Page 21 of Baby for the Bikers

I dab it on my wrists and neck, inhaling the soft, sweet notes. It’s not about them, I tell myself. It’s about reclaiming something of myself after months of running.

“We don’t have all day,” Brick’s voice carries through the door.

I grab my small purse, checking that my burner phone and emergency cash are safely inside. One deep breath, and I open the door.

Three sets of eyes lock onto me immediately, tracking my movement from head to toe. I watch tension visibly leave their shoulders as they inhale, catching the delicate notes of my perfume.

For a moment, no one speaks. Then Brick’s eyes narrow as they reach my bare legs.

“Your shorts are way too short,” he says flatly. “We’re serving food at the diner, not ass.”

Maddox chokes on a laugh while Ryder’s lips twitch almost imperceptibly.

Heat floods my face. “Excuse me?”

“Kitchen safety,” Brick elaborates, crossing his arms. “Hot oil. Boiling water. You need pants, not…” He gestures at my legs with a dismissive wave.

“I’m a baker, not a fry cook,” I argue, but even as I say it, I know he’s right. The shorts are a kitchen accident waiting to happen.

“Five grand says you’re whatever we need you to be today and for the next two months,” Maddox reminds me with a grin. “Including properly dressed.”

I throw my hands up in surrender. “Fine! Give me one minute.”

Back in my room, I swap the shorts for comfortable jeans, muttering curses under my breath. The audacity of these men, breaking into my apartment at dawn, watching me sleep, criticizing my clothes…

And why does being ordered around by Brick send a little thrill through me?

When I emerge again, Brick gives my outfit a critical once-over before nodding. “Better. Let’s go.”

As they usher me toward the door, I catch a glimpse of the kitchen clock. 5:46 a.m. The sun isn’t even up yet, and already these three have turned my world upside down.

9

RYDER

First,the towel that barely conceals her beautiful body—which, by the way, has been seared into my memory for all eternity—and then the short shorts that barely cover her ass?

Is this woman begging to be fucked?

I shake the thoughts away, despite the strain on my slightly throbbing cock, as we head downstairs after she’s changed into something more concealing. Something appropriate for working in a kitchen. Something that doesn’t make me want to bend her over the nearest surface.

Focus. I need to focus.

The stairwell is dark, and streetlights barely filter through the high windows. Rowan stays between Brick and me, with Maddox leading the way. Her posture is tense but not fearful.

Outside, the early morning air holds a bite of freshness that will burn off by noon. Our rides wait at the curb—two of our older bikes, which we keep as backups. They’re not as flashy as the ones she destroyed, but they are reliable.

“You’ll ride with Ryder,” Brick says, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Rowan glances at her car, which is parked in the lot behind the building. “Why can’t I just drive myself?”

“It’s a long drive, sweetheart.” Maddox grins, spinning his helmet in his hands. “And we don’t have enough parking for that boat you call a car.”

“Fuck you,” she mutters, but there’s no real heat behind it.

“Leave her alone,” Brick says, checking the straps on his helmet.

Maddox snorts. “She shouldn’t have trashed our bikes. Now I have to ride with you. You nearly killed us on the way here, remember?”

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