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I gave his shoulder a light shove to hide my embarrassment. “You’re making a big deal out of this.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Before I could change back, Knox caught my chin between his fingers and lifted his face to mine. He kissed me so slow and soft I damn near melted into a puddle like some lovestruck teenager.
Knox slowly broke the kiss, leaving me dazed. He chuckled. “You deserve this, Caroline.”
Just as I was about to reciprocate the tender moment, he dropped another outfit into my arms. “That should do to impress the Devil’s Luck.”
Two hours later, Knox pulled into the Well’s parking lot. He cut the engine but didn’t get off—mostly because I had my arms around his torso so tightly I was restricting his breathing.
Knox patted my hand. “Care, I like the ability to breathe.”
“What? Oh.”
I released him, and he swung his leg over the bike. He held out a hand for me to take. My new boots—thrifted, faintly scuffed, twenty-dollar biker boots—hit the gravel with a satisfying crunch.
“Hits different than kitten heels, hmm?” Knox teased, hand going to the small of my back. “Beautiful March afternoon to show off the new you.”
It was beautiful out. The slight breeze didn’t bother me with the flannel and jeans.
What did bother me was the fear that my father and the Wolverines would jump out from around the corner and make a move in broad daylight to wipe the Devils out once and for all. I felt exposed, unable to help scanning for any Wolverine lurking somewhere, keeping any kind of tabs on me.
As if Knox could sense my discomfort, he yanked his chest to mine and kissed my temple. “You worried about a threat, or just afraid someone’s gonna see how good I make you look?”
I rolled my eyes but smiled, slightly put at ease.
Knox smiled, too.
My heart did another flip. I really liked that stupid grin. Almost two weeks ago, I wanted to claw it off his face. Now it was so… disarming.
Two weeks ago, Nathaniel Knox did nothing but rub me the wrong way. He barged into the poker den, calculating and rough, ready to throw fists before thinking.
But now I saw all the other things about him. That stupid grin, the way his eyebrow arched when I said something that impressed him, the way he never shied away from meeting my gaze and holding it—the way no one else ever did. He never looked at me like I was a bitch, or a burden, or a pawn in a game.
His looks didn’t hurt, either. Bruises aside, I never got tired of watching the muscle in his jaw that flexed when he was thinking, or frustrated, or pissed off. His tattoos. His hands. The tendons in his arms. His biceps. His?—
“Care?” he asked.
“Huh?”
Knox chuckled, and his smile widened. Immediately, my nerves eased.
But a smile couldn’t protect me from Black Jack holding a gun to my head for not getting out of Reno a week ago.
Knox’s hand slipped into mine, and we started walking. I had no choice but to follow.
The inside of the Well was dark compared to the bright daylight outside. I blinked to let my eyes adjust as Knox led me through the entryway. It was a casual, wood cabin-inspired bar. Cute, rustic. There were a few patrons scattered around the tables, mostly bikers or small groups of buddies downing beers. I did a cursory scan for any of the other Devil’s Luck members, but didn’t see or hear them among the low chatter.
No sign of Black Jack.
A woman’s laugh at the bar made me spook like an anxious dog. Knox squeezed my hand tighter.
The bartender I recognized was conversing with an older biker, talking like they were the best of friends.
Samantha Lye. The owner of the Well and the bar before it—which I helped burn down. She was a pretty woman with blunt black hair and lively green eyes, wearing jean shorts and a black tank top.
And she was very pregnant. The tank top was stretched tightly over her belly, just barely peeking out.
My gut twisted. An unborn child was in the crossfire of two MCs who wanted each other dead.