Page 7 of Legacy

“If you can point me in the direction of a hotel, I’ll stay there until I can talk to her,” I concede.

“You’re not staying at a fucking hotel,” he huffs out. “We’re going to my house.”

“Wait…” I drop my chin, trying to process. “You don’t livehere?”

Jesse stops suddenly, and with my gaze down, I almost run into his chest as he spins to face me. His hands catch my arms before we collide, and he holds me less than a foot away.

Gentle but firm.

Close enough that I get an inhale of his woodsy cologne.

I tip my head back to look into his blue eyes, but his gaze fixes on my throat as I swallow. We’re standing too close for me to think straight.

He must notice, too, because he releases my arms and takes a step back. And for the first time since we started our verbal sparring match, I really look at him.

I always assumed bikers were dangerous and rough around the edges. Which, I suppose Jesse is, given his constant glare and the ripped skin on the back of his knuckles from a fight he must have recently been in. But the longer I stare, I see something more than the leather vest or the red-flag warning in his eyes.

The faintest pinch of his eyebrows borders on concern.

Like he’s not just annoyed that I’m here, but he’s worriedfor me.

I wet my lips, and his gaze falls to my mouth.

This man might be irritating and lethal, but he’s downright gorgeous. I’ll give him that. Everything from his blue eyes to his strong jawline has me leveling my breath. He crosses his thick arms over his chest, and I realize that, unlike the rest of the men in the clubhouse, there’s not a tattoo on them. His dark-blond hair is messy but trimmed short on the sides, and the faint scruff on his jaw is perfectly kept.

It’s ridiculous for a man to be this beautiful, especially when he’s a total asshole.

“What?” I clench my jaw, hoping the snap in my tone hides the burning sensation prickling my cheeks.

“I have a house at the other end of the property.” Jesse finally breaks my stare, raking his hair off his forehead. “You’ll stay there tonight, and then I’ll take you to the airport in the morning. I already told Margaret I had things handled, and nothing’s changed. So, you might as well go back to wherever you came from.”

“Are you always this delightful with the ladies?” I roll my eyes.

“Guess you bring it out of me, sweetheart.”

Sweetheart.

That’s the second time he’s called me that, and I wish it didn’t make me want to drop my panties because Jesse is infuriatingly rude.

A dark smile curls in the corner of his mouth like he’s reading my thoughts. Or, at least, he’s reading the blush climbing up my chest and neck. And that small hint of a smile catches me off guard, so I brush past him, refusing to let him think he flustersme.

“Don’t start looking amused now,” I warn him, refusing to meet his gaze. “Wouldn’t want your pretty face to pull a muscle.”

“Good to know you think I’m pretty.” He chuckles, leading me to his truck to set my suitcase in the back and popping open the door for me.

“I thought bikers rode motorcycles.”

“Are you gonna climb on the back of my bike wearing that little number?” His eyebrow hitches in a challenge as his gaze falls to the short hem of my sundress. But before I can respond, his gaze darkens, and he cuts me off. “Never mind. Just get in the fucking truck.”

“Such a gentleman.” This man’s moods are giving me whiplash.

It takes careful maneuvering not to flash my underwear as I climb in. Not that it seems like he’d care to see them, since he slams the door behind me the second I clear it.

I watch him pull out his phone and circle the truck while I latch my seatbelt. He types something into it before climbing in himself, and I wonder if he’s letting Margaret know I arrived. I tried to call her when my flight landed, but she didn’t answer, so I assumed she was sleeping and decided to find my way on my own.

Maybe it would have been smarter to book a hotel room for the night and show up when Margaret was around to act as a buffer.

The short drive to Jesse’s house is nearly unbearable in such a confined space. Part of me wants to lean closer to smell him, and the other part of me wants to slap himacross the face every time he scoffs in my direction. I manage to not do either, opting to stare out the window at the dark desert instead.

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