“So how long have you been back in Hallies Falls?”

“About six months,” I replied. “I came home when my mom passed. Dad wasn’t doing too well, and the more I saw, the more I realized he couldn’t manage on his own. It’s getting to a point where I’ll have to make some tough decisions. My real life is in Seattle, and everyone there thinks I should just move him. Put him in a home, and either sell the apartment building or find a property manager. Can’t quite wrap my head around that, though. This place has been a part of me my entire life.”

Cooper nodded, his face thoughtful.

“Loyalty is a good thing,” he pointed out. “Gotta respect that.”

I found myself smiling at him in surprise.

“Thanks. Not everyone sees it that way.”

“Yeah, well opinions are like assholes, remember?” he said. “Sometimes you just need to tune out the static for a while.”

“Exactly—and that’s what I’m doing. Sooner or later I’ll have to make the decision, because I can’t keep up running the business forever without a real commercial kitchen. I could build one in the basement of the house, but it’d be a big commitment, because it’ll take at least five years before I recoup all the costs. Thankfully, Mom and Dad transferred title on the place to me years ago, so I don’t need to worry about liquidating, even if Dad needs long-term care.”

“That’s good news,” he said, and I fell into his eyes a little. They were dark and rich, and then he licked his lips and heat rushed through me. I wanted to kiss him so bad, then drag him back to my room and—

“Tinker?”

“Yes?” I asked breathlessly.

“Where should I put the food?”

So much for dragging him back to my room. Ugh.

“Just take it into the kitchen and set it on the counter,” I said, looking around to see if there was anything I could discreetly stab myself with—maybe that would pull my head out of the gutter. At least there wasn’t much leftover food to deal with, so I loaded the dishwasher while he carried everything inside. Then he leaned against the counter next to me, watching as I washed the silverware by hand.

“Why don’t you put it in the machine?” he asked.

“It’s my grandma’s sterling,” I said. “I don’t want the dishwasher to damage it.”

Cooper raised a brow.

“You always use sterling silver for a picnic with paper plates?”

I laughed.

“Grandma always did,” I said. “And she let me use her good china for tea parties, too. Using the silverware makes me happy—brings back memories. When I use the plates all I can think about is the fact that I’m creating more work for myself. Can you dry?”

“Sure,” he said, catching the towel I tossed toward him. It only took about ten minutes to wash everything up, but he stood next to me the whole time. Every minute or two our bodies would bump, and I swear, I felt his presence in the air itself. My breasts were tight, and I kept catching myself shifting my hips as flickers of awareness and arousal ran through me.

We finished way too soon for my taste, or maybe it wasn’t soon enough. I had this vivid daydream that he’d sweep me up with a kiss, maybe haul me back to my bedroom and ravish me. You know, like in an old romance novel, where men were men and women stayed home and waited to be ravished in elaborately decorated country manor houses . . . Our apartment building was Tudor revival. That should count, right?

Now we stood staring at each other. His eyes were intense, and if it’d been anyone else on earth, I’d have sworn he was into me. Then his phone rang. Cooper pulled it out and frowned.

“What’s up, Talia?” he asked, dumping cold water all over my fantasies. So much for my impending ravishment—stupid Tudors, giving me hope. I turned away, pretending to be fascinated by something in my spice cabinet. Yup, there was the dill. You can never have too much dill. “No, not really doing anything. How soon? Okay, I’ll head right over.”

He hung up as I reached for the little bottle, which was on the top shelf. I ignored him, determined not to react to his talk with the girlfriend, because how pathetic would that be?

“Let me get that for you,” he said, right in my ear. It startled me so much that I jumped back, right into his body. One strong arm came around my waist to steady me while the other reached for the bottle. My entire body seemed to melt into his strength, and my boobs made a serious bid for escape from my halter top when the hard muscles of his chest touched my back. I felt him bulging a little against my butt. Not like he had a full boner, but the package was definitely there, and it wasn’t soft.

Goose bumps broke out all over my body.

“I really enjoyed dinner,” he said, the words a low whisper in my ear. “But I need to get going now—I’m meeting up with Talia. Here’s your dill.”

Cooper handed me the little bottle, then let me go before walking out of the kitchen.

What. The. Fuck.

Through the kitchen window, I watched as he threw a leg over his motorcycle. Then he was kicking it to life, pulling away from the curb with a spray of gravel. Every nerve in my body tingled, my nipples were like rocks, and my panties were soaked. Nobody had made me feel this way in forever, and yet instead of staying here to finish the job, he’d left to go see his girlfriend.

Hateful bitch.

My fingers hurt, and I looked down to realize I’d been squeezing the bottle so hard they’d turned white. I scowled, tossing it in the garbage, because who the fuck likes dill, anyway?

CHAPTER FIVE

GAGE

For once, I was thankful that I had a date with Talia. Yes, she was a controlling bitch and I hated dealing with her . . . But it reminded me why I wasn’t free to go after Tinker. I couldn’t afford an entanglement with another woman. Not if I wanted to stay loyal to my club.

My dick disagreed.

It thought we should just bang Tinker on the kitchen counter, because fuck loyalty. Gotta admit, it was damned tempting. I had this recurring fantasy of ripping off her pants, smacking her ass a couple times for color, and then splitting her wide open while she screamed at me. She’d be hot and tight and warm . . .

Fuck.

It actually hurt to climb on my bike—that’s how much she’d worked me up. At least the ride out to the Nighthawks’ clubhouse gave me the time to pull my shit together. I turned into the parking lot, nodding to the prospect standing watch outside. He looked like he was fifteen years old, and I couldn’t see him weighing much over a hundred and twenty-five pounds. Marsh was obviously scraping bottom at this point.