Page 63 of Baby for the Bikers

Isolated. Luxurious. Completely private.

My stomach flips as Brick kills the engine and gestures for me to dismount. What exactly does he have planned? Is he going to fire me? Ban me from the diner? Or something worse?

“Where are we?” I ask, playing dumb as he takes my elbow, guiding me toward the front door.

“Home.” The word is clipped, his jaw still tight with anger.

“Brick, you’re hurting me,” I protest as his grip tightens slightly.

“Don’t.” His eyes meet mine, seeing through the lie. “Don’t pretend to be scared of me.”

He unlocks the door, pushes it open, and practically shoves me inside. The interior is just as impressive as the exterior—open concept, high ceilings, and a wall of windows overlooking the forest. The air conditioning hits me immediately, a welcome chill after the warm ride.

Brick points to a large leather armchair. “Sit.”

I comply, his jacket still draped around my shoulders, suddenly feeling very small in the vast space. He looms over me, arms crossed, expression dark.

“What game are you playing?” he demands. “What are you trying to achieve by sleeping with my brothers?”

“It’s not a game,” I insist. “I didn’t plan any of this.”

“Then what? Who sent you?” His eyes narrow. “Are you working for someone? Trying to get information?”

The accusation stings. “No one sent me! I crashed into your bikes, and I’m paying off my debt, that’s it.”

“By fucking your way through the Kane family?” His voice is harsh. “That’s one way to settle a debt, I suppose.”

“It wasn’t like that,” I snap, anger flaring through embarrassment. “I genuinely care about them.”

“Both of them?” He raises an eyebrow skeptically.

“Yes.” I meet his gaze defiantly. “Both of them.”

The air between us crackles with tension. I can see the conflict in his eyes—anger, betrayal, and something else—something that makes my breath catch. My gaze drifts lower, to the point where his jeans can’t quite hide his body’s reaction to our confrontation.

Oh.

Understanding dawns, hot and sudden. He’s aroused. Brick Kane, with all his righteous anger and accusations, is hard. For me.

The knowledge emboldens me. I slide from the chair to my knees in front of him, my hands reaching for his belt buckle. “You’re not just angry about your brothers,” I say, looking up at him through my lashes. “You’re jealous.”

His hand catches mine, grip tight. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“Exactly what you want me to do.” I hold his gaze, unwavering. “I’m not blind, Brick. I’ve seen the way you look at me. How you fuck me with your eyes when you think I’m not watching.”

His jaw clenches, but he doesn’t deny it. Doesn’t push me away.

“Shut up,” he growls.

“Why?” I challenge. “Because I’m right? Because you want me just as much as they do?”

For a moment, I think he might refuse, might push me away and storm out. Instead, his hands drop to his sides, an unspoken permission that sends a thrill of victory through me.

I unbuckle his belt slowly, deliberately, never breaking eye contact. The heavy leather slides free with a soft hiss, and I pop the button of his jeans, dragging the zipper down with tantalizing slowness.

My breath catches as I free him, his length impressive and already hard. Despite everything—the anger, the accusations, the tension—I want this. Want him. Have wanted him since that first day he broke down my door and demanded payment for his bikes.

I lean forward, my lips parting, anticipation making my heart race.

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