Page 17 of Riding Hard

Gunner smiles. “Gotta go. Can’t keep the talent waiting.”

I nod and follow him to the door, leaning down to grab one last kiss from my sweet, beautiful wife.

She leans into my ear. “I’ll see what I can get out of him for you.”

Gunner moves through the shop and sits in the small waiting area. I glance toward him before looking at my girl. “I know that’s the truth. He needs an ear, so whatever you can find out. It’s probably best we help him before he spirals too far down.”

I lean in and kiss Bella’s lips one last time before she closes the door to the shop. Our tongues have brushed one another hundreds of times by now, but still, every kiss is like the first and every touch is unspeakably warm and perfect.

Loving Bella has opened my eyes to depths of love that I thought were in the rearview. Without her to tell my stories, to hold at night, and to protect, I’d be a shadow of the man I am today.

I climb onto my bike and turn the key, listening to the roar of the engine for a long moment as I watch my girl dip the tip of her gun into a vial of ink. Her breasts are full, her smile is wide, and her hair drapes gently over her shoulders.

That right there is my life, and I’ve never been happier.

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Khloe Summersis the author of over one hundred short and steamy romance titles. Her books are written in many different tropes, but always contain growly older alphas, curvy women, and lots of steam.

Khloe lives with her husband, (who she affectionately calls Daddy) in sunny Florida. They spend most of their free time sinking their toes in the sand, eating too many pizzas, and hollering obscenities at the TV on football Sunday. (At least he does. She sits on the sidelines and quietly orders nonsense off Amazon.)

Before this life is over, Khloe would like to check everything off her sexy bucket list and visit South Africa to wrestle evil poachers into submission. (And maybe see some baby elephants.)

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RIDING DIRTY

Chapter One

Gunner

It’s pouring rain when I see her standing on the side of the road with her thumb out. Cut-off shorts, thick thighs, red cowboy boots, and a Willie Nelson t-shirt that’s torn. Long blonde hair hangs drenched on her shoulders and her lips have turned a light purple. I assume they aren’t always this color. I imagine on a warm day her cheeks are pink and her lips are smooth and red.

Mountains rise from the horizon and wide-open country surrounds for miles. Cattle graze in the distance while scruffy brush and wildflowers dot the edge of the road.

I consider driving past. I’ve had enough on my plate recently, but this is a dead zone for most phone carriers, and the closer I get to the desperate woman, the slower the bike gets. Soon I’m parked on the side of the road with my boots on the ground and my mouth moving.

“Where ya headed?”

This close, she’s younger than I thought. I can’t imagine why she’d be out this way on her own. I’d never advise that a young woman travel alone, especially in cut-off shorts and little red cowboy boots.

“Anywhere dry. I can call for help from there.” Her teeth chatter as she speaks.

I drag my gaze over her frame, taking in her wide hips, round breasts, and an octopus tattoo that crawls up her left thigh. It’s odd enough that it tells a story and I want to know what that story is.

“What’s wrong with your car?” I nod back toward the Impala that’s smoking on the side of the road.

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