Page 29 of May 11

Even with a job away from the club, it was apparent that Havlin was his life.

She looked left and right as they approached a crossroad. He hadn't told her where he was taking her.

Wire pointed to the right. She flipped on her blinker. One more street later, he pulled into the driveway of a house.

It was a two-story house with a wide porch. The Pacific Ocean stretched before them in the distance—an expanse of gray and white waves meeting blue sky. The home perched on the bluff overlooking Seaglass Cove, its wooden beams holding up the porch weathered by salt and wind. She parked the van and opened the door, staying in the driver's seat. The scent of pine mingled with the tang of the sea.

Wire walked to her side of the van. "Come on in."

She slid off the seat and landed on the ground. "Whose house is this?"

"Mine."

"Wait. What?" She grabbed his arm. "You have a house? But, I thought you lived at the clubhouse."

"Never said I lived there."

"No, but you stay there." She hurried to keep up with him. "Why don't you stay here?"

"I'm going to." He unlocked the door. "Tonight. With you."

Shocked, she stepped back a foot. It seemed as if everything changed. The man she thought she was getting to know was still a stranger.

He had a house.

She looked at him more closely. Did he have a wife? Kids?

How had she never thought of those things while sleeping with him?

Because men her age weren't married. They didn't have kids. It wasn't something she ever had to think or worry about before.

He put his hand on her back and guided her inside—straight into the living room. A sparse room with older-style furniture. But beyond the masculine appearance, there was a hominess to the place.

Inside, the walls held stories of his past. Past relationships. Past habits. Past memories.

There were motorcycle magazines stacked on the corner of the couch. A leftover beer bottle sat on the small table by an overstuffed chair. A pair of boots cluttered the floor in the middle of the room. A t-shirt hung over the back of the chair.

She followed Wire deeper into the house and entered the kitchen. A crumbled pack of cigarettes and a discarded bandana were on the top of the wooden table. A container of salt and pepper sat between the burners on the stove.

Glancing at Wire again, she tried to imagine him cooking. The idea turned her on.

In the van, he often stripped down to only his jeans. She could imagine him standing in front of the stove with a wooden spoon in his hand—shirtless. Barefooted. Fresh from a shower.

"Are you okay?" His deep voice rolled through her.

She shivered. "Yeah. Just taking it all in. You never mentioned you had a house. I assumed you lived at the clubhouse. It's weird seeing you in your element."

"I bought the place two years ago when the MC moved to Seaglass Cove." He opened the fridge and handed her a bottle of water while taking out a beer for himself. "I haven't done much except put some paint on a couple bedrooms. I spend most of my time at the clubhouse."

She walked over to the window on the other side of the table and looked into a private backyard with a six-foot wooden fence. There were no neighbors behind him.

"Tell me about yourself." She turned and leaned against the windowsill, crossing her arms. "Have you been married before? Are you married?"

"Babe." He drew a long drink off the bottle, making her wait for an answer. "I've never been married. Haven't even come close."

Surprised, she said, "Why not?"

"Life." He shrugged. "Do you want the long or short version?"

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