Page 48 of Elling & Jackie

"Who?" Her head pounded, and she rubbed her forehead. "What are you talking about?"

"The guy in the suit."

She groaned. "That's the owner of the hotel. My boss."

He nodded as if her explanation made sense to him while she couldn't figure out what he was doing in her room. She pushed the hair that'd fallen, blocking her view of the top half of him, off her forehead.

His lake-blue eyes settled on her breasts. Conscious of what she was wearing, she could tell by the dampness on the front of her tank that the ends of her wet hair only emphasized her nipples.

"I see," he murmured.

She crossed her arms, realizing her mistake when her braless breasts were shoved up and out.

"What do you want?" she pulled at her shirt, trying to keep it away from her nipples.

"I told you." He walked over and sat on the couch. "I want to talk."

"Why?"

"I haven't come here to piss you off." He stretched his arm out on the back of the couch.

She went to the end of the sofa and sat sideways, facing him, and drew her legs up in front of her. Out of his reach, she wanted to keep him on task. He could say what he came here for and then leave.

"If this is about having sex with me, skip it." She arched her brow. "I'm not interested in talking to you about something that won't be happening again."

He raised and then lowered his hand on the back of the couch. "You're Chief Stanton's daughter."

Ah, so he'd done some snooping around to find out who she was and why she had the club's colors tattooed on her skin. She looked at the tattoos on his arms. He had his own background, his own stories, his own reasons.

For how much she was capable of understanding his lifestyle, she held herself back because of that knowledge.

Because he was an enemy to her family. Because of the patch on his vest.

As soon as all the roadblocks were solidly planted in front of her and she felt confident about stopping whatever was going on between them, she said, "You know who I am. Who are you?"

"Elling Halvorsen."

He gave her something she already knew. She wanted more.

"How long have you been with Slag Motorcycle Club?"

"I was born into the club." He inhaled deeply. "My father was a member."

"Was?"

"He was murdered when I was a child," he stated as if it had happened to someone else. "I patched in when I was twenty-one years old. I'm thirty-eight now."

Knowing Slag probably had similar by-laws as Brikken, she wrapped her arms around her upturned knees, and said, "Why not at nineteen years old?"

"Because I came to the United States from Norway when I was nineteen, and I needed to put two years prospecting in at a new chapter."

He gave her answers without any hesitation. His truths rang true for her.

"Norway is supposed to be beautiful, full of mountains, lakes, and wilderness. Why would you want to leave?"

"There was no one there for me." His gaze held hers, but something flickered before he answered. A few seconds later, she understood the reason when he said, "My mom was killed in a car crash a couple years after I lost my dad. The Seattle Chapter of Slag needed more men, and I volunteered to come over. This is home now."

"Seattle is?"

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