Page 4 of Saint Nick
“Nope,” she lied, “dinner sounds good to me.” She turned to leave the office, giving Nick some privacy to finish changing because if she stayed in the small room with him, she’d forfeit dinner >
NICK
Nick watched as Sandy left Mace’s office, her little skirt hugging her ass perfectly as she went. Hell, she looked like trouble wrapped in a Christmas bow—pretty, innocent, and the kind of woman who didn’t belong anywhere near a biker bar. She’d probably never met a guy like him before—one with tattoos, scars, and enough baggage to fill Santa’s sleigh twice over.
He ran a hand down his face and sighed. “Dinner,” he muttered to himself. “What the hell am I doing?” He wasn’t the kind of man who took women out for dinner anymore. Hell, if Mace hadn’t insisted that he take the pretty reporter to dinner, and give her the story she wanted, he’d have asked her back to his place for the night—and there would have been no story. Well, unless she wanted to write about the hot sex he wanted to offer her. It had been years since he even tried to have a normal date. And now he was about to play Santa, answer questions for a local newspaper article, and apparently entertain the woman who’d just walked into his life like ahurricane in heels. He needed to learn to tell his club’s Prez no, but that probably wasn’t going to happen any time soon. For now, Mace owed him big for this one and Nick planned on collecting sooner rather than later.
By the time he pulled his jeans and T-shirt back on, he could already smell her perfume in the air. She wore something light and sweet, smelling like vanilla and sunshine. It didn’t belong in his dark world of steel, blood, and roaring engines, but damn if he didn’t like the way her scent had taken over Mace’s little office. It lingered, and he hated that he noticed it at all.
He grabbed his wallet and keys from the desk and walked out into the bar. Nick found her waiting by the door, looking a little out of place but seeming to try her best to hide it. Her notebook was tucked under her arm again, and she was biting her lip as if she wasn’t sure she should be there. Nick could answer that question for her—she shouldn’t.
“You ready to go, Ms. Cove?” he asked, mocking her formal tone from earlier.
“Call me Sandy,” she said quickly. “And yes, I am.”
“Fine, Sandy. I hope you’re not expecting some fancy restaurant. Around here, that means burgers, beer, and maybe a jukebox that still plays all the good songs.” He was hoping to scare her off. Nick wanted her to cancel their little dinner date and get him off the hook with Mace for having to give the fucking interview. But the determination in her eyes told him all he needed to know—she wasn’t about to give him an easy out, and that plain sucked.
“I’ll survive,” she assured. “I’m not a fan of fancy. In fact, a burger, fries, and a beer sound like heaven about now.” Her smile hid her truth—she was nervous about him taking her anywhere, and he kind of liked the fact that he could make herfeel that way. Her hands gave her away, though—they were shaking. It wasn’t noticeable at right, but he could see the tremor when she reached for the door to walk out into the parking lot.
Nick smirked. “Yeah? You don’t look like the dive bar type.” He looked her over, noting that she didn’t look as though she had ever eaten a burger and fries in her life.
“I’m full of surprises,” she sassed, raising her chin defiantly at him.
She fumbled with the door, and he couldn’t take it anymore. “I’ve got it,” he grunted. “It’s a push, not a pull,” he said, opening the door for her as they stepped into the chilly night air. The sound of engines and distant laughter echoed from the lot behind the bar. His Harley was parked in the shadows, black and gleaming under the streetlights.
He already knew the answer to his question before he even said the words. “You ride?” he asked. Her wide-eyed expression told him everything he needed to know—she didn’t.
“Um, no,” she breathed. “I can just follow you to the restaurant,” she insisted, starting for her car.
He reached for her hand before she was able to walk away and practically pulled her back into his body. “Now, where would the fun in that be?” he asked. “I’ll make you a deal. You want me to answer your questions, then you ride on the back of my bike to the restaurant.” He wasn’t playing fairly, but he couldn’t seem to help himself with pretty little Sandy Cove. He felt the need to push her limits, and for some odd reason, he thought for sure that it was going to be fun.
“You’ve already been told to answer my questions,” she reminded. She was right, but he played off Mace’s order with a shrug. The confusion on her pretty face was almost comical. Mace hadn’t given him much of a choice about answering thereporter’s questions. He’d want Nick to give her all the details about their little Christmas party and really talk up the club. His Prez was right—doing so would bring in more patrons to the bar and more money for the club. It still chapped his ass that he was being told what to do, even if it was by Mace.
He held out his helmet to her, waiting for her to decide if she wanted to take him up on his offer or hope that Mace’s orders were enough to get her the story that she wanted. Nick chuckled as he watched her indecision. He liked her honesty, he really did. It wasn’t something he got much of these days. She sighed and snatched the helmet out of his hand and put it on her head. He stood there, watching her struggle to figure out the straps, finally giving up. He reached over and fastened the helmet for her, his fingers brushing her jaw as he did.
Her breath caught, and for a moment, he thought about closing the distance between the two of them, to kiss her. But that wouldn’t have been smart. Not with a woman like her. Nick needed to remember that she wasn’t for him. Sandy was only going to dinner with him to get the story that she needed for her job. To her, he was work, and that kind of burned his ass a bit.
“Hang on tight,” he said instead, swinging a leg over the bike. She hesitated and then slid onto the motorcycle behind him, wrapping her arms around his waist. When she pressed against him, he swore under his breath. This was supposed to be a fake date. A favor he was doing for Mace, but suddenly, it didn’t feel so fake anymore. With her body pressed up against him, her arms wrapped around his body, everything with Sandy Cove was starting to feel very, very real.
SANDY
She hadn’t been on a motorcycle before, and she was pretty sure that wasn’t a surprise to the big biker she currently had her arms wrapped around. This bike scared the hell out of her, almost as much as the biker who was riding it. The bike roared to life like making her bones rattle and her pulse race, all at once—much like the biker sitting between her legs. Nick was solid beneath her hands, warm even through his shirt, and the low rumble of the engine vibrated through her chest. She found the entire ride both thrilling and terrifying all at once.
Sandy really wanted to dislike him, or at least not find him so attractive. He claimed to hate Christmas, and that alone was grounds for her to hate him. But he looked annoyingly good in the faint glow of the streetlights as they whizzed through town. His dark hair, strong jawline, and his eyes told her that he was kinder than he wanted people to believe about him. But he wasn’t her type. That’s what she needed to keep telling herself, except apparently tonight, he was.
Thankfully, the ride was short. It was just a few miles down the winding road to a small roadside diner with flickering neon lights and a crooked sign that read Maggie’s Diner. Nick parked in the back of the lot and helped her off his bike, leading the way into the diner. She had lived in town for a while now and never noticed this place.
She quickly looked around the place and smiled to herself. The place had the fifties vibe going for it. She was always a sucker for a fifty’s diner. It smelled like coffee, bacon, and nostalgia, and she had to admit, she loved the place at first sight.
“I hope this is okay,” he whispered to her as the waitress showed them to the booth that he had requested in the corner.
“It’s perfect,” she breathed as she slid into the booth across from him. A few locals sat in booths scattered across the diner, watching them curiously. Sandy could feel the weight of their stares, and she wondered if it was her or the biker sitting across from her that seemed to fascinate them so much. Maybe it was a combination of the two of them. She looked Nick over in his leather cut, and then back to herself in her polished leather boots and notebook in hand. They didn’t fit together, not even a little bit. But somehow, that made her like being there with him even more.
The waitress was a middle-aged woman with pink hair and too much eyeliner. She handed them both a menu and smiled knowingly at Nick. “Hey there, sweetheart. Haven’t seen you in here for a while.”
“Hey, Maggie,” Nick said. “Two specials and a couple of coffees,” he ordered.
“You got it,” she said, smirking at Sandy before heading off. Sandy wanted to protest and tell the woman that she couldorder for herself, but before she could get a word out, the waitress was gone.
