/> He wanted to pick her up, toss her over his shoulder and run before they convinced her to stay here with them. Is she a fucking princess or a senator’s daughter?
“Okay. Be safe and have fun,” the harp—Hilary said.
“Don’t worry, she will.” After collecting his wallet and phone, he shoved them back into his pockets and turned, guiding her through the crowd.
“T-this isn’t what I expected!” she called to him over the music. They exited the floor, and he steered them to a wall across from the bar. Gripping her hips, he bent down so she could hear him.
“Well I save throwing women over my shoulder and carrying them off to my bike for the second date.”
She glanced away and laughed. “I didn’t mean that the way it sounded. You’re…not my usual type.”
“Good, I like being your first.” She glanced down and he laughed. “Don’t worry sweetheart, I don’t bite unless asked.”
“Oh.” The quaver in her husky voice filled him with desire. “Is that what you want?” He trailed his thumb across her neck, resting it against her throbbing pulse point.
“Perhaps another time, after I cracked that shell you’re tucked away in.”
“That’s not something good girls do.” She swallowed hard.
“Oh baby, good girls do. In time I’ll show you that firsthand.” The pulse in her neck became erratic. Aware of his limitations he cleared his throat and stepped back. “We need to get that drink now.”
“Yeah,” she whispered stepping away from the wall. He wrapped an arm around her waist, mean-mugging the men eyeballing her like a piece of meat. They glanced away and he grinned. He and Juliette reached the end of the bar and he turned to her.
“Pick your poison.”
“Just a coke, I’m the designated driver.”
“You going for the sainthood?”
She laughed. “No. I lost the game of paper rock scissors.”
He smiled. “Fair is fair. If you weren’t the driver what would it be?”
“Amaretto sour, or a whiskey sour in a pinch.”
“I’ll commit it to memory.”
She flashed him a surprised look.
“What can I get for you?” The brunette bartender asked, appearing at the end of the bar.
“Whiskey on the rocks for me and a cola for the lady.”
“You got it. Mayhem drinks free.”
Shooter nodded his thanks as the woman turned on her heel and disappeared to the opposite end of the bar.
“Mayhem?” Juliette asked.
“That’s the name of my M.C. The Lords of Mayhem.” He ran his finger over the club emblem and she tilted her head.
“C-can I touch it?”
“Only ’cause you asked nicely.” Damn she’s green. The situation thrilled him. A woman who cared about Shooter the man, not the position he held in Mayhem, or the perks of being a biker’s woman.
“Sergeant at Arms?” She ran her finger over his patch, burning a hole through the leather and the cotton that covered his chest.
The bartender returned and set the drinks in front of him.