Mystery Man (Dream Man #1)(98)

I didn’t open my eyes once and with the wind whipping around me and a body that had gone totally numb in an effort to keep the pain at bay, it took awhile for me to realize I was crying.

Suddenly he pulled over and Dog’s hands gently pried mine from his belly.

His torso twisted, my head came up and my eyes finally opened.

“Babe, switch bikes,” he ordered.

“What?”

He jerked his chin, I turned my head and I saw Tack beside us, his head turned our way and even in the dark I knew his eyes were on me.

Shit.

I wanted to stay on Dog’s bike but I didn’t want the drama. No, I couldn’t handle the drama. I’d had enough drama for one day, thank you so very much. In fact, I’d had enough drama in the last week to last me a freaking lifetime.

So I swung off, moved between bikes, hitched my purse more firmly on my shoulder and swung on Tack’s.

The minute my arms closed around his middle and my cheek hit his shoulder blade, we shot off.

Chapter Twenty-Six

Not Worth the Risk

I felt weight hit the bed, my eyes opened and slid up.

Tack was sitting there, wearing a skintight tee and faded jeans. His hair was wet from a shower. His blue eyes were on me.

I was lying in his bed, not at the Chaos Compound, in a rather nice house in the foothills outside Denver. It was built just up the mountain. It was one story, long and had a deck that ran the front of the house. I knew it would have great views in the daylight but I didn’t take much in when we got there mainly because I was numb, exhausted and desperately fighting back hysterical tears, a tantrum and the desire to commit murder.

Tack led me to his bedroom, dumped my purse on his nightstand and ordered, “Sleep, darlin’.”

Then he left.

I took off my boots, socks, jeans and since I conveniently was wearing my nightshirt, I climbed into his unmade bed and did exactly as I was told.

Now it was now and I was curled into a protective ball, my hands in prayer position under my cheek.

Tack spoke. “Mornin’, peaches, you want breakfast?”

“Do you cook or do you have a biker babe that makes breakfast to order?” I replied and there it was. Automatic. The smartass.

Would I ever learn?

Tack grinned. “I cook. Best pancakes you’ll ever have, you get your ass outta bed,” he answered.

For the first time in my life, I wasn’t hungry.

No, that wasn’t true. After I found my husband in bed with my sister and kicked his ass out, I didn’t eat for three days. I didn’t realize it, Troy did and he made me eat. But that was the last time I lost my appetite.

“Sounds good,” I lied but didn’t move.

When I didn’t Tack reached out, curled his fingers around my forearm and gently pulled my hand from under my face. Then he lifted my arm and his eyes dropped to my wrist. His hand slid up carefully so he could wrap his fingers around my palm and I watched as he lifted my arm further up… up… until he bent his neck and his lips touched the bruised and torn skin at my wrist.

My breath seized.

Hawk should have done that but Hawk was so busy brooding about Brett, or more likely trying to figure out how to end things with me since he conquered the challenge and was ready to move on, that last night he completely forgot I was kidnapped, bound, gagged and targeted as bait.

Tack’s head lifted, his body leaned in and he pressed my hand to his chest.

“My girl had a bad day yesterday,” he said quietly.

Hawk should have said that too.

“There’s bad and there’s bad and I’m discovering the many nuances but, yes… yesterday introduced me to a new level of bad.”

“Then you need pancakes.”

Finally, a man who understood the healing properties of food.

“Pancakes would be good,” I replied.

His hand squeezed mine. “Ass outta bed, babe, I’ll be in the kitchen.”

Then he lifted my hand, touched his lips to my knuckles, released it, got up off the bed and sauntered out of the room.

I took my time, got out of bed, dug through my bag, found my toothbrush and face wash, went into the bathroom off his bedroom and did my business. Then I didn’t bother dressing, my nightshirt covered me more than most dresses I owned. I walked out of the room and since the house was built into the hill and all the rooms were to one side the hallway was filled with windows and I saw the view.

The good news was there was a sheer drop off beyond the deck therefore difficult to execute a successful drive-by. The other good news was the view was unbelievable. And for the first time in over a week, there was no bad news.

I walked down the hall looking into rooms to my left. A bath and two other bedrooms, one that had a bed and dresser, one that was a messy office. Then I entered the open space. An open kitchen with bar delineating it from internal walkway opposite sliding glass doors to the deck and the kitchen fed into a massive living room that jutted out a bit at the front of the house.

Tack was in the kitchen at the stove.

I moved to stand by him, not too close, and once there I leaned against the counter. I looked down and there were six, perfect, silver dollar pancakes cooking on a griddle.

His head turned to me.

“Looks like you’re good at that,” I remarked.

He didn’t respond to my remark. Instead he asked, “Do you need coffee?”