Page 60 of Jingle Belle's Biker

“I’m not sure I used the word hot,” I say.

“If you didn’t, it was implied. Besides, he’s hard to miss. He came into the library to put up a notice about either working as a mechanic or advertising his front for his crime ring.” She sighs. “That would be even hotter.”

“You need help.”

“From a hot man.”

My gut clenches, and something dark and sharp slides through me.

It takes me a moment to recognize what it is—every unfamiliar inch.

Jealousy.

Crap. I look at her. She’s hot, gorgeous, and the male teachers keep eyeing her, even Bloom, who’s married and wouldn’t cheat.

She’s got leather pants on and a flowing top she’s tied at one side. She’s one hundred percent the kind of female I picture with a man like Saint.

I look like a librarian more than she does.

“A biker will do. I had one, you know.” Her voice drops. “Very dirty. A filthy, filthy man in all the good ways. Oh, what he could to do me . . .”

“Go find him, then.”

“He’s got a wife now.”

“Old Lady.”

She grins. “Someone knows the lingo.”

“Everyone knows that one.”

I throw myself into creating art with the kids. It’s fun and comes with the bonus I can’t talk to Hannah about Saint.

Because my brain is a mess. I like him. Obviously, I do. I wouldn’t get naked with him if I didn’t. If I wasn’t majorlyattracted to him. But I also don’t just sleep with men I’m majorly attracted to. There needs to be something else, a connection, feelings, that wild ride down into falling for them, at least to a point, and?—

Am I falling for him?

Because there’s a connection and I love spending time with him. Yes, we had more sex that night and morning, but I was sore because the man’s big, and even though I know he was holding back, I still took a pounding. So last night, even though we had hot sex against the wall of my apartment, he didn’t push for more and . . .

It was still good. The aftermath. The banter, the laughter, the mock arguments. All of it.

Shit. I think I’m falling for him.

A ripple goes through the art room, like a shockwave of different proportions. Every hair on my body seems to stand to attention, and my own wave of awareness zooms along my skin.

Saint.

He’s here.

I turn, and sure enough, he’s just walked in, helmet in one hand, cat pouring itself down to the ground from the other.

Hannah’s eyes light up.

I swallow the hard lump in my throat.

Saint’s gaze runs over her, and he smiles, but then he locks on to me, and electricity slams into me. It’s not until a high-pitched scream shatters his hold that I realize pandemonium’s broken free. Nomad races through paint, leaving cat prints everywhere as he leaps on Pepper, butts her head, and then takes off, leading the children in a chaotic chase.

“Your cat,” I hiss.

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