Claimed By The Devil - Joanna Blake Page 0,14

think you can get away for a few hours?”

My mouth dropped open. I nodded, not exactly sure what I was agreeing to. Was it a date? Or was this a pity barbecue because he knew I had zero social life?

I swatted a fly away from my sweaty face and imagined us standing there as if someone else were seeing us. Me, wearing grubby work clothes, young, short, and a little chubby. Him, stunningly gorgeous and impossibly cool, with a perfect body and never a hair out of place. I mean, the man could have been in a shampoo commercial.

Yeah, it was definitely a pity barbecue.

I didn’t stop nodding, though. Mom kept trying to get me to do something fun. She felt bad about my dropping out and sitting by her bedside half the time. But it had been my choice, something I told her repeatedly.

Anyway, a girl had to eat, right?

“I’ll pick you up tomorrow around three. Sounds good?”

I nodded again, feeling stupid for the butterflies that were now doing cartwheels in my tummy. Stupid butterflies. It's not a date.

He turned to leave and then looked back at me.

“Let me know if you're going to wear a dress so I can bring a car.”

“A dress?”

He nodded. “It's not safe to ride on the back of a motorcycle in a dress. So it's up to you. Just let me know, OK?”

Riding on the back of his . . . oh, my.

Jeans, I decided instantly. I was definitely wearing jeans.

"So, a barbecue with Nick?" my mom asked with an unfamiliar twinkle in her eye.

“Why do you say it like that?” I asked with an eye roll as I tucked the blankets more firmly around her legs.

"Because . . . it's Nick," she said with a happy chortle.

I stared at her and then crossed my arms. Realization set in, along with a healthy dose of embarrassment. I hadn't been fooling anyone. Least of all, my mother.

"You knew. You always knew."

"Of course, I knew. I'm your mother." She started coughing, and that familiar feeling tightened up in my gut. "But don't worry. I don't think he knew."

I threw my hands up in mock exasperation at her comment. It was better to ignore the coughing fits. If she needed my help, it was pretty obvious. She got mad if I fussed too much. But from the pink in her cheeks, I realized even a little bit of excitement was good for her.

Anything that wasn’t about her cancer or the dire straights we were in financially . . . well, no wonder she was happy to hear about something else. Anything else.

“Let me get you a cup of mint tea.”

She nodded, leaning back on the pillows. We went through a lot of mint tea around here. It helped with the nausea that the drugs caused. Mom drank a lot of mint and ginger tea.

“Okay, but only if you let me pick out what you wear tomorrow.”

I blushed and nodded.

“It has to be jeans.”

“Jeans?”

“If I want to, um, ride on his motorcycle.”

She chortled then, and the sound was like a balm to my soul.

“Jeans it is, then. Definitely jeans.”

I smiled happily.

“I’ll be right back with that tea.”

Chapter Eight

Nick

I turned off the engine and rested two helmets on the seat. Everything was polished and shined. I was wearing a clean shirt under my leather. I usually left my hair alone, but I’d brushed the fuck out of it before setting out. Fuck, I’d even used conditioner in the shower. I ran my fingers through it before heading to the farmhouse. It had been a long time since I actually came to this door and knocked.

Fuck, I'm nervous. What if she doesn't like me? What if she fucking does?

Then you're a lucky fucking son of a bitch, my inner optimist answered.

It was only a few minutes before I heard footsteps. Cute little footsteps, reminding me of how young and sweet she was. And then the door opened and I stopped thinking completely.

"Hi," Melissa said with a sweet smile.

"Hi,” I said after a moment’s hesitation during which I stared at her completely dumbfounded. It wasn't that she looked all that different. It's just that she looked even prettier than usual, which was saying a lot.

Oh, Nick, you are in such deep, deep trouble, my boy.

Tight jeans emphasized her rounded hips and hourglass shape. The faded floral button-down she wore had puckered sleeves and was unbuttoned just enough to show the top of what promised to be glorious, bountiful cleavage.

Her hair