Crash (Brazen Bulls MC #1)(17)

“Hey, darlin’.”

“Hi,” she answered with a smile. “Come on in.” She stepped back, and Rad followed the dog inside.

At the station today, she’d been dressed in jeans and a beater, with a plaid flannel open over it. Now, she looked liked she’d dressed up a little for him—her hair was tousled like she’d done it like that on purpose, and she was wearing one of those little flowered dresses women were wearing these days, with buttons up the front and a fluttery skirt that stopped about halfway down her thighs. Her legs and feet were bare, and her hurt knee was wrapped up in an elastic bandage.

Damn, that leg looked rough. Her arm, too. She was going to carry those bruises for weeks.

That should slow them down some. Not a bad thing. Because those bare legs and that soft, flouncy dress meant easy access to what lay beneath, and his cock had not missed that fact.

“You look good.” The sentence got hoarse at the end, and Rad resisted the urge to clear his throat.

Her answer was a shy, pleased smile as she turned and closed the door.

He watched her key all those f*cking locks on her door. He had to talk to her about that. If the place caught fire, she and the dog were f*cked.

But not yet. He sensed that her security choices were part of a more complicated discussion, one they shouldn’t have while he was standing there with his arms full of fried chicken and mashed potatoes.

She finished and turned back to him, palming her keys. “I thought we’d eat out back, since it’s still pretty warm out. That okay?”

“Sure. Lead the way.”

She put her keys in the box on the sideboard, then led him into a pretty little kitchen, with greyish-blue cupboards under butcher-block countertops and shelves above instead of more cupboards. Her dishes, glasses, and cookware were all arranged for display, but the cookware was obviously used regularly. A row of little clay pots sat on the windowsill over the sink, full of aromatic greenery—herbs, Rad guessed. He’d noticed potted plants in the living room and dining room, too. She seemed to have herself a green thumb.

He set the bucket and sack on the counter. “This is a nice place.”

Another pleased grin. “Thanks. I really like it. It was a great house when I bought it, and I’ve spent most of my free time fixing it up to my taste.”

“Well, you’ve got good taste. It’s comfortable. Not fussy.”

She pulled a couple of white plates down from a plate rack, and as she reached, her little dress hiked up her thighs just enough to show where they began to flare subtly toward her hips. She had nice tone. Rad imagined sliding his hand up the inside of her thigh, finding something velvety and wet, and he clutched the edge of the counter in his fist and rode out the wave of lust that went through him. Shit.

While he mastered his more bestial impulses, Willa collected the plates and pulled a couple of beers out of her fridge, then went to the back door. “This way,” she said and stiff-legged her way down a set of steps into her yard.

Rolling his eyes at himself, Rad adjusted his cock in his jeans, picked up the food, and followed her out.

“Damn,” he said as he hit the threshold.

The yard, in early April, was already a riot of flowers and greenery. Her patio was brick, and she had a little white iron table and chairs as well as a chaise lounge with a bright yellow pad. Cute, but nothing special. Beyond that, however, she’d cultivated a fairy land in every shade of purple. Rad could only imagine what it would look—and smell—like deeper in the summer.

She’d set the table with a couple of placemats, matching napkins, silverware, and a little candle in a jar, its flame flickering.

Jesus. This wasn’t dinner. This was a goddamn date.

“Didn’t have to go to trouble.”

A blush pinked her cheeks. “No trouble. I like to eat out here.”

“I can see why. You do all this?” He set the food on the table and pulled the side containers from the sack.

Her hand on her hips, she surveyed her garden. “The lilacs and rosebushes were here. And that hydrangea by the garage. I cleaned them up a little and planted the rest. I want to lay flagstones over the paths this summer.”

“Ollie don’t tear it up?” The dog was currently lying on the patio near the chaise, giving them a pitiful look. Still scamming for chicken.

“Nope. He’s got a nice grassy patch over there, and he knows he can run the paths, but he leaves the plantings alone. He’s a good boy.” She smiled at her dog and pulled out a chair, sitting with minimal awkwardness as she kept her right leg straight. Once she was seated, she bent it, slowly.

Rad sat, too. “Don’t usually eat so fancy, gotta say.”

She set a chicken breast on her plate and smirked at him. “Fried chicken in the back yard is fancy? Where do you usually eat? A cave?”

“Cloth napkins, china plates—I eat most of my meals standin’ up. Out of a sack.”

She flicked a finger at the sack that had held the sides.

He gave her a grin and a shrug. “Okay. But still fancier than I’m used to.”

They didn’t speak more while they filled their plates. He grabbed himself a couple of pieces of chicken and slopped some potatoes and coleslaw next to them, then twisted the cap off his beer and took a long drink. Before he dug in, he decided to get the ball rolling on what he wanted to talk about.