Total pages in book: 94
Estimated words: 89934 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 450(@200wpm)___ 360(@250wpm)___ 300(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 89934 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 450(@200wpm)___ 360(@250wpm)___ 300(@300wpm)
Dangerous criminal.
Sexual deviant.
Violent man.
Yet, Alison didn’t radiate an ounce of discomfort at being alone with the man or taking care of his son day after day.
Brenna had the urge to run her hands over her scalp to check for signs of a head wound. Maybe she’d fallen or been in a car accident she didn’t recall. It might be the only explanation for this madness that made any sense.
A rumble sounded overhead. The familiar warning to all Floridians that the daily evening summer storm would be upon them soon.
“C’mon,” Lock said. “Let’s get inside before we’re drenched.”
She nodded and followed like a brainless puppy.
Light gray walls without any art or pictures greeted her in the foyer. He didn’t seem to have much style from the little she could see, but the house didn’t reek of wild bachelor either. His home was neater than she’d expected for a biker with a baby, but nothing had gone as expected since she found that stupid envelope in her drawer.
Damn you, Oliver.
A sharp cry had Lock sighing. “I was hoping for a few minutes to talk first, but he never seems to get the memos on my schedule.” He pointed toward a den. “Grab a seat. Make yourself comfortable. I’ll be right back,” he said as though she were a friend who’d come for coffee and a chat.
Brenna blinked, wordless again, as she watched him disappear down the hall. The man filled out the seat of those pants very nicely—exactly what she needed to avoid noticing.
Hopefully, she’d find her tongue before he started making plans around her.
Brenna blew out a breath and turned toward the den. Sitting and making herself comfortable was out of the question. Too much nervous energy coursed through her blood to do anything but move. She wandered the space, glancing at the few books he had on a dark wooden shelf—mostly motorcycle repair, a few crime thrillers, and two baby pop-up picture books.
Adorable.
What? No. Not adorable. God, her mind was a mess. She hadn’t had a second to process anything since she’d returned home from work. The time felt like days, but it had only been a few hours ago. Hell, it wouldn’t even be dark for another hour.
The heavy fall of booted feet had her whirling around. Anything she might have tried to say died in her throat as every ounce of saliva disappeared.
Holy shit.
Lock was a very attractive man. She’d admitted that to herself the moment she laid eyes on him. Fine, attractive was a major understatement—he was hot as the damn sun. All the men at the warehouse had been, though she’d put Lock at the top of the list. His unruly hair and stubble just rubbed her the right way. But the combination of fear, confusion, and shock had enabled her to view him through a non-sexual lens, as though watching a movie. Gorgeous, but with enough distance, she could keep her head about her.
And her neglected body under control.
But now, the intriguing man held a baby on his hip—a cute-as-a-button chubby baby boy who was patting his little fingers on Lock’s scruff and babbling with a drooly smile.
Ovary crack—plain and simple.
Not a straight woman alive would be immune to the picture they made.
“Brenna, this is Caleb. Caleb, can you say hi to Brenna?” He waved, and the baby mimicked him with an awkward open and close of his palm.
She pasted on a kid-friendly smile. “Hi, Caleb,” she said as she waved back. “Aren’t you a cutie?”
He giggled and clapped his pudgy hands.
Ah, hell. It’d be a miracle if she made it through the next ten minutes without ripping off her clothes and demanding Lock plant one of his babies inside her.
“Can I get you anything?” he asked with an easy grin. “I don’t have any alcohol in the house right now, but I’ve got water, soda, baby formula.” He chuckled. “Actually, I may have a few White Claws one of my brother’s ol’ ladies left last week,” he added as he grimaced like they were the most offensive beverages in the world.
Brenna’s head spun. She couldn’t take it anymore. “What are you doing?” she asked with more venom than was probably wise, given who he was.
He studied her, relaxed as could be. “What do you mean?”
She waved her hand in his direction. “This whole I’m-a-normal-guy act. I thought I was here because we’re supposed to pretend you bought me from Oliver. I thought you wanted help getting your money back. I already said I’d do it. You don’t have to pretend you’re not… I don’t know, in a gang or whatever.”
She froze. Idiot. Why did she call it that? Would the switch flip now, turning him into the hard-core biker she’d anticipated?
He laughed.
Guess not.
“Come with me to the kitchen. I gotta get this guy fed before he revolts. Trust me, you don’t want to see that. If you think my club is scary, we’ve got nothing on a hungry ten-month-old.”