Page 11 of Thornhill Road

I knew I shouldn’t have been, but I couldn’t help it.

I was disappointed that hadn’t gone as I’d hoped.

Mustang

His dick got hardjust looking at her face.

Fuck, she was beautiful—with those golden-brown eyes and plump, sweetheart lips.

Her hair was pulled back, save for a strand she hadn’t captured by her ear, but he could tell it was dirty blonde—more dirty than blonde. He wondered what she looked like with it down, and what she looked like out of her uniform.

Though, she worked those fucking cotton-candy pink scrubs just fine.

She’d tucked her short sleeve top into the thick, elastic waistband of her pants. This meant he knew she had a subtle hourglass figure with breasts that appeared just large enough to fill the palms of his hands. The pants weren’t baggy, like thenurses he’d seen on TV, but fit her legs down to the elastic bands wrapped around her delicate ankles. Never would he have imagined he could be turned on watching a woman walk away from him in a pair of white, New Balance sneakers, but there he was.

He didn’t like the reason she’d walked into his bar.

He didn’t like she was leaving so soon.

But he sure didn’t mind the view of her nice ass as she left.

She was at the door, pushing her way out into the late afternoon sun, when he thought about what she’d told him. He didn’t give a damn his old man was dying, and he sure as hell had no intention of dropping in to say his last goodbye. He hadn’t said goodbye twenty years ago and didn’t see the need to do so now. He thought that bastard deserved to die alone.

Mustangdidwonder what sob story Ed had fed Tess to get her to walk into his bar.

Wrangler whistled, pulling Mustang from his thoughts.

“Shit—I sure wouldn’t mind a checkup if it meant I got a piece of that.”

Rodeo chuckled, but Mustang shifted his gaze back toward the door.

No way in hell he’d let Wrangler get anywhere near her.

She’d come in looking for him.

Tess was his.

Tess

My eyes fluttered openFriday morning, and he was the first thing on my mind.

Mustang.

His friends didn’t know him as Sully.

Having met him, I had a few guesses as to why.

Sully was the name of a schoolboy, or that guy who worked behind the counter at the post office, or that pilot who landed that plane that one time on the Hudson—and Mustang wasn’t any of thoseSullys.

He was a badass biker who owned a badass biker bar.

He was a Wild Stallion who rode wild and roamed free.

It had been two days since I met him, and I hadn’t forgotten.

I barely had the chance do anything other than work and sleep in that time. The fact that he was there in my head, first thing in the morning, was like a taunting reminder of my horrible idea to try and mastermind a reconciliation between two men I didn’t even know.

It hadn’t been a horrible idea because it hadn’t worked.

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