Page 18 of Thornhill Road

The front of his kutte was riddled with sewn on patches—but there were three on his upper-right chest that stood out the most. The top readBull. The one underneath it,President. And the one underneath that,Gillette.

So, he wasn’t just a big man. He was a big flipping deal.

He was also covered in tattoos. The V-neck of his tee revealed he had more than he cared to show that night, ink peeking out from the thin layer of chest hair exposed. The only skin I saw on him thatdidn’thave a drop of ink was his face—but the wrinkles around his eyes told a story of their own.

And his eyes were piercingly beautiful.

They were the purest light blue I’d ever seen.

“Bull, you mind?” Mustang hollered over the band.

His blue eyes caught mine, and I swear I was struck in the middle of my chest by the depth of his character in a single glance.

His gaze didn’t last long before he looked at Mustang and gave him a silent nod. He then got up and moved to squeeze into the space in front of the woman in the seat next to the one he’d vacated. She didn’t seem to mind. She wrapped her arms around him, he leaned into her a little, and they both watched me settle onto the empty barstool—my back to the bar, like everyone else.

Mustang made room for himself at my side, and I ignored the pleasant sensation that came as a result of the heat radiating off his body and onto mine.

It came as little surprise to me that the woman who claimed the manBullwas gorgeous. Her platinum blonde hair was a few inches longer than mine and the texture slightly curlier. I couldn’t tell if she got that color from a bottle or not—but it didn’t matter. She rocked it.

She had a narrow face with angular features and a long, slender body to match. Her eyes were dark blue; and while her gaze didn’t have the same effect as Bull’s, I had no doubt she was a woman who could hold her own. She was also a woman no younger than forty who could pull off a cropped Sturgis tee, high-waisted black leather shorts, and fishnet stockings with killer boots.

Even in my Jimmy Choos, I was a little jealous of her swagger.

“Where’re your manners?” called Bull. “Aren’t you gonna introduce us?”

The blonde smiled, and it was contagious, which was how I found myself smiling up at Mustang as I waited for his reply.

“Tess—Bull and his ol’ lady, Winona.”

“Kickass shoes!” Winona freed up a hand and offered it to me. “And you can call me Winnie.”

I loved her instantly.

Accepting her gesture, I said loudly, “Thank you! It’s nice to meet you both.”

I meant it more than either of them could know.

It was a relief to be sitting next to people who could help stave off whatever sexual tension Mustang had aroused the moment he touched me. Buffer people were good. Great, even—especially friendly female ones.

“Babe, what’re you drinkin’?” asked a woman from behind the bar.

I was not the least bit surprised when I twisted and found a knockout redhead waiting to take my order. A place like this only let the pretty ones behind the bar. It was more surprising she had on a decent amount of clothing; and it was the fierceness in her dark green eyes I found most intriguing.

I cleared my throat and called out, “I’ll take a ranch water, please.”

She gave me theokaysignal with her hand, then left to make my drink, not bothering to take Mustang’s order.

Turning to look at him, I asked, “You’re not having a drink?”

He shook his head once, then said, “Don’t drink.”

I frowned and tilted my head in confusion, “What?”

This got me a half-smile before he semi-repeated, “I don’t drink.”

I straightened, leaning away from him so as to get a better look at his face as I asked, “You’re telling me you own a biker bar, you’re a member of a biker club, and you don’t drink?Ever?”

His half-smile stretched into a full one, and I felt another zing light up my belly.

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