Total pages in book: 139
Estimated words: 133511 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 668(@200wpm)___ 534(@250wpm)___ 445(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 133511 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 668(@200wpm)___ 534(@250wpm)___ 445(@300wpm)
Except he totally was.
Painter’s gaze flicked between me and Taz, calculating and cool as he swaggered our direction, because apparently it wasn’t enough to look so sexy that my heart nearly exploded. Nope. He had to walk sexy, too. Breathe sexy.
I remembered every second I’d spent with him last year, every touch, every time I’d wrapped myself around his big, strong body while his Harley throbbed beneath us. He’d given me three rides. Less than thirty minutes total . . . And that one kiss—enough to mark me forever.
I wanted more in a big way.
“Painter,” Taz said, startling me. I’d forgotten he was there.
“Taz. Should probably let that one go. She’s protected.”
“She yours?” Taz asked, sounding surprised. “Guess she didn’t get the message. Not like I dragged her out here.”
“She’s a kid. Drop it.”
“Hey, I’m not a kid,” I protested, indignant. “I’ll be twenty-one in four months.”
Taz gave a low laugh. “You heard her. Fuck off, Brooks.”
Painter stepped toward me, his expression colder than I’d ever seen it. “Mel, get your ass back to the party.”
I stilled, unsure what I should do. I really did want to go back to the party . . . but I didn’t want Painter to win, either.
Shit.
Now I found myself trapped between him and Taz, and because I’m a freaking idiot I wanted to forget Taz and jump on Painter, right there in the middle of the yard. Just wrap my legs around his waist and grind on him like a whore. One very, very happy whore.
Where is your self-respect?
CHAPTER THREE
PAINTER
Mel was staring at me like a spooked rabbit.
She didn’t belong here and she knew it, the little sneak. She had to know—she’d been avoiding the Armory the whole time I was in jail. She’d written me all about it, among a thousand other things. You’d think a guy like me would get bored hearing about her life. There’d been a few club-whore types who’d written me, too—letters full of sex and promises and pictures that should’ve crowded Mel right out of my mind. Never stopped thinking about her, though. Not once. She’d become my anchor. Then she’d stopped writing after I told her to go find herself a boyfriend. Once I got home, I made a conscious decision to be a dick about the car, too. I had to be.
It was the right thing to do.
I’d made it a whole week back in Coeur d’Alene without hunting her down, holding out against temptation. Then Pic had mentioned the girls needed help moving last Saturday and it was all over. I’d kept my hands off her that day—didn’t do more than say hello—but it’d been torture. She was more beautiful than I remembered. Had filled out, going from pretty to gorgeous, all smooth, rich, tanned skin, dark hair, and long legs designed specifically by God to wrap around my waist.
When she leaned over in front of me to grab a cardboard box I’d nearly popped out of the front of my pants.
My fuckwad of a president had been laughing his ass off at me, while London went into full mother hen mode. I’d promised her once that I’d leave Mel alone—a promise that no longer stood in my opinion, given how she’d lied to the club and tricked us. One thing was for sure, though. No fucking way I’d gone through a full year of blue balls so Taz could swoop in and steal the prize.
“London’s looking for you, Melanie,” I lied blandly. “She told you not to come out here, remember? There’s a reason for that. It’s not safe.”
“Perfectly safe with me around, babe,” Taz said, eyes dancing. I didn’t think he was seriously interested in her, but he was definitely getting off on annoying me. Fucker. He was one of Hunter’s brothers, and they’d never liked me. Em might be Hunter’s old lady now, but at one point she’d been mine for the taking. He hated me for that.
I’d hated him, too—he’d stolen her away from me. Looking at Mel, though . . . Fuck, what had I ever seen in Em?
“I probably should get back to the party,” she said slowly. Yeah. No shit.
“Fantastic,” I said, catching her arm and pulling her toward me. Taz laughed behind us as I dragged her off, not toward the gate in the back of the wall but around the side of the courtyard wall, into the darkness. She stumbled along beside me for a few, then tugged on my arm as we rounded the back corner.
Nobody could see us here.
“Hey,” she said. I ignored her, my blood pressure too high already. I could smell her in the darkness. Actually smell her. She wasn’t wearing heavy perfume or anything, but she smelled like oranges and spice and nice . . . What the fuck was wrong with me?