Page 7 of Shadow’s Protection (Hurricane Heat MC #1)

Violet

I can hardly cobble together a coherent thought. My head is pounding. My mouth is dry. And…worst of all, I am in an unfamiliar bed.

Oh my God. What have I done?

It all comes back to me in a rush. I squint my eyes open and peer around the dark room.

This can’t be real. This can’t be happening.

I tell myself it’s just a dream. A nightmare, really.

I fell asleep in my new condo, and any minute, I’ll wake up and be back where I am supposed to be right now—in my new life.

A fresh start. Freedom from everything I had to leave behind.

But the tangled sheets and the darkness of an unfamiliar room have me questioning whether this is a new beginning or the worst decision I’ve ever made.

I drank whiskey shots. Straight from the bottle.

With a man I hardly know. I’m not sure who this Violet James is.

I grimace as the taste of the whiskey shots I did threatens to come right back up with a vengeance.

I was never one to hold my drink, and holy crap, did I drink last night. And it was fun .

But right now, I’m not sure if I’m excited or a little scared.

Then a gust of wind blowing debris against the outside of the building pounds its way past my ears, and the fear picks right back up.

The storm. The power failure. The flooding in the parking lot and the fact that there is literally no place else for me to go right now.

I try to count my lucky stars that I am safe and dry as the sound echoes from one side of my very sensitive head to the other.

I press my fingertips to my temples and sit up, slowly accepting that this is all very, very real. I got wasted in a motorcycle compound with a man named Shadow.

I’m in his bed, wrapped in sheets that smell surprisingly clean and feel deliciously soft under my bare toes.

I’m still dressed in the yellow sundress I wore yesterday—so it’s not all bad news.

My shoes are off, but somehow, I got into bed without actually getting ready for bed.

What a confusing man. Hard and soft, sweet and complex.

I roll over quietly, searching through the dark for any sign that he’s in here with me.

Shadow’s room is unbelievably dark, but I’m not sure if it’s the thick curtains over the windows or the storm shutters he told me about.

I had half a hope that the storm would be over today, but by the looks of it, what Shadow said last night is right.

The wind and rain smashing against the building don’t sound like a storm that’s just passing by.

This hurricane, tropical storm, whatever hellfire Mother Nature has decided to unleash on us, is nowhere close to done.

I peek around the room and see a pillow and blanket rumpled on the couch, but the bathroom door is open, and there’s no sign of Shadow anywhere.

I’m not sure how I feel about that. He slept on his couch and gave up his bed to me.

I’m still not completely sure how I got into his bed.

All the questions we asked in our game last night come rushing back.

I try to remember it all. What I told him, what he shared.

But first…I need to use the bathroom. I can never process any rational thoughts when I have to pee this bad. And I’ve got to take a toothbrush to my mouth, like, immediately.

I drag my sorry self out of his very comfortable bed and grab my overnight bag.

I put that toothbrush to work and run my brush through my hair.

I consider changing my clothes, but as I lean over the sink, I realize that I’m still a little drunk.

Every movement feels slow and fuzzy. As tempting as a hot shower is, I might need to get a cup of coffee or some food in me. Something to soak up the alcohol.

Cursing every shot I took last night, I walk in my bare feet from the bathroom to the bedroom door.

The dead bolt is unlocked, so I wonder if that means a lot of the people who were here last night have left?

I remember the sticky floors and the broken glass, and I slide on my shoes before gripping the doorknob in an unsteady hand and opening the door.

To my surprise, I hear literally no noise but the sounds of the storm raging on outside.

To be honest, it’s kind of soothing—in a thank God I’m in a storm-proofed compound kind of way.

I blink against the weak lights that somehow feel like spotlights blaring into my eye sockets and follow the hallway back toward the main room with the bar and kitchen.

As soon as I round the corner, I see him.

Shadow.

He’s perched on a stool at the bar counter with a cup of something that I can smell from here is fresh, hot coffee. He’s wearing a pair of tight dark-blue jeans, and he’s…shirtless. He seems to be staring at the hallway, just waiting for me. Watching me.

I give him a quick smile and start to say good morning, but then I notice all the other people in the room, and I choke the words down.

On every piece of furniture and even on the floor, there are bodies.

Bikers passed out with their pants unzipped.

Women in various states of undress, some completely naked.

I see more naked breasts around me than I’ve seen in all the gym locker rooms I’ve been in over my whole life added up.

I don’t know how they aren’t all freezing.

For a minute, my mind flashes back to Shadow on the couch. Our question-and-answer game.

Did I touch or kiss him?

I’m sure I didn’t. I couldn’t have. I don’t drink that much, and I definitely don’t drink often.

But even when I get a tiny bit tipsy, I’m one of those people who becomes more logical.

I’m the person who collects the car keys from everyone else in the party, because even after a few drinks with friends, I won’t let anybody get behind the wheel.

I’m sure, I think, that I didn’t do anything I’d feel embarrassed about today.

At least, I hope I didn’t… My stomach rolls over at the thought of what I did, didn’t do, and don’t fully remember.

I woke up fully clothed and alone, which is more than I can say for the rest of the people who spent the night here.

Shadow pats the stool next to him, his eyes still locked on me. I carefully walk past a young guy who is asleep facedown on the floor, spread-eagled, the waistband of his jeans lowered just enough to expose the top of his butt crack.

As I step past his motorcycle boots—how on earth he is sleeping facedown on the floor with boots on, I don’t know—it hits me that this is so not how I imagined riding out my first hurricane.

When I finally get to the bar, I give Shadow a grateful smile.

“Good morning. I hope you slept okay on your couch. I didn’t mean to take your bed.

” I can’t help myself. My eyes rove over his tanned skin, the thick, dark hair covering his bare chest, and something—probably just the alcohol from last night—flutters inside my chest.

He purses his lips and grunts. “Coffee? You want anything in it?”

“Do you mean anything more potent?” I shake my head, the motion making me feel dizzy and definitely still a little drunk. “I think I drank enough last night for a lifetime. Just a little sugar if you have it.”

He cracks a smile and goes behind the bar to pour me a cup. He grabs a sugar shaker and a spoon and sets them in front of me. Then he claims the stool beside me.

I can’t stop myself from turning to face him, and I try not to stare at the muscles and tattoos, all the skin and hair and color that make his body so darned appealing. Instead, I stare down into my mug and take a deep sip.

We’re quiet for a moment before the wind smashes something large and solid against the shutters. I nearly leap off the stool and into Shadow’s lap, but I somehow maintain my outward composure.

I grab my coffee cup and take another sip, settling myself on the stool.

“Storm’s still raging.” His voice is like the shots we took last night, every word heating my senses and sending prickles up and down my bare arms.

I feel buzzy and loose, and I lock my eyes on the intricate faded black ink that covers his arms. I set my coffee cup down and cross my arms over my chest protectively.

“It sounds like the roof is going to blow off. You were right about the storm. I hope you can stand my company for a while longer.”

He turns his body to face me and locks eyes with me as he sips his coffee. “I told you you’d be safe here.”

I nod again, not sure what to say. Thank you doesn’t seem like enough.

He’s given me, a stranger, shelter, protection, whiskey, and now coffee.

Sitting beside him in the same clothes I slept in, his chest bare, chatting like this, feels intimate.

Nothing about this feels like a stranger rescuing a damsel in distress.

“You tucked me in last night,” I say softly.

He doesn’t look away from me. “Had no choice. That might be the first time a woman’s actually passed out on me.”

I lift my brows and wave a hand at a woman whose bare foot is tucked under the calf of a mostly dressed biker. They are so tightly intertwined on a small love seat a few feet away that my back hurts just looking at them.

“Are you sure?” I tease. “Hard to believe if you weren’t babysitting me that you wouldn’t have been out here with the rest of them, some naked hottie passed out all over you.”

“If you stay another night,” he continues, his voice low, “maybe I’ll let you pass out on me. I don’t have to tuck you in alone, Violet.”

There is a promise in his words, and I grip my mug tighter. A flush creeps its way up my cheeks, and I try to hold back a smile. Is the scary, sexy biker flirting with me? And even more than that, why do I suddenly want him to?

Somebody releases an ear-shattering snore, and we trade smiles. Then Shadow leans forward and rests his elbows on the bar. “You know you still owe me an answer.”