Hell for Leather (Black Knights Inc. #6)(73)
“Did you come in here just to badger me and throw out absurd cowboy-isms?” she demanded, refusing to look at him—he was just too tempting. Instead, she kept her eyes glued to the television screen.
“No. I came in here to give you something.”
“Is it a shot of whiskey, a clean pair of jeans, or the promise of world peace?” she asked.
“No.”
Sighing dramatically, she made sure her expression was bored when she finally turned to him, pointing a finger at her face. “Then this is me, interest having waned.”
He frowned before sauntering in that loose-hipped way of his over to the dresser. Flicking off the TV, he said, “I came to give you an update. I just got a call from Steady.”
“Fido?” she asked, dropping all pretense. Throwing back the bed sheet, she swung her legs over the edge of the mattress. “Is he…”
She couldn’t bring herself to voice the next word. Alive? Dead? The first adjective might elicit an answer of no, and the second adjective might elicit an answer of yes.
“He made it through surgery.” She released her pent-up breath. “Steady says, barring anything unexpected, he’s gonna be humpin’ legs and pissin’ on hydrants in a couple of weeks.”
“Thank God,” she whispered, placing her elbows on her knees and bending forward. Her hair fell around her face in a curtain. She didn’t attempt to brush it back. Tears of gratitude had sprung to her eyes, and she didn’t want Mac to see them, see her being weak yet again.
The truth was, she hadn’t known how desperately she needed some good news until she heard it. And the fact that Fido made it out of this horrendous, soul-sucking situation alive stoked the flame of hope burning inside her that perhaps her uncle, too, might just be blessed with the same fate.
And then, a thought occurred…
“I want him,” she said, lifting her head, surprised to find Mac had taken a seat on the bed across from her. She hadn’t heard him move, either because he’d employed his super stealthy covert operator skills or because she’d been too focused on keeping a firm hold on the reins of her emotions to pay attention to anything but her own breathing. Whichever, now he was facing her, his elbows resting on his muscular thighs, his big, tan hands laced together between his knees. Knees that were nearly touching hers, but she did not notice the delicious heat pouring from him. No, she most certainly did not.
“What do you mean you want him?” he asked, his brow furrowed.
“Charlie Sander is…uh…dead, right?” He nodded. “So, I want Fido.”
After all, the dog had saved her life. The very least she could do now was provide the big goofball with a warm and loving home for the rest of his. Besides, every good biker bar needed a resident canine, right? Right.
“Uh.” Mac reached up to run a hand over the back of his neck. “I suppose we’ll have to make sure Sander didn’t have any relatives who want him. But, yeah. Okay. If no one steps up, I reckon he’s all yours.”
“Good.” She nodded, feeling like, for the first time in a long time, she was taking control of the situation. Making decisions instead of just allowing events to blow her around like the wind blew around the discarded peanut shells on the floor of her bar whenever someone entered or exited the place during a winter storm.
And since it felt so darned good to make that first decision, she resolved then and there to make another one. “And you know that one-night stand you were talking about earlier?” she asked, watching his eyes round slightly.
“Yeah?”
“I agree.”
“Uh…” There went the hand again, rubbing over the back of his neck. She’d never noticed before, but he seemed to do that when he was deep in thought, troubled by something, or else uncomfortable. She figured in this case, it was the latter.
Good. She was glad she made him uncomfortable considering the effect his nearness had on her.
“What do you mean you agree?” he finally asked. “You agree that I was right to—”
“I agree to a one-night stand,” she told him.
And too bad her iPhone was way over on the dresser. Because the litany of expressions that flashed across Mac’s face was absolutely priceless, worthy of being preserved for posterity via a set of digital photos. First there was shock, then disbelief, quickly followed by denial, and finally a penetrating sort of…interest.
And maybe she was nuts, completely off her rocker—or else delirious from lack of sleep, which was entirely possible—but she couldn’t help but think what the hell… After all, she’d been waiting years for him to take her up on one of her offers. And even though he was right when he said she wanted more from him than a scratch for her itch, something was better than nothing, right?
And, besides, there was that whole human tendency to want what you couldn’t have. So, maybe, just maybe, once she had him, she’d stop wanting him.
The little voice in her head attempted to speak up, but she immediately shushed it.
“Y-you’re not serious,” he said.
“As a heart attack,” she assured him, pushing to a stand.
He jumped up like the bed bit him on the ass, and was that…? Holy hell, Mac actually looked a bit scared. She fought a grin as she took a step toward him. He immediately began to skirt the bed like a jumper inching along the lip of a ledge.