The Biker's Touch - Book 2 (An Alpha Motorcycle Club Romance) (Ghosts of the Prairie Motorcycle Club) Read Online Free Page A
starved,” she said, realizing she was indeed hungry.
“What do you have in the refrigerator?” he asked, bounding out of bed.
He put his fingers to his head as though he were a mind reader. “I am going to guess, lettuce. Um, carrots. Yep, definitely carrots. Celery and peanut butter. What else? Tomato. Oh, and there is another kind of lettuce. Perhaps some kale.”
“Okay,” she socked him gently, “I also have bread. And some other stuff, I can’t remember.”
“Shall I hazard to guess? Fruit?” he asked.
“Are you teasing me? Are you fruit and veggie shaming me?” she kidded.
He rubbed the firm cheek of her buttocks before he kissed it. “No, I am digging you.”
***
As it turned out, Jennifer had pork chops as well. She had forgotten about them. It was a whim that she had picked them up on the night she learned her husband was in jail. They were supposed to have dinner together as a family and he decided to go to The Bison without her or the kids. Jennifer didn’t feel like eating. She fed the kids mac and cheese. She ate nothing.
When Trenton saw the chops, the bread and the salad, he beamed.
“Oh boy,” he teased. “This is going to be so good!”
“You’re a weirdo,” she kidded him.
“I am and you’re going to like it a lot,” he said.
He leaned down to her and kissed her so tenderly. Finally, he broke the kiss and started cooking. Jennifer bent over, resting on her elbows, watching. There was something so hot about a gorgeous, masculine man working in the kitchen.
Jennifer mooned at him. “You probably know how to do everything, don’t you?”
“No.” He winked. “Not everything. Just the good stuff.”
“The ‘oh my God things’,” she said.
It crossed her mind fleetingly that he was so good in bed because he had so many partners. Jealousy panged in her belly over all the other women who had the same pleasure that she had just experienced. She was jealous that she hadn’t spent her married years with him. It was really hitting her; the wasted time she had spent with her husband.
After he browned the chops he put them in the oven.
“Twenty minutes,” he said.
He pulled out his cell phone and streamed music. He dragged the coffee table out of the way so that they could slow dance in front of the fireplace in their bathrobes. He held her close to his warm hard chest. Mostly they swayed and grinded and kissed until the timer dinged. Jennifer had not realized that slow dancing in a romantic moment was on her bucket list. Definitely coming three times in an evening was.
She set the table for them as he plated the food that was as pretty and artful as any from a five-star restaurant that she had been to. There was so much to this man. Jennifer felt incredibly lucky to have met him.
They sat and they dined by candlelight. He cut a bite of pork on his plate and held it to her mouth to taste. He had glazed it with brown sugar and the coffee left over in the pot. She thought he was nuts at the time, but tasting it now she thought he was a genius.
“What is this sauce called?” she asked.
“Red eye gravy. Now how can you be from North Dakota and not know about red eye gravy? Don’t they serve that in ivory towers?” he teased.
Her feelings were actually hurt by the remark. She was well-off, to be sure. She was not exactly comfortable with the wealth since she was pretty sure it was ill-gotten by the hands of her dastardly husband. But she didn’t grow up that way.
“My parents were migrant workers in California. I know when you think ‘migrant worker’ you think minorities from other countries, but there’s actually a lot of people born and bred right here who are migrant farmers. I lived in a shack for the most part, growing up. I picked as soon as I was able.”
The look on Trenton’s face was horror. She felt guilty, as though that was an unfair response, but she was glad she got it out in the open. It was a thing she rarely talked about. Something
“What do you have in the refrigerator?” he asked, bounding out of bed.
He put his fingers to his head as though he were a mind reader. “I am going to guess, lettuce. Um, carrots. Yep, definitely carrots. Celery and peanut butter. What else? Tomato. Oh, and there is another kind of lettuce. Perhaps some kale.”
“Okay,” she socked him gently, “I also have bread. And some other stuff, I can’t remember.”
“Shall I hazard to guess? Fruit?” he asked.
“Are you teasing me? Are you fruit and veggie shaming me?” she kidded.
He rubbed the firm cheek of her buttocks before he kissed it. “No, I am digging you.”
***
As it turned out, Jennifer had pork chops as well. She had forgotten about them. It was a whim that she had picked them up on the night she learned her husband was in jail. They were supposed to have dinner together as a family and he decided to go to The Bison without her or the kids. Jennifer didn’t feel like eating. She fed the kids mac and cheese. She ate nothing.
When Trenton saw the chops, the bread and the salad, he beamed.
“Oh boy,” he teased. “This is going to be so good!”
“You’re a weirdo,” she kidded him.
“I am and you’re going to like it a lot,” he said.
He leaned down to her and kissed her so tenderly. Finally, he broke the kiss and started cooking. Jennifer bent over, resting on her elbows, watching. There was something so hot about a gorgeous, masculine man working in the kitchen.
Jennifer mooned at him. “You probably know how to do everything, don’t you?”
“No.” He winked. “Not everything. Just the good stuff.”
“The ‘oh my God things’,” she said.
It crossed her mind fleetingly that he was so good in bed because he had so many partners. Jealousy panged in her belly over all the other women who had the same pleasure that she had just experienced. She was jealous that she hadn’t spent her married years with him. It was really hitting her; the wasted time she had spent with her husband.
After he browned the chops he put them in the oven.
“Twenty minutes,” he said.
He pulled out his cell phone and streamed music. He dragged the coffee table out of the way so that they could slow dance in front of the fireplace in their bathrobes. He held her close to his warm hard chest. Mostly they swayed and grinded and kissed until the timer dinged. Jennifer had not realized that slow dancing in a romantic moment was on her bucket list. Definitely coming three times in an evening was.
She set the table for them as he plated the food that was as pretty and artful as any from a five-star restaurant that she had been to. There was so much to this man. Jennifer felt incredibly lucky to have met him.
They sat and they dined by candlelight. He cut a bite of pork on his plate and held it to her mouth to taste. He had glazed it with brown sugar and the coffee left over in the pot. She thought he was nuts at the time, but tasting it now she thought he was a genius.
“What is this sauce called?” she asked.
“Red eye gravy. Now how can you be from North Dakota and not know about red eye gravy? Don’t they serve that in ivory towers?” he teased.
Her feelings were actually hurt by the remark. She was well-off, to be sure. She was not exactly comfortable with the wealth since she was pretty sure it was ill-gotten by the hands of her dastardly husband. But she didn’t grow up that way.
“My parents were migrant workers in California. I know when you think ‘migrant worker’ you think minorities from other countries, but there’s actually a lot of people born and bred right here who are migrant farmers. I lived in a shack for the most part, growing up. I picked as soon as I was able.”
The look on Trenton’s face was horror. She felt guilty, as though that was an unfair response, but she was glad she got it out in the open. It was a thing she rarely talked about. Something
Readers choose
Marie Harte
Elisabeth Grace
Michael Meyerhofer
Allyson Bird
R.J. Griffith
Iris Johansen
Glen Cook
Betsy Byars
Larissa Ione
William Kowalski