Page 1 of Her Beastly Biker
Chapter One
Maggie
As a writer, I need to be observant. Sometimes there’s beauty in my surroundings. So, who can blame me for staring at a hot, naked guy for a little too long? -Maggie
I slap at another mosquito. “Fucker,” I mutter as I try my best to kill the creature currently trying to suck my blood.
What the hell am I doing out here?I have no business trying to be nature girl. If my cousin Madison could see me now, she would laugh her ass off. Hell, even my friends in the Smutty Scribes Club would get a kick out of it. God knows what my stuck-up mother would say. Probably something along the lines of “You bring shame to the Malone name” or some such nonsense. I sometimes want to shout back at her that my great granddaddy made all his money producing moonshine during Prohibition, so I wasn’t bringing shame to any damn name. We aren’t the Rockefellers. More like the Beverly Hillbillies. Well, if the Beverly Hillbillies carried semi-automatic guns everywhere.
I shiver. No thinking about that, Maggie. No worrying about The Family right now.
This morning when I woke up, I was determined to make something out of today. Everything is so beautiful here, lovely in a way that’s completely different from my Southern hometown. Surrounded by the looming mountains and the peaks of tall pines, this little town looks like the haven I’ve been searching for. I found myself wanting to do something different, something that makes me feel like a part of this tranquil setting. I hoped to get at least a few notes about my surroundings for the book, if nothing else. But, so far, my trusty notebook is glaringly empty for today.
Yesterday had been yet another day of no leads on the Savage King MC. Not one resident of Jackson Ridge is talking about the MC that rules their town. I mean, it’s hard to blame them, since I’m most definitely an out-of-towner. My Southern accent will not will itself away no matter how hard I try.
Writing MC romance seemed so easy in theory. And God knows I could have found one closer to Atlanta to stalk, but the whole appeal of watching this gang was that they were not anywhere near my parents’ prying eyes. And I want this new MC series to be my best work. I want my readers to feel like I know what I’m talking about. Regular research won’t do. I need to know what makes these guys tick. I need an image of the hero I want to write. The only men I’m surrounded by on a daily basis are stuffy guys in suits. They don’t fit the picture of what I want. I need someone gruff, someone with life experience, someone who is strong enough to stand up for themselves…someone the opposite of me.
My shoulders sag. I wish I was better at standing up to my parents. I wish I was capable of screaming from the rooftops that I don’t want to marry the man they have handpicked for me. If I can make my own money doing the one thing I love…
I sigh heavily as another mosquito attacks me. I scratch at the bites already running up my arm. I’m from Georgia so I’ve had plenty of bites in my lifetime, but I swear these fuckers out west are a different breed.
I hike my backpack further up my shoulders and try not to think about the way my sweaty shirt is clinging to my back. I hum softly to occupy my mind and not think about all the things that weigh me down, both literally and figuratively. It doesn’t work. My brain keeps spinning in circles.
I have to find out more about the Savage Kings. I need to start writing this series. I’m already behind where I should be. I need to show my family that I can do this, that I can make it on my own. I have to…
Fuck a duck. My foot stumbles on a root and I find myself flailing for a second as momentum propels me forward. My left knee hits the ground with a thud and pain shoots up my leg.
I shake my head, cursing again at myself and the stupidity of my situation. I rock back and sit down hard on my khaki-covered ass. I stretch out my left leg and survey the damage. My knee is scraped all to hell and back and there’s blood running down my pasty white leg. I feel a little roil of nausea at the sight.You will not be an immature twat, Maggie. You can handle the sight of a little blood.I breathe in and out deeply and the sick feeling in my stomach slowly ebbs away. I flex my foot back and forth, trying to see if I’ve damaged anything else vital. Luckily, everything seems intact.
Things just keep going from bad to worse.It takes a few minutes for me to finally get back up again. My knee stings like a son of a bitch and the blood continues to roll down my leg, staining my white sock. I can feel it, but I don’t dare look down. If I throw up or pass out, I’m going to feel like the ultimate wimp.
I huff again and look around at my surroundings. I’m not nature girl. Why the hell am I pretending to be? I’m more the reading in the hotel kind of girl. I should have stuck to that role.
Instead, I think longingly of the half-finished novel back in my room at the Devil’s Rest Motel. The motel is not anywhere close to as nice as my family normally stays in but laying in my bed reading my novel about a menage involving two bikers and a quirky librarian sounds like heaven right now. Besides, there’s something endearing about the inn and its fastidious owner Eddie.
I pull out my phone to check my maps app. The path only winds around for a mile more and then I should be able to get back to my car. The windy path I’ve been on probably wasn’t the best for beginners, but as usual I hadn’t listened when Evie, the owner of the bookstore, warned me that it was rocky and a little hard to follow. I never listen.
My ears perk up when I hear the sound of rushing water. Evie did mention there was a waterfall a little off the beaten path.Should I try to find it?I glance down at the bloody trail making its’ way down my leg. My stomach does a slow roll again.Ugh.I shrug.Shit, why not? At least maybe I can wash this off.
I follow the sound, slowly making my way around trees, and trying my best to not stumble over more rocks. When I finally do reach the source of the sound, my breath catches in my chest.
The waterfall is breathtaking, but the truth is it doesn’t compare to the sight of the man standing beneath it.
My writer’s brain itches for a pen and paper to describe the beauty before me. I vaguely remember the notebook in my backpack.But damn…the horny woman side of me just aches to reach out and touch.
The man bathing under the waterfall is no ordinary man. He’s a study in masculinity, a powerfully built specimen with broad shoulders and a graceful strength in the way he pushesback his long, black hair. His bare, muscular chest is covered with patches of black hair. His body is covered in tattoos that only emphasize the beauty and rugged planes of his body. My eyes track a path downward, taking in the vee that leads to an unknown land beneath the water. My mouth waters.What if he’s naked? God, I hope he’s naked.
That thought is quickly followed by the ironic thought thatthey don’t make men like him where I come from. The puny guys in their Brooks brothers suits that work at my father’s corporation could never compare to the beauty in the savagery of this man. He tilts his head back and closes his eyes. I place my hand over my heart in response to the galloping rhythm of it.
I’m so mesmerized that it doesn’t even occur to me to hide from his gaze when he finally looks in my direction. His icy blue eyes widen as they take in the sight of me. Then his mouth curves up in a smirk.
I don’t move, for the first time in my life completely brought to a halt by another human being. My whole life, I’ve always had questions, always had a quick comeback, and have always been able to think on my feet. Right now, I can’t think of anything except that I hope I’m not drooling.
The man continues to give me a cocky smirk as he moves away from the waterfall into the shallow end. I watch as more and more of him comes into view. My hungry gaze waits for more of him to be bared.
Finally, his thick cock comes into view. I lick my lips. It belongs in the hall of fame of gorgeous dicks. Long, hard, and freakin’ huge. An ache settles between my legs.
I finally have the decency to look up at the man’s face. His face is just as mesmerizing as the rest of him. A slightly crooked nose and high cheekbones, a hard jawline, and those blue eyes…the man could make anyone turn on the street just to have alook. He arches one of his dark eyebrows as he surveys me from head to toe.
