Chapter 19
He woke wrapped in the softest sheets his skin had ever known, the smell of wildflowers as strong as if he was lying in a bed of them. He didn’t need to open his eyes to know the summer sun was up, the light pouring into the room coaxing him further into a state of consciousness.
He felt around the bed in search of Ali but found nothing but the coolness of her absence. He pried his eyes open and pushed himself up onto his elbows as he looked about the room. There was no sign of her—at least, not physically.
No question, he was in Ali’s world.
As he shook off the drudges of sleep, he had to remind himself he was home, in as much as his hog was parked in a suburb of Gillette.
His recon mission had been a long one in ways he hadn’t anticipated.
He and Wrangler agreed any allegiance issues which could crop up, should Scorpion try to make a play, would be easily handled given the strength of their numbers and the ranked members who knew they were better off as things stood.
Twister was received at each clubhouse with the respect and camaraderie that came as a result of belonging to a brotherhood spread out across three states.
There’d been plenty of booze, good conversation, and wild shenanigans to keep him entertained, but it wasn’t enough. Not like it used to be.
When they hit Montana, they ran into completely unrelated trouble, delaying his trip home longer than he liked.
There was a time when taking care of club shit was what he lived for—regardless of which chapter.
This time, it was nothing but a pain in his ass.
The worst of it was, one of their own got himself in a jam that put him in handcuffs.
No doubt, his brother earned himself a few years behind bars.
Twister had stuck around out of loyalty, but he wasn’t happy about it.
When he pulled into his garage and called Ali, her invitation swept away any irritation which remained after his ride. Then he walked in, she offered herself so easily, and he understood better than ever why a man would claim himself an ol’ lady.
He’d been too worn out the night before to notice much about her place. Then his Ali-Mae dropped trou, climbed onto the stairs, and called to him with that tight ass and wet pussy. From that moment on, the only thing he saw before he fell asleep was her.
Now, taking in the details of her bedroom, the memory of his woman on the stairs held more significance than he could adequately wrap in words. He knew, him waking up in her bed made her his.
Heart, body, and soul.
She was hard on the outside because she needed to be. On the inside, she was girly as fuck. He smiled to himself, remembering all the times she gave him grief about how his house was no home. Turned out, her home was cozier than a photo in a damn catalogue.
‘My house isn’t just my home—it’s my sanctuary.’
Twister couldn’t remember the last time he stepped foot into a church, but as he tossed aside the sheets and placed his feet on the ground, he felt certain he was in sacred territory. In the dead of night, he trod around in his boots and his exhaustion. Now, he thought better of it.
After a pitstop to the bathroom, he tugged on a pair of jeans then went in search of the woman of the house.
He made his way down the stairs slowly, his eyes devouring details as he went.
There were touches of her in every piece of art, every trinket, every plant and book he saw scattered about, each item in its rightful place.
He approached the mouth of the kitchen and found her at the stove.
Her hair was piled on top of her head, a few missed strands dangling loose down her back.
Her face was void of any makeup, making her look younger with an innocence he saw in her for the first time.
Her body was covered by a baggy Pink Floyd tee—the sleeves draping to her elbows, the hem barely covering her ass.
He'd seen her behind the bar at Steel Mustang more times than he could count. In his kitchen, he’d stripped her naked and made her come apart at his touch more than once. But right now—the sight of her barefoot, half dressed, standing in the morning sun at her stove, she’d never been so real.
“What?” she asked, frowning up at him. “Why are you lookin’ at me like that?”
He didn’t answer her right away but went to stand at her back, bending to wrap his arms around her middle as he pressed his lips against her temple.
“I see you, Ali-Mae,” he murmured.
He felt her go rigid, his meaning clear.
“Don’t worry. It’s just me. I won’t tell,” he assured her, pulling her closer. “But baby? You sure are fuckin’ beautiful.”
At his words, she relaxed, curving her spine to fit more snuggly against him.
Yeah. She was his.
Heart, body, and soul.
He’d have been a liar if he said he didn’t love it.
He pressed a kiss to her temple then asked, “What’s for breakfast?”
“Omelets. This one’s yours. It’s almost done. Mine’s keeping warm in the oven.”
“Thanks, baby. I’m starvin’.”
“I thought we could eat out on the deck.” She paused and turned her face to catch his eyes. “My backyard isn’t just a bunch of grass that needs to be mowed.”
He chuckled and pressed a quick kiss against her lips.
“Works for me.”
Five minutes later, he stepped outside with a plate in one hand, a glass of water in his other, he took one look at her garden and knew—down to his core—what he saw was the essence of Ali.
Wild. Complicated. Vibrant.
Breathtakingly gorgeous.
“Damn,” he mumbled as he admired the landscape.
“Thanks. I think,” said Phoenix in reply as she walked by him, headed for the table. She sat with her omelet and mug of coffee. Twister took one last look around the yard then occupied the seat beside hers.
“You did all this?”
“The landscaping? Yeah.”
“You sure you belong behind a bar? Folks would pay a pretty penny for you to design a yard the likes of yours.”
She knit her eyebrows together, her expression barely masking the vulnerability of her lack of confidence.
Her self-doubt was so foreign to him, he couldn’t help but to stare at her intently as she replied, “No.” She shook her head and explained, “I’m not educated or trained or anything.
It’s something I do for me. It’s not a job; it’s an escape.
Tending bar pays the bills and then some. I’m good where I’m at.”
He admired her as she lifted her coffee to her lips and took a slow sip, her eyes dancing around her garden as she did so. She breathed in deep, and it was like the scent of flowers in bloom was enough to bring her back to herself.
She was in her element, and he liked it. So much so, he didn’t press the issue but dug into his breakfast, instead.
“So—will you be home for a while?” she asked, not bothering to look over at him as she set aside her coffee and reached for her fork.
“That’s the plan. You work tonight?”
She took a bite, met his gaze, and nodded.
“Tomorrow night?”
“I’m free,” she answered, speaking around her food. “Why?”
“We’re overdue for another date, sparky. I’m takin’ you out. Pick you up at six.”
“Okay,” she murmured.
The ease with which she agreed was almost enough to make him want to forget the rest of his omelet and feast on her instead.
He liked her fire—it spoke to his wild nature—but the strong, docile woman she was underneath her bravado sparked a desire in his belly that burned with an unquenchable flame.
It was a different hunger which stopped him from reaching for her. He wasn’t lying earlier. He needed sustenance and had every intention of finishing his plate. Moreover, he didn’t have the luxury of excess time.
“Much as I’d like to kick up my feet and stay a while, probably should drop by the store today. Catch up on a few things.”
“Yeah. Of course.”
She shrugged nonchalantly then shifted her gaze back down onto her plate. He couldn’t explain why, but there was something about that body language he didn’t like.
“Hey,” he called, demanding her attention.
She met his eyes but didn’t make a sound.
“We’ll christen your kitchen before I go.”
That earned him a smile he liked a whole hell of a lot, and he returned it with one of his own.
They finished their meal in silence, too busy chewing to converse.
An hour later, when he mounted his hog, he left with the smell of her on his skin, the taste of her in his mouth, and the memory of her on his mind.
Yeah. She was his.
And damn it all to hell…
He was hers, too.