Page 18 of Property of Azrael

“Yeah.” He might as well have uttered “Duh” with that tone. “It’s not every day that you get the chance to share a room with a famous author.” He selects one of my books, and my face goes from red to nuclear. Azrael’s eyes go wide as he shifts his gaze to me.

“You write biker romance?”

“Yeah,” I acknowledge hesitantly. I steel myself for laughter or a snide comment, but he does neither. “So does everyone else at the event. It’s called Motorcycles, Mobsters, and Mayhem.”

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.” He again looks down at his screen, and I suddenly want to crawl into a hole and disappear. But since that’s not an option, I shift nervously on the bed as he continues to scroll. “There are tons of biker romance books on here.”

“It’s a popular trope in romance, and has been for a while.”

Azrael peers back at me, his beautiful eyes cutting me to the quick. “If you write about bikers falling in love, why have you never ridden on a bike before? Shouldn’t you have firsthand experience on the subject you’re writing about?”

His question is fair, and something I’ve responded to a dozen times before with my own family. I could give him the generic response I’ve crafted over the years for my mom, who wanted to nitpick at me for missing a family meal in order to do research or hit a deadline. But Azrael is a biker, and he’ll see right through my maneuver.

“You’re right. I don’t have firsthand experience with MCs. Until today, as you know, I’ve never experienced riding on a motorcycle.”

“So why biker romance? And please, don’t say Sons of Anarchy.”

“I won’t.” Because it’s true. “I liked the show, but the culture really interests me. My parents were super religious and strict when I was growing up. No R-rated movies. No dancing. No dating.”

He chuckles. “No dating, huh?”

“Nope,” I reply, shaking my head. “When you grew up sheltered like I did, rebelling against your parents’ beliefs is a given. I just did it in a more fictional way, I guess. Sure, I had my moments, but I was quintessentially the perfect daughter. Well, if you ask my mom, I was until recently.” My next words bring a conspiratorial smile to my lips. “I swear, if she only knew what I was doing right now…” His expression, full of intrigue, turns to one of mischief, closely matching my own. “I write biker romance because the world fascinates me. There’s so much history and culture within the ranks of an MC. Whether it be an RC, MC, or one percenters, it’s a brother or sister hood. A family.”

Azrael nods, his eyes growing serious. “It makes so much sense now,” he utters.

“What does?”

“You, and the way you reacted to us. The bike ride. The comments about the harem in the lobby earlier. I’m assuming that’s a book thing, right?”

“It is. One girl, multiple guys,” I deadpan. “And yes, you’re right. I’ve read and written so many different stories about bikers, that being rescued by one has been a bit weird for me. I’m grateful for what you’re doing, but yeah, that’s part of the reason I’ve been a little off-kilter. Well, that, and you could be buttering me up to take me to your sex slash torture dungeon later instead of the event.” I try to keep my face neutral, but when Azrael flashes that smile at me, the coil of heat at my core rises a few more degrees.

“Maybe I am,” he answers. “Guess we’ll have to see what happens tomorrow.”

“Guess so,” I tease.

Just then, a knock sounds at the door. Azrael rises from the bed and answers it, then returns a moment later with two pizza boxes: one large, and a second smaller one. He sets them down on the desk, opens the first one, and groans at the sight before glaring over at me.

“Hawaiian? Really?”

“Don’t worry, there’s a regular pizza in the other box, but I want you to try mine first. Then you can have yours.”

“You can’t be fucking serious, Hallie.” He shifts back to the pizza in the box. “You’re holding my pizza hostage until I try this disgusting pineapple monstrosity?”

“Yup.” I make a beeline to the box in front of him. Picking up a thick slice, I take a small bite for myself. While it’s not the best Hawaiian pizza in the world, it’s decent enough that it might change his mind. The sweetness of the pineapple, mixed with the tangy barbecue sauce, slides over my tongue. A perfect combination of sweet, salty, and savory. “See? It won’t kill you.” I take another bite and moan. “Mmmm… So good.”

Juice from one of the pineapple chunks dribbles down my chin. I go to wipe it off, but Azrael’s rough thumb swipes it away. Then, he raises it to his lips and sucks it into his mouth.

“It is sweet,” he murmurs. “Does that count?”

Frozen in place, I blink hard. Did he really just do that? Shit. I’m in serious, serious trouble.

AZRAEL

Flirting with Hallie comes easily,but that pizza was horrible. After rising to her challenge, she finally admitted defeat and handed over the real pizza.

We talked a little more while we ate. She told me more about her books and why she started writing. I could hear in her voice just how much passion she has for it. She lit up like a Christmas tree, and that smile on her face? Fuck. I’d give anything to see it for as long as possible.

Just talking to her, having a casual conversation, had me feeling at ease. That hasn’t happened with another woman since Kennedy. Hallie reminds me of her in a lot of ways, because Kennedy was the type of girl who could draw you in with a simple hello, and still be talking to you hours later. My brother was lucky to have her, for what little time he did. I’d been envious of their relationship because she understood Asher better than I ever could. And when she died, she took that spark of life she brought out of him with her. A part of me wonders if Hallie could bring that out in him again, though selfishly, I don’t want to test that theory. There’s something about her that makes me want to swoop her up and keep her safe. To give her the things in life that are out of her grasp.

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