“Felt like it.”
My head was ready to explode, which would’ve been tragic in such a beautiful kitchen. I gave myself a few moments to deep breathe. With my coffee cup to my lips, the steam curling up reminded me it would be too hot to drink.
I put the cup down with a sigh. “But I’m not prissy. I don’t think I’m better than anybody else, and prissy women don’t ride motorcycles.”
His lips quirked upward. “You know that. And to some extent, I know that. But, I still feel like calling you something you’re not. Hell, maybe it’s because you are the total opposite of being a priss. My brothers and I do that when naming prospects who earn their cuts, so get over it, Steph.”
The urge to ask which brothers had road names with contrary meanings must have shown on my face because he smiled knowingly.
To keep my trap shut, I took a sip of my coffee and I realized he didn’t use the coffee I picked up. This was that chicory stuff popular in New Orleans. It was tasty, but unexpected.
“Tiny, Mensa, and Gamble,” he murmured.
My eyes cut to his. “What?”
“Tiny, Mensa, and Gamble all have names because they’re the opposite of those things. Well, maybe not Mensa, he really is a genius but not in a book-smarts way. Tiny’s as big as Massive and stronger than Brute but those names were taken. Gamble, well, it’ll be a while before I let you meet Gamble, but his parents are now in Gambler’s Anonymous.”
“Okay, well. I appreciate you making the coffee.”
“Gotta be awake for a ninety-minute ride, Steph.”
I smiled. “About that, I—”
“You’re backing out.”
My lips pressed into a resigned smile. “It’s not that, I just would rather stick around town. A ninety minute ride is ultimately ninety minutes I could spend on the shore.”
His eyes narrowed a touch. “You’re a beach bum?”
I shook my head. “I love the water, any way I can get it.”
From the look crossing his face, he had a smart retort, but he kept it to himself.
He shrugged. “Suit yourself. Want me to start in on your bike?”
“I can take it somewhere and have it done.”
“Or I could teach you how to do it.”
I pressed my lips together. If I refused, he’d have a good reason to call me by an unwanted nickname. Yet, changing my own oil was not appealing. While knowing how to do it could save me money in the long run, oil changes didn’t cost that much, compared to the amount of time I’d have to devote to it.
After another sip of my coffee I said, “Fine. When do we start?”
The hint of disappointment in his expression was chased away by his grin. “After you get dressed for sure, but more like after I run to the store for oil. Your bike take a synthetic oil?”
I shook my head. “Semi-synthetic.”
“You’ll need a filter too. You know the size?”
“I’ll have to check the owner’s manual.”
“Do that. I’m gonna leave, you can text me the specifics.”
I nodded. “Let me get you some—”
“Nope.”
“Har. It’s my bike, you don’t need to pay for its maintenance.”
“You need to call me Michael, and I don’t care if I need to do any damn thing. I want to. You feel a need to pay me back, buy some beer. Good beer.”
My brows furrowed. “You brought home Coors, which is decent, but not what some would call ‘good.’ How about you clarify?”
He chuckled. “I mean a six-pack of something more craft-like. Abita will do, but something local would be nice.”
“Got it.”
CHANGING THE OIL ON a motorcycle was straightforward, but it required getting down on the ground, since Har didn’t have a bike lift-stand here. He’d already replaced my oil filter, but he wanted me to put in the drain plug before we added new oil. I laid on my side on the garage floor and used a box-end wrench to twist the bolt into place.
“Not too tight, Stephanie. You’ll strip the bolt,” Har said. He sounded like he was right at my ear. From the corner of my eye I saw him crouched very close to me.
“I know. That should do it.”
“Let me check,” he said, sliding to his side behind me.
His arm came over mine and took the wrench from my hand. I wanted to slip out from in front of him, but couldn’t because his arm was positioned over my shoulder.
He gave the nut a small twist. “You’re right. That’s good.”
The wrench fell with a clatter, but his heat didn’t retreat and his arm lowered so it rested on top of mine.
“You could let me up now,” I said in a low voice.
“But I don’t want to.”
That sent a curl through my belly and it was a good thing he couldn’t see my facial expression.
His hand slid up my arm. “If I touched you right now, would you be wet?”
“No,” I said, and until he asked that question, it was the truth. His heat at my back didn’t turn me on, but his bold question did.
“You’re lying. That answer was too quick.”
My nipples tightened.
“We need to put the oil in, Har.”
“It can wait.”
“Why are you doing this?”
“Why won’t you give into this?”
His hand rounded my shoulder, gliding along my side down to my belly. I put my hand over his to stop him.
“It isn’t right.”
His hips nudged my ass and I felt his erection. “Isn’t it, though?”
“We should get up.”
His chuckle mingled with a groan. “I’m already up, but you know that, don’t you?”
My core began to throb. The thought of having sex with him had been on my mind all night, but I would not do that.
“It isn’t happening, Har. Sex without strings is a myth.”
“How so?” he whispered in my ear, which distracted me and his hand slid inside my shorts and panties. His long fingers went right to my entrance and my hips jerked.
Shit!
“Yeah, baby. You’re wet for me.”
Who wouldn’t be? That was an ego stroke he didn’t
