Page 69 of One Night with the Biker

He scooped ice cream into two bowls, then put the container back in the freezer, grabbed a beer from the refrigerator, and brought everything to the table, setting it down. He got two spoons before he sat down again.

“Thank you,” I said, accepting the spoon he handed me.

“You’re welcome, babe,” he said, and took a hardy sip of beer.

We enjoyed our dessert in comfortable silence, until Reese poured some of his beer over his ice cream and shoveled it into his mouth.

“I can’t fucking believe you did that.”

“Kills two birds with one stone. Sometimes, I don’t have time for dessert and a drink. Instead of choosing, I combine it, then get to whatever I have to do.” He shoved more of that foamy brew between his lips. “This is one of my more delicious concoctions.”

“I’ll take your word for it,” I grumbled.

He winked at me, but I couldn’t look while he ate his beer cream without gagging. My stomach was so easily upset nowadays. As much as I hated the vomiting, sometimes the nausea was even worse. It was usually relentless and only subsided when it was good and ready.

“Do you like to dance?” Reese asked once we finished our dessert and settled on the sofa.

“I like music, but I don’t have rhythm and I can’t carry a tune.”

He tugged one of my curls. I’d just shampooed and conditioned my hair, then put some oil in it. I didn’t bother with the flat iron.

“Shouldn’t you have at least alittlerhythm, babe?”

Rolling my eyes, I elbowed him. “Fuck off. Roman can dance,” I blurted.

He grunted and dropped his hand.

“Canyoudance?” I said, trying to cover my blunder. Unplugging from the outside world meant laying our disparities aside for now. Bringing up Roman reminded us of our differences. “What’s your favorite genre of music?”

“Country,” he said, relaxing a fraction. “I dance when I’m drunk.”

“Do you ever slow dance?”

“Fuck no! I don’t do that sappy ass shit.”

“Of course not.”

“It shouldn’t matter if you can’t dance, babe.”

“It doesn’t. Not really,” I amended. “In our situation, itdoesn’tmatter,” I decided.

“Explain.”

“Let me preface by saying this doesn’t fit us, but I always thought I’d slow dance once with the guy I was involved with.”

“Aren’t we ‘involved’?” he asked, using air quotations.

“Not in the strictest sense.”

His look softened again, and he leaned closer, brushing his lips over mine in a gentle kiss. “We’ll get there, Ainsley,” he promised.

I was afraid to believe him, but for now I kept my thoughts to myself, opening my mouth to his probing tongue and sinking into his kiss. With all that stood between us, I shouldn’t give in to him. Yet my attraction to Reese Sinclair burned as brightly as ever. I wanted his hands and mouth on me. I longed to taste him. He hadn’t tried to get me to suck his dick. Probably because of what I told him about Dayton. I appreciated Reese’s consideration. I was ready now, though.

He stood up and held out his hand. Instead of taking it, I dropped to my knees and brought my hands to his belt.

“Babe—”

“You’ve been more than generous to me. I want to do this.”

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