Diesel (Savage Brothers MC-Tennessee 2)

“Are you lost in the moment now, Cupcake?”

“What? Of course not, why do you ask?”

“Your nipples are poking against your T-shirt.”

“They are not!” she dismisses, looking down. I watch as her face blushes a deep red. She looks back to me and her eyes narrow. “Doughnut World coffee does that to me.”

I find myself laughing. I didn’t expect it, but fuck if I can stop it.

“Remind me to buy stock in the fucking place, Gorgeous.”

“Is that what you are?” she asks thoughtfully.

“What I am?”

“What you do? Are you a stockbroker?”

I frown, leaning down on the bar to study her closely.

“Do I look like a fucking stockbroker?”

“Well, no. I don’t guess. Then again, I can’t say as I’ve met any.”

“Not a stockbroker, Rory.”

“What are you?”

“I’m me,” I shrug, not liking where the conversation turned.

“That doesn’t really give me an answer,” she huffs.

“Only answer you’re going to get.”

“You think I should just let you in my bed not knowing who you are?”

“You weren’t complaining when I got you off,” I smirk.

“Technically, Noah, I got myself off. You were just along for the show.”

“It was a damn good show,” I admit. “Then again, it was my name you gave me when you went over the edge.”

“Maybe we shouldn’t talk about this,” she mutters into her coffee. Her face tinges a soft shade of red.

“We could talk about you going to your bedroom and letting me have those tits in my mouth,” I tell her, forgetting I was going to walk away.

“Do those lines really work for you?”

“Wasn’t a line. It’s just what I want. You have a problem with my mouth, I could definitely go with my dick instead.”

“You are a dick,” she mutters, and for some reason it makes me grin.

“Good thing you like dick then, isn’t it?”

“I’ve just sworn off of it,” she responds.

“I think I got proof last night that you haven’t.”

“Just happened today when you showed up at my door and began acting like an asshole. I’ve had enough assholes in my life. I’m not in a big hurry to add another to the mix.”

“For today, I’m going to let you get away with that,” I murmur, studying her face. “But soon you and I are going to stop this dance, Gorgeous.”

“Eat a doughnut, Noah. You’re delusional from hunger,” she says pushing the doughnuts toward me.

I take one and look at her while I eat. She steers the conversation about the weather and I let her—partly because she looks sexy fresh out of bed, partly because I’m confused as hell myself. Mostly it’s because I’m busy counting the freckles scattered across her nose….19DieselI haven’t talked to Rory in a week. It’s best that way. I’m spending entirely too much time thinking about her. I’ve seen her once or twice and she’s waved. She’s doing her best to avoid me and I’m thinking that’s best.

What pisses me off is that the more she tries to avoid me, the more I think about her. It doesn’t make a damn bit of sense. You’d think I’d have learned my lesson when it comes to women, but there’s this pull with Rory that is driving me crazy. It doesn’t mean I haven’t been fighting it like hell. I have, but I have a fucking bad feeling that this is one battle I’m not going to win.

I know staying here today with Rory so close is torture. It’s close to the time to pick up my boy, so I’m going to leave early and go into town and buy a damn prepaid phone. I’ve got an old contact in Florida that might help me find out who in the fuck is behind these attempts on Ryan. There’s no way that Vicki is smart enough to do this on her own.

Until now, I’ve tried to keep it contained in my own club. But, I left my club and that means I left those resources behind too. That leaves me calling in a marker. It’s fucked up that I can trust an outsider more than I can my own club, but it doesn’t change the truth. Marcum Kincaid has a club down in Florida and he’s one stone cold motherfucker. If anyone can help me, it’d be him. If I’m going to burn a marker, it’s a good one to use.

I walk outside to see someone lurking outside of Rory’s house, trying to look through a window. My blood runs cold and I’m fighting being fucking pissed off.

“Can I help you?”

“I don’t know you, so I don’t see how,” the man says turning to face me. He’s tall, maybe an inch or two shorter than me, but still tall. He’s bulky, carrying more weight than me and from the looks of his arms, it’s due to weights and steroids. He probably thinks he’s impressive, but one fucking kick to the balls and those muscles he’s been shooting up for won’t mean shit.