Page 7 of Single Mom's Bikers

My bedroom’s the biggest after Rick’s—perks of being the most successful artist in the family. But tonight, its walls feel tight, confining. I yank open the curtains, which I rarely do, letting in moonlight.

And I freeze.

Our house sits higher than Evie’s, and my window is perfectly aligned with her second floor. Light spills from what must be her bedroom. My breath catches.

I should close my curtains and give her privacy. Instead, I kill my own lights and watch.

Evie sits on her bed, and her daughter sits between her legs as she runs a brush through the little girl’s hair. The little girl talks nonstop, her hands moving in animated gestures, while her sister dances around them in purple pajamas.

It’s nothing special. Just a mother and her daughters getting ready for bed. But something about it roots me in place. Maybe it’s how different she looks from the woman who walked into our gallery. Her movements are looser, more relaxed, and her expression is soft.

The dancing girl trips over her own feet, and Evie catches her mid-fall. Both girls dissolve into giggles. Their mother’s smile at that moment—fuck, no wonder their dad ran. That kind of beauty terrifies weak men.

I grab my sketchbook without thinking. My fingers move across the paper, capturing quick impressions, such as the curve of Evie’s neck as she bends to kiss one of their foreheads.

Evie leads them out of her bedroom. When she returns minutes later, I’m still here, waiting. I know I should walk away. Go downstairs. Join Zane at The Den. Anything but stay here in the dark, but my feet don’t move.

She approaches the window slowly—too slowly—like she knows someone’s watching. My heart pounds as she reaches for the curtains.

I duck below the windowsill, cursing myself for being a creep. Count to ten. Peek up again.

The curtains are drawn, but they’re sheer enough that I catch her silhouette. And god, she’s definitely putting on a show now. No woman undresses that deliberately by accident. My cock hardens instantly as she starts with her hair, pulling out the clip, letting it tumble down her back.

Her shape through the gauzy fabric burns itself into my memory. She takes her time with each button of her blouse, her fingers trailing down as each one opens. The fabric slides off her shoulders, and I glimpse the outline of a lacy bra that makes my mouth go dry.

When she reaches for her zipper, I should look away. But I’m frozen, watching her shimmy out of her slacks. Behind that thin curtain, her body is all curves and shadows, making my imagination run wild. My jeans grow uncomfortable as she stretches, arching her back like a cat.

She has to know what she’s doing. Every move she makes speaks of invitation—the way she runs her hands through her hair, how she turns to give me her profile.

My sketchbook fills with gesture drawings—quick, rough captures of motion and form. Professional interest, I tell myself.Artistic appreciation. But my body’s reaction isn’t professional at all.

A tap at my door nearly gives me a heart attack.

“Still up?” Rick calls through the wood. “Need your input on these design requests.”

“Yeah…” My voice comes out rough.

My attention returns to the window just as she’s reaching behind her back. The bra slides down her arms, and god, the silhouette of her breasts makes my fingers itch to trace them. She turns, giving me her profile again, and starts pulling down her panties.

“Chase?” Rick’s getting impatient.

“Coming,” I growl, shifting to adjust myself. “Give me a minute.” When I look up one last time, she’s wrapped in a robe, moving away from the window.

Sleep’s going to be a bitch tonight. And every night, with the knowledge that just across this narrow gap between houses, she’ll be there.

Rick’s still waiting in the hallway when I open my door. He takes one look at my face and frowns.

“Everything okay?”

“Fine.” I shut my bedroom door firmly behind me. “What’d you say you want?”

I know I’m fucked. That window’s going to be nothing but trouble, but I’m already looking forward to tomorrow night.

4

ZANE

I hate PTA meetings.But when Draven called about a club emergency, I couldn’t say no to watching Owen. The kid’s our godson, and family comes first. Still, walking into Wolf Pike Elementary feels like entering alien territory.

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