Reaper's Stand(14)

No. I hadn’t.

Amber had been the romantic, always chasing her dreams, right up to the point where she fell down a rabbit hole and never found her way out. I’d been trailing after her ever since, doing damage control.

Maybe it was time for me to chase some of my own dreams. Starting with Nate.

I deserved a little happiness.

Why the hell am I here?

I stood on Reese Hayes’s porch later that afternoon, questioning my sanity. Jessica would just get herself in trouble again—I hadn’t solved anything, just delayed the inevitable. The relaxed glow I’d carried from my lunch with Nate had evaporated the minute I pulled up to the house, replaced with a sort of horrible anxiety and excitement about seeing Hayes again all mixed together in my stomach.

Of course that could’ve just been the fries I’d eaten for lunch.

Yeah. Right.

The big biker met me at the door with a lazy smile guaranteed to melt the panties right off a girl. Faded jeans hung low on his hips and an old T-shirt did far too little to hide the bulk of his muscles. Those ice blue eyes of his missed nothing, sweeping down my figure to take in the baggy shirt and hole-filled jeans I’d deliberately chosen to wear this afternoon. Possibly the least sexy outfit in human history and that was no coincidence.

There would be no repeats of the weekend’s unfortunate events in the hallway.

Reese’s mouth quirked and his face held none of the intimidating coldness of the last time I’d seen him. Nope, today he was pretending to be a seminormal human being, but only partially succeeding. I knew what was under the surface—a hard man who wouldn’t hesitate to do whatever he needed to do to get his way. Unfortunately, my lady parts stopped listening to my brain right after the “hard man” part, because they were less focused on the work ahead and more focused on remembering how his mouth had felt on mine.

“Glad you could fit me into your schedule,” he said slyly as I stepped inside. I bit my tongue. Literally. I couldn’t afford to make him mad for any number of reasons, not least of which was the fact that the MC was my best-paying client. If I got the strip club contract, they’d be the biggest, too. All cash. I might not be suffering for work—but there’s work and there’s work. The club wasn’t afraid to pay well in exchange for good service, and they didn’t cheap out when it came to getting what they wanted. Expanding to take on their account would be worth the hassle.

But business aside, I was also pretty sure that if Reese got angry enough, bad things might start happening. Stabby, shooty things. I based this on the impressive display of collectible knives and guns hanging over the mantel in the living room.

“Nice weapons,” I muttered, eyes wide. He laughed.

“Most of those were my dad’s,” he said. “Although I’ve picked up a few along the way myself, too.”

Lovely.

I turned to face him, offering my most businesslike smile.

“Can you show me around the house?” I asked. “I’d like to get a feel for the place, see how much work I have ahead of me. I have five hours before I need to pick up Jess.”

“She doing okay?”

Hmm … How to answer that? I met his gaze, wishing his eyes weren’t so bright and blue. It wasn’t fair for a man to have muscles like that and such gorgeous eyes. And those lips, all framed in just a scruff of beard …

“She’s angry at me and angry at the world,” I said finally. “And I said something stupid to hurt her feelings, which didn’t help things. Hard to know what direction we’re going.”

“You wanna talk about it?”

That startled me. I coughed, looking away. Why on earth would he offer to talk to me about Jessica? Second man to ask today, I realized, thinking back to Nate at lunch. Great. I was surrounded by sexy men and all they wanted to do was discuss my shitty parenting techniques.

“No. Let’s just get this done, okay?”

He raised a brow, holding up his hands in amused surrender.

“Works for me,” he said. “C’mon.”

We started by going up the narrow stairs to the second floor, which had three bedrooms and a bathroom. The place was old, a farmhouse built at least a hundred years ago, and wasn’t anything fancy—just comfortable and homey. Colorful rag rugs covered wooden floors, and two of the bedrooms obviously belonged to his daughters. The third held a guest bed.

I figured it said something positive about him that he hadn’t boxed up their things or redecorated when they moved out.

Guess nobody is all bad.

The homey vibe continued downstairs, despite the display of weaponry in the living room. The dining room held a china cabinet full of things that must’ve been Heather’s. Pictures covered the walls and there were even some plants, although they weren’t looking particularly healthy at the moment.

I wondered if his daughter had been the one to take care of them?

The plants weren’t the only things suffering from neglect. Dust had settled on most of the surfaces, water spots covered the faucets, and the kitchen garbage seemed to be full of paper plates and old carryout containers. A few unwashed glasses sat in the sink … no other evidence that any cooking had taken place in the past month.

“I take it you eat out a lot?”

“Busy life. Bedroom is back here.”

The bedroom.