Hot Biker’s Hug (Seven Nights to Mr. Right #6)

Chapter One

KARINA

Today is the day I finally prove I'm not a walking disaster.

I check my reflection in the glass door.

Pink form-fitting dress, cute but professional.

My unruly hair is cooperating for once, the dark blonde waves actually falling in a flattering way instead of their usual chaotic tangle.

I’m highly caffeinated, plus my lip gloss is still unsmudged.

The laptop bag I’m carrying contains my presentation, two backup USB drives, and an emergency granola bar.

I've got this.

The February sun casts warm squares of light across the polished concrete floors of the Hartford Community Center.

This building used to be an old textile warehouse, all practical exposed brick and industrial beams, but someone poured a lot of love and money into transforming it.

Now it's clean lines and bright colors, the kind of place that makes you believe good things can happen.

My phone buzzes: it’s my cousin.

Tania: How's my favorite event planning superstar?

Me: About to walk into my first solo pitch meeting. Terrified.

Tania: You're going to crush it!

Me: From your lips to the universe's ears.

Tania: I have no idea what that means lol. Good luck! Text me afterwards.

I tuck my phone away and pull open the door.

My boss Ty set up this meeting with the local business owners who helped fund the community center renovation.

All I have to do is charm them into supporting Hugs for Hearts, our Valentine's charity event promoting human connection and fighting loneliness in small communities.

Easy. I’m a people person. Ty said so when he hired me, and he believes in me, which is more than my own family does.

I follow the signs to Meeting Room B. My heels click-click-click against the hard floor, announcing my arrival.

The hallway smells like coffee from a little café tucked near the entrance, and somewhere in the building, people are laughing. I’m taking that as a good omen.

I rehearse my opening in my head. Good afternoon, everyone. I'm Karina Browne, and I'm here to talk about the power of a simple hug…

I push open the door. And freeze.

The room is full of leather, tattoos, and muscles. A lot of muscles. Seven huge men turn to look at me. They're in black leather vests with patches that read Ridge Renegades MC, with expressions that range from amused to downright intimidating.

One has a beard down to his chest with silver rings on every finger. Another has a spider-web tattoo across his entire neck, the ink so dark it looks fresh. A third is so large he makes the metal folding chair beneath him look like doll furniture, his massive arms folded across a barrel chest.

No coffee-scented air in here. The room reeks of leather and motor oil; masculine and more than a little dangerous. This is not a meeting of local business owners; I’ve walked into the wrong room.

Oops.

My sister Maria would never do something like this.

She's a doctor. And my brother David would somehow turn this into a networking opportunity because he's a venture capitalist who could sell sand in a desert.

I'm the youngest; the surprise baby. The one they lovingly refer to as ‘our little free spirit,’ which is family code for disappointment who can't get her life together.

I take a step backward.

“Lost, sweetheart?”

The voice rolls through me like thunder, vibrating through my chest. It belongs to the man at the head of the table.

He's bigger than the others, which seems impossible, but there it is.

Broad shoulders strain against a dark gray t-shirt, the fabric stretched tight across a chest that could stop traffic.

Tattoos cover both his arms in intricate patterns I can't quite make out from here.

A scar cuts through his left eyebrow, and his hair is cropped close to his head, dark against tan skin.

His jaw is sharply defined, while his mouth is set in a hard line.

He looks exactly like the kind of man my mother would warn me to be careful about.

My stomach flips. Heat blooms up my neck, and my skin prickles with awareness.

This is not a normal reaction to a scary biker man.

This is the kind of reaction I have to my hot book boyfriends, fictional men who exist safely on the page where they can't actually look at me with dark, dangerous eyes.

This is not the time, Karina.

“Yes. Wrong room. I’m... so sorry to interrupt.” I'm already backing toward the door, my voice pitched too high. “I was looking for the business owners meeting.”

“You found it.”

I blink. “I did?”

The man with the spider-web tattoo snorts. “Ridge Renegades MC funded half the renovation.”

Double oops.

I scan the room again. A motorcycle club who apparently do... community renovation projects?

“We're not all outlaws,” says a red-bearded man pressed into the too-small chair. “Mostly just on weekends.”

A few of the guys chuckle.

The man at the head of the table doesn't laugh. He's still watching me, and the weight of his gaze presses into my chest. My heart speeds faster. I'm suddenly very aware of how short I am compared to everyone here, and how pink and utterly out of place.

“You have a presentation?” he asks.

“Yes.”

"Then present, cupcake."

I raise my chin.

“My name is Karina.”

He raises the scarred eyebrow. “Noted. Is there a problem?”

Seven bikers stare at me. The smart thing would be to apologize and reschedule.

Maybe come back another time with a strategy specifically tailored to this audience.

But the charity is counting on me. And I've already messed up so spectacularly that I might as well see it through.

At least it'll make a good story for Tania.

“No,” I shake my head, then set my laptop on the table. My fingers are trembling, but I get the slides pulled up and turn to face the room, avoiding looking directly at the intimidating man in charge.

“Good afternoon, everyone.” My voice only shakes a little. “I'm Karina Browne, and I'm here to talk to you about the power of a simple hug.”

Spider-web tattoo-guy’s eyebrows shoot up, while the red-bearded guy grins.

The leader leans back in his chair and crosses his arms over that unbelievably broad chest. His expression reveals nothing, but there’s a glimmer of interest in those gray-green eyes.

Or it could be amusement. Either way, at least he's paying attention.

“Go on,” he says.

So I do.

And it’s either the bravest thing I’ve ever done, or the dumbest.