Dirty Ride (Wind Dragons MC, #3.5)(2)

His dark eyes flash with amusement. “You callin’ me stupid, darlin’?”

I glance at the leather vest covering his chest, then look at my bottle. “I’m not calling you anything.” I pause for effect. “But if the shoe fits, feel free to wear it.”

He laughs, a deep sound that I’m immediately drawn to.

My friend Lacey used to say Valentina, you always attract the worst man in the room.

I joked that it was my superpower. But, really, it was more like my kryptonite.

Glancing over at this man, this rough yet handsome biker, I just know, out of all the men in the bar, that he is the worst one.

And of course he had to hit on me.

Still feeling the blow from the last man I let get close to me, I should want to run from this man. I should.

I don’t, of course—but that doesn’t mean I won’t.

“What’s your name?” he asks, scanning my face. “And why do you look like you’re hiding from something—or someone?”

“Tina,” I tell him, giving him the nickname everyone calls me. “And what’s your name?”

He takes a sip before replying. “Ardan.”

I nod. “That’s an interesting name.”

“Then I’m sure you’ll remember it,” he says simply. “People remember interesting things.”

My brow furrows. “Do they?”

He nods. “Yes, they do. I’m sure no one forgets your beautiful hair.”

I shrug and pull on the sleeves of my hoodie. “I don’t know. I’ve never really thought about it.” I pause. “Or cared whether people remember me or not. Especially if they’re random people, because who gives a f*ck what they think anyway, right?”

Ardan chuckles. “I like that.”

I look over his black T-shirt, leather biker vest with patches on it, and dark jeans. No, he definitely doesn’t look like someone who gives a shit what other people think.

“You going to avoid my other question?” he asks, raising a dark brow.

I nod at the leather vest. “What’s your deal?”

“What?” he asks, smirking.

“The biker thingy,” I say, rolling my eyes. “Are there lots of biker gangs around here?” Maybe I should drive to the next city.

“Clubs, not gangs,” he corrects me.

I shrug. “Sorry, but it’s not like I know much about bikers.”

“I’m a part of a club, yes. The Wind Dragons. And this thingy is called a cut,” he explains, sounding amused, not angry.

I take in his features.

He’s older than I am, definitely. Maybe by five or so years. A strong jaw. Sensual lips I want to suck on. A straight nose. The darkest of eyes. Knowing eyes. And a head of thick, short dark hair. Then there’s the scar.

How did he get it?

My hand lifts without me thinking, to touch his neck. “What happened?”

He clears his throat, and I instantly drop my hand, cringing. “I’m sorry. I don’t know why I did that.”

Apparently I suddenly have no boundaries. I just expect them from everyone else.

“A knife got me,” he says, then in one quick move, he pushes my hood backward, letting my thick hair tumble out and around me.

“Fuck,” he groans. “That’s a lot of f*ckin’ hair.”

I roll my eyes and pull my hood back up. “We’ll call that even, but from now on I think we should keep our hands to ourselves.”

He licks his bottom lip and shakes his head. “No deal.”

My green eyes narrow. “You don’t make the rules here, Ardan.”

Another grin. “Oh, but darlin’, I do.”

I purse my lips and study him.

A knife slashed him across his neck? What’s the story behind that? I have to wonder. How long ago did it happen? Did he almost die? What happened to whoever did it to him? I know this should scare me. I shouldn’t want to talk to this man. He’s obviously not led the easiest life and has been involved in God knows what.

But he’s also being nice, and I feel comfortable around him. Drawn to him. Attracted to him. Like I’ve known him for years. Which is why I really need to leave.

“I need to get home,” I say, but make no move to go.

What is wrong with me?

“Let me take you home, then,” he says, grinning, flashing his straight white teeth.

“Right, let the random stranger in a biker gang take me home,” I scoff, raising my eyebrow. “I think I’ll pass on that.”

“Your loss.” He smirks, studying me with an intensity I don’t like. It’s almost too much, too direct. Like his eyes miss nothing. I’ve never had anyone look at me like that before, and it makes me want to avoid his eyes, but I don’t. No, I look directly into them, and I feel something when I do. What, I’m not sure, but something different, something that’s going to make me wonder.

Sometimes you meet people and they just stick with you. I know that he’s going to be one of those people for me. My throat muscles work as I swallow, my gaze lowering to his lips. I wonder what they taste like, what his kisses would feel like on my skin. When I glance back up into his eyes, they’re heavy-lidded, his nostrils flaring. The tension between us thickens, and I know that I need to leave right now, before I say something stupid like Let’s go back to my motel.