Page 11 of My Enemy Biker

Chapter 4 — Anna

His taste is still in my mouth.

I've brushed my teeth twice, had coffee, eaten breakfast I didn't want, and I can still taste him.

I can still feel his hands in my hair, on my breast, gripping my thigh hard enough to leave marks I checked for this morning and was disappointed not to find.

I wanted him to leave marks.

That's the realization sitting in my kitchen at seven in the morning making me furious at myself.

The case file on my laptop has been open for thirty minutes. Contract dispute, needs precedent review, straightforward work I could do in my sleep. I've read the same paragraph six times and couldn't repeat a single word from it.

My body still feels charged. Restless. Every shift in the chair reminds me of how he pressed against me, how hard he was, how much he wanted me and how much I wanted him back.

This is absurd.

I'm twenty-seven years old, not some teenager who can't function after being kissed.

Except it wasn't just a kiss. It was a claiming, deliberate and demanding, and I responded like I'd been waiting for it.

Maybe I had been.

That thought makes me close the laptop and stand up.

I need to move, do something productive, stop replaying those five minutes against that tree like they matter more than they do.

Shower. Work. Normal day. Pretend last night didn't happen.

The shower doesn't help. Makes it worse, actually, because I'm alone and naked and my body is still humming with want I can't seem to shut off.

By the time I get out I'm so frustrated I could break something.

I get dressed with focus. Jeans, t-shirt, bra because last night taught me that lesson clearly enough. Pull my hair back tight.

Professional. Put together. Completely unconvincing but it's what I've got.

I sit down at my laptop and pull up the case file I'm supposed to be reviewing. Contract dispute. Precedent analysis. Work I could normally do in my sleep.

I read the first paragraph three times without retaining a single word.

My mind keeps drifting to how Cain's hands felt in my hair, how his mouth tasted, the specific sound he made when I bit his lip.

I close the laptop hard enough the sound echoes through my kitchen.

By ten o'clock I've tried working four separate times and accomplished exactly nothing except confirming that Cain has thoroughly destroyed my ability to focus on anything besides him. I'm furious about it.

Fine.

I need groceries anyway. I'll go into town, do normal errands like a normal person who isn't obsessing over a dangerous man who kisses like he's staking territorial claims.

The drive takes twelve minutes.

Bloomfield is small, familiar after eighteen months here. Safe.

I park at the grocery store, grab a cart, go through the motions. Bread, eggs, vegetables I probably won't eat, coffee because I'm burning through it lately.

Margaret waves from across the street where she's opening the library. I wave back. See? Normal. This is my life.