Biker Chick Campout (Rebel Wayfarers MC) Read Online Free Page A

were jumbled, the only coherent ones to
do, again, with his beauty. How could someone so beautiful be
called Hurley , she mused, then shook her head, not caring,
because the evidence was right in front of her. “Got that in one,
doll.” She must have looked confused because
he laughed. “You already said ‘no,’ honey.”
    “Oh,” she forced out, trying to mask her
embarrassment by lifting the cup of tequila and taking a drink. Dios, he must think I’m an idiot , she thought.
    “Whatcha got?” he asked and reached out,
casually plucking the cup from her grip. Sniffing, he made a face
and turned his head sideways, then lifted the cup and sipped. He
made a rough noise in the back of his throat
as he lowered the cup, then raised it and
sipped again. “Mica’s good stuff,” he said with a grin, passing her
the cup back. “I have my own stash I don’t tell her about. If she
knew what I liked to drink, she’d lecture me about fermenting
practices and aging properties.”
    “Umm hmm,” she agreed, still watching his
face. Beautiful .
    “I’m Hurley.” He gave her a
chin lift, and then unfolded fluidly and stood next to her,
so close she could feel the heat rolling off him. An
intimate distance, one that could be eliminated if she
swayed only the slightest amount. “I’m with the
Rebels out of Fort Wayne, but they use me to slog shit here and
there” — he swung an arm out, indicating the
van behind them — “such as food and amenities
for hen’s parties in the middle of fucking nowhere.”
    Rolling her lips between her teeth, she
clamped down on them and nodded. Say something , she thought. You’ve been around men like him all your life. Why has this hermoso gringo stolen your
voice, chica?
    “Normally when one person of a group or
gathering introduces themselves, it’s courteous for the other parties present to reciprocate,” he said with
another grin, this one sly, drawing his lips sideways as he openly
teased her. “Let’s try this again, honey. Hi there, I’m
Hurley.”
    Cheeks blazing hot, she dropped her gaze to
the ground. Forcing her mouth open, she took in a breath, and then murmured , “Mela.” She cleared her throat. “I’m
Mela. Carmela, actually, but my friends call me Mela. Like mellow,
but with an aah sound. Mela.”
    She heard him move and saw his feet shift
closer, that heat raging hotter all along her body, her awareness
of him intensifying. A bold move, he wasn’t making any effort to
hide his interest. His voice deepened and grew husky as he let the
sounds of her name roll off his tongue, “Mela.” Darting a glance at
him, she saw he was looking down at her with a soft smile on his
face. “My pleasure, honey.” His hand gripped hers and
in an instant, the scene in front of her was gone and in the place
of the beautiful young gringo, her mind showed her an older
Mexican man. Angry, his hard, sweaty hands reaching out to grasp
her wrists. It was only a moment until with a jolt, she
jerked free and closed her eyes, opening them just in time to see
Hurley take a step back, probably assuming her reaction was to his
touch. Which it was, just not in the way he imagined. Not a
rejection of him, but of her memories. “So…” —his voice trailed off
uncertainly, then picked back up, the look on his face lost in the
deepening shadows — “you said dinner was
ready?”
    She nodded and her movement
seemed to be his exit cue. Before she could say anything else he
had reached behind her, bringing out and putting on his cut. Then,
carefully and obviously not touching her, he closed the van door
before wordlessly turning and walking towards the fire. Away from
her and her fears, leaving her standing alone.
    Mela took a few minutes to collect herself
before trailing him back to the group. Standing beside the bonfire,
she accepted another slug of liquor and took a plate of food from
Jess, who slipped in sideways for a quick hug. Hands full, Mela
leaned into the gesture, both women