Raw and Dirty(34)

For the moment. Can't promise I'll behave once I get her inside.

“It's … nice,” she admits begrudgingly and I smile. Of course it's nice. I worked my ass off for this place. Being a part of a motorcycle club, it's not all fun and games and bros hanging out at the bar. We run legitimate businesses—and plenty of illegitimate ones—buy houses, get married, have kids. I'm not exactly ready for the last two items on that list just yet, but I figured I'd settle down eventually, so I got started on the house part. Even a bachelor likes a comfortable place to sleep; we're still human you know. “But it is pretty late and we have a meeting tomorrow.”

“So what? I'll drive you to the compound myself then. That's a good way to make sure we're both late to our own meeting.” I'm smiling, but Lyric isn't when she turns and looks at me.

“This could never work,” she says as I wrinkle my brow at her. “You and me,” she points back and forth between us. “Would never work.”

“You and me?” I ask, reaching up and cupping the side of her face. “Whoever said there had to be a you and me? Spend the night with me, love. Have a little fun.”

“You think spending the night with you would be fun?” Lyric asks, but she's leaning into my touch.

“I have actual food in my cabinets and a general knowledge of how to put it together. I have two giant arse wolf dogs who are probably scratching the shit out of my front door in an effort to come out here and sniff your crotch.” She smiles a little at that one. “And I have a king sized bed in the back.” Her smile falters a little but she catches her lip on her teeth for a moment in thought. “Or if we don't make it back there, I have a bearskin rug in front of my fireplace.”

Lyric snorts and that smile shoots back into place with a vengeance.

“You have a bearskin rug? Talk about a cliché.”

“Talk about an outlaw biker who actually knows what a rug is. You should see Smoky's place. He has a couch he found on the side of the freeway, a pool table, and an entire cabinet of noodle cups.”

“The typical bachelor then?” Lyric says and then pauses, shaking her head suddenly like she needs to clear her thoughts with a physical action. “No. No. You're doing it again, distracting me.” She pauses and looks up at me with those big emerald eyes of hers, and I wonder for a split second there if I'd do anything she asked of me.

The fuck?

I met the girl on Monday. Today is Thursday. I think I'm in deep shit.

“So … tonight, we …”

“Shag?” I supply and her lips twitch.

“If I stay here tonight, you'll cooperate at the meeting tomorrow?” she asks, playing her politics card. Smart girl.

“I'll attend the meeting if that's what you're asking. I can't make any promises about anything else that might happen.” Lyric narrows her eyes briefly and then nods.

“Okay, I can accept that. I stay the night and tomorrow, we have our meeting. You listen to everything I have to say and then make your decision. I hope you make the right one, Mr. McBride.”

“No more business talk tonight,” I say, reaching around her waist and pulling her towards me. “Save that shit for tomorrow. Right now, we have other plans.”

“Are we going to have tea time?” she asks, and it takes me a second to realize that she's joking around with me. This girl right here, little mayor's daughter, taking a jab. I love it.

“Don't make fun,” I say, my smile taking over my face again. “I had a proper English mum who taught me to make a bloody brilliant cup of tea. Keep asking and I'll get out my Gram's silver tea set, serve you some English breakfast with two lumps of sugar and a dash of cream.”

“That actually sounds kind of nice,” she says and then lets out a deep breath, her chest expanding and brushing against mine. “But a glass of wine might be better.”

“How about a beer or a shot of Jack?”

“A beer sounds great, thanks.”

The wind whips our hair and we both pause for a moment, listening to the ocean crash against the rocks. Tonight's going to be fun; I can feel it. Tomorrow … well, I can just hope for now that tomorrow never comes.





“The gray one's Alloy,” Royal says as he opens the door and the dogs rush out into the yard, tails wagging frantically, heads down as they sniff the grass and take turns peeing on every single bush in sight. When they're finished with that, they come up to me and start licking my fingers. “And the black one's Lake. They're brother and sister, abandoned as puppies by their breeder when his place went into foreclosure.”

Royal gets out a cigarette and cups his tattooed hand around the end to light up. The wind is picking up and tiny raindrops are starting to drip from the sky.