Page 20 of Her Possessive Bikers

"There's a lot about him that would surprise you." I gesture toward the house. "Want to come see for yourself?"

He grabs a six pack of Yuengling out of the tab of his truck and he follows me inside, his boots surprisingly quiet on the hardwood. I watch his face as he takes in the living room, the way his eyes linger on the family photos.

"Been years since I've been here," he says, stopping at a picture of Dad and me at my high school graduation. "Brick was strict about keeping club business away from this place. Said it was your sanctuary."

"That sounds like him." My throat tightens. "He always tried to keep these two worlds separate."

"Smart man." Tres turns, his eyes meeting mine. "Wanted to protect what mattered most."

The kitchen timer saves me from having to respond. "Hope you're hungry."

"Starving." He settles at the dining table while I plate the food. "This is different from the clubhouse. Quieter."

"No prospects running around?" I set his plate down, catching the slight smile that crosses his face.

"Or half-naked women trying to crawl under my desk."

I nearly drop the salad bowl. "Is that a regular occurrence?"

"More than I'd like." He takes a bite of lasagna, his eyes closing briefly. "Damn, this is good."

"Dad's secret ingredient was red wine." I sit across from him, the candlelight catching the silver in his beard. "In the sauce and in the cook."

"So," Tres takes another bite, his fork scraping against the plate, "what does Indy Cooper do for fun back in Alabama?"

The beer burns a path down my throat as I try to formulate an answer that doesn't sound pathetically boring. "Work takes up most of my time. Paramedic shifts aren't exactly conducive to a social life."

"No boyfriend wondering where you disappeared to?"

My fingers tighten around my beer. The way he's looking at me makes my skin feel too tight. "No boyfriend." I take another sip, buying time. "Unless you count Netflix and my... ba… beta fish." No fucking way did I just about tell this man about my battery operated boyfriend. Jesus fucking Christ Indy.

He raises an eyebrow, probably questioning the awkwardness of volunteering information about a beta fish that I have that doesn't even exist.

"Beautiful woman like you? Find that hard to believe." His voice drops lower, and heat crawls up my neck.

"Yeah, well, most guys aren't thrilled when you have to bail on date night because someone decided to wrap their car around a tree." I force a laugh, trying to ignore how his forearms flex as he reaches for his drink. "Plus, the whole covered-in-other-people's-blood thing isn't exactly sexy."

"Depends on who you ask." The corner of his mouth quirks up.

I nearly choke on my beer. "Right, I forgot who I was talking to. You probably think that's foreplay."

His laugh is deep and rich, sending warmth pooling in my stomach. "You'd be surprised what I consider foreplay."

Oh God. I stand abruptly, grabbing my empty plate. "More lasagna?"

"You trying to fatten me up, darlin'?"

"Just being hospitable." I busy myself at the counter, willing my hands to stop shaking. "Can't let anyone leave here hungry."

"Brick always said you took care of people." There's something in his voice that makes me pause. "Said it was your best quality. Also your most dangerous one."

Before Tres can elaborate on his comment, his phone buzzes. He glances at the screen and his expression darkens.

"Shit." He pushes back from the table. "Club business. I need to go."

"Everything okay?" I start collecting plates, trying not to show my disappointment.

"Nothing I can't handle." He stands, his height making the kitchen feel smaller. "Thank you for dinner. Been a long time since I had a home-cooked meal."

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