Truly, Madly, Whiskey(39)
“That’s a far cry from, ‘I’m not your sugar.’ You sure you want to claim me so blatantly? Because I might just enact a ‘no-take backs’ rule.”
“As if I ever had a choice about claiming you?” A grin lifted her lips. “You made it impossible for me to think about anything but you.”
“Babe, you are all I’ve thought about for so long, I can’t remember what I thought about before you.”
“That’s a pretty awesome line.”
“I’m a pretty awesome guy. See? I have even more in common with my kick-ass girl.”
She laughed.
“We actually do have a lot in common,” he said more seriously. “You design clothes. I design bikes.”
“Get outta town.” Surprise lifted her brows.
“Sorry, babe, but I’m in this town to stay. In fact, you might have trouble getting me to leave this apartment.”
“You wish.” The heated look in her eyes disputed her words. “How have I known you this long and not known that you design bikes?” She served them each another slice of pizza and carried the box into the living room.
“I could say the same about you designing clothes.”
“I’m serious. That’s huge. I mean, I design clothes in the privacy of my dining room. No one knows about it but Gemma and Dixie. But motorcycles? That’s huge.”
“It’s just a hobby. I do it in my garage at home.”
“What’s stopping you from doing it as more than a hobby?”
“I need time to invest into the process to do it right, and I can’t walk away from my family’s businesses.”
“But designing and building motorcycles? That’s not something just anyone can do. I’m sure they’d understand if you wanted to break out on your own. Bones is a doctor, and Bullet went into the military.”
He cleared his throat to try to push past the discomfort that came with this conversation. “I have an offer from Silver-Stone Cycles to work with them on a part-time basis designing bikes.”
“The Silver-Stone Cycles? They’re as big as Harley-Davidson. That would be amazing.”
Amazing was right, but earth would have to shift to make that pipe dream become a reality.
“Are you going to take it?”
The excitement in her voice made him want to say he was, but he wasn’t there yet.
“There’s a lot to consider.” He didn’t want to get sidetracked with a long conversation about his dilemma right now, so he tried to shift the focus away from him. “How do you know about Silver-Stone Cycles?”
She teasingly wiggled her shoulders. “A girl has got to do something on weekend nights when she’s pretending to live a tawdry life of hookups with hot bikers. I watch Chop Shop and Sons of Anarchy, and—”
He laughed. “I think you just got ten times sexier.”
“All in the name of research. I love tattoos and scruffy beards and leather. Mm, leather. And seeing you on your bike? That’s the best foreplay ever.”
“I’ll remember that,” he said as they sat on the couch. “And I’ll remember not to bring you by the bar when the guys are there.”
“You’re the only biker boy I want. I started watching because I needed to learn the jargon, but the eye candy isn’t bad.” She said eye candy with a taunting tone.
He set their plates on the coffee table and tickled her ribs, making her squeal with laughter. “No more eye candy.”
“You don’t own me,” she said between laughs. “Eye candy, eye candy, eye candy.”
He tickled her again, and she squealed louder.
“Okay, okay, okay,” she panted out. “Only Bear candy.”
His mouth came down over her laughing lips, taking her in a long, sensual kiss that turned those sweet laughs into lusty moans.
Harley climbed up Bear’s leg, and he reluctantly pulled away to scoop her up and kiss her tiny pink nose. “Hey, little CB.”
“You are not calling her that!” Crystal reached for Harley.
He held the kitty farther away. Crystal leaned across his lap trying to get her, and he snaked an arm around her middle and kissed her neck. “Now, that’s more like it.” He kissed a path along her shoulder. “Mm-mm. Sweet as sugar.”
She laughed. “And you’re wicked as a Cajun spice.”
“Baby, you haven’t seen wicked yet.” He waggled his brows, cuddling the kitty. “I’m outnumbered by females. I should have gotten you a tomcat.”
“I have one by the name of Bear.” She bumped him with her shoulder and grabbed her pizza.
“I am not a tomcat anymore.” He didn’t regret his past experiences, but he needed her to know she was the only woman he wanted.
She tucked her feet beneath her. Her skirt inched up her thighs and his gaze followed.
“You’re still a tomcat, even if I’m your only prey. I bet the guys in your big, bad motorcycle club would give you shit about being with only one woman.”
“That’s not how it works, babe.”
“Then how does it work?”
“Depends who you talk to, and it’s not just club guys. They’re regular guys. Some are single; some have girlfriends or families. Guys are different. Some are all about sleeping around, and some are all about ownership, or possessing their women, while others—”