Motorcycle Man (Dream Man #4)(25)

Fajitas on my couch were also after Tack took his kids and I back to Ride where Tabby hung out in the office with me and Rush worked on the red car in the garage with Tack. Tabby was just as talkative, animated, smart, charming and funny with me alone as she was with her brother and father there. This meant I got zero work done and also was unable to return any of Lanie’s texts, all of them getting increasingly demanding that I inform her immediately that I gave notice. I did manage to send off an, I’m busy, got someone in my office text which finally quieted her down but only after she ordered me to text her the minute I gave Tack my resignation letter.

Tabby in my office also made it impossible for me to avoid fajitas. It was impossible because at five to five, Tack stuck his head through the door that led to the garage, his eyes hit me and he stated, “Tab’s with you, babe, Rush and I’ll follow. I’m on my bike. Rush and I’ll go to the store to pick up the shit, you take Tab to rent a movie and we’ll meet at your house.”

The ten thousand words all rushing up my throat got jumbled and clogged on their way to my lips so I only got the chance to open my mouth before he disappeared behind the closed door and Tabby cried, “Awe… some! Let’s rent Saw! That movie kicks ass!”

I didn’t have the heart to tell her I had no interest in renting Saw nor did I have the heart to tell her I wasn’t all fired up to have her Dad make fajitas at my house for his kids and, apparently, me. What I did have was the desire to find her father and then find a way to explain to him that he was a big jerk, I wasn’t playing his games and no matter how he told me to feel, he scared the freaking hell out of me and I wanted no part of it.

Since I couldn’t do the last, I closed down the office, loaded Tabby in my car, we rented Saw, I took her to my house where I immediately opened a chilled bottle of white wine and got her a diet. She wandered my house, declaring it was “the shit” and I changed out of my skirt, blouse and heels into a pair of cutoff jean shorts and a camisole. We were out the backdoor off the kitchen and on the back deck when Tabby heard the growl of her brother’s car and the roar of Tack’s Harley. She popped out of her seat, raced into the house and I heard her greeting her family with loud exuberance at the door, shouting, “Rush! Wait ‘til you see Tyra’s pad. It’s the shit! Her back deck is fah-reeking awesome!”

I closed my eyes and lamented for the fifty-fifth time since I buckled my seatbelt in Rush’s car the decision to show at work after Tack’s slam bam thank you ma’am. Then Rush and Tack showed on the back deck and greetings were exchanged. Rush’s was a, “Hey, Tyra.” Tack’s included his fingers sifting into the back of my hair, a gentle tug that brought my head way back to see he was bent in and then he gave me a lip touch that was sweet and supremely annoying at the same time. The latter because he was a jerk and he had no business kissing me and further because I couldn’t demonstrate this or inform him of this fact with his kids in attendance. Something he very well knew.

Tack went to work in my kitchen like he cooked in my kitchen frequently even though his motorcycle-booted feet never stepped into the damned room in his whole badass life, while the kids alternated between him in the kitchen and me on the back deck. Rush, being a gentleman (where he got this, I did not know as it wasn’t from his father), filled my glass twice, even once topping me up when I didn’t need it.

Therefore I was essentially on glass three of white wine when Tack declared dinner was done, the kids raced into the kitchen and I followed much more slowly. We all received piled plates and headed into the living room. Rush stretched out on the floor, Tabby collapsed in the middle of the couch, I took the end and Tack took an armchair.

And there I sat, eating Tack’s fabulous (really, they were amazing, he was a scary biker but it couldn’t be denied the man could cook) fajitas and watching a movie that scared the absolute crap out of me while sipping wine and wondering how in the hell I was sitting in my very own living room with Tack and his kids eating his fajitas, sipping wine and watching a movie that scared the absolute crap out of me.

I finished my fajitas, put my plate on the end table, grabbed my wine and drained the glass, deciding that was a good excuse to escape to the kitchen. I could tell them I needed a refill then wander to the back deck, sit there, drink wine and plan my escape. They probably wouldn’t even know I was gone or, at the very least, I could manage a head start.

At this point, Tabby was on her back, knees bent, the soles of her feet in the couch, head on the armrest, eyes on the screen so I had a direct shot in front of the couch to the kitchen.

So I took my shot.

“Need a refill,” I muttered, standing. “Anyone need anything?”

“I’m good,” Rush mumbled from the floor.

“I’m okay, Tyra, thanks,” Tabby said distractedly.

Excellent. They both were into the movie. A good start.

I walked across the front of the couch and was passing Tack’s armchair when I was stopped and what stopped me was Tack catching my wrist in a firm grip. I looked to him to see him standing.

Then I heard him announcing, “Tyra and I are off-limits for a while.”

“Cool,” Rush mumbled from the floor.

“’Kay,” Tabby said distractedly.

My head jerked back to look at Tack but his hand slid from my wrist to curl around mine. I found the wineglass not in my hand but on the end table by Tabby’s head. Then I found myself being pulled down my hall to my bedroom. Then I found myself in my bedroom. Then I found the door to my bedroom closed.