Chapter 6
GHOST
Iwoke to the sound of Tamsin moving around in her bedroom, the old floorboards carrying each soft step through the quiet house.
I had spent the night stretched across a couch built for someone a foot shorter, sleeping lightly enough to register every vehicle on the county road.
My duffel remained beside the couch, opened only long enough for me to trade the smoke-stained shirt from the night before for a clean black one.
My phone vibrated against the coffee table with updates. The Bellamy properties had remained quiet overnight, but a fire-damaged camera at the warehouse still left part of the west wall blind, so I ordered two men to keep on that section until Cipher replaced it.
Tamsin stepped into the living room with damp curls spilling around her shoulders and stopped when she saw me already dressed. She wore soft sleep shorts and a loose pale shirt that skimmed the curves of her tits and narrow waist every time she moved.
The memory of her mouth opening beneath mine against the wall the night before sent blood straight to my cock. I angled my hips behind the coffee table before the worn jeans I had pulled on made the reaction impossible to miss.
“Did you sleep at all?” she asked, gathering her damp hair over one shoulder as she came closer. The motion lifted the hem of her shirt enough to expose a narrow strip of fair skin above her shorts, and every filthy thought I had postponed last night came roaring back.
“Enough,” I replied, setting my phone on the coffee table.
She studied me, caught between suspicion and reluctant amusement, before moving toward the kitchen.
“Stryker wants you at the clubhouse before we go back to the warehouse,” I murmured as I followed her.
Tamsin stopped just inside the doorway and looked back at me. “What does he need?”
I leaned one shoulder against the doorframe. “He wants what you know, not whatever bullshit you can invent before coffee.”
“That’s a reassuring standard.”
I grinned. “Works for us.”
Tamsin glanced down and seemed to remember that she was standing in front of me in a loose sleep shirt and shorts.
The movement shifted the thin fabric over her tits and exposed more of her bare thighs, drawing my gaze slowly down the length of her legs before it climbed back to the soft curves beneath her shirt.
When she looked up again, she found my attention exactly where she expected it.
“I need to get dressed,” she muttered, tugging the hem of her shirt lower even as color spread across her cheeks. “You could pretend not to stare.”
“I could,” I replied, meeting her eyes without a trace of apology. “Seems dishonest, though.”
Her blush deepened as she opened a cabinet, and I took the coffee from her before she could start it.
Tamsin gave me a pointed look but stepped aside, letting me fill the machine while she set out two mugs and reached for the cream.
She moved through the small kitchen with sleepy familiarity, and I watched because I liked imagining her bent over that counter with those little shorts pushed around her hips.
She escaped to the bedroom with her coffee before the heat between us turned breakfast into a repeat of the previous night’s kiss. By the time she returned in dark jeans, boots, and a fitted blue shirt, my control had settled back into place, but my body still reacted to her curves.
She checked her phone, picked up her bag, and reached for the car keys hanging near the back door, but I held out the spare helmet a brother had delivered with my duffel.
“I have a truck,” she grumbled, curling her fingers around the keys as she looked from the helmet to me.
“It’ll still be here when we get back.” I lifted the helmet slightly, making it clear the offer was not changing.
“That wasn’t my point.”
“I know.”
I waited, wearing the relaxed smile that already made her eyes narrow.
Tamsin looked from me to the door as though measuring whether she could reach the truck before I intercepted her, then apparently remembered how easily I had carried her twice the night before.
She looked back at me with the resigned irritation of a woman beginning to understand how much patience I possessed when I knew I would eventually get my way.
“Do you intend to make every conversation this difficult?” she asked, taking the helmet.
“Only the ones where you’re wrong.”
She muttered something about unbearable men and settled the helmet over her wild curls.
I reached up, my knuckles brushing beneath her chin as I adjusted the strap one notch, then another, taking considerably longer than the task required.
Her eyes widened while color swept over her cheeks, but she held perfectly still.
“You’re doing that slowly on purpose.” Her accusation had enough sass to make my lips curve and my dick twitch.
“You want it secured correctly?” I asked as I checked the strap again.
“That is not an answer.” Her eyes narrowed, although the quick jump of her pulse beneath my fingertips betrayed how much the contact affected her.
“Agreed.”
I let my fingers linger briefly beneath her jaw, feeling the quick jump of her pulse. Her lips parted as she looked up at me through thick lashes, and I released her before I put her against the side of the house and found out how loudly she would say my name with my hand inside those jeans.
At my bike, I showed her where to plant her boots and waited until she settled behind me.
Her palms rested lightly against my sides, making me grin after the way she had clutched my cut during our kiss.
I reached back, caught both wrists, and pulled her arms firmly around my waist. Her tits pressed against my back, and the heat between her thighs settled close behind me.
“Tighter, pretty girl. I don’t want polite.”
Her breath caught against my shoulder before her arms tightened.
My cock went hard enough to make the ride a calculated act of self-inflicted pain, but I started the engine before the urge to turn around and drag her onto my lap won.
Tamsin began stiff and careful, then gradually learned to follow my body through the canyon curves instead of resisting each lean.
By the time we reached the compound, every acceleration brought her closer, and I already disliked the idea of riding without her wrapped around me.
Bikes and trucks filled the lot, and brothers moved between the clubhouse, garage, and surrounding buildings.
Tamsin removed the helmet after I parked and looked around with alert interest, taking in the armed men and black cuts without shrinking from the rough energy of the place.
Curiosity outweighed intimidation, and that pleased me almost as much as the flush the ride had left on her cheeks.
I took the helmet from her and guided her inside the clubhouse with my hand at the small of her back. Men greeted me as we passed, several glancing curiously at Tamsin before returning to whatever they were handling, and she stayed close enough that her arm brushed mine.
Stryker’s office was already crowded with officers and patched brothers who had worked the fundraiser or spent the night gathering information.
Tamsin paused just inside the doorway, her gaze moving over the broad shoulders, visible weapons, battered coffee mugs, and papers covering every available surface.
Ledger took a drink from his mug and grimaced. “Who made this shit? It could dissolve metal.”
“Drink the rest,” Cipher drawled as he kicked an empty chair toward the table. “Might strip some of the ugly off your face.”
“Nothing in that pot is strong enough to help either one of you.” Judge took a sip of his own coffee. “Might fucking kill you, though.”
Hawkeye was leafing through a sheaf of papers from his seat on the couch and didn’t lift his head as he muttered, “He dies, move his chair. We need the space.”
Low laughter rolled through the room, and Ledger took another deliberately suspicious drink. “Good to know my loss would be felt.”
“Your chair’s comfortable,” Judge tossed out.
A prospect stepped through the open door carrying a folder. “South-road footage and the list of plates from last night.”
“Put it on the desk,” Stryker instructed, finally looking up as the prospect crossed the room. His gaze shifted to Tamsin before settling briefly on me.
I put slight pressure on Tamsin’s waist, encouraging her to go inside. Her expression said she didn’t know whether to be fascinated or intimidated.
Grabbing the back of a chair at the conference table, I pulled it out for her and waited until she sat before taking the one beside her.
A faint flush rose when the room quieted, and every man turned her way, so I rested one forearm along the back of her chair, making it clear she had come in with me and would leave the same way.
Stryker moved past the broad access list she had given us at the warehouse and asked for specifics only she could provide: when the final schedule had circulated, who received the complete launch plan, and what knowledge someone would need to hide the missing material.
Tamsin answered softly at first, but the hesitation disappeared once she began discussing company procedure.
“The complete launch plan went to operations, the field supervisors, the event coordinator, and your security contact. Individual crew members had the sections they needed, and it wasn’t a secret that my parents and most of management would be at the fundraiser. ”
“How many had after-hours warehouse access?” Stryker asked.
“Fewer, but still too many. My parents, the operations manager, two warehouse leads, several supervisors, and I have credentials.” She folded her hands on her lap, the gesture revealing the nerves her steady voice concealed.
“Some access is assigned by position instead of person, so I’ll need the physical records to know who was supposed to be there. ”