Hooked (Viking Bastards MC #1)(13)
Jett leans back in his chair. “Is that right.”
“Shithead needs to learn some respect.”
Our president shrugs. “Motion to bring Gray in as prospect denied.”
…
Grace
I fuss with my hair until it looks just right, then frown at my reflection in the small mirror above the en suite sink. The pale green dress with the cute matching jacket is something I bought to wear over the Thanksgiving weekend, but if this is my last day with Zach then I want to make sure he remembers me for looking good and not bedraggled the way I was when I walked into Odin’s.
If this is my last day with him? What’s that supposed to mean? Of course it is. First thing in the morning, assuming he can fix my car, I’ll be out of here, never to return.
I dab perfume on my wrists, but the thought won’t shift, even though it’s completely crazy. I should’ve left early this morning, instead of dozing in Zach’s arms, enjoying the feel of his strong arms around me. Then he wouldn’t have had the chance to ask me to stay, and I wouldn’t be standing here agonizing over whether I’ve just made the biggest mistake of my life.
Last night I’d known he was big, bad, and dangerous. But when he crawled across the bed earlier and I saw his back, I nearly died. “Viking Bastards” was tattooed above the image of a Viking head, complete with horned battle helmet and raven. In case that wasn’t enough evidence, when he left the room I saw a replica of the tattoo on the back of his leather vest, except “California” was also emblazoned along the bottom.
He’s not just a tough guy who’s into motorcycles. He’s a member of a club.
A shiver chases over my arms and I’ve no idea whether it’s because I can’t believe I had the best sex of my life with a possible criminal, or whether it’s simply the sheer thrill that a tattooed rebel has given me so many orgasms that I’ve lost count.
If I had any sense I’d leave now, while he’s out. He doesn’t know anything about me—doesn’t even know my last name, which can only be a good thing, since if the press got hold of this story they’d have a field day.
Zach wouldn’t sell the story to the press.
No, he wouldn’t, but the principle’s the same. If our business rivals discovered Mulholland’s squeaky clean daughter hooked up with a member of a biker gang for a dirty weekend, I don’t think Dad would ever forgive me.
It appears my good sense is still MIA because not only do I not care what my dad might think about it, there’s no way I’m leaving when I can spend another night with Zach.
This secret world, where I can do and say whatever I like, is so much more fun than my real one.
My sister isn’t going to believe a word of this when I tell her.
I’m still smirking when I enter the kitchen. It drops off my face pretty fast when a dark-haired girl, wearing tiny denim shorts and a tight-fitting crop top and sitting on the counter, gives me a withering glare.
“Uh, hi.” I offer her what I hope is a friendly smile, since this must be Zach’s younger sister. For some reason I’d imagined her to be a teenager, but she doesn’t look that much younger than me. I hope she didn’t notice me staring at the 3D butterfly tattoo on her collarbone. One wing is raised and there’s a shadow beneath. It’s a work of art, just like Zach’s bald eagle. “You must be Kat.” I hope you’re Kat…
She gives me a deliberate once over, from the top of my head to the new shoes I bought to go with the outfit. The curl of her lip suggests she doesn’t think much of any of it, let alone me.
“Must I?” She flicks her gaze from me as though it’s too much effort to engage, then picks up a half-full bottle of beer and takes a long swallow before deigning to look my way again. “You leaving now?”
Unlike my sister, I’m not into confrontation, which of course explains why I’ve let my parents dictate my life for the last twenty-five years, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to let Kat’s attitude deprive me of a much needed shot of caffeine.
I stroll into the kitchen with more confidence than I actually feel. “No. Zach asked me to stay another night. Is there any coffee?” I can’t see a coffee machine.
She stares at me, the beer bottle an inch from her mouth. “He asked you stay another night?”
She sounds shocked, as though he rarely has women stay over. It shouldn’t make any difference, but a thrill still races through me at the possibility he doesn’t bring every woman he hooks up with back here.
Get a grip, Grace. This is nothing but a one-night stand times two.
“He offered to take a look at my car. It broke down,” I add, since I feel an explanation is necessary, and Kat looks as though I’ve just spouted ancient Greek. “That’s why he suggested I stay over last night.”
Her eyebrows rise in clear disbelief. “My brother doesn’t take in charity cases unless there’s something in it for him.”
“Oh, there was definitely something in it for him.” I smile sweetly, even while I can’t quite believe the words that just fell out of my mouth. At least that thaws some of Kat’s ice, as she gives a little huh of laughter before hopping down from the counter and sauntering over to me.
“Zach told me to be nice to you.” She hooks her thumbs into the pockets of her shorts. “D’you know how often he’s said that to me about girls he sleeps with?”