I check my mirror for the hundredth time. Nathan is still there with that generic SUV rental he is driving. How the Hell did I get in this mess? Scratch that. I know how I got in this mess. The question is why. Scratch that too. I know the why as well.
Nathan is in some deep shit if I am to judge by the heavy protection the guy used on his laptop. And that stupid, stubborn man was going to face it alone. I was not prepared to let that happen. Now the real question is why I care?
“Fan!” I curse for the millionth time since we left Berkeley.
Tor was not very happy letting me go and he wanted to get one of the brothers to travel with us. But it was bad enough for one of us to go into another turf. Two of us would mean serious trouble. I promised him that I was only going to help with the decryption thing and then bail. But I am not going to do that.
Nathan hasn’t said much ever since I announced I am going with him. Figures. Shit just got real. It was fun calling me “pretty boy” and teasing me now and then, but now we need to work together and be focused about it. We are dealing with some heavy shit here. We need our head in the game. And despite his playful nature, Nathan seems to be razor-sharp as far as business is concerned. Which explains how his disposition changed rapidly from whimsical to focused and dry.
Again, that sting. That sharp little pain like a needle aiming for my heart when I think that nothing can happen between us. I hear my brain displaying a long list of reasons I have to stop thinking about Nathan that way and still that fucking needle finds its way to my heart.
It’s been so fucking long. So damn fucking long since anyone caught my attention. I always thought that I was safe living with the Riders. On the fringes of law, no real responsibilities, easy shit to maintain and now and then some excitement to keep the blood pumping. I could spend the rest of my days smoking weed, playing games, having fun. Safe.
Then why the Hell is there a hot, sexy, openly gay bounty hunter in my Harley’s mirror that has become the focus of my attention lately? Why do I care what happens to him? Why he makes me so angry and flustered at the same time? Why do I constantly want to punch him and kiss him?
Kiss him, mainly kiss him. I shake my head and breathe through the black bandana I have on. Damn me but I would kiss those firm, soft lips and wouldn’t stop till the Earth stopped spinning. I would but I won’t. This shit cannot go down. It’s better for us both.
“Stig,” I hear his voice through the intercom.
I insisted on installing this between us. Working with Wood has taught me how important communication is. What I did not stop to think is that I would have that deep, fucking sexy voice in my ear. Luckily, he hasn’t used it all that much, just to let me know he is stopping to take a leak and to recommend a place to eat during our 6-hour drive.
And he calls me only Stig. No “pretty boy” anymore. Which should have been fine. I hated that nickname. Well, that’s a big fat lie. I didn’t hate it. I hated that I didn’t hate it and I hated that I knew when he called me that he meant it.
“Yeah?” I answer.
“Wanna do this tonight or you want to go in the morning? Gotta find a place to stay if you prefer to do it tomorrow.”
“You got no house?”
Interesting. No fixed place, no home, no attachments. I want to say that we do this tonight and get it over with. But I am beat and it’s probably not a good idea. Tomorrow, with more light, I can through the shit that is left behind and see what I can come up with. If nothing pans out, I will look for the guy in surveillance and if that doesn’t work... Well, I may be the nerd of the Riders but I am still a Rider. I can beat people into telling me what I want to know.
Silence. Is he thinking what I am thinking? That we are spending the night together? Not together together since we are getting separate rooms but in each other’s company at least.
“OK,” his voice is deeper than usual. “I got a place we can crash.”
“Lead on,” I slow down to let him lead the way.
When he passes by me, I glance at his profile through the window as the lights from the street illuminate it. His face is set, his eyebrows frowned, his lips tight. He is holding the steering wheel with tension that goes up to his rigid shoulders. He is not liking this at all. He doesn’t like me being here.
I shake my bitterness away and I follow him down the road. He is taking me to a nice area in the city. Not the one with the huge mansions but there are expensive, big houses all around, carefully manicured lawns and kids playing in yards.
He stops at a modern two-story house made of glass mostly but thoughtfully hidden behind thick big trees. He gets into the driveway and I go up next to him.
“What is this place?” I ask through my bandana.
“The house of a... friend.”
Friend? He hesitated saying that word. Lover? Is this the fucking house of his fucking lover and he brings me here?
“I’ll crash in a motel,” I growl.
“Why the fuck would you do that? The place has three bedrooms.”
And in which one were you fucking with that friend of yours?
“Won’t he mind you bringing outlaw bikers in his house?”
Nathan looks at me and his stern look breaks. It turns softer and has a twinkle in his eye. He read right through me. Years with the Riders and I learned to control myself. Days with him and I can’t hide anything.
“Nah, I crash here all the time,” he says with mirth.
Well, I don’t blame the fucker that lets him in his house. Nathan is motherfucking hot. What I do not need is to see him with his boyfriend or what and have to listen to them-
“After all,” Nathan leans closer to me, ”she is in Europe.”
Now, I may be into having my dick sucked by the odd rotter now and then just to keep the edge off and the Riders off my scent but Nathan? Nathan is 100% into men.
“Like I said,” he is suddenly too close. “A friend.”
I am still sitting on my bike, my hand gripping the handles way too hard. Speaking of hard... He is standing right next to my right thigh and he is leaning to me to deliver that last line. And that imperceptible move brings his groin dangerously close to my knee. Close enough to let my know that if I look down at those worn jeans, I would see the hard rod he is hiding in there. Don’t, I order myself.
My eyes do their job and scan the house. But my mind’s eye is painting a pretty graphic image of me unbuttoning those jeans, wrapping one hand around the thick cock and putting the rest in my mouth. We could do it right here, no one from the street would see us, not that I would mind. This is the state he has brought me to, just by standing there. And right when I am starting to wonder what would he taste like, he leans even closer, his breath fanning on my covered face.
Almost, I am ready to come in my jeans just from thinking of blowing him. What the fuck would happen if I actually had his dick in my mouth, my tongue licking all that glorious shaft? If I heard him moan and hiss in satisfaction? My head would fucking explode. Even worse now that I know the answer to my question.
Cinnamon. He would taste a bit like cinnamon. Like the scent that’s all up in my nose, coming in waves off his body.