Page 15 of Hard as Stone (Stoneheart MC #2)

“You weren’t kidding when you said you’d take me somewhere that didn’t use plastic cups,” I say, tapping my nails against the glassware and hearing the obvious ring of crystal. “Fancy shmancy.”

His lips twitch. “Hawk—our sergeant at arms, you’ll meet him soon—recommended it. Brought his old lady, Andi, here on their first date.” He opens his menu, but his eyes stay on me. “Said the steak is worth wearing a tie for.”

I hide my smile behind my menu, trying not to baulk at the prices. “That’s quite the endorsement from a man who probably lives in leather.”

“Speaking of leather...” His voice drops lower. “My cut looks crazy good on you.”

Heat floods my cheeks. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” The look he gives me over his menu should be illegal in public. “But I think what I’d really like to see is how you’d look in nothing but my jacket.”

My menu hits the table with a snap. “Shouldn’t you be choosing a wine or something instead of trying to make me blush?”

“Blush? I was going for more than that, sweetheart.” Axel’s smirk only widens at my flustered reaction. “But you’re right, we should choose a wine. Any preferences?”

I scan the extensive wine list, feeling out of my depth. The fanciest thing I’ve had to drink lately was hard cider at Devil’s. “Um... red?”

He chuckles. “Allow me.”

The waiter appears, and Axel orders with the confidence of someone used to fine dining, rattling off the name of a wine I can’t even pronounce. I raise an eyebrow as the waiter hurries off.

“Didn’t realize bikers were such wine connoisseurs,” I tease.

Axel’s lips quirk up. “There’s a lot you don’t know about me yet, trouble.”

“Is that so?” I lean forward, resting my chin on my hand. “Like what?”

His eyes drop to my lips. “Like how much self-control it’s taking not to lean across this table and kiss that smirk off your face.”

My breath catches. “What’s stopping you?”

His hand snakes under the table and rests on my knee, his fingers trailing gently up the inside of my thigh. “The fact that if I start, I might not be able to stop.” He pauses at the hem of my dress, teasing. “And I promised you dinner.”

If I were to stand right now, there’d be a telltale pool of dampness on the seat. My clit aches, and my insides are screaming for his fingers to climb higher, higher.

I swallow hard, hyper-aware of Axel’s fingers pressing possessively against my skin. “You and your promises,” I manage, my voice coming out as mere breath. “I’m not sure if I’m enjoying this gentleman business or if I’m mad at it.”

“Only a gentleman on the surface, sweetheart. You have no idea the things I want to do to you, the filthy things I want to say to you.”

Before I can respond, the waiter returns with our wine.

Axel withdraws his hand as the man pours, and I use the moment to try to collect myself.

My skin feels too tight, too hot, and Axel just existing so close by doesn’t help.

The man is stupid hot, and all I can think about, as I take a sip of my wine, is climbing into his lap and doing filthy things myself.

The waiter takes our food order—steak, of course—and when he leaves, Axel raises his glass. “To new beginnings,” he says, his eyes never leaving mine.

I clink my glass against his. “And dangerous promises.”

His low chuckle sends another shiver through me as we sip our wine. The rich, velvety taste coats my tongue, and I can’t help the small moan of appreciation that escapes me.

“Good?” Axel asks, his eyes never leaving my face.

I nod, licking a stray drop from my lips. His gaze follows the movement, and the intensity makes me shiver.

“So,” I say, desperate for a distraction before I do something stupid like crawl under the table and undo his pants. “Tell me something about yourself that doesn’t involve motorcycles or leather jackets.”

“Would you believe I used to spend every summer at places like this?” he says after a moment. “Family tradition. My father was a state senator, mother came from old money. Sunday brunches, charity galas, political fundraisers...” His lips quirk. “Never quite got the hang of the tie part, though.”

I trace the rim of my wineglass. “That’s quite a change, going from political dinners to MC life.”

“Not as much as you’d think.” Something darker flickers in his eyes. “Both are about power plays and choosing sides. Difference is, the MC is honest about what they are.”

“And fancy restaurants weren’t your scene?”

He laughs, but there’s an edge to it. “Let’s just say I got tired of the lies. The deals made behind closed doors that screwed over regular people.” His eyes meet mine. “Watching my father shake hands with people in public while destroying their livelihoods in private.”

“Is that why you left?”

“Partly.” He takes a slow sip of wine. “I was always the black sheep asking too many questions.” His jaw tightens.

“So you just walked away from it all? Traded in suits for leather?”

“Walked is putting it mildly,” Axel says with a wry smile. “More like flying through the air with a fire under my ass.”

“What happened?”

“Got into trouble one too many times, said some things I couldn’t take back. Next thing I knew, I was disowned and cut off.”

I reach across the table, taking Axel’s hand in mine. “I’m sorry. That must have been hard.”

He shrugs, but I see the tension in his shoulders. “Best thing that ever happened to me. Found the club not long after. They took me in, gave me purpose. A real family.”

“Still,” I say softly, “walking away from everything you’ve ever known couldn’t have been easy.”

His fingers tangle with mine, his thumb running over my knuckles. “Wasn’t all bad. Taught me to appreciate the simple things. Good food, good people. The MC... they don’t care about your last name or your connections. Just your loyalty. Your heart.”

“Sounds nice,” I say softly, thinking of my own family’s dysfunction.

“Could be your home too,” he says, his voice equally quiet.

The intensity in his eyes makes my heart skip. “Axel...”

“Just something to think about, trouble.” He squeezes my hand before releasing it as the waiter approaches with our food. “For now, let’s see if that steak lives up to its reputation.”

The steaks do indeed live up to their reputation. The meat is perfectly cooked, melting in my mouth with each bite. We eat in comfortable silence for a few minutes, savoring the food and the view of the twinkling lights in the valley below.

“So,” Axel says after a while, setting down his fork. “Your turn. Tell me something about Poppy Bennett that doesn’t involve construction sites or sassy comebacks.”

I take a sip of wine, considering. “I will. But first I need to ask you something.”

“Shoot.”

“What’s your real name?”

He reaches for his wineglass as he swallows the steak in his mouth. “You know my name.”

“I know your road name. And I just learned your surname when we came in here. Thorn. But I’m guessing a state senator’s son wouldn’t have a name like Axel.”

He’s quiet for a moment, swirling the wine in his glass. “Alistair,” he says finally. “Alistair James Thorn III, to be exact. Named after my grandfather and great grandfather.”

“Alistair,” I repeat, testing the name on my tongue. It suits him somehow—regal and strong. “How did you end up with Axel as your road name?”

Axel’s lips quirk up. “First night with the club, we were at a bar. Some asshole tried to start shit, so I grabbed the closest thing I could find—happened to be an axe hanging on the wall as decoration. Didn’t even swing it, just held it up, and the guy backed off real quick.

” He chuckles at the memory. “Stone—our president—said I looked more like an Axel than an Alistair, and the name stuck.”

I can’t help but laugh at the image. “Well, it suits you better than Alistair, that’s for sure.”

“Glad you approve.” His eyes crinkle at the corners. “Now, your turn. Tell me something I don’t know about Poppy Bennett.”

I take another sip of wine, considering. “Well... I used to be in a band.”

Axel’s eyebrows shoot up. “A band?”

“Back in the city. Not much else for a kid to do in our neighborhood except join a gang or start a band.” I spear another piece of steak. “I was the singer.”

“You can sing?”

“As well as a cat when its tail gets stepped on.” I laugh at his surprised expression. “There’s a reason I’m not in a band anymore.”

“Can’t be that bad.”

“Trust me, it was. Our drummer actually cried during our one and only gig.” I take another sip of wine, grinning at the memory. “Though that might have been because I accidentally hit him with the mic stand when I tried to do a cool, spinning move and tripped over the cables.”

His laugh is rich and deep. “Please tell me there’s video evidence of this.”

“There is. And maybe I’ll show you sometime.” I meet his gaze over my wineglass. “When I’ve had more wine and less shame.”

“Careful, trouble. I have no shame and I can get you all the wine you want, so that’s a dangerous promise to make.”

“Maybe I like dangerous.” I hold his stare. “I am on a date with a biker, after all.”

“And how’s that working out for you?”

I pretend to consider. “Well, the food’s good. The company’s...” I wave my hand vaguely. “Decent enough.”

“Decent?” His foot hooks around my ankle under the table. “I’m wounded.”

“Poor baby. How can I make it up to you?”

His eyes darken. “I can think of a few ways.”

The waiter chooses that moment to appear, clearing our plates with practiced efficiency. “Can I interest you in dessert?”

I open my mouth to say yes—the tiramisu I’d spotted on the menu earlier had looked amazing—but Axel’s hand slides higher up my thigh under the table.

“Just the check,” he says, his voice rougher than usual.

The waiter nods and disappears, leaving us alone with the tension crackling between us.

“No dessert?” I manage, very aware of how high his hand has crept.

His fingers brush lightly against my inner thigh, making me shiver. “Oh, I plan on dessert, trouble. Just not here.”