Road Tripped (Satan's Devils MC Utah #1) - Manda Mellett Page 0,32

replace the bar and slide out from under it.

I’m sweaty, rivulets are running down me. Sniffing under my arms, I pronounce, “Christ, I stink.”

“Just what I was thinking,” Rascal throws at me, expertly jumping away from my playful fist. “Hey, Swift, I’m always surprised just how fuckin’ unladylike you are.”

Shrugging off his comment, well, most of my life has been spent with men, I remind him, “I’m no lady, Rascal. Thought you’d know that by now.”

He snorts, then changes the subject. “You still mad Prez paired you up with the fuckin’ new guy?”

While my preference is to work alone, I’ve been nursemaid to FNGs before. That doesn’t worry me. “Nah, we should give him a chance. Prez knows I won’t take any bullshit.”

“True.” He shakes his head. “Can’t see him fitting in, myself. But we can’t have him running back to Drummer.”

No, we can’t. I’m wondering how we can stop that without any bloodshed when Rascal, a lithe but strong and capable man, goes to the leg press and starts his own exercise routine. With a mock salute, I leave the gym.

I’ve time to take a leisurely shower, grab an energy drink and down it, then, it’s time to go and release the man I’m still finding it hard to think of as my new partner.

The word partner suggests an equal, and with Road having to be locked in his room and left with no means of communication with the outside world, he’s anything but that. While I’ve been exercising, I’ve been going through in my head how to approach today. Strategizing, I’m good at that. First, we’ll kick off with a tour of the clubhouse, or at least those parts prospects are allowed to access, which will probably bring up a myriad of questions I’ll have to decide how to address.

I wonder whether Road will be rested and ready to take on the day, or will he be in a closed-off mood, once he’d found he’d been locked in last night?

Well, I won’t know until I see him. Here goes nothing, I think as I knock on the door, then present the key. As the light turns green, I push down on the handle and push the door ajar.

“You decent in there?”

The door’s pulled fully open from the other side.

I’m pleased to see Road is, indeed, decent. Delectably so. I have to resist the urge to lick my lips. His hair freshly washed and dried gleams as it falls around his shoulders, his fresh t-shirt clings to his abs, and his bare arms flex bringing my attention to his tattoos. His head is tilted in challenge when my eyes rise to his face.

“You’re on time,” he comments. Then continues before I can respond, “I expected that.”

I shrug. Some habits are hard to kick. Not that this is a bad one. “You ready for me to show you around?”

His head shakes, and his eyes widen slightly as he leans his forearm against the door jamb. “Only if that tour starts in the fuckin’ kitchen. Not sure if you noticed, Swift, but I’ve been locked in this room for eight hours and there’s nothing the fuck to eat here.”

Mentally I backtrack, realising he’s right. Sometimes the sociable niceties of snacking or eating at other than set times pass me by. “Sure.”

Standing back, I let him precede me out of the room.

“Elevator?” he asks.

“Yup. Our kitchen is on the ground floor.”

“Ground… First. Got it.”

“Road,” I growl, warningly as he presses the button to call the elevator. He’ll need no card to activate it for a downward journey, nor to let him out on the right floor. I’m conscious he might be planning to try to incapacitate me and attempt an escape. It wouldn’t work, and I don’t want to hurt him.

He turns, fast, his large body crowding me as I stand my ground. “Fuckin’ said I’d stay, didn’t I? Fuckin’ great team we’re going to make if you don’t trust me at all. How’s this going to work, Swift, if you’re always watching out for me trying to run?”

He’s right, but… “I don’t know you.”

He sighs. “I get that, Swift. But Pip asked me to give you a chance. And how the fuck would I do that if I walked out right now?”

Prez had also suggested Road might be leaving in a box if he didn’t decide to patch over, or, if he couldn’t bring anything to the table that we haven’t already got. That, alone, would get a sensible man running