Motorcycle Man (Dream Man #4)(101)

He lifted his head and said quietly, “Hurry back to me, baby.”

And usually him saying something like that quietly or even not quietly and just plain bossy would make me hurry back to him.

This time, I just nodded and that was a lie too.

He rolled off but did it with his hand sliding to my jaw, taking my hair with it and then I was free.

I rolled the other way and since I’d packed most of my stuff the night before, I went to my bag and dragged it into the bathroom. I did my thing, found a pair of loose-fitting, soft, elastic waist pajama shorts with a cute little frilly edge on the hem and tugged them on. They didn’t exactly go with my tee but, whatever. An outfit that matched was not, at that time (like it normally was), a priority.

I washed my face, brushed, flossed then packed my things back in the bag, ready for anything.

Then I walked out and I wanted to avoid looking at the bed but I couldn’t. Even undone by the events of the day before and uncertain of my future with my man, such was the power of his charisma, I couldn’t help but look.

Sheet to the waist, chest, tats, six-pack on display, up on an elbow with his head in his hand, probing sapphire blue eyes on me… all man, all beautiful, all hot.

Damn.

I moved quickly to the kitchen, started coffee then went to Tabby’s room. The door was closed, though not latched seeing as it was broken. I hoped Tack was as good with a screwdriver as he was with whatever tools they used in a garage (okay, so I wasn’t f**king up at work so much, still, I had no clue what they did – FYI, you could order parts without knowing how they were installed). Slowly, I pushed her door open and on quiet feet I walked to the bed.

Tack was right, Tabby was out. I was also right, she was sleeping on her right side so her left was visible in the morning light and she had a shiner. It wasn’t angry but it was swollen and it wasn’t a good look.

A seriously unfun lesson to learn at sixteen that guys could be dicks and some of them supreme ass**les.

I pulled in a silent breath and leaned over her, cautiously shifting her long, thick hair away from her temple, cheek and neck. Then, it wasn’t my place, we had been building it (until last night) but it wasn’t where we were, still, I leaned down and kissed her soft hair at the side of her head.

Then I straightened, turned to the door and stopped dead.

Tack was leaning in it, arms crossed on his chest, leg crossed at the ankle, no shirt, no shoes, messy hair, faded jeans.

I swallowed.

“Couldn’t help yourself,” he whispered.

“No,” I whispered back.

He made no reply except for his lips twitching and his warm, beautiful eyes getting warmer and more beautiful.

Since I couldn’t stay in Tabby’s room forever, I walked toward him then went sideways to squeeze by him.

This effort failed when Tack’s fingers curled around my upper arm and he halted me right after I made it into the hall.

I watched as he leaned in and pulled Tabby’s door to. Then he came to me, rounding and shifting me so he was in front of me and I had my back to the back hall. His arms slid around me and he started walking forward thus I had no choice but to walk backward.

This seemed a theme in our relationship, Kane “Tack” Allen backing me into something.

I lifted my hands to place them on his chest and said quietly, “I’m going to get a cup of coffee.”

“Later,” he muttered, still moving.

Not a good choice of word.

I went silent.

Tack switched directions at his door, backed me in, stopped us to close the door with his foot, it latched then he started moving us again. Another switch in directions and I was down on his bed with Tack on top of me and my hands on his chest captive between us.

I stared in his eyes as they moved over my face and I steeled myself against how nice it felt when his hand framed one side and his thumb came out to sweep across the apple of my cheek.

“Quiet again this mornin’,” he muttered after he studied me for a while.

“Mm hmm,” I agreed but shared no further.

His eyes caught mine.

“She’s sleepin’,” he told me something I knew. “This mornin’, she and me’ll talk. I’ll see where her head is at, why she keeps doin’ f*cked up shit and then we’ll see if we can get her over this crap.”

“That’d be good,” I replied.

“Right now, I wanna know where your head is at.”

“My head is thinking of coffee,” I lied.

“Bullshit,” he called me on it, speaking gently.

I pulled in breath.

“Talk to me, babe,” Tack urged.

“You back me up a lot,” I observed and his brows drew together.

“Say again?”

“You back me up a lot.”

His head tilted slightly to the side but he didn’t reply.

I gave examples, “In my office, last night in this room, just now down the hall and, um… also in this room.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“So?”

I fell silent.

Tack rode my silence for half a minute then he ended it.

“Red, I know you don’t want me to bring her up at all, ‘specially not in this bed, but BeeBee’s –”

At his words I decided it was time.