Page 52 of Cain

“It’s the club’s SUV. We can use it when the bike isn’t convenient.”

“That’s handy. Let me get the spare,” I said, turning to go do that, but finding my chin pinched between his fingers instead, stilling the motion.

“In a second,” he said, stepping closer.

My belly flip-flopped.

A fluttering sensation started in my stomach and moved lower.

My gaze flicked up, finding him already watching me. I saw the intention just a second before he moved down, sealing his lips to mine.

It was quick, just a sweet little greeting. But my body cried for more as he took a step back.

“Hi,” I said, giving him a small smile.

“Hi. Now, forget the spare,” he said, making his way toward the SUV.

“How can I forget the spare?” I asked, following as he opened the trunk.

The smell hit me first.

Just that almost overwhelming scent of new rubber.

“What is this?” I asked, seeing four pristine new tires sitting in the trunk.

“Noticed the first day we met that your tires were bald. It’s been bothering me ever since. Glad to have an excuse to do this without seeming like a complete creep. So, here,” he said, hauling two tires out, then reaching for my hips. He lifted me up like I weighed nothing but dried leaves, then set me inside the trunk. “You keep your pretty ass here and keep me company while I work.”

“I could help,” I suggested.

“The day I need help changing a few tires is the day I want to be put down,” he said, hauling out the last two tires, then going into the backseat for the jack.

So I did what he wanted.

I sat in the trunk, legs kicking, as my greedy gaze gobbled up the sight of his arm muscles tensing and bulging as he cranked up the jack, then used the tire iron to get the little caps off the tire.

I hadn’t really had an occasion to watch a man work on a car before. And my soul wept for what I’d clearly been missing out on all these years. Because it was hot. Like five-alarm-fire hot. It was chilly enough to need a jacket, and my body felt like it was burning up.

And Cain just went from tire to tire, taking the ancient ones off, putting the brand new ones on. Like it was nothing.

Meanwhile, not only had he been worried about my bald tires. He’d also clocked my car’s make and model. On top of that, instead of just helping me (for free) with one tire I already had, he’d taken time out of his day to go to the tire store and get four new ones. Which couldn’t have been cheap.

I guess Jill was right about these biker guys.

They were genuinely good men.

Maybe they did illegal things.

Maybe their lives held more action than most.

But when they saw something they could help with or fix, they just… did it.

Or, at least, Cain did.

There was an unfamiliar tugging sensation in my chest at that.

Maybe I hadn’t made good decisions with men in the past.

Maybe I still didn’t trust myself to make the right choices.