Chapter 12
“Plant some Angelonias next to the porch,” I say, pointing to the spot along the railing. “Give her some color she can see when she sits out here.”
Allen nods. “You got it. We’ve got the playscape ready to put in the back as well.” He shoves his hands in his pockets, rocking back on his heels. “Anything for you, man. And thanks again for helping me out with that… problem.”
I smirk. “No problem.” I grab a shovel, testing the weight in my hand. “And thanks for letting me borrow these.” I nod toward the pile of landscaping tools: shovels, bags of fertilizer, and a few other things that could do more than just tend a garden.
“I’ll drop them off at the bar when I’m done.” Allen chuckles, but doesn’t ask questions. That’s why I like him and help him whenever I can.
The sound of my bike must’ve caught her attention because the door swings open, and there she is.
I take every inch of her in. Scuffed and paint-splattered combat boots, worn down in places but still tough looking. Then those tight-ass jeans, hugging her hips just right, leading up to a leather jacket that scream she understood the fucking assignment.
Her hair’s curled like she didn’t try. But from what little I’ve discovered about Sable Hawthorne—there’s intention in every effortless wave.
That rich brown catches the light of the morning sun, making me think of a slow pour of whiskey and darker things I shouldn’t want this bad.
Her makeup’s subtle. No glitter, no tricks. Just her.
She looks real.
And real is dangerous.
She catches me looking, and I don’t bother hiding it.
Her eyes flick to Allen, then to the landscaping materials scattered around the yard.
She frowns, but it’s not anger. It’s a quick flush of embarrassment she doesn’t seem to know how to hide.
The crease between her brows deepens, and her mouth presses into a thin line like she’s biting back an apology that won’t fix anything.
“This is too much,” she says, folding her arms across her chest. Her weight shifts, subtle but uneasy. “I should’ve never let it get this bad.”
I step closer into her space. “You’ve got nothing to be embarrassed about.” I meet her eyes, making sure she hears me. “Your ex should be the one embarrassed.”
Her jaw tenses, but she doesn’t argue. Not directly, anyway. “I don’t need a man to take care of everything for me.”
I nod. “No, you don’t…”
Her brows lift, eyes full of challenge, like she wants me to test her. I don’t flinch.
“But a partner,” I continue, voice low, steady, “a real partner, doesn’t stand by and watch the person they care about drown under a workload too heavy to carry alone. It’s not about who’s capable. It’s about who gives a damn.”
Her throat bobs. And something twists in my chest. She’s never experienced someone picking up the slack without being asked.
And it makes me want to hit something.
Before I can spiral, she peeks around me, arms still crossed, hair falling off her shoulders at the motion. “I can now officially guess we’re taking the bike somewhere?”
I smirk. “Got something in mind I think you might like. You ready?”
Those bright eyes rake over me before tipping her head once.
We head toward the bike, and I can’t help but feel that familiar sense of satisfaction looking at it.
A Harley I built for my hands and no one else’s.
Mine. Blacked-out, customized to hell, tuned to purr under me.
The tank’s got a custom-painted angel, dark and detailed, wings stretching back toward the seat.
Sable steps closer, tilting her head. “That’s beautiful.” Her fingers hover above the design, as if she wants to touch but isn’t sure she’s allowed. She glances at me. “Reminds me of your tattoo.”
I nod. “It’s in memory of my mother. She passed just after I turned eighteen.”
Her face softens. Something deep flickers behind her eyes, but she doesn’t push. Just gives me a look like she’s trying to say, it’s okay to say however much I want.
I reach into the saddlebag and pull out a helmet, handing it to her. “Here.”
She takes it but doesn’t put it on. Instead, she watches as I throw my leg over the bike, settling in with the ease of something I’ve done a thousand times.
I glance up, and damn, she looks cute as hell standing there, holding the helmet, torn between courage and second thoughts.
Sable exhales. “It’s been a long time since I’ve been on a bike. My uncle… that had to have been the last time.”
“Good. You won’t have any bad habits to break.” I smirk, but I mean it. If she’s going to ride with me, I want her to be safe.
There’s the briefest pause when I face forward, barely noticeable, before there’s movement behind me. Boots crunch gravel, then one foot plants itself on the peg. She swings a leg over with confidence—unbothered, unaware of the slow burn that sparks under my skin as she settles in close behind me.
Fuck.
Her body presses against me, warm and fitting just right. My cock comes to attention. Her hands hover at my waist before resting there lightly. Then, with measured movements, she wraps herself in, carefully exploring the space between us.
The engine roars to life, and the second it does, she jumps, squeezing me tighter.
I grin. There it is.
I reach down, patting the long, toned leg pressed right up against my side.
Those fucking legs.