“No, sir.”
“Well then, what?”
“I’d tell you, but you wouldn’t like the word.”
I felt my eyes widen before I could catch my reaction. It didn’t matter, though. Because Jethro was using his hand on my arm to turn me toward him. And then he gathered me in his arms and brushed a tantalizing kiss over my mouth, with just a hint of his delicious tongue, surprising the heck out of me and making my limbs feel immediately heavy and useless.
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” he said in a soft, rumbly whisper. It simultaneously gave me the warm fuzzies and made my knees weak. He nuzzled my jaw, tickling me with his beard, and placed a kiss there as well.
Then he released me, tipped his hat to Elon with a, “Ma’am,” and strolled off.
Tom was momentarily stunned, as was I. But I recovered first, mostly because Cletus nudged my shoulder as he walked past, leveling me with an intense but small smile. He mouthed what looked like, How badass was that? and stepped quickly to catch up with Jethro’s departing form.
I quickly shook myself and made an excuse, citing a meeting with our director, and walked in the opposite direction. When I was several feet away, because I couldn’t help myself, I glanced over my shoulder—not at Tom, but at Jethro and his unhurried stride. I noticed again that he had a really nice walk—easy, sexy, unaffected.
Yet, until that moment, I’d never truly appreciated how audaciously he carried himself, as though assured of his place as master of the universe, presiding over the kingdom of I-don’t-give-a-fuck.
I mentally added his dauntless self-confidence to the list of his irresistible qualities.
CHAPTER 18
“I may have lost my heart, but not my self-control.”
― Jane Austen, Emma
~Jethro~
I awoke and glared at the clock. It was just past 2:30 a.m. I hadn’t been sleeping well. I’d passed out around 9:00 p.m., but once again I’d had an irritating dream. The particulars weren’t important, something about an elevator and it always stopping on the wrong floor.
The problem was, I’d been having dreams of this ilk for weeks, ever since my date with Sienna Diaz. I was frustrated, short-tempered, and it was getting worse. The only other dreams I’d been having involved us having hot sex. Sometimes it was wild; sometimes it was rough; sometimes it was slow and sweet. But it was always hot.
In summary, one way or the other, I was waking up every morning frustrated and hard.
Rubbing my eyes, I rolled out of bed, debating whether or not to pour myself a few shots of whiskey. I liked the idea in theory, but in practice I knew it was a slippery slope. No good could come from replacing one addiction with another.
That’s what my present trouble reminded me of. I’d witnessed a few of my biker brothers back in the day go through withdrawals, wanting to curb their dependence on drugs or sex or booze. Some were successful, most weren’t. They’d fall back into their old habits as soon as temptation presented itself.
I’d never been addicted to any vices. I didn’t believe I had an addictive personality.
But that was before.
Before a few weeks ago.
Before I couldn’t stop thinking about a certain gold-skinned woman with dark eyes, dimples, long lashes, and a body that inspired inconvenient—and frequently dirty—daydreams.
I stood and moved quietly, not wanting to wake Roscoe. He and I currently shared a room. The house was still undergoing renovations after years of neglect. It wasn’t my momma’s fault. She’d been too busy bringing up hell-raisers and trying to make us respectable to notice the encroachment of termites, the leaky roof, the wood rot, or the mold.
Walking down the hall, I surveyed the new wainscoting I’d installed last month. Most of the demolition work was done, but half the bedrooms still lacked floors. Some were missing drywall. Hence, we’d been doubling up since last November. I also planned to add two more bathrooms on the top floor. One bathroom for six men just didn’t cut it.
Naturally, Duane and Beau shared a room. Duane and Jess were leaving for Italy soon, so Beau would be on his own by the end of the summer.
Billy hated my guts, so he roomed with Cletus.
I usually had my own room, but Roscoe was home for the summer.
Ashley lived in sin with Drew in his cabin on Bandit Lake, and we couldn’t be happier for her. Though, I suspected he’d already proposed marriage, perhaps multiple times, and she hadn’t seen fit to give an answer. Not yet anyway. She could be odd as Cletus sometimes.
I didn’t bother to shut the bathroom door behind me. I was just after a glass of water. But then my attention snagged on a dirty magazine someone—probably Roscoe—had left on the counter. I say probably Roscoe because he hadn’t quite acclimated back into the groove yet.