Devil (Savage MC--Tennessee 1)

“Give me something,” he says as I start to turn away.

“I’m not kissing you,” I tell him, because I know if I do there will be no coming back from it.

“I could make you like it,” he says. I see a ghost of a smile on his face. His lips are mostly hidden by his well-groomed beard, but when he smiles his forehead crinkles.

“That’s what I’m afraid of,” I tell him with complete honesty.

“Then give me your name.”

I start to lie to him. It would be safer to lie, but for some reason I find I don’t want to.

“Torrent,” I tell him, and start backing away, unable to turn away from him.

“Torrent…” he repeats and he says my name like it’s candy on the tip of his tongue and he’s savoring it, enjoying the flavor so much he’s memorizing it.

Damn.

“What’s your name?” I ask him, and when I do I fully expect him not to tell me. I know that a road name is special and most men only go by it.

“Logan,” he answers, surprising me.

“Logan,” I whisper, nodding my head in a yes motion, because the name fits him. It’s strong, rough and yet smooth. I like it and I like that he has it. It would have made it so much easier if his real name had been George or Martin—heck, Herman would have been great. “Goodbye, Logan,” I whisper, the act of saying goodbye somewhat painful.

“I’ll be seeing you again, Torrent.”

“I don’t think that’s wise,” I tell him, shaking my head negatively.

“Probably not, but it’s going to happen,” he warns.

“Then maybe we both better start praying, Logan,” I warn him and that makes him smile again.

Too bad I’m not kidding.Devil“You’re looking good today, Angel.”

“Give it up, will you?” She laughs, but she keeps walking toward me. “You really like stalking me, don’t you, Logan?”

“I really like it when you use my name,” I answer her instead. It’s useless to deny anything. We both know I’m stalking her. Hell, if I could get away with it, I’d throw her over my shoulder and drag her back to my… I really need a place of my own. I don’t want to spend all my time with Torrent at the club. If I convince her to give us a shot, I need to work her slowly into my life. I don’t want to make her afraid.

“You’re such a dweeb. What could you possibly get out of talking with me? There’s no future in it and I doubt you’re looking for much more than an easy lay. In case you were wondering, Logan, I’m not easy.”

“I never thought you were,” I laugh, scratching the side of my face as I add another note in the mountain of them my brain has made when it comes to Torrent. “You sure as hell don’t talk like any nun I’ve ever been around,” I mutter.

“Have you been around many nuns?” she asks with a smile.

“Well, no, but you aren’t what I imagined. You don’t even dress like one,” I tell her and my eyes rake up and down her body. She’s wearing pants. They’re wide in the legs and don’t cling to her, but you see her hips and her shirt does hug her large breasts. Fuck, she’s beautiful.

“I’ve not taken all of my vows yet,” she says, avoiding my eyes.

“So you’re saying I still have a shot,” I press, and the freedom I feel inside at her announcement is indescribable.

Shock moves over her face, I see it clearly, and her eyes widen with surprise.

“A shot? Are you for real, Logan? Or are you wanting to see if you can get in the nun’s pants? Do you have a bet with your buddies or something?”

“I’ve been called a bastard before, sweetheart, but never because I’ve bet on a woman. That’s not my style. I like women but I always—always—respect them.”

“Always?” she asks, clearly not believing me.

“Unless they do something to lose it.” I shrug.

She stares at me intently for a few minutes and neither one of us talks. I don’t know what she sees, but she seems to instantly relax.

“Why should I give you a shot, Logan?” she asks when she sits down beside me.

I try to concentrate on her words, but when she gets close, I have to fight the urge to take her into my arms. Doing that will fuck up everything.

“Because you want to,” I respond with a smirk.

She shakes her head and I get the feeling my answer disappointed her.

“You’re just like every other man I’ve met.”

“What does that mean?” I ask, but I ask because I want her to talk more about herself.

“My family, the men are always cocky—so sure that they are the answer to every problem a girl could have.”

“That’s a bad thing?”

“It’s no longer 1950, Logan. Women can find the answers to their own problems,” she murmurs. “Maybe all they need from a man is support.”