Claiming the Biker (Royal Bastards MC: Charleston, WV 9)

“All set.”

As predicted, he opens the passenger door for me, and I glance up at my bedroom window. I can’t see him, but I feel the heat of his stare.

My possessive biker.

My Viking.

My Torsten.

We have an hour and a half drive ahead of us which gives me a great opportunity to make conversation without seeming overly nosy once we are on the road.

“How was your week? Any new cases or big breaks?”

“Can’t really discuss my caseload, but it was busy.”

“That’s cool I can’t really talk about what goes on at the hospital, but we get some real doozies sometimes. You’d be surprised how many people come in because they shoved something up their ass they shouldn’t have.”

“Nothing surprises me these days. We get people like that. Probably cross paths with some of the same people. My brother sees some crazy shit at the prison. He’ll tell you some wild stories if you ask.”

“He ever have any prisoners on his block that you put away?”

“Suppose that’s possible. Never really thought about that.”

“You ever have to arrest a good friend?”

“You ask a lot of questions.”

“Just curious.”

“How about you? You ever have a good friend come into the ER?”

“Good friends? No. Acquaintances from my school days. Sure.”

“What made you want to be a nurse?”

“Truthfully, partially for the money and the rest because I like helping people. I’m a bit of a people pleaser.”

“I want to ask you something, but I don’t want to upset you.”

My stomach plummets and liquifies, seeping onto the asphalt we travel on somehow. Is he going to question me about Viking?

“Are you a one-piece kinda girl or a two piece?”

I roll my eyes. “Ugh. Such a pig.” I cringe when I realize I just called a detective a pig. “Sorry. That doesn’t mean what you think. I meant in general as in men are pigs.”

“Just don’t make any wisecracks about donuts.”

“Noted. So I guess I shouldn’t ask you if you prefer jelly or crème filled, huh?”

“I’m a crème man.” He squeezes my thigh and gives me an intense look. One that says he isn’t talking about donuts.

We’re on the freeway and traffic is light giving him an opportunity to make a move and he goes for it. Grabbing my hand, he places it right over his crotch.

Unsure of what to do without offending him, I thread my fingers through his. He’s definitely turned on right now judging by the bulge in his pants but there’s no way I’m giving him a hand job.

The rest of the drive we mostly listen to the radio, and I lower his impression of me with my terrible renditions of the top forty hits currently on the charts.

We arrive at the lake, parking at the boat dock where his brother, his wife, and their kids are waiting for us.

Justice makes a quick introduction of me to his sister-in-law, Kathy before leaving me to help his brother, Thomas with getting the boat down the ramp and into the water.

I excuse myself to the bathroom to put my bathing suit on under my dress. I could have worn it underneath when I got ready at home, but I wasn’t sure how Viking would react to my wearing it. Not that I’d allow a man to tell me what to wear. I wanted to avoid any argument that could arise from it due to jealousy.

I return to the group right on time to board the pontoon.

Lifejackets are handed out and the kids make their way to the upper level on their own. Two teen girls who probably want to scout for cute boys on jet skis. When I remove my dress and reveal my black bikini Justice let’s out a low whistle. “Damn. I gotta get you on the water more often.”

“Guess all the time I’ve been spending at Zumba is paying off finally.” I’m not accustomed to accepting compliments. It’s something I’m trying to work on.

“I love Zumba,” Kathy tells me. “After the kids my ass was huge. And Thomas likes me to keep to a certain figure.” She touches my arm and smiles with a laugh, but there’s this look in her eyes that tells a different story and I wonder if her husband is a dickhead about her weight.

Judging by the hard, disgusted look on his face as he assesses her in her one piece with a fitted skirt, he’s an asshole about it for sure.

“Do you want kids?”

“Not anytime soon,” I confess. “I’m just getting started in my career, and I’m not nearly settled down enough for that.”

“Uh oh, J. You got a wild one on your hands. Better be careful trying to reel her in,” she jokes.

“I’ve got it on lock.” He grins and I shake my head.

“I wouldn’t go that far,” I tease him.

“Oh, is that so?” he stalks toward me in his dark navy board shorts that fit him snuggly revealing that he’s got some impressive junk down there. He comes in for a kiss that I have no choice but to accept or shoot him down in front of his brother and embarrass him.

His tongue presses at the seam of my lips and heat shoots up my spine at the intimate contact. I close my eyes and tell myself that I’m playing a role. No different than if I were acting in a play, like I did in middle school. Only there’s no stage and these roles are real.

Justice isn’t playing pretend. Not by a long shot.