Making Her His (Beating the Biker 1)

“What’re you drinking?”

“White wine, please.”

Please. She actually said, ‘please.’ The incongruity of that and the white wine now confirmed Saks’ initial impression. This was not the typical female denizen of bars everywhere.

“Oh, so you can be polite,” he murmured.

“Excuse me?” she retorted, glancing around again.

“Sorry,” said Saks, in a slightly mocking tone. “Didn’t mean to tick you off.”

She lifted her chin haughtily. “I’m not perturbed in the slightest. But I can see it was a mistake to come here.” She fished through her purse and cursed under her breath. “Where’s my cash? I’m gonna kill Gloria.”

“John takes credit cards, too,” Saks said snarkily. The sharp tone of his own voice surprised him, and he took a sip of his beer to cover his discomfort. Why was this woman getting under his skin?

She scoffed. “Like I’d run my credit cards in this scummy bar.”

“Really? You’re the one here, sitting at the bar, asking for a drink. Or do you assume men simply buy you drinks so you don’t have to pay?” He grinned cockily. “We have those kinds of girls here, too, you know. You’re no different.”

She blinked in surprise. “That’s not what I meant. I didn’t expect...” she trailed off and tilted her head slightly. Saks tried not to follow the waves of her hair as it fell. “Do you own this place?”

“No. The bartender’s brother does. I hang out here.”

“Well, that’s obvious.”

“Is it?” Man, this woman was impossible.

John brought her the glass of white wine, and the woman reluctantly pulled a card from her purse.

“Don’t bother,” said Saks. “Wouldn’t want to put your plastic at risk. John, put it on my tab.”

John arched his eyebrows with a glance toward the blonde. “You look familiar,” he said. “Do I know you?”

“I don’t think so,” said the woman. “I’ve never been here.”

“She’s a newcomer,” offered Saks with a grin, “and she doesn’t think much of the Red Bull.”

“Maybe you can change her mind, Saks.” Another patron called John, and with a nod to Saks he hustled toward his next customer.

“Saks?” the blonde said. “What kind of name is that?”

“It’s a club name.”

“A club name?” she said incredulously.

“Yeah, Hades’ Spawn.”

“Motorcycle club? Really?” She glanced over at him, her eyebrows raised as if she didn't believe him. “And how’d you come by that name?”

Saks couldn’t resist a smile. “Because I dress so well.”

The woman’s eyes traveled from his black motorcycle boots to his skintight dark jeans, then to a thick chain from a belt loop tucked into his front pocket. Finally, those dark orbs lighted on his thin black t-shirt, and she laughed. Any other time he might get offended. But her laugh was different. It was a clear, high sound that reminded Saks of the tinkling of a spring in the woods, and instantly she enchanted him. “Yeah, I can see that," she said wryly.

“This,” he said, spreading his hands, “is not my usual attire.”

“Yeah, I’m sure you dress in Armani suits.”

“Well, if I did, my name would be Armani, not Saks.” He knew she was wearing a high-end retail dress but didn’t mention it.