“Where are we?” I asked.
“The clubhouse.”
Colt got out of the truck and I fiddled with the door handle. Before I could get the door open, Colt was there, pulling me into his arms.
“What are you doing?” I demanded as he carried me toward the clubhouse.
“Your feet,” he said in way of explanation.
“I’m wearing flip-flops.”
“You could barely get into the truck.”
“That’s because it’s high off the ground and has nothing to do with me being injured.”
“Right,” he drawled.
“I’m okay, I can walk these next few feet on my own,” I said after he climbed the porch steps.
He looked down at me and I realized how close I was to him. I could see the whiskers on his neck and the deep, dark brown of his eyes. He smelled of woodsmoke, leather, and skin. Colt’s scent was distracting, and I instantly tried to breathe through my mouth so I wouldn’t do something stupid—like lean my head in the crook of his neck and sniff him.
“I’m not an invalid,” I stated.
He didn’t reply, and continued to hold me.
Fine. If Colt didn’t care that I wore pajamas and looked like a street orphan, then I wouldn’t worry about it either.
Lies.
The sooner I got cleaned up the better. I wanted to be ready when Zip returned—hopefully with my truck keys in hand—and then I would leave town.
Colt walked inside. The unmistakable smell of bacon and coffee teased my nose. Though I’d just eaten, my stomach growled. There was a rumble against my back and it took me a moment to realize it was Colt laughing.
I enjoyed the sound far more than I should have.
“Prez.” A scruffy blond man with gray eyes greeted Colt before turning his attention to me. “Is it adopt a lady-in-distress day?”
I snorted in amusement and put a hand to my head in fake torment. The blond man winked at me flirtatiously.
“Enough,” Colt snapped. “Fix her a plate of food and bring it to my room.”
“Your room?” I asked in surprise.
Colt ignored me as he went on, “Tell Joni where we are when she gets here.”
“Why does she need to see Joni?” Flirty asked.
“Look at her wrist,” Colt stated. Flirty’s gaze dropped to my arm, which I held up to show him. Colt wasted no more time and carried me through the clubhouse, past the brown leather couches and the kitchen. The place was clean, but it definitely looked lived-in.
Colt traveled down a long hallway and pushed open the door to a room that was small yet uncluttered. The bed was made, the gray walls were devoid of posters or photos, and the gray carpet was unsullied.
He stalked to the bathroom and deposited me onto the closed toilet so I could use it as a seat. Colt then went to the tub and turned on the water. Without looking at me, he commanded, “Take off your pants.”
“In your dreams, dude.”
He looked at me over his shoulder and grinned.
Holy. Hell.
I thought the man was dangerous when he was scowling? That smile had enough power to light up a city.
“Your feet need cleaning,” he reminded me.
“So I’ll roll up my pajama pants.”
“It’s not just your feet that need cleaning. Have you looked in a mirror?”
“Well, take me, sailor, you know just what to say to a girl.” I glowered but stood up and pointed to the door.
Colt rose and came toward me, crowding my space, but not in a way that was intimidating.
Sensual.
I was breathless, air trapped in my lungs.
Humor lurked at the corners of his lips. “Just shout if you need help. I promise to be gentle.”
Chapter 4
Colt’s humor had thrown me for yet another loop. I’d seen him stoic, broody, and now teasing and blatantly sexual.
Shaking away thoughts of the surly biker, I looked in the mirror.
Big mistake.
Scratches covered my cheeks and dirt smudged my pale skin. My brown hair was a tangled mess, and I looked less lady-in-distress and more street urchin.
Pulling myself away from my terrifying reflection, I went over to the tub and turned off the water. I sat on the edge and moved to roll up my pajama pants, forgetting about my injured wrist.
“Son of a bitch!” I cursed, closing my eyes in pain as tears formed. When the throbbing in my wrist lessened, I scrunched up my pajama bottoms, using only my good hand, and then eased my feet in the warm bath water. They stung, and I gritted my teeth as I reached for the soap. I tried to brace myself, but my control was precarious. Losing my balance, I fell into the tub, hitting elbows and knees. Before I could even yell for aid, the bathroom door opened and Colt loomed in the doorway.
“Jesus Christ, woman,” he muttered, coming toward me.
I was fighting tears, and when I looked up at him, it was through watery eyes and a curtain of drenched hair. “I think I need help.”
“No shit,” he said in wry amusement and leaned over to help me out of the tub.
“Are there any women here who could help me?”
“Nope. It’s me or no help at all. It’s nothin’ I haven’t seen before, darlin’.
“I don’t even know you.”
“That didn’t stop you from approaching me at Dive Bar.”
I sighed. “That was out of necessity.”
“And this isn’t necessity? You nearly drowned yourself trying to save your pride.”
“Why does it seem like there are different versions of you? I’m not sure which one I’m getting right now.”
“Explain.”
“Do you always speak in one word commands?”
“Usually.”
I rolled my eyes. “When I asked you to help me get rid of the guy at the bar, you kissed me.”
“I remember.”
“Then I saw you in the alleyway…”
“Yeah. And? Were you scared of me?”
I thought for a moment. “At first, but then you explained what was going on and…”
“And?” he prodded.
“When I realized why you were fighting I wasn’t scared anymore. And when you touched me, you were gentle.”
“I don’t hurt women.”
“Why were you so mad when you saw me this morning on your steps?”
“I thought someone beat you.”
Warmth curled through me, but I shoved it aside. “Now you’re being kind to me. Why?”
“Seems like you need it. Are you done busting my chops?”
“I guess so.”
“Arms up.”
“No.” I stated. “I’m not wearing a bra.”
His smile was slow. “Yeah. I know.”
“Bite me.”
“Don’t tempt me, babe.”
“Don’t babe me. And the pajama tank stays on.”
“Fine. Put your hand on my shoulder,” he commanded, playing with the drawstring of my pajama pants. I placed my good hand on him to keep my balance. My gaze found a spot on the far wall while he slid my pants down over my legs. I stepped out of them, clad in nothing but black, serviceable underwear.
Granny panties.