Colson (The Henchmen MC 20)

"Hm," Freddie said, turning to make her coffee. "Well, you did just move in."

"I'm not really looking for a man," I said, even as my lady business whimpered in objection at the idea of an even longer dry spell. "With my mom and my son and work and trying to balance daily stuff, I just can't fathom trying to make time for dating."

"Oh, the convenience of him living right next door," Freddie said, brow quirking up. "Look, I get it. The biker thing," she said, reading the situation effortlessly. "It's not like what you are thinking."

"Just extended stays at a paramilitary camp," I shot back.

"Strange situation. Definitely not common."

"How many people have been killed?"

"Since I have been around, none of the men or women or children have been killed. Before that, I don't think any of the women or children ever have, either. I'm just saying, TV makes things sound a lot more dramatic than they actually are. In reality, ninety-nine percent of the time, it's calm. I mean, my man is home for dinner almost every night. I'm not trying to talk you into anything. I'm just saying, keep an open mind if you do think there was some kind of connection there."

"Colson seems like a good man."

"He's the best," Freddie agreed. "He has the best heart, even if he hasn't been willing to give it to a woman in ages. So, yeah, that is the story about how Colson saved a nest of baby robins in seventh grade," Freddie declared, confusing me for a second until I turned to find the man in question moving into the space.

Looking over at Freddie, we shared a smile.

"Really? The bird story?" Colson asked, shaking his head, looking bashful. "My sister thinks I peaked in middle school, I think."

"Don't be silly. You also brought that lost dog home in tenth grade," Freddie ribbed him, giving him a big smile. "Did you get yourself packed up?" she asked, getting a wince from Colson. "Men," she said, looking over at me, shaking her head. "I will handle it," she said, pushing out of the room before her brother could object.

"I'm starting to think the women in my life are trying to force us to be alone together," he told me as I got up, walking over toward the sink, turning on the water, reaching for the sponge.

"Guests don't wash dishes," he objected, reaching to take the sponge, his giant palm covering my hand, sending a jolt of desire through my system.

From his hand brushing mine.

God.

How hard-up could a woman get?

Even as that thought formed, though, other ones chased it away.

Because I realized how closely he had moved in behind me, so close that I could feel his body heat through his—and my—clothes, could sense his height over my shoulder. He was tall enough that if I leaned back against him, I could still rest my head on his chest—something unheard of for a woman who was generally considered tall.

I noticed too—seeing as time seemed to standstill in that moment—the long arm connected to that wide palm of his, the corded muscles of his forearm, the strong biceps they connected to.

I imagined if I pressed my back to his front, I would feel nothing but the hard lines of well-worked muscles. I bet they contracted when you ran a finger over them. I bet they shivered when you glided your tongue between them.

Not that I was going to do that, of course.

No way.

But a woman could fantasize, couldn't she?

Colson's body shifted ever so slightly, the front of him sliding across my ass. My inner wantonness made me want to arch upward, to wiggle against him, to feel his cock harden, press against me, fill me with ideas of how he would feel buried inside me.

His hands took hold of the sponge as his other arm went around my body to grab the cup, steadily washing it out while I stood there trapped in his arms

Okay.

Maybe I leaned back.

But just a little.

Barely enough for him even to feel it, I was sure.

And, yeah, fine, I even took a deep breath, wanting to breathe in that spicy cologne of his.

His strong chest danced across my back as he turned the cup this and that way, rinsing it out, setting it into the drainboard, then reaching to turn off the tap.

"Eva," he said, voice a low rumble. I could feel the vibration of my name through his chest, something that made my belly feel tight.

There was a question, a gentle command in the sound, urging me to turn.

Taking a steadying breath, I did. Colson didn't move back to make the motion easy, my shoulder gliding across his chest, my hip sliding across the lowest part of his waist as I faced him, my body trapped back against the sink as my head lifted, gaze finding his.