Page 18 of Her Possessive Bikers

The door slams behind her dramatic exit. I straighten my cut, running a hand through my hair. The mirror on the wall shows my reflection – at least I look presentable.

"Send her in," I call out to Benji, organizing the papers on my desk.

My heart's racing like I'm some prospect about to meet the president for the first time. Get it together, old man. She's half your age, and Brick would rise from his grave to kick your ass if he knew what you were thinking.

I quickly pour myself a scotch to steady my nerves as Indy steps through the door, looking like sin in tight jeans and a faded t-shirt that's seen better days. Her eyes follow Candy's dramatic exit.

"What was that about? She looked at me like I'd pissed on her stilettos or something."

I take a long sip. "Nothing worth mentioning."

"Oh." Her eyes widen, darting between me and the door. A knowing smirk plays across her lips. "Shit, did I just cockblock you?"

The scotch catches in my throat. My mind instantly floods with images I shouldn't be having about my late best friend's daughter. Christ. I set the glass down before I drop it, willing away thoughts of Indy's curves pressed against my desk.

"Something like that," I manage, my voice rougher than intended.

"My bad." She drops into the chair across from me, completely at ease. "Though from the look she gave me, I probably saved you from a stage-five clinger."

I bark out a laugh, grateful for the tension break. "You might be right about that."

"Anyway." She leans forward, elbows on my desk. "I came to talk business. I'm selling one of Dad's bikes. Figured I'd offer it to family first."

"Which one?" I question.

"Cher."

"Shit." I whistle low. She's a beauty. "What're you asking?"

She names a price that's way too low. "I'd rather it stay in the club."

"Add five grand to that and we've got a deal."

"What? No, that's too much."

I level my gaze at her. "That's what it's worth, Indy. Your old man would haunt my ass if I took advantage."

Her eyes soften at the mention of Brick. "Okay. You've got yourself a deal."

"Perfect," I say as I down another shot of scotch. Being around this woman is unnerving as hell.

"So, about getting the bike," Indy says, fidgeting with her painted black nails. "I don't exactly have a way to transport it. Any chance you could pick it up?"

"Tonight work for you?" The words leave my mouth before I can think better of them. Real smooth, acting this eager.

She nods, tucking a strand of dark hair behind her ear. "Yeah, I'll be home. Well, at Dad's. You know where it is?"

"Been there plenty of times." I clear my throat. "What time?"

"After seven? I'll need to grab some dinner first."

"I'll bring beer." Christ, where did that come from? "Unless you've got other plans?"

Her eyes light up. "Actually, that sounds perfect. I drank the last of the shitty pale ale in the fridge last night." She stands, stretching slightly. Her shirt rides up, revealing a sliver of skin and what looks like the edge of a tattoo. She heads for the door, then pauses. "Oh, and Tres?"

"Yeah?"

"Don't bring any girly shit. Dad might have trusted you with his life, but I draw the line at Smirnoff."

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