Chapter 3
Chapter
Three
Giorgia
For a moment, panic sets in, my brain not yet recognizing my surroundings, then I regain some clarity, remembering that I’m at the Saint’s clubhouse and lying in Noah’s bed.
Last night when Noah had shown me his self-contained apartment within the clubhouse, and it only having one bedroom, a spark of excitement had soared through my veins at the thought of sharing it with him.
He’d immediately shot me a look and made it clear that he would sleep on the couch.
I’d quickly turned away from him, mumbled that I needed to use the bathroom, and escaped his watchful eye so he didn’t see the disappointment or the flush of my skin, that I’m sure clearly marked my face.
Laid on my side, I push my face further into the soft downy pillow and inhale his distinctive scent that lingers on the linen.
Everything about this room screamed Noah, from the minimal furniture, bare floors and lack of anything personal such as photos or trinkets.
Yet much like the living and kitchen area, it was as clean as a new pin.
His aroma even tinged the air. Spiced sweet orange and freshly cut grass.
I inhale deeply again, the image of him filling my head and my senses. Over the years, he’s been an addiction.
For as long as I can remember, I’ve crushed hard on Noah. Whether my brother had noticed, I’m not so sure, but I’m certain he’s had his suspicions.
Garth had always managed to say or do something to embarrass me around Noah. His attempts to highlight the fact that I was just a kid when Noah was around, were relentless.
It was blatantly obvious that my brother never would have allowed even a chance of anything of a romantic nature to happen between Noah and me.
Back then, he was so overprotective that he’d not hidden the fact he had warned off not only the boys at my school, but pretty much the whole male population of our town that made a move on me.
The only thing they would get close and personal with would be his fists.
It was the reason I’d chosen a college that was far enough away, in another state in fact, so he no longer could control that part of my life.
He still hounded me with phone calls, texts and the occasional warning that I was there for education and not for entertainment, but to hell with that.
What he didn’t know, didn’t hurt, and I sure as hell wasn’t going to enlighten him on my social life.
Hell, college would be as boring as fuck without frat and beach parties.
Well, I had been in Long Beach, California.
Despite the university being known more for its athletics, art had been my major, with mechanical engineering as a minor.
From a young age, if I hadn’t been outside shadowing my brother and Noah, I’d been inside with paper and pencil, sketching anything from a simple piece of fruit to a complicated skyline.
When I’d come across some of Garth’s comic books that he’d boxed up in the garage, Spiderman, Hulk and some crazy Japanese manga, my passion for art had intensified.
I found inspiration not only in the colorful, graphic comics, but also the Anima characters that had filled the TV screen.
The brighter the colors, the better. The boring gray pencils were quickly switched out for a variety of inks and felt pens.
My minor? Well, that came from my love of muscle cars, hot rods, the bigger, the crazier, the better.
Why wouldn’t I? The artwork on some of those beasts were stunning, and the idea that I could work on both the inner workings, as well as bestowing them with some kick ass graphics on the outside, was fuel to my veins.
And if I get my act together, earn me some well-needed cash.
What I needed to do though, was stop sniffing the ‘au de la Noah’ scent like a coke addict and get my ass out of bed.
The t-shirt Noah had given me to sleep in was big enough to cover me, falling just above the knee, but as he’d taken my wet clothes to launder, I had no option but to go in search of him.
When I step out into the living room, I can’t see him at first, but as I near the back of the couch, I find him laid flat on his back across the seat cushions, bare chest, lower legs and feet, a checkered blanket draped across his hips and thighs.
Gray-blue eyes stare at me, with absolutely no sign of him ever having been asleep.
My gaze falls on his neck tattoo. A skull with blazing orange eyes lays over his Adam’s apple.
The rest of his neck is dressed with ornate leaves and vines that continue up behind his ears to where the razor-cut side of his head is inked with a geometric flower.
I can’t help but let my perusal continue along his broad shoulders, covered in more ink, down to where the blanket begins.
Hard muscle; nothing but hard muscle. His chest, lower thighs, even his calves look like they’ve spent more hours in the gym than Arnold fucking Schwarzenegger.
Jesus, I can only imagine what power he’s packing under that checked blanket.
“Morning,” he says loud and clear.
Oh my word, I mentally slap my mind out of the gutter and back to sensible thinking. I blink and avert my gaze from the beautiful, firm, tattooed vision that has my vagina pulsing in need of attention.
“Shower.” The word projects from my mouth like a 38-caliber bullet. “Is it okay if I take a shower?”
“Of course.” Swinging his legs around to the floor, Noah sits up.
I get a flash of his thick thighs, the muscle definition popping as he gets to his feet.
With the blanket discarded, the tight boxer briefs he’s wearing, showing that he is indeed well formed in all areas, has me hitching a breath.
If that’s not morning wood, then Noah fucking King was bestowed with one huge scepter. A whole new meaning to family jewels!
He takes a step towards me. I take a step back, because if he gets too close, I swear to God his weapon will be far too close for comfort. He stops, sensing my nervousness.
“If you let me past, I just need a piss and then I’ll grab you a towel.
” I sidestep giving him the space to move past me.
“Grinder dropped off some stuff that he grabbed from your place last night. Not sure what’s in the bag, but if you’re missing anything, let me know and I’ll send one of the girls or a prospect out to get what you need.
” The bathroom door shuts behind him. Not long after, the toilet flushes, the sound of water splashing in the sink eventually peters out, and the door swings back open and he’s there, rubbing a towel over his face and neck.
“I’ve put a towel on the side for you. I’ll rustle up some breakfast, and once you’re ready, you can tell me again what went down last night, and what you know about the fucker behind it.”
Royal
While Gio was showering, I slipped into my bedroom to grab clean jeans and a t-shirt.
When she’d come out from the bathroom all wet and glowing from the heat of the shower, and nothing but a towel covering the parts of her I’d wrestle a gator to see, my cock swelled faster than a Harley FXDR 114.
Zero to fucking steel in 2.5 seconds. Thank fuck I was behind the counter and not frightening the hell out of her.
I’d already seen how she’d reacted to the sight of me in just my jocks and I wasn’t even hard. Fortunately, I wasn’t commando.
Damn it. Never mind worrying about scaring her. The fuck! I shouldn’t be walking around like that in the first place, at least not while she’s here. Although I don’t deny that having her eyes on me, perusing my half-naked body, was hotter than hell.
I hear the swoosh of the door opening and, with a quick glance up from what I’m doing, I find her looking perfect in a pair of tight faded jeans, a bright pink tank and a soft pink hoodie over the top.
“Perfect timing. I’m just plating up.” A thought quickly bounces into my head. “Shit, you’re not a veggie, are you?”
“No,” she smiles, and I can’t help but smile right back at her.
“Thank fuck for that,” I sigh, placing an extra slice of crispy bacon along with the three already on her plate, next to two sausage patties, a mountain of scrambled eggs and two rounds of toast. “Sit,” I gesture to the stool on the other side of the counter.
A knife and fork already waiting, so I slide the plate between the cutlery ready for when she takes her seat.
“Tell me this is for us to share?” She gasps at the full plate in front of her.
“Hell no, I’ve got my own plate. One thing I don’t do with food is share.” I warn with a light-hearted snigger. “Coffee or tea?”
“Whatever you’re having’s fine.”
“Black tea, okay? Sweetener, milk?”
“Do you have creamer?”
“In tea? Are you crazy?” I rebuke.
“To be honest, I don’t drink tea that often,” she confesses. “But on the occasions I have, then yes, creamer.”
“Do you trust me?” I ask her, and she instantly nods in response. “Milk in tea is so much more palatable. Creamer just makes it well… Yuk! Save that stuff for the coffee.”
When I bring around the China teapot from the other counter and place it and two cups and saucers beside it that would look perfectly in place in an English tea shop, but out of place in a biker’s kitchen, she raises a brow, her mouth dropping open in shock. “What?”
“Nothing,” she coughs, trying to hide the giggle that’s forming in her chest.
“I’m trusting you to keep this between you and me. If any of the brothers got wind of this, any respect given to me as their president would quickly go to shit.”
No longer able to hold her laughter in check, she lets it all go, and fuck, it sounds like a choir of angels have dropped in to join us.
“I promise I’ll keep your little secret.” Her face is alight with humor, and guilt hits me like a hammer to the chest knowing that I’m about to rake up the painful events from yesterday.