“Gonna stay barefoot?” he asked after his last swallow of coffee. The caffeine was starting to kick in, thank fuck.
She shrugged. “Why not? The paint is water-based so it’ll wash off. I paint my own nails so if my home mani-pedi gets messed up, I’m not going to worry about it.”
Problem was, Shade might keep getting distracted by her sexy toes and the slender ankles that were exposed at the bottom of those snug leggings.
And the curve of her calves.
The swell of her hips.
Fuck.
Everything about her might distract him.
If he got distracted, he’d have to make sure he concentrated extra hard on the answers to any questions she asked. Otherwise, he was keeping his fucking mouth shut. It was the easiest way to avoid confusing himself and others with a wrong choice of words.
“Well, are you ready to get started? I figured we can get a good two hours of prep work in before breaking for lunch.”
Damn, she was going to be a slave driver. While his brain wasn’t sure if he should be thrilled with that prospect, his dick had other ideas.
“You better pull your hair up,” she warned. When she reached out to touch it, his heart tumbled heavily.
He never let anyone touch it. He even trimmed it himself when it got too long.
He forced himself to remain still and closed his eyes as she stroked the ends that laid against his chest. It was the gentlest touch, simply like petting Justice or Jury, and was gone within a split second.
He forced himself to breathe and opened his eyes. She was staring at him strangely, her expression a mix of confusion and embarrassment.
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have...”
He shook his head. “Ain’t a thing.” Which was a goddamn lie since his chest had tightened painfully under her touch and his heart had tried to escape.
Trying to hide the tremor in his fingers, he dug into his front pocket and pulled out an elastic band, collecting the length of his hair and wrapping it into a tight knot at the back of his head. It would keep it from catching in the paint and making a complete mess.
He wanted to make sure he didn’t go back to the farm with paint on him. That would raise questions.
This morning he’d dug out his oldest pair of jeans and a T-shirt that should’ve been thrown in a rag pile a couple of years ago. He figured he’d find a place after leaving Chelle’s house to change into the clean jeans and tee he had tucked in one of his saddlebags, and keep the clothes he used for this job hidden. Once he was done painting whatever rooms she wanted completed, he could burn the evidence.
Nobody needed to know where he was or what he was doing. Or for who.
This shit was his business and not club business.
And, anyway, he didn’t need his brothers riding his ass. If any of them knew where he was and what he was doing, his ass would be sore and his patience thin.
Unlike some of his brothers, he wasn’t one who crowed about who he stuck his dick into. He wasn’t one who talked crudely about pussy, not only behind their back but sometimes in front of them, too.
None of the women who came to The Barn on a regular basis, or even on occasion by special invite, needed to be disrespected.
Yeah, it was their choice to put out. It was their choice how kinky they wanted to take it. It was their choice whether to do it out in the open or privately in one of the rooms, or wherever. It was their choice whether to take one or more brothers at the same time or same night.
But that was the most important thing...
Choice.
No one would stop any of the women who stepped foot on the farm, sweet butts or not, from leaving. If they’d had enough of his brothers’ bullshit, they could walk away at any time.
Most of the women took everything in stride and actually loved the attention, the free food, the free booze and their choice of dick.
The only thing they had to agree to was keeping their mouth shut. They could not discuss what happened on the farm with anyone outside of the club. That was an important rule. Along with not shacking up in the bunkhouse.
Trip didn’t want to see any women besides the ol’ ladies in the morning. Come sunrise, all sweet butts and hang-arounds, male or female, better be gone.
Shade agreed with those rules.
He respected Trip a lot. That was why he was willing to head up that mountain and try to help control the threat to their brotherhood.
If the Shirleys would’ve let shit go after Sig got Red back, none of this shit would’ve been necessary. It would be a case of live and let live.