T.A. (Biker Bitches 6)

“I think you want us to be more than friends.”

“If you’re waiting for me to be embarrassed to admit I wouldn’t mind being your fuck buddy, then you must be in someone else’s apartment, not mine. But if you just want someone to hang out with and watch television or watch games with, I can do that too.” Raising a finger, she jabbed him in the chest to make her point. “Let me tell you a little secret, hot shot. Sex ain’t all that. You think that if I get a taste of that five-star pecker of yours that is so marvelous, I can’t live without it?” She snorted sarcastically. “Please.” She snorted again. “You really want to know what a woman wants? I’ll fucking tell you!” she snapped, shoving him aside to go to another cabinet to take the cocoa powder out. She brandished it in front of his face. “She wants chocolate, lots and lots of fucking chocolate.”

Dalton raised his hands in the air, backing away from the stove. Turning the milk down to simmer, she stirred in the cocoa, fighting back the tears that were trying to leak from the corner of her eyes. She wanted to sniff, but she was afraid he would hear and know she was about to cry.

“Trudy?”

It took her a couple of tries to force the word from between trembling lips. “What?”

“I’m sorry.”

14

“It’s your turn.” Dalton raised his eyes from the puzzle book he was working on; it was the same one T.A. was working on. They were racing to see who could finish the page he had picked first. She won the last time, and he was trying like hell to redeem himself.

To raise the difficulty level, they took turns asking each other questions to break their concentration.

At stake was not only his pride but a small box of chocolate truffles that was sitting on the coffee table next to the couch he was lying comfortably crossway on while T.A. lay on the same couch turned toward him.

The movement of her feet burrowing under his thigh to find warmth had him shifting to lessen the effect of his cock that was yet another distraction from winning the prize. Thankfully, he was wearing loose black sweat pants she had taken from the same closet that had held the box of puzzle books. She had given them to him when she carried the hot chocolate to the coffee table. As he was about to sit down, she stopped him.

“You can’t drink cocoa wearing those clothes.”

He’d been in charcoal slacks and a black sweater over a blue collared shirt, which might not be comfortable, but it had been warm. Following T.A. to the closet in her living room, he was stunned at the assorted bins of various sizes. Taking them out, she’d pulled the top one off. Looking down, he saw it was filled with puzzle books. She took two off the top and closed the bin before moving to another one. The next one she opened held clothes. Giving him a critical stare, she’d bent down to go through them before triumphantly handing him a pair of black sweatpants, then resuming her search and taking out a black sweatshirt.

“There you go. That’ll be much better. You can change in the bathroom.” Pointing to a door, she closed the bin and started stacking them back in the closet.

Looking at the clothes, he saw they still had the tags on them.

When he didn’t move, she raised a brow at him questioningly.

“Whose clothes are these?”

“They don’t belong to anyone. I shop for Christmas early. Merry Christmas.” Smiling, she carried the puzzle books to the couch. Taking a seat, she started sipping her cocoa, waving him toward the bathroom.

“Chop, chop. Your hot chocolate is going to get cold.”

After he changed and came back to the living room, she had added the truffles, and a pencil was sitting by his cup. When he sat down, she asked if he wanted to play the game he was now losing.

“How come you have so many puzzle books? Why buy so many of the same books?”

Unlike him, she didn’t look up, her pencil moving on the puzzle.

“That’s two questions. You only get one a turn. There’s not much to do in Kentucky when it snows. I get bored watching TV. Is it true you own six houses in different countries?”

“No, I own one in France. Why buy so many of the same books?”

“I collect them. One day, they may be worth a lot of money. What’s the most beautiful place you’ve ever visited?”

“Iguazu Falls, in Brazil. What’s in the other bins in your closet?”

“More clothes, books, and toys. Is it true you own fifty-two cars?”

“No, I don’t own any.” Circling a clock that was hidden in a canopy of trees, he looked at the thermostat. “Why is your apartment so cold? You just turned it up a few minutes ago.”