Page 34 of Thornhill Road

It seemed safer to hope it was for the latter.

Unfortunately, my heart rarely played it safe.

Anxious to learn of his intentions, I didn’t dally after I pulled in next to him and put my car in park. Grabbing my things, I stepped out, closed my door and murmured, “Hi.”

He didn’t speak right away.

I couldn’t see his eyes, but I didn’t think I imagined the heat which traveled across my body following his gaze as he looked me up and down.

A zing sparked in my belly.

Finally, he asked, “You think I let just any bitch on the back of my hog?”

My spine stiffened, having expected a different kind of hello.

Clearly, he was there for me.

I had to admit, I hadn’t left in the best way on Sunday morning—but I didn’t particularly like being called abitch. Suddenly, I was way too tired for this conversation.

“I don’t know,” I snapped.

“Well, I don’t, Tess. My hog is not a carnival ride, and I sure as fuck don’t use it to get laid. Got a patch on my kutte that’ll get me all the pussy I want. I put you at my back, I take you to my bed, I wake up and you’re gone—no note, no nothin’—I take offense to that.”

I couldn’t fault him for what he’d said. All of that was very fair. Even badass bikers had feelings, and I understood how he might have thought I’d used him.

Feeling deflated, I told him honestly, “I’m sorry.”

“Gonna have to do better than that, sugar.”

“Mustang, I didn’t know, okay? I didn’t know it was such a big deal to go for a ride. You don’t even know me, so why did you offer in the first place?”

“Tess, I’ve been inside you. You’re no stranger.”

I huffed, flustered by the reminder—especially in light of the fact that, seeing him standing there by his bike, even though I knew I needed to redraw a boundary line between him and me, I couldn’t stop thinking about how he’d first kissed me in front of the clubhouse.

“That wasafterthe ride, so my point still stands,” I argued.

He pushed away from his Harley and came toward me until we stood toe-to-toe. I had to tilt my head back to look at him as he said, “I know you sat at the bar, didn’t say shit for forty-five minutes, just listened to the music like that was enough conversation for you, and that made me want you more than I already wanted you the second I caught a glimpse of those fuckin’ pink heels. Then you got on the back of my hog androde for an hour without signaling you wanted to get off—and somethin’ tells me, I don’t stop, we’d still be ridin’, baby. So, I know enough to know we’re not done.”

Before I could draw in my next breath, his fingers were in my hair. He grabbed a fistful, held my head still, then crushed his lips against mine.

Just like the first time, my knees were instantly useless.

The only thing I could think to do was grab hold of his kutte, part my lips, and sigh.

He swept his tongue through my mouth, I was reminded of all that was Mustang, and I was powerless against my own desire.

When I was younger, my dad warned my brother and me to never do drugs.

Not even once.

All my life I’d listened to him—until Saturday night.

In that moment, Mustang kissing me deep and greedy, I understood it only took one hit to create an addict.

Before I was ready, he pulled his mouth away from mine.

“Let me take you to dinner tonight.”

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