Rush (Carolina Bad Boys, #5)(12)

“The carriage house.” After shutting the front door, Shy started down the wide front steps, gripping the banister.

“Carriage house, oh-la-la,” Tail mouthed at Cole.

When we reached the brick-paved driveway that ran parallel to a secret garden, Shy turned to the other guys.

“And thank you too, Tail, right?” She glanced at the broad-shouldered, long-haired man.

He actually stumbled over a few words—Mr. Goddamn Bonafide Pussy Hound—before settling on, “Yeah. No problema,” with his hand rubbing the back of his neck.

I narrowed my eyes at Shy. She better not be flirting.

She then thanked Coletrane as well as Brodie, turning on that sweet, southern charm that could’ve made her debutante-worthy.

“I’m indebted to all of you.”

“Can think of a few ways you could thank me, darlin’.” Tail lost the sheepish look to hungrily stare.

I shoved him back a few steps, blocking him from Shiloh. Nothing subtle whatsoever about my guard dog move.

“Yeah. Why don’t you lead the way, Shy?”

She carried on down the path, her pace unhurried, and I remained just slightly behind her to obscure any view of her ass she might’ve otherwise unwittingly provided to Cole and Tail.

Brodie was just along to do a good deed.

Cole and Tail? Way too hot for Little Miss Well-Bred.

At the carriage house, Shy rolled open the doors, revealing neatly stacked boxes, clear plastic bins, and dustcloth-covered furniture.

“Couldn’t you just hire a moving company?” I inspected the dim interior.

“Where’s the fun in that?” She angled her playful eyes at me beneath some seriously thick feathery-looking eyelashes.

Something in my chest flip-flopped, but I blamed it on the heat—set to reach a record-breaking 101 degrees by midday.

The guys and I hauled on our work gloves, and Shy took point—parceling out orders while she tugged grins from our lips with her bossy, chick-in-charge attitude. It was funny, watching her drill-sergeant her way around four massive biker dudes, all of us answering with polite nods of our heads and a constant supply of “Yes, ma’am” when we usually took swearing and riffing to a whole new level.

All fun and games until Shy puffed out her tits, placed her hands on her hips, and dressed down Tail. “Could you stop juggling that crate like it’s full of Styrofoam peanuts? That’s my china!”

Then Tail just had to be Tail . . .

“Not for nothin’, Miss Shiloh”—he dipped into a bow, balancing the heavy box on one shoulder—“but I’d take orders from you any day of the week.”

She blushed when he gave her a wicked wink.

I almost threw the enormous vase I was carrying at his head.

Damn.

I needed to get my temper under control.

But I did not like these guys chasing her like she was just another skirt.

Liked her pleased reaction to all the attention even less.

We’d brought the Chrome and Steele van, hired a U-Haul, too. Toiling away like demons in the flashing, slashing sun, we filled one vehicle and set to work on perfectly jigsawing the rest of her belongings into the van, box by box by container by trunk.

I made a final trip to the carriage house, guzzling a cool bottle of water. After checking to make sure we’d gotten every last stick of furniture and even the smallest boxes, I turned in the doorway then lounged against the frame.

This far back from the road I couldn’t hear Shy’s words, but I could see her ordering the other three around.

Swiping sweat from my brow, I chuckled.

Yup. A natural-born bossy chick.

I had new respect for her, instructing three badass MC dudes who fell all over themselves to do her bidding.

As long as everyone kept their hands to their own damn selves.

I slid even farther back into the darkness of the carriage house as Shy approached, presumably to do her own double-check. Reaching out when she neared me, I snatched her hand, listening to her light gasp.

“Max!” Her fingers curled around mine, a smile lifting her lips.

“We got everything. I already made sure.”

The million-watt sunrays outside only served to make the carriage house an even closer, cooler, more secret enclave.

And those sunbeams highlighted Shy from behind when she pressed against me to once again sneak a kiss to my cheek. “You’re so sweet.”

“Not really.” Looking everywhere but at her—like she was the sun and could burn my eyes—I slid away.

“So, how much are you paying us for this gig?” My voice echoed in the now empty chamber.

The look she returned was half flirty and a little bit dirty.

She pushed a hand to the hip she jutted out. “Us or you, Handsome?”

Bright beams of sunlight glinted off the bar pierced through the upper shell of her ear . . . and some part of me was tempted to tug it between my teeth, wondering if she’d whimper or moan.

Danger.

I took another step away, deeper into the dark recesses.

Biting her bottom lip, she flipped a smoky look at me. “I have beer at the apartment, on ice.”

She advanced.

I didn’t retreat.

But I did touch the thin straps of her dress at both her shoulders, my fingers fanning out across soft and sun-warmed flesh. “Not very practical clothing for moving-in-day.”