Page 8 of Diablo

Now, he wanted to share a drink. Just the two of us.

It could be the perfect opportunity to advocate for my club. To smooth things over and start fresh.

If you’re hoping for a peek below my belt, I’d be happy to indulge your curiosity. Might even be willing to give you a hands-on demonstration.

The look in Diablo’s eyes, the husky tone of his voice had suggested he wasn’t simply cracking a joke at my expense. I was no stranger to innuendos and dirty jokes. As the only woman in a club with ten other men, I’d heard it all. Endlessly.

Diablo meant every word of it though.

And I would be an idiot if I thought we would just talk about club business over a drink or two.

I should shut him down. No matter how tempting the offer might be, he was still a Prospect and I was a VP. Not to mention the animosity that still lingered between our clubs.

It sounded like someone else speaking when I replied.

“One drink, Prospect. That’s all you get.”

The way his eyes crinkled at the corners with a smile made my mouth go dry.

What did I get myself into?

Chapter Three

Diablo

It wasn’t supposed to be like this.

When I’d spotted Stevie and Tarzan on the side of the road outside Merry Field, my plan was to intimidate them until they left.

Then I got within ten feet of Stevie—even though I knew what close proximity with that woman did to me—and my upstairs brain decided to stop working. It seemed Stevie was having the same problem, judging by the way her gaze had been directed south.

You can do more than just stare at my tits, Prospect. I might even let you touch them.

“Fuck,” I hissed under my breath at the memory.

She wasn’t afraid to play rough and fight dirty.

That’s how I ended up following Stevie’s Jeep into the parking lot of the Old Town Pub. I couldn’t help noticing that she hadn’t taken me to her clubhouse. Even though I was in Aerondale—Desert Howler turf—she made an effort to find somewhere that wouldn’t be crawling with members of her club.

Despite the packed room and the thumping jukebox in the corner, it was just the two of us as we claimed our seats at the bar. Stevie wasn’t wearing her kut which granted me an uninhibited view of her figure in those snug jeans and tight dark blue top.

After ordering her drink, Stevie slid a sideways glance my way. Then she leaned toward me, her lips almost brushing my ear in order to be heard over the noise of the room.

“If you keep undressing me with your eyes like that, Prospect, I’ll have to put you in your place.”

A small smile twitched at the corner of my mouth. This is the part I couldn’t resist about her—the verbal sparring, the sharp banter we volleyed back and forth. It was no secret that people told me I was too loud, too brash, too rough around the edges. Stevie didn’t shy away from that. She had rough edges of her own. And it felt so damn good.

“Is that a promise or a threat, sweetheart?” I asked.

Amusement flashed in Stevie’s eyes. When the bartender placed a shot of whiskey in front of her, she tossed it back and set the glass on the counter with a thud.

“You really are a virgin if you can’t tell the difference.”

“Hate to say it, but if you were hoping to pop my cherry, that ship sailed ages ago,” I replied.

“Good,” Stevie countered without missing a beat. “Then I don’t have to be gentle. I can leave all the teeth marks I want on a boy toy like you.”

I nearly choked on my drink. She smirked.

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