Page 34 of Treachery

Cluster stumbled back, holding his nose. It hadn’t broken, unfortunately, but Locust was pleased with the look of“what the fuck”on the jerk off’s face.

“Shit, man, I didn’t mean it—fuck!” Cluster grumbled, checking his face for blood. “If I had known you were so fucking uptight about your kinks, I would have kept my mouth shut. No shame in voyeurism, brother.”

This fuck….

Locust curled his hands into fists, and growled, “It’s not a fucking kink, you dumbass! And the next time you even think about watching my woman, I’ll rip your goddamn throat out.”

Cluster’s eyes grew wide, his mouth dropping open. He shook his head, his expression shocked.

“You were watchingNadia?” When Locust didn’t respond, Cluster cursed. “Does Frost know that shit?”

Locust growled again; Frost was a little occupied with his marriage falling apart, but the man had no one to blame for it but himself. Getting cozy with club whores young enough to be his daughter wasn’t helping his mission to get back into his own bed. Frost was in over his head with the patch over from the Bone Dogz, the business with Mad Dog, and his angry ol’ lady, he had no time to deal with Locust’s current brand of crazy.

He was definitely crazy—crazy for his woman, because he was sitting in a restaurant, his hair done up like some fucking corporate asshole, his kutte and bandana left in his truck, his ass and legs and balls squeezed into a pair of fucking khakis, and wearing a 100% cotton shirt with a motherfucking collar and a tiny crocodile patch—if that wasn’t love, he didn’t know what the fuck else to do to show Nadia he wanted to be a better man for her.

Sabatini’s was a family-owned, generations old restaurant, where the pasta was made fresh every day, the sauce was an old family recipe, and the garlic bread melted in your mouth—at least that’s what the reviews on Google said. He’d never been there, and he knew Nadia hadn’t either; it was one of the places she’d oh so subtly mentioned to him, wanting him to take her. She’d never outright asked him to take her on a date, but there’d been signs, heavy sighs, the odd comment about her favorite foods. He’d known what she was doing, what she was asking, but he’d been so caught up in keeping her to himself—of doing everything he could to keep his “job” a secret, that he’d basically kept hiswomana secret.

Then everything had blown up in his face, and his being the selfish boyfriend hadn’t helped when all the awful truths came tumbling out.

So now, he was determined to show Nadia he could be better, that he would take her on dates, showing her off, proving to her how much he cherished her. He’d already started his campaign with the takeout, the texts, and then the daisies and dinner invitation. He was well aware that he had a long way to go to get her to even consider letting him back in, but he was willing to do fucking anything to get her back.

Even sit in a restaurant, dressed like a jackass, hoping and praying the woman he loved didn’t stand him up. And as the time on his cell ticked over to 8:10, his stomach twisted itself into knots as he wondered,“Is she late, or is she rejecting me?”When the time slipped past 8:20, nausea churned in his already twisted guts, and his heart thudded painfully.

She wasn't coming.

Closing his eyes, he ignored the burn of eyes on him, knowing what people were seeing—a tattooed imposter, a loser who’d been stood up.

Her scent hit him first—lemonade and vanilla ice cream, and his body came to life in an instant. His eyes popped open, and immediately found her gaze on him, her expression unsure, wary, uncertain.

Not having seen her in person in two weeks, his hungry, ravenous eyes devoured her. She was wearing a knee length black wrap dress that hugged every single one of her lush curves to perfection. Her hair was up in a loose bun that allowed wisps over her glimmering hair to slip down and frame her face. God, he loved her face. Her eyes were glittering in the candlelight, her lips were shiny with that gloss she always wore, and the flesh of her exposed, delectable cleavage was a creamy rose color that drew the eye and hardened the cock.

Now’s not the time, fucker. Romance. Romance!

He let out a slow, relieved breath. “You came,” he murmured, standing and pulling her into his arms. He embraced her,surprised and exceedingly pleased that she hadn’t stopped him or tensed. She was letting him touch her—one step forward!

Fighting the urge to take her glistening lips in a kiss, because they weren’t quite there yet, he settled for the “friendly” greeting. Pressing a lingering kiss to her head, he pulled back, indicating she take the seat across from his at the small two-seater table he’d reserved in the corner. It was a shadowy corner, only lit by dimmed overhead lights, and a single candle burning in the middle of the table. It looked romantic as fuck, and he hoped she liked it.

Without a word, Nadia took the seat across from him.

“I almost didn’t—come that is,” she said, her voice just as uncertain as her expression. “I got your bouquet…the daisies were beautiful.”

He grinned. “Not as beautiful as you,” he replied, fucking ecstatic at the deep blush that pinkened her cheeks.

She laughed, shaking her head, then her gaze drifted over him, missing nothing. Was that a gleam of appreciation in her eyes? Hot damn, he’d take it! He puffed out his chest, flexing his arms and pecs, and nearly fucking crowed when her gaze caught there. He wasn’t a gym junkie, but he took care of himself, so he knew how good he looked naked, and the brand name shirt he was wearing—he’d admit—did great things to his physique. She licked her lips, and he nearly came in his khakis.

Their conversation was interrupted when a sweet-looking older woman came and took their order. He got the steak and risotto, and Nadia got the chicken alfredo with broccoli. Neither of them wanted an appetizer, so they’d declined, but ordered a beer for him, and a glass of Moscato for her. Once the woman was gone, Nadia settled her attention back on him.

“You look…good,” she remarked, her voice thick. She swallowed, her gaze lifting from his chest to meet his. Her hazel eyes were golden with desire…but there was also fear. Shewanted him, but she wasscaredto want him. He understood that, and he hated it. “I…I never thought I’d see you in anything but your biker uniform.”

He chuckled. “Biker uniform?”

She shrugged, her blush deepening. “You know, the jeans, tight t-shirts, boots, and bandana—I always wondered why you covered your head. All the times your head was bare, I loved seeing your hair.”

“Yeah?” he asked, she nodded. Well, hell. “The bandana started as a way to keep my hair from getting in my face while I was riding, then it just became a thing with me, I guess. Never been one to care too much about products and stylin’, and shit.”

She snorted, rolling her eyes. “A man’s man, huh? I knew that about you…and now,” her gaze flicked to his hair, gelled to cement, and combed to the side like the douchey guys on men’s wear catalogues, “I don’t know if I like it as much as when it’s just…you. Messy, carelessly sexy….”

“Messy? You mean like when you’ve just had your hands in it, kissing the fuck out of me, or holding my head steady while I have my favorite meal?”

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