Page 45 of Jingle Belle's Biker

Even big—and I do mean big—bikers who can kiss like the devil. Or is that an angel? Or a combination of both?

Because if he wasn’t leaving, getting involved with a neighbor, even a kiss, would be a no-no.

Now, I’ve gone and made a kiss something it’s not.

Worse, I’ve gone and made it something I didn’t want, an embarrassing moment.

Hopefully, I won’t have to see much of him around. Not for a while, anyway.

If not? He should be easy to avoid. Right?

Right.

Chapter Ten

Saint

“You, Nicholas, are a fucking idiot.”

I slide a hand in my back pocket as I take in the garage space I just rented. It’s a gold mine, a found diamond. Cue all the clichés.

The owner kept it after his brother went out of business, and it’s stocked. All the tools I could want.

Better, it’ll get me out of the courtyard of Secret Gardens.

I slide the keys into my pocket, go out, and ride back to the complex.

My guts twist as my stomach tightens.

I really am a fucking idiot.

I shouldn’t have kissed Belle.

I shouldn’t have let a cat attack stop me.

And I shouldn’t have said all those moronic things I said.

She tasted like honey and spice and the slight tartness of the wine. Or maybe that was her, maybe I could taste her sharp tongue and humor.

All I fucking know is I wanted more. So much more.

“Stop.”

I look around once more and start getting the space ready. I’ve texted Frederick Jones, Snake Eyes, and Gravel the address, and I figure I can work both here for bigger jobs and the courtyard for small ones.

Gravel:Got U. Friday night fun?

Me:Maybe. Your girl Mel’s 1stday

What I’m itching to do is spend most of the evening here so I can avoid—set up—for future jobs.

I’m here a month, that’s a lot of time to make money. Once word spreads beyond the bikers, I’ll be adding to my bank account.

My phone rings, and with a sigh, I put one of my ear pods in place and answer as I start shifting things around.

“Santiago.”

I examine a wrench that’s fucking sweet and move it to where it’ll be within reach. This guy’s brother had cash, but not the skill or maybe not the brains to run a garage. “Hastings.”

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