Read Online Betting It All: A Hellfire Riders MC Romance (The Motorcycle Clubs Book 11) by Kati Wilde - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Kati Wilde
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Pavement gives way to rough gravel. The sun’s setting, and rounding the hairpin turns in the growing darkness demands my full attention. No more Jack.
Not until I’m heading back.
As I roll into Pine Valley, my chest is tight and my gut knotted, but the tension isn’t an ache now. I don’t know what it is. My emotions won’t settle. The stupidest crap runs through my head—like wishing that I hadn’t taken the ride, that I’d gone home and picked up the laundry scattered around every room. Like regretting that I hadn’t made my bed or taken care of the dirty dishes piled in the sink. I’m not a slob, but I’m messy, and Jack’s a hardass about keeping the clubhouse’s garage uncluttered. His auto shop is an OCD dream. Everything’s in order and has a specific place. I haven’t been to his apartment but I’ve heard it’s exactly the same. My house will probably flip his clean freak switch.
But that’s what I want. That’s what I want, damn it. He thinks he’s got everything under control. I just want to tear that control apart, to rattle him. If anything, I should have ridden home early so I could throw more shit on the floor.
It’s full dark as I turn onto my street. Automatically my gaze runs down the block to my driveway, where my headlight beam catches the gleam of polished chrome.
A heavy thump beats through my chest. My fingers tighten on the handlebar grips.
He’s here. Straddling his bike with his boots planted on the concrete, all in shadow except for the faint glow from the streetlight and the sweep of my high beam. I’m not late. It’s only just nine. He must have been waiting a while, though—at least a quarter hour. The security lights above the garage door would have turned on when he rolled into the driveway, and since he’s waiting in the dark, that means the fifteen-minute timer has already shut off again. But he’s sitting easy, like the waiting is nothing. Like he’d wait a lot longer for me to come.
For a second my throat is an aching lump. God, I wish he hadn’t done it this way. I wish he hadn’t used a bet. Because just seeing him, knowing what’s going to happen, my body feels like it’s being dragged toward his, taut with awareness. The leather of my kutte lies heavy against my breasts, the soft cotton of my shirt rough against my hardening nipples. Suddenly this entire ride with the bike rumbling between my legs just seems like a precursor to having Jack between them.
If he’d just asked , we could have set my bed on fire. Instead it’s going to be a fight—one that I’m going to win.
And it’s time to go all in.
I hit the remote for my garage door and the security lights pop on. From the outside, my split-level looks like a smaller version of the Brady Bunch’s house but it’s been completely updated inside. Despite having put a ton of work into the interior, the previous owners wanted to unload the property as fast as possible after the bottom fell out of the market, so I got lucky and snapped it up a few months after I returned from Afghanistan.
As I pull in, Jack rises from his bike and slings a pair of saddlebags over his shoulder. Not a change of clothes. Though he’s won a full night with me and his auto shop opens early, his apartment is right above his garage. He doesn’t need to bring anything for tomorrow.
Judging by the bulge in one of the leather packs, though, he’s definitely brought something. Maybe a whole damn gallon of lube.
I pause in the driveway, my engine idling, partially blinded by the brightness of the security lights. “Want to push her into the garage?”
If Croc’s gunning for him, leaving his bike outside overnight would be like painting a target on my place. Jack’s already painted that target on his own chest. I don’t like it but he’s probably got some kind of plan working. Best not to have it turned sideways by this bet.
“I’ll roll her in.” His deep reply is barely audible over the noise of my
Not until I’m heading back.
As I roll into Pine Valley, my chest is tight and my gut knotted, but the tension isn’t an ache now. I don’t know what it is. My emotions won’t settle. The stupidest crap runs through my head—like wishing that I hadn’t taken the ride, that I’d gone home and picked up the laundry scattered around every room. Like regretting that I hadn’t made my bed or taken care of the dirty dishes piled in the sink. I’m not a slob, but I’m messy, and Jack’s a hardass about keeping the clubhouse’s garage uncluttered. His auto shop is an OCD dream. Everything’s in order and has a specific place. I haven’t been to his apartment but I’ve heard it’s exactly the same. My house will probably flip his clean freak switch.
But that’s what I want. That’s what I want, damn it. He thinks he’s got everything under control. I just want to tear that control apart, to rattle him. If anything, I should have ridden home early so I could throw more shit on the floor.
It’s full dark as I turn onto my street. Automatically my gaze runs down the block to my driveway, where my headlight beam catches the gleam of polished chrome.
A heavy thump beats through my chest. My fingers tighten on the handlebar grips.
He’s here. Straddling his bike with his boots planted on the concrete, all in shadow except for the faint glow from the streetlight and the sweep of my high beam. I’m not late. It’s only just nine. He must have been waiting a while, though—at least a quarter hour. The security lights above the garage door would have turned on when he rolled into the driveway, and since he’s waiting in the dark, that means the fifteen-minute timer has already shut off again. But he’s sitting easy, like the waiting is nothing. Like he’d wait a lot longer for me to come.
For a second my throat is an aching lump. God, I wish he hadn’t done it this way. I wish he hadn’t used a bet. Because just seeing him, knowing what’s going to happen, my body feels like it’s being dragged toward his, taut with awareness. The leather of my kutte lies heavy against my breasts, the soft cotton of my shirt rough against my hardening nipples. Suddenly this entire ride with the bike rumbling between my legs just seems like a precursor to having Jack between them.
If he’d just asked , we could have set my bed on fire. Instead it’s going to be a fight—one that I’m going to win.
And it’s time to go all in.
I hit the remote for my garage door and the security lights pop on. From the outside, my split-level looks like a smaller version of the Brady Bunch’s house but it’s been completely updated inside. Despite having put a ton of work into the interior, the previous owners wanted to unload the property as fast as possible after the bottom fell out of the market, so I got lucky and snapped it up a few months after I returned from Afghanistan.
As I pull in, Jack rises from his bike and slings a pair of saddlebags over his shoulder. Not a change of clothes. Though he’s won a full night with me and his auto shop opens early, his apartment is right above his garage. He doesn’t need to bring anything for tomorrow.
Judging by the bulge in one of the leather packs, though, he’s definitely brought something. Maybe a whole damn gallon of lube.
I pause in the driveway, my engine idling, partially blinded by the brightness of the security lights. “Want to push her into the garage?”
If Croc’s gunning for him, leaving his bike outside overnight would be like painting a target on my place. Jack’s already painted that target on his own chest. I don’t like it but he’s probably got some kind of plan working. Best not to have it turned sideways by this bet.
“I’ll roll her in.” His deep reply is barely audible over the noise of my
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