Page 1 of Her Daddy Biker
One
Tyra
My GPS stopped responding twenty minutes ago. Great, I’m stuck on these crazy mountain roads with nothing but printed directions that make about as much sense as my high school calculus homework. My little rental car is making unhappy noises as it climbs another steep hill, and I’m starting to think that maybe this whole solo retreat thing was a terrible idea.
Three weeks ago, my boyfriend, Will, dropped a bomb that ended our eight-month long relationship: “Maybe if you weren’t so stuck-up…”
Yeah, that happened.
So here I am, running away to the mountains like some dramatic heroine from one of my smutty books, because apparently that’s what one does when their boyfriend cheats on them with his study partner and then has the nerve to call them frigid.
But the worst part is that maybe Will wasn’t totally wrong. Eight months of dating and I still wasn’t ready to sleep with him. Whenever things got heated, I’d freeze or make excuses. I kepttelling myself I was waiting for the right moment, but what if the right moment never comes? What if there really is something wrong with me?
Ugh, this is exactly the kind of overthinking I came here to shut down.
I grip the steering wheel tighter as the road gets even windier. The pines surrounding me are massive up here, like something out of some dark fairy tale. My phone has had no service for miles; I haven’t seen another car since I left the highway; the last gas station was forever ago, and the sun’s starting to get lower in the sky. Awesome…
Maybe I should have listened to my roommate, Mia, when she said this was a bad idea. “Just stay and get on Tinder,” she said. “Don’t go hiding in the woods like a lunatic.”
But I’m not ready for Tinder. I’m not ready to disappoint another guy when I can’t give him what he wants.
* * *
The turn for Mountain Ridge Road is barely even a real road, more like a dirt path between two giant trees. My poor little car is not happy about the rocks and potholes, and I’m pretty sure I’m scraping the hell out of its bottom. When I finally reach a clearing with a house built in the middle of it, I’m so relieved I could cry.
Except… this is definitely not the cute little rental from the website.
This place is huge. Like magazine-cover big, with massive windows, stone all over, and a big, gleaming motorcycle parked out front that probably costs more than my entire student loan. It looks like something a celebrity would own, not a mountain cabin a broke college girl can afford.
I check my phone again; still no signal. Ugh. I pull out the crumpled printout of my confirmation email and squint at it. The address seems right… mostly. Maybe I did something wrong when I was booking the place in my post-breakup spiral?
Shit. I’m lost, broke, freshly dumped, and possibly trespassing on someone’s very expensive property. Things just keep getting better.
But what am I supposed to do? I can’t exactly reverse down this scary, narrow road. Plus, I’m running low on gas. Maybe whoever lives here will point me in the right direction, and we can pretend this whole mess never happened and go on with our lives?
I grab my travel bag and walk up to the front door, trying to think of how to explain myself without sounding like a complete idiot.
The door opens before I even knock, and… Holy Shit! The man standing in front of me is… beautiful. There’s no other way to put it. Early forties, maybe. He’s massive. Like, seriously huge, at least six and a half feet tall, with shoulders that look like they could carry a truck. He’s got thick, jet black hair with silver strands running through it, steel-gray eyes that clash amazingly with his tanned skin and dark hair, and the kind of face that belongs in a movie - perfect cheekbones, a cut jaw that’s covered in stubble, a strong, masculine nose that’s definitely been broken a time or two, full lips… he’s all sharp angles and manly lines. Wearing a black Henley that hugs his powerful build, making me wonder how far the tattoos covering the backs of his big hands go underneath the fabric. Studying the inky designs, I see a skull, wings, flames, and words my brain is too muddled to read right now. His worn jeans fit him perfectly. Encasing thick thighs and a bulge that makes my virgin brain do a double take. I quickly avert my gaze from the mammoth hunk’s crotch, and his body as a whole… my eyes landing on a leather vest with patchesthat’s hanging on a hook behind him. A motorcycle club vest. Of course. Totally fits this ruggedly handsome titan.
He’s staring right back at me… His gray eyes pinning me in place. All tall and broad, with his intense gaze, ridiculous levels of hotness, and smelling like someone bottled up male pheromones and an entire pine forest together. I swallow. Hard.
“You’re lost,” he rumbles in a deep, rough voice that makes whatever little sanity I had left pack its bags and leave the building.
Okay, Tyra, we need to form actual words here.
“Um, yeah, I think I screwed up,” I manage to say, holding up my paper a little too close to his face. Shit, I need to get it together. “I’m supposed to be renting a cabin for the week, and this was the address, but obviously this isn’t a rental because it’s way too nice and I’m totally trespassing, right?”
I’m babbling. Perfect. Really making the best first impression here, dummy.
But instead of looking pissed, the giant’s sexy mouth quirks up at one corner. Like my rambling is more cute than pathetic. It’s a slow, lazy curve of his full lips that makes my brain do another stutter. Holy. Hell.
“What’s your name, angel?” the mountain of a man asks in another low rumble.
Ex-cuse me? Freaking ANGEL?! Someone, please kill me now.
“I’m Tyra. Tyra Keys. I’m really sorry for bothering you, sir. I just need directions, and I’ll get out of your hair. Promise.”
I extend a hand for him to shake. Because even faced with this perfect specimen of manliness, I can’t shake off twenty-plus years of manners ingrained in me.
