Free Wanted: Devil Dogs MC by Evelyn Glass Page B
Authors: Evelyn Glass
herself redden again and busies herself packing up the first aid kit and avoiding eye contact. This man has the power to reduce her to a quivering wreck with just one look, a fact that he’s probably all too aware of. She looks at his pants that are still sitting in a rumpled pile on the floor. “You can put your jeans back on now.”
He doesn’t say anything, but the silence is weighty as if he wants to, before he slides on his pants, making it just a little easier for her to breathe.
“You’re a long way from Dallas.” He nods to the sweatshirt she’s forgotten she is even wearing.
She shakes her head at just how true his statement is, in more ways than one. “Yeah, you have no idea.” Unconsciously, she crosses her arms over the emblem written across her chest and looks around for something to busy her hands. “I was making myself some tea before you arrived. Would you like some?”
Wesley doesn’t look like the kind of guy who sits around drinking tea but he nods once, even if it’s only because he can tell she needs to do something. They remain in silence while the pot brews and she pours out two cups, carrying them over to the table. Instead of sitting in the chair opposite him that she had occupied previously, she steps away, leaning her back against the kitchen counter.
“So why do you still wear the shirt if you don’t want to talk about it?” He takes a sip of his tea, the small cup looking like a toy in his big hand.
She remembers the feel of his hands around her waist, the warmth there, the way he had kissed her like he never wanted to stop. She blinks the image away, but the memory of it is still scorched on her mind. “I wear it to sleep in. You don’t usually expect the third degree when you’re in your pjs.” She tries to brush off the intensity of his stare and fails miserably. He sits there waiting patiently for her to actually answer the question.
Her immediate reaction when anyone asks her about college is to give them the standard spiel – that she’s just trying to get the boarding house straight before she goes back. But something about being here, with Wesley, in the darkness, which is more night than morning, she finds she doesn’t have the energy or even the inclination to lie. “I guess because I don’t want to admit it’s all over, that that part of my life is over and done with.”
“And why is it done with?” He looks at her, his expression neutral but his eyes full of a mix of interest coupled with caution – two feelings she’s become intimately familiar with since he turned up at her door.
“Because I’m here now, because I have to run this place.” She shrugs as if there is no more to it.
She’s surprised when he shakes his head. “I don’t buy it.”
Isabel feels her mouth fall open at the way he sounds so certain of himself. “You don’t buy it?”
“No.” He doesn’t back down from her sarcastic tone. “If you wanted to be in Dallas, you would be in Dallas. Using the boarding house is just an excuse. It doesn’t sound like you.”
Isabel narrows her eyes at him. “You don’t know anything about me!” She almost laughs at the situation – trying to persuade a man she’s barely spoken to that he doesn’t know her better than her most intimate friends.
“I know you’re not a quitter, and I know you’re stubborn as all hell. So if you wanted to do something, you would do it, no matter what stood in your way.” He shrugs as if it’s that simple.
“You got all that insight about me from all the deep conversations we’ve had since you got here?” Her tone is dripping with sarcasm but he doesn’t rise to it.
“Am I wrong?” His eyes throw out the challenge to her.
She breaks eye contact with him, hating the way he seems to be able to read her mind. She stares into the depths of the black tea, as if she might fin some answers there. “No, you’re not
He doesn’t say anything, but the silence is weighty as if he wants to, before he slides on his pants, making it just a little easier for her to breathe.
“You’re a long way from Dallas.” He nods to the sweatshirt she’s forgotten she is even wearing.
She shakes her head at just how true his statement is, in more ways than one. “Yeah, you have no idea.” Unconsciously, she crosses her arms over the emblem written across her chest and looks around for something to busy her hands. “I was making myself some tea before you arrived. Would you like some?”
Wesley doesn’t look like the kind of guy who sits around drinking tea but he nods once, even if it’s only because he can tell she needs to do something. They remain in silence while the pot brews and she pours out two cups, carrying them over to the table. Instead of sitting in the chair opposite him that she had occupied previously, she steps away, leaning her back against the kitchen counter.
“So why do you still wear the shirt if you don’t want to talk about it?” He takes a sip of his tea, the small cup looking like a toy in his big hand.
She remembers the feel of his hands around her waist, the warmth there, the way he had kissed her like he never wanted to stop. She blinks the image away, but the memory of it is still scorched on her mind. “I wear it to sleep in. You don’t usually expect the third degree when you’re in your pjs.” She tries to brush off the intensity of his stare and fails miserably. He sits there waiting patiently for her to actually answer the question.
Her immediate reaction when anyone asks her about college is to give them the standard spiel – that she’s just trying to get the boarding house straight before she goes back. But something about being here, with Wesley, in the darkness, which is more night than morning, she finds she doesn’t have the energy or even the inclination to lie. “I guess because I don’t want to admit it’s all over, that that part of my life is over and done with.”
“And why is it done with?” He looks at her, his expression neutral but his eyes full of a mix of interest coupled with caution – two feelings she’s become intimately familiar with since he turned up at her door.
“Because I’m here now, because I have to run this place.” She shrugs as if there is no more to it.
She’s surprised when he shakes his head. “I don’t buy it.”
Isabel feels her mouth fall open at the way he sounds so certain of himself. “You don’t buy it?”
“No.” He doesn’t back down from her sarcastic tone. “If you wanted to be in Dallas, you would be in Dallas. Using the boarding house is just an excuse. It doesn’t sound like you.”
Isabel narrows her eyes at him. “You don’t know anything about me!” She almost laughs at the situation – trying to persuade a man she’s barely spoken to that he doesn’t know her better than her most intimate friends.
“I know you’re not a quitter, and I know you’re stubborn as all hell. So if you wanted to do something, you would do it, no matter what stood in your way.” He shrugs as if it’s that simple.
“You got all that insight about me from all the deep conversations we’ve had since you got here?” Her tone is dripping with sarcasm but he doesn’t rise to it.
“Am I wrong?” His eyes throw out the challenge to her.
She breaks eye contact with him, hating the way he seems to be able to read her mind. She stares into the depths of the black tea, as if she might fin some answers there. “No, you’re not