Reaper's Stand (Reapers Motorcycle Club Book 4)(23)

Pretty sure she shot up in my bathroom, too, now that I thought about it.

That’s when I saw the goddamned minivan in my driveway. Shit. The Ice Princess had said she’d be out by early afternoon, and I wasn’t in the mood to listen to her prissy voice while staring at her off-limits boobs.

“God damn it,” I muttered, slamming my hand down on the steering wheel for emphasis. That sent a wave of pain shooting up from my swollen thumb and I stiffened, groaning.

Could anything go right today?

When I walked into the house I froze, disoriented. I smelled food cooking—good food. Some kind of savory chicken thing filled the air and my stomach growled. What the hell?

“London, you in here?” I called, throwing my shit down on the couch and moving toward the kitchen. No answer . . . but up on the kitchen counter I spotted the biggest Crock-Pot I’d ever seen full of whatever the hell smelled so good. I looked around for her, then moved toward my bedroom. The bathroom door was closed and I heard the shower running.

Still cleaning. I decided I’d forgive her for being so late, seeing as she’d cooked. I went back into the kitchen and pulled the lid off the Crock-Pot, taking a deep whiff.

Holy f*ck, that was amazing.

Thirty seconds later I had a giant bowl of bubbling chicken and dumplings in one hand and a beer in the other, ’cause I don’t believe in f*cking around when it comes to food. I went back to my room and sat back on my bed, leaning against the pillows she’d artfully arranged over the comforter. I hadn’t even known I had that many pillows.

The shower was still running. Interesting. I swapped the beer for a remote and flipped on the set. Then I took a bite and actually moaned, because the food was that f*cking good.

Christ, I’d needed this. I had no idea what’d compelled her to fix me dinner, but the woman was a goddess and I regretted every nasty thing I’d ever thought about her. The shower turned off, and I heard her singing softly to herself. My dick perked up as I took another bite.

Fuck it, because I really didn’t regret any of the nasty shit I’d thought about her . . . at least not the screwing-her parts, which had been the nastiest of all. The only thing better than eating this food would be if she fed it to me naked.

After a minute the bathroom door opened and London stepped out, a towel wrapped loosely around her body. She saw me and screamed, which made her tits jiggle in a way that was nothing less than outstanding.

She’d been taking a shower. In my room. Naked.

I set the bowl down and rose to my feet, stalking toward her. Clearly London operated a full-service business.

Beautiful.





LONDON


Crazy day.

Not one single thing had gone right . . . No, that wasn’t true. The doctor’s trip yesterday had been great. All good with Jess, no signs of complications and no need to come back in for another six months unless she had symptoms. It was easy to lose perspective on how far we’d come over the years, get impatient with her for doing stupid things. The fact of the matter was she’d been born a miracle baby and now she was a miraculously healthy adult.

I needed to remember that.

That morning I’d been scheduled to finish at Hayes’s house, but I’d gotten called to the hospital instead. One of my girls was pregnant and she’d gone into preterm labor at four a.m. It looked like she’d be on bed rest for the duration, which wasn’t exactly good news for me but at least she was doing okay. Fortunately I’d gotten six applications in this week, and I’d already set up interviews with two of them. Hopefully one or both would work out—they both looked good on paper.

That left me in a bind with Hayes. I had to bring food for the potluck at six, and there was no way I’d be able finish up at his place and get back home in time to fix it, let alone make myself presentable, so I’d thrown the chicken into a Crock-Pot and grabbed the ingredients for biscuits to take with me. I figured I could clean, throw together the biscuits, and then take a quick shower before grabbing the pot and running out the door.

Was it appropriate? Not even a little, but beggars can’t be choosers and it’s not like he was paying me. Fortunately he wasn’t even home, so it seemed to be a non-issue. The last of the cleaning went smoothly enough, and showering at his place was a treat. The house might be old, but he’d gone all out in the addition and the bathroom was luxe.

Beyond luxe, actually. It was big, almost as big as one of the little bedrooms upstairs. There was a sunken tub built for two and a large, glassed-in shower stall with one of those fancy adjustable shower heads that go up and down. I’d lowered it for myself, making careful note of where he’d had it set. I’d make sure it was back where it was supposed to be when I finished, but it was still a pleasure to use a shower that was actually the right height for me.