Page 62 of Baby for the Bikers

Brick stands in my doorway, his broad shoulders filling the frame, green eyes dark with an emotion that makes my heart race. Not in fear—though maybe it should be—but with something else entirely.

“Brick?” I set down the piping bag carefully. “Did you catch the thief?”

His jaw tightens, a muscle ticking beneath the stubble. “No. But we did catch someone trying to tear my family apart.”

The accusation hangs in the air, and realization dawns slowly, heat climbing up my neck. He knows. About Ryder. About Maddox. About everything.

“I may have slept with your brothers,” I say, lifting my chin despite the tremor in my voice, “but I’m not trying to tear anything apart.”

“Really?” He steps further into my apartment, closing the door behind him with a decisive click. “So fucking both of them behind my back was, what? Just for fun?”

“I didn’t plan it.” I grip the edge of the counter, needing something solid to ground me. “It just happened.”

“Twice?” His eyebrow arches incredulously. “With two different brothers?”

Put that way, it does sound bad. But the truth is more complicated than I can explain—how Ryder saw something in me that night in the pantry, something I’d been hiding from everyone. How Maddox showed me a tenderness I hadn’t expected. How somehow I’ve started to care for all of them in ways that terrify me.

“I need to finish this cake,” I say instead, gesturing to the half-completed design. “It’s for Ben’s birthday party today.”

“You’re coming with me,” Brick says, his voice leaving no room for argument. “Now.”

Panic rises in my throat. “I can’t just leave. I have to deliver this?—”

“Fine.” He crosses the kitchen in three long strides, leaning against the counter opposite me. “Finish. You have thirty minutes. Then we talk. Properly.”

The next half hour is the most excruciatingly tense baking experience of my life. I work quickly, hyperaware of Brick’s presence as he moves to my couch, his eyes never leaving me. The weight of his gaze makes my fingers tremble as I smooth the fondant, add the final details, and carefully box the finished cake.

“I just need to deliver this to Kate next door,” I tell him, lifting the box carefully. “It’ll only take a minute.”

He nods once, his expression still thunderous.

Kate’s door opens at my soft knock, her face lighting up when she sees the cake. “Rowan! You’re a lifesaver. Is this?—”

“Spider-Man, just like he wanted.” I hand over the box, forcing a smile. “Can you put it in the fridge until the party? I might not be able to make it—work emergency.”

Her eyes flick past me to where Brick waits by my open door, her expression turning knowing. “Work emergency. Got it.” She winks, completely misreading the situation. “Have fun.”

If only she knew.

Back in my apartment, I glance down at what I’m wearing—a thin tank top with no bra, my nipples embarrassingly visible, and shorts so short that the bottom curve of my ass peeks out when I bend over. Not exactly what I’d choose for a serious confrontation.

“I should change?—”

“No.” Brick’s voice cuts through my excuse. He grabs his leather jacket from the back of the couch and tosses it at me. “Put this on. We’re leaving.”

The jacket drowns me, still warm from his body and carrying his scent—leather, motor oil, and something uniquely him. It’s oddly intimate, wearing his clothes like this, even if the circumstances are far from romantic.

He practically drags me down to his bike, his hand firm around my wrist. Not painful, but insistent. The control in his touch sends an inappropriate thrill through me despite the tension.

The ride is a special kind of torture. I’m pressed against Brick’s back, my thighs spread wide around the vibrating machine, caught between anxiety over what awaits me and an undeniable arousal that builds with every mile. The combination of Brick’s solid body against mine and the bike’s rumbling engine between my legs makes it impossible to think clearly.

I use the opportunity to study him—the strong line of his neck, the breadth of his shoulders, the way his muscles flex as he handles the bike with effortless skill. Even furious, he’s magnificent. The most controlled of the three brothers, always so measured, so restrained.

What would it take to make him lose that control?

The thought sends another wave of heat through me, settling low in my belly. It’s wrong to want him like this, especially now, especially after everything. But I do. I want all of them—Ryder with his intensity, Maddox with his playfulness, and Brick with his barely leashed power.

The bike turns down a private road, tall trees lining the drive that opens to reveal a sprawling house set against the backdrop of the mountains. I’ve never been to their home before, and the sight of it takes my breath away—modern lines mixed with rusticelements, large windows reflecting the surrounding forest, and a wraparound porch that speaks of lazy summer evenings.

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