Chapter 6

"Um..."

"Answer me, babe," he demanded.

Yikes. He was scarier than Tack, Dog and the entire biker gang all rolled into one.

"Sam, I said answer me." His deep voice was beginning to rumble.

But I blinked again.

"You know my name?"

He stared down at me.

Then he stepped back and ran his hand over his short-cropped black hair at the same time he shook his head but not even for a second did he unpin me from his ferocious scowl.

"Jesus, babe, you're a piece of work."

"What?" I whispered.

He planted his hands on his hips and leaned back into my face.

"Yeah, Sam, I know your name. Samantha Piper Kidd. Thirty-three years old. Self-employed, freelance editor. You pay your taxes on time, your mortgage on time and your bills on time.

Married once for two years to a man who couldn't keep his dick in his pants and who has since married three other women and is currently engaged in his fourth divorce. Your father is Baxter Kidd, ex-Army, current construction foreman, married to Meredith Kidd, executive secretary to a hotshot divorce attorney who, incidentally, pulled your shit outta that mess you got into with that asshole. You hang with Camille Antoine who works dispatch for Denver PD and Tracy Richmond who works everywhere, mostly retail. You string along Troy Loughlin, who'd kill to get in your pants but you have no clue and he has no balls. Your sister is the definition of loser. You spend too much on clothes. When you go out, you show too much skin. And the only man you've fucked for a year and a half is me."

For the second time that day, my jaw was slack.

Then I closed my mouth only for it to fall open again.

Then I closed it only to open it to speak. "How do you know so much about me?"

"Sweet Pea, I know who I fuck," he shot back and I felt my body move like he'd struck me and that's exactly what his words felt like, a blow. He didn't see it, or more accurately, he disregarded it and went on. "Now tell me, what the fuck were you thinkin' walkin' into Ride like that?"

"I needed to talk to Dog," I explained because I couldn't get out any of the other ten thousand and fifty things I wanted to say.

"You needed to talk to Dog," he repeated.

"Yes," I replied.

"Babe, you were coasting under radar, now you're lit up like a fuckin' beacon."

"What does that mean?" I asked.

"It means you're fucked," he answered.

Belatedly, I was getting angry.

"Okay," I moved an inch from the door, straightening my shoulders, "now what does that mean?"

"I think you get that your sister is a piece of trash," he informed me.

It was safe to say Ginger was a piece of trash. It was also safe to say my Dad, Meredith or I could call her that. Even Tack and Dog, who she owed over two million dollars, could get away with calling her that.

The person who could not was the man standing in front of me, a man I knew intimately but this was the first time I'd seen his face by the light of day. And one I was discovering was a big, fat jerk!

"Do not call Ginger a piece of trash," I warned.

His eyebrows flew up and it sucked because he was so goddamned handsome, all that brown skin, those black eyes, that strong jaw, that thick, short, black hair, his beautifully chiseled features and equally beautifully chiseled physique - all of it hinting at Hispanic or maybe Italian and all of it freaking, unbelievably amazing.

But the worst for me, right then, was that he could be even more drop dead beautiful with his eyebrows raised in disbelief like he thought I was an idiot.

"You're sayin' you don't know your sister's trash?" he asked.

"No, I'm saying you can't call her trash. I can call her trash but you can't."

He scowled at me some more and then muttered, "Fuck me."

"I think we're done here," I announced and started to move to open the door but then suddenly found myself pinned against it again by his big, hard, sculpted, exceptionally warm body with both his hands at either side of my neck, thumbs at my jaw forcing me to look up at him.

"Oh no, Sweet Pea, we're not done," he whispered in a scary voice and I fought my mouth dropping open again because he was back to freaking me out more than half dozen members of a biker gang and I succeeded in this endeavor mainly because his thumbs were there.

"Step back," I demanded and was pretty pleased my voice didn't tremble.

He ignored me and didn't move. Instead, he said, "Your sister has bought herself a load of shit, then she bought herself more, not done, she bought herself more. She's pissed off some serious people. The best end to this scenario is she turns up dead. I know there's no love lost between you two and I know it still sucks for you to hear that but that doesn't make it any less true."

"Step back," I repeated.

He continued to ignore me. "The best thing you could have done when Darla showed on your doorstep was close the door, close your mind to that shit and go back to work. You didn't. You strutted your ass into Ride, got Tack's attention and, trust me, babe, you do not want Tack's attention. And doin' that, you made yourself visible to a lot of people you do not want to know you exist. That's done. Now, your sister's problems do not exist for you. Your sister does not exist for you. Now, you keep your head down, be smart and keep yourself out of trouble. Which means you stick to what you know, who you know and where you know. You do not move out of regularly scheduled programming. You get me?"

"How do you know Darla was here?"

His brows shot together and the way they did made him now look scary and scarily impatient.

"Clue in, Sweet Pea, I keep tabs."

"You keep tabs?"

"You're mine so I keep tabs."

I felt my own eyebrows shoot together. "I'm yours?"

"Babe, I'm fuckin' you aren't I?"

This was without question. I didn't see his face but that didn't mean he didn't talk. He was seriously bossy in bed and I'd know that deep voice anywhere.

"Okay," I started, "perhaps at this juncture we should discuss our relationship."

"Clue in again, Sam, the reason our relationship is the way it is, is so I don't ever have to waste my fuckin' time doin' stupid-ass shit like discussing it."

Oh boy. Now I was getting really angry.

"I think you should step back and then I think you should go," I told him.

"And I think you should confirm you get me then I'll go."

"Fine, I get you, now... go," I snapped back.

He didn't move and his black eyes didn't unlock from mine.

Therefore, I called, "Hello? I get you. Now go."

Suddenly, his eyes warmed and his thumbs moved from under my jaws to slide over the edges of them.

Then he noted softly, "You're pissed."

Was he for real?

"Uh... yeah," I verified.

"Don't be pissed," he ordered.

No, seriously, he couldn't be for real.