even thinks about coming near you.” My hands are shaking from rage and something darker. I can’t even imagine living without her now.
She smiles up at me, a little tremor in her lips, blue eyes shining like lights in a blackout. “You’re kind of intense, you know that?”
“Yeah. But you like it.” I squeeze her hip until she squirms, then I take her mouth, slow at first, then rougher, deeper, until she’s gasping against my tongue.
Fucking hell. I could do this forever.
Bones coughs behind us. “If you two are done making out, we’ve got engines that aren’t going to build themselves.”
I don’t let go. I just keep Serenity tucked into my chest, my hands sliding down over her perfect ass. She fits me. She’s so fucking soft, all curves and sweetness, and every time she looks at me, I want to haul her back to my bed and keep her there for a week.
“If you need me, just yell,” I tell her. One more kiss. Can’t help myself.
She laughs into my mouth. “Go on. I have payroll to finish.”
“Don’t tease me with financial talk, sweetness,” I grunt, reluctantly letting her go.
Serenity flashes that sassy smile and slides back behind her desk, all business. I make it six steps before I get the urge to drag her right back out of the office and remind her exactly who’s in charge around here. Fuck, she’s going to be the death of me. But my girl’s got her numbers to crunch, and she looks happy as hell about it.
I try to lose myself in the engine, but all I can think of is her. The feel of her lips on mine. The taste of her tongue. The way her body melts when I touch her. Motherfucker. I need to get a grip. I’m head over heels for this woman, and the entire goddamn shop knows it.
By lunch, my jaw aches from clenching it so hard. Every time the phone buzzes, I’m ready to break fingers. Savage sends two check-ins an hour on Voss. No movement. I tell him to amp up the heat anyway, and if Voss even makes a move to leave town, I want enough warning to have a grave dug by the time he hits Vegas city limits.
Serenity doesn’t leave the office for hours. She’s in the zone, bossing spreadsheets around like a pro. I can’t help but watch her through the greasy glass window. Blonde hair, glasses, mouth pursed in concentration. God help me, I want to pull her out here, bend her over bay three, and remind myself that she’s safe.
Motherfucker. I’m losing my goddamn mind.
CHAPTER TEN
SERENITY
The morning sun in Las Vegas doesn't just rise; it aggressively takes over. It spills across the desert floor like molten gold, turning the dry brush into silhouettes and making the chrome on Diesel’s Harley-Davidson look like a weapon. After a whole week of silence from Kirk the Jerk, I’m starting to feel a little more at ease.
“You’re doing that thing again,” Diesel says. He’s leaning against the bike, his massive frame making the heavy machine look like a toy. He’s wearing a black T-shirt and jeans. And he smells like that intoxicating mix of woodsy spice and worn-in hide that I’ve started to associate with safety.
I squint at him through the visor. “What thing?”
“The thing where you look at me like that, and I want to forget my promise to take you for a ride,” he says, his lips twitching into a smirk. “And keep you in bed all day.”
“I’m good with that,” I tell him as my lady parts wake up.
He laughs, a low, rumbling sound that vibrates right through my core. He reaches out, his large hand cupping my jaw, his thumb stroking the edge of the helmet’s strap. The touch is brief, almost incidental, but it anchors me. It always does.
“First we ride,” he murmurs. “Then we can burn up the sheets.”
“Sounds like a plan to me,” I say, trying to keep the sass in my voice to hide the way my breath hitches.
“Climb on,” he commands, and there’s that rough edge to his voice that makes my stomach flip. It’s the tone that says he’s in charge, and for once, the steel in my own spine is happy to let someone else take the lead.
I swing my leg over the back of the bike, the leather seat warm beneath me. When I wrap my arms around his waist, I’m struck by the sheer solidity of him. He’s a mountain of muscle and heat, and when he kicks the engine over, the roar of the Harley is so loud I can feel it in my teeth. It’s a primal, screaming thing that demands attention.