Page 28 of Her Possessive Bikers

"Something smells amazing," he says, running a hand through his hair.

I turn back to the stove quickly, hoping he didn't catch me staring. "Just some breakfast before your next round of meds. How are you feeling?"

"Like I got in a bar fight." He chuckles, then winces. "But better than last night, thanks to you."

"Those cuts should heal up nice," I say, plating the eggs and bacon. "Might leave some interesting scars though."

"Yeah?" He traces one of the larger bandages across his ribs. "Guess I'll have some stories to tell."

"Sit," I order, pointing to a chair with my spatula. "Doctor's orders."

He smirks but complies, lowering himself carefully into the seat. "Yes ma'am."

The morning light streaming through the window catches the angles of his face, softening his features. Without his usual guarded expression, he looks younger, almost vulnerable. I busy myself with getting juice from the fridge, trying to focus on being professional rather than noticing how the sun turns his hair to gold.

I set a plate in front of Kyler and catch myself staring again. He's smiling - actually smiling - and it transforms his whole face. The usual brooding expression melts away, revealing dimples I never knew existed. His green eyes crinkle at the corners, and suddenly he looks years younger.

I lean against the counter, watching Kyler eat. Last night's conversation replays in my mind - his pain-med induced confession about wanting someone to come home to, someone like me. The way he'd looked at me through heavy-lidded eyes before drifting off to sleep. Does he remember saying it?

"You're staring," Kyler says between bites, not looking up from his plate.

Heat rushes to my cheeks. "Just making sure you're not about to pass out face-first into those eggs."

He glances up, a hint of that rare smile playing at his lips. "Sure that's all it is?"

My heart skips. There's something in his tone that makes me think he remembers more than he's letting on. I busy myself with cleaning up the pan, buying time to steady my voice. "Maybe I'm just surprised to see you can actually let your hair down. Literally."

"You should see me on casual Fridays." He runs his fingers through those golden waves, and I fight the urge to do the same.

"The MC has casual Fridays? What, do you wear flip-flops with your leather?"

His laugh fills the kitchen, deep and genuine. It's a sound I could get used to hearing. The thought catches me off guard - how easily I can picture mornings like this becoming routine. Him at my table, sharing breakfast and lazy banter. No pressure to be the tough biker or the responsible paramedic. Just us.

"Thanks," he says softly, pushing his empty plate away. "Not just for the food. For everything."

I meet his eyes, finding none of the usual walls he puts up. "Anytime. Really."

The moment stretches between us, charged with possibility. Dad always said Kyler was different from the others - quieter, more thoughtful. Looking at him now, I understand exactly what he meant.

"This beats hospital food by a mile," he says, digging into the eggs.

I slide into the chair across from him. "I'd hope so. Though technically, you should've been in a hospital."

"Nah." He waves his fork. "Got the better end of the deal. Personal nurse, home-cooked breakfast..." His smile widens, and my stomach does a little flip.

"Speaking of nursing," I say, trying to keep my voice professional, "how's the pain level?"

"Three out of ten. Your meds are good stuff."

"Dad's old prescription stash came in handy." I pause, pushing eggs around my plate. "He always kept extras, just in case."

Kyler's expression softens. "He looked out for everyone. Especially us strays."

"Yeah, well, speaking of looking out for people..." I lean forward, fixing him with my best stern paramedic stare. "I'll drive you back to the clubhouse, but only if you promise to follow wound care instructions. No skipping bandage changes, no getting them wet, and absolutely no more bar fights for at least two weeks."

He raises his right hand. "Scout's honor."

"Were you ever actually a scout?"

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