Page 25 of Surprising Bones

CHAPTER TEN

EDEN

Never in my wildest dreams would I ever imagine that I’d be moving in with a six-foot-three tattooed biker who cooks like Gordon Ramsay and fucks like he’s trying to make up for lost time. But here I am, standing on the smooth stone floor of Bones’ entryway, cardboard box in my hands, staring at a wall of windows that look out on a sweep of red rock and nothing else. My entire worldly inventory fits in four boxes and a bag of laundry.

Bones follows, arms loaded with the rest of my shit. He’s not even breathing hard. “Where do you want the boxes, sweetheart?” His voice vibrates through my body in a way that’s gotten entirely too familiar.

I glance around, trying to decide where to start. “Bedroom?” I suggest.

Bones sets the boxes down at the end of the bed, wipes his hands on his jeans, and turns to me with a look that’s somehow both predatory and reverent. He doesn’t say anything. He walks over and pulls me into his chest, arms crushing around my back. For a second, the only thing in the world is the smell of him—clean, spicy, somehow always sun-warmed, even in the shade. “You’re home now,” he rumbles warming me from the inside out.

I want to say something sassy. I really do. But for once, my sarcasm fails me. I just hug him tighter, letting my body sink into his until I don’t know where I end and he begins. “I am.”

After a minute, I force myself to let go, knowing I have some unpacking to do. “I should get this stuff put away.”

Bones leans against the wall, arms folded, just watching. “What do you want me to do?”

“Could you put away my bathroom stuff?” If we’re going to make this work, he needs to deal with my toiletries and tampons.

“You got it, sweetheart.” He gives me a soft kiss that quickly turns heated. I’m about to say screw it and forget about unpacking when he pulls back and smiles down at me. “Let’s get this shit put away so we can celebrate later.” He wiggles his eyebrows, and I have to laugh at the sight of the tattooed biker being silly.

“Sounds like a plan to me.”

By mid-afternoon, I’m officially moved in. My clothes in the closet. My plant on the shelf. My coffee mug in the kitchen, next to his. It’s weird how fast my stuff disappears into his world, like it was always waiting for me to show up.

We don’t go out that night. We don’t need to. Bones makes steak and salad, pours two glasses of wine, and we eat at the bar counter while the sun melts down the sky outside. Afterwards, we sit on the back patio, his arm wrapped around my shoulders, watching the sun go down over the dessert.

I never thought I could want this, but damn, I want it so bad it’s hard to breathe.

Bones and I are together all the time. At work, at home, even on errands. We start to develop a routine, and I find myself thriving on it. Coffee together before sunrise. A quick breakfast, then both of us in his truck on the way to the Boneyard Garage.

Weekends are different. Weekends are for us.

One Saturday morning, I’m sitting at the breakfast bar drinking my coffee when Bones sticks his head in the kitchen door that leads to the garage. “Can you come out here for a second, sweetheart?” I grab my coffee cup and walk into the four-car attached garage. I come to a dead stop when I see there’s a motorcycle parked in the center bay with a big red bow on top of it. This isn’t one of the monster bikes the club guys ride, but something smaller. Sleek. Red. I have no idea what it is, but it’s adorable.

Bones grins at me from the other side of the bike. “Surprise,” he says, holding out a helmet with a checkered stripe down the side.

I stare at it, dumbfounded. “You got me a bike?” It comes out as a squeak.

He shrugs, casual as can be. “Figured my old lady should have her own set of wheels. We’ll go slow, promise.” He’s trying to play it cool, but I see the nervous flicker in his eyes. He’s excited, and a little scared I’ll say no. I should question the old lady thing, but right now, I have way too many things hitting me from all directions.

I take the helmet and turn it in my hands. It’s light, glossy, and smells like new plastic. “It’s a good thing you gave me good insurance because I’m not sure a klutz like me can ride.”

He laughs and wraps his arms around me. “Don’t worry, I’ll make sure you’re ready before I turn you loose.” He pats the saddle. “Come here.”

I hesitate, but Bones waits, patient as a statue. After a second, I give in and swing a leg over the bike. It’s higher off the ground than I expect, but I get my feet down. Bones steadies me, hands on my hips.

I blow out my breath, heart pounding. “I’m not sure I can do this.”

He leans in, breath warm in my ear. “There isn’t anything you can’t do. Just takes practice.” He walks me through the basics. How to start it, how the gears work, how to brake without launching myself into the next dimension. He’s patient. Never raises his voice, even when I stall out three times in a row. Never makes me feel stupid, even when I totally am.

Soon, I can coast down the driveway without falling over as he walks next to me, one hand on my back, the other on the handlebars. “We’ll practice every day until you feel confident,” he says. “I won’t let anything happen to you.”

“I know.” I smile over at him. For the first time in my life, I’m excited to learn something new. And Bones is a surprisingly good teacher. He doesn’t lecture. He just demonstrates, lets me try, then fixes my mistakes without judgment.

The first time I get the bike into second gear without stalling, Bones whoops like he just won the lottery. I grin so hard my face hurts.

By the end of the weekend, I can actually ride in a straight line. I’m still wobbly on turns, and I haven’t gotten the hang of starting on a hill, but I’m getting there. And every time I look over, Bones is watching me with this stupid proud smile on his face.