Chapter 8 - Isla
ISLA
When I hear the loud rumble of a motorcycle the next day, my head snaps toward the window.
Skull hasn’t told me when my car will be ready, but I don’t have work until tomorrow.
I tell myself it probably isn’t him, just some other biker driving by.
Yet my eyes don’t leave the road, and when a sleek black bike pulls up into my driveway, I make a groaning sound. What is he doing here?
I quickly get up, grab the laundry basket I’ve been staring at for the last few days but still haven’t gotten to yet, and pick up the snack selection sitting on my coffee table.
When he knocks on the door, I’m still running around trying to make myself presentable, and Layla starts barking at the unknown guest.
“Sit, Layla,” I command, and she stops barking and sits, waiting for any further instructions. I don’t know what I would do without her. She makes me feel both safe and less lonely. She’s my soul dog, and as sad as it is, my best friend.
Unlocking the door, I open it and glance up at him. He’s wearing a red and black flannel shirt with his leather vest over it, and his blond hair is tied back at his nape.
“What are you doing here?” I ask him.
His lip twitches as he takes me in, and his eyes get hungry as he stares at my legs. My denim shorts suddenly feel way too short, and when I glance down at my white T-shirt, I remember that I’m not wearing a bra. “Fuck, you look good enough to eat.”
He steps inside, and Layla growls. A warning. His eyes snap to her, and he tilts his head to the side, studying her. “She’s beautiful.”
“And dangerous.”
“Call her off, spitfire. You know you’re safe with me,” he cajoles in a deep rumble that I imagine gets him anything he wants.
“I don’t know you.”
“Why do you think I’m here? I want to get to know you,” he rasps, reaching out and gently cupping my face.
I know exactly why he’s here. He wants to fuck, and he’s used to women throwing themselves at him. And I’m tempted, boy am I tempted. It’s been over a year since I’ve been in bed with anyone.
Without my reaction, Layla waits. “Let me in, let me have a taste. I’ll make you come so fucking hard, Isla.”
Wow. Not a demure bone in his body.
Can you use the word demure when talking about a sexy-as-sin, six-foot-four badass biker?
“I’ll tell you what, Skull. I’ll let you in,” I say, and his piercing blue eyes flicker with satisfaction before he can mask it. “But only if you promise not to touch me. No talking about sex. I don’t want to hear about how good you’re going to fuck me—”
“Fuck,” he growls.
“Why don’t you talk to me while I cook lunch? I was just about to start. Maybe you can tell me about that book you were reading in the hospital,” I suggest with a straight face.
There’s more to Skull than he’s showing. I see right through him. There’s a connection between us, a fire, and he wants to spit it out. Maybe without knowing it, that’s why he bloody calls me that nickname.
“And then will you tell me all about the book you were listening to in your car?” He smirks, and I roll my eyes.
“I knew you were going to bring that up!”
He laughs and then nods. “Okay, deal. Let’s go cook some lunch.”
My eyes widen in surprise. I thought for sure he would have left, and probably gone back to his biker clubhouse to fuck one of those club girls. At least that’s what they’d do in one of my darker romance novels.
“What? You thought I’d walk away? It’s going to take more than that.”
My eyes narrow, and then I step back and invite him inside, assuring Layla that it’s okay.
When the scent of his cologne hits my nose, I have to wonder if that’s the truth.
Maybe I’m the one losing out because he smells so good, and I know that he’d know exactly what to do with my body if I let him.
He’d talk me through it, take control, and give me exactly what I want. And then he’d walk away.
So if I sleep with him, I have to be okay with that.
But the thing about me? Whenever I give myself to a man, I never manage to walk away unscathed.
* * *
Skull is sitting at my four-seater dining table, at ease like he’s been here a million times before.
He’s been taking bite after bite of the fried rice I made, not once complaining about the spice level, which was a secret test for me, because I love to add chili to everything.
My ex, Brian, couldn’t even handle pepper, so every time I cooked for us, I had to make two separate batches.
He was very bland in all ways.
“It’s not hot for you?” I murmur, an evil grin playing on my lips.
He shakes his head and smirks. “I can handle the heat, little spitfire.” He’s kept to his word and hasn’t tried to touch me, but he hasn’t stopped flirting.
We talk about books, and I defend my audio choices and television shows.
We both love Supernatural. He tells me how his parents passed away and that he and Bones were in the foster care system.
I tell him that I have a sister who is traveling the world, and a mom who remarried since my father passed away a few years ago.
Even without physical touch, there’s still a heavy sexual tension between us, and I feel his hungry gaze like a lingering touch on my skin.
His phone vibrates with a message, and he glances down at it with a furrowed brow. “Natalia okay?” I ask him, and he frowns.
“I hope so, my brother wants to know where I am. He wants me to call him.”
“You didn’t tell him you were coming here?” I ask, trying to figure out the dynamic between the two of them. They are obviously close enough to equally care for Skull’s daughter.
He brings his phone to his ear, waiting for his brother to pick up.
“Bones, what’s wrong?” He pauses. “How long has it been? Okay, I’m on my way.
” He slides his phone back in his jeans pocket.
“Natalia won’t stop crying. I need to go check on her.
Do you think I should take her to the hospital if we can’t figure out what’s upsetting her? ”
“It could be colic.”
“What the fuck is that?” he growls, looking worried.
“It can cause an otherwise healthy baby to cry or be fussy. Or she could be constipated. I tell you what, go home and call me if you can’t calm her down. If you need me to come and check her, I can do that,” I assure him.
He presses a quick kiss to my forehead. “Okay, thanks. Keep your phone with you.”
“I will.”
He rushes home, and I listen to the roar of his motorcycle disappear.
I make sure to keep my phone in my hand in case he needs me.