Page 10 of The Biker and His Bride

ROGUE

E verything was coming at me all at once.

Brielle blowing back into town. Riley caught in the crossfire. Cartel whispers in the wind. A rival club poking at our borders.

And now, the one woman I actually gave a damn about was sleeping in my bed, her presence sinking into the bones of my life like she belonged there. It was hell keeping my hand off her. So I took a few cold showers, did what I had to— to bring my libido under control and slept in the bunkhouse.

It was too much.

And not enough.

I stood at the edge of the lot, boots on gravel, watching the fireflies rise from the ground and go over the hills while wondering how the hell I was supposed to protect everyone.

“You good?”

Trigger came up beside me, Glock in hand, eyes sharp.

“No,” I said honestly.

He nodded like he respected that. “You need me to handle her?”

“Brielle?”

He raised an eyebrow.

“She’s not the problem. Not the biggest one, anyway.”

He checked his clip. “You think Riley’s gonna stick?”

“I don’t want her caught up in this.”

“Too late for that.”

I knew he was right.

And when I walked back into the clubhouse, Riley was there, barefoot, wearing one of my shirts and nothing else, her hair messy, her eyes soft as she got into my bed.

She looked at me like she trusted me.

I closed my eyes as a million dirty thoughts came to mind. I wanted to touch her. Claim her… the sparks were getting to hot to ignore.

That was dangerous.

I sat on the edge of the bed, pulled her close.

“There’s a storm coming,” I said. “And I don’t know if I can keep you out of it.”

She touched my face, gentle but firm. “I’m not afraid of storms. Been through a to of them.”

“Me, too.” I kissed her palm.

“I want you. Badly.”

She but her lip.

“I-I can’t. I want to but I was involved not too long ago… it feels fast? But Right? I’m confused.”

I breathed in the scent of her freshly washed hair, feeling myself tighten, ready to go. Right fucking now.

“I’ll sleep downstairs. Because right now I hear what you are saying… and I respect that. But you can’t deny what’s building between us forever, sugar. You gotta face it.”

“I know. We haven’t known each other long,” she moaned as my finger trailed over her lower lip. “But I already trust you more than my ex.”

“I won’t let you down, girl. Just wait until you are really mine.” I got up abruptly because my hands itched to tough her all over.

It made a man reckless.

And I was already in too deep to dig myself out.

Sunlight crawled over the clubhouse yard, turning the dew on my tomato leaves to diamonds. I came out with a mug of black coffee and the intent to brood—but the sight stopped me cold.

Riley was crouched between the raised beds, loose tendrils of hair tumbling around her face, knees tucked under that borrowed Fire Skulls tee. She tugged weeds with quick, efficient flicks of her wrist, dropping them into a rusty bucket like she’d been gardening her whole life.

The woman had fought my ex on a dirty bar floor six hours ago, and now she was tender with basil sprouts.

Hell, I was in trouble.

I leaned on the porch rail, watching her. She didn’t notice until she reached for another weed and caught my shadow.

She looked up, squinting against the sun. “Morning.”

“Morning, angel.” My voice sounded rough—sleep, smoke, and too many near-fights.

She smiled—small, shy, and devastating. “Couldn’t sleep. Figured your plants could use some TLC.”

“Didn’t peg you for a gardener.”

“I’m a fast learner.” She stood, wiping dirt on her bare thighs. “Thought I’d throw together a salad for lunch if you’ve got tomatoes ready to pick. Something organic, you know?”

Organic. In a biker compound. I huffed a laugh. “You surprise me daily.”

“Likewise, Prez.”

I sipped my coffee, trying not to stare at the way her tee slid off one shoulder. “Need anything from town?”

She opened her mouth—paused. Hesitation flickered behind her eyes. No family money now. No credit cards. Just what little she’d saved in that backpack.

“Maybe… shampoo? I used the bar stuff. I can pay you back when we get paid next.”

“You’re covered,” I said, already making mental lists. “Anything else?”

She shrugged. “Couple pairs of socks. I’ll figure it out.”

I watched her tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. Simple gesture. Turned me inside out.

“Stay around for breakfast,” I told her. “Then I’m heading out.”

She tilted her head. “Club business?”

“Of a sort.”

She didn’t push. Just smiled and bent back down to the basil. The curve of her spine, the concentration in her brow—sweet mercy.

I finished my coffee and headed for my bike, helmet hanging on the bar.

On the ride into town, I couldn’t shake the warm ache in my chest. Last night, watching her throw down with Brielle—wild, unapologetic—had lit something feral in me.

But this morning? Seeing her fingernails lined with earth, wanting to feed the crew leafy greens? That lit something deeper.

I parked outside the only boutique still open at 8 a.m.—a place that sold tourist tees, cheap perfume, and a small rack of women’s lingerie.

Trigger would laugh his ass off if he saw me standing among lace boyshorts and pastel bras, but I didn’t care.

I picked soft cotton: black, white, pale blue—no wires, just comfort.

Grabbed matching panties. Socks, plain white.

That shampoo she liked, with the argan-oil label.

And on a whim, a tub of coconut body lotion.

The scent hit me—warm beaches, bare skin, midnight promises. My throat went tight imagining her slick with it, soft under my palms.

I paid cash, shoved everything into a brown paper bag, and kicked up dirt all the way back to the compound.

She was still in the garden, barefoot now, toenails dusty.

“I brought supplies,” I said, holding out the bag.

Her eyes widened. “That was fast.”

“Town’s small. Priorities were clear.”

She peeked inside. Color rose on her cheeks. “You… bought me underwear.”

“Seemed practical.”

“And coconut lotion?”

I scratched the back of my neck. “Smelled nice.”

Heat blossomed across her chest, spreading up her neck. She bit her lip—a wicked, grateful curve that made me want to ditch the bag and haul her straight to my room.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

“Welcome.” I cleared my throat. “I’ll, uh, start the grill for lunch.”

She nodded, still staring like she couldn’t believe I’d done something so domestic. Hell, I couldn’t. But it felt right.

The brothers filtered in, drawn by the promise of food. Riley’s salad vanished faster than the burgers. She laughed, cheeks flushed, that coconut scent drifting every time she breezed past with a tray of beers.

God help me.

I stood at the far end of the bar, fingers drumming the counter, watching her pass a plate to Diesel. Her skin glowed, slick with a hint of lotion. She leaned over the counter to grab a napkin; the hem of her shorts rode up. My jaw clenched.

“Earth to Rogue,” Trigger teased, sliding beside me. “You staring a hole through that girl.”

“Shut up,” I muttered.

He smirked. “Just saying—never seen you thirsty.”

I flicked him off. He laughed and wandered away.

Riley finished drying her hands, then reached under the bar—stretching, body curving—and the scent of coconut hit me full force. I imagined my hands sliding over her shoulders, down her back, palms gliding over lotion-soft skin. Heat pooled low and fierce.

She straightened and caught me watching. Her lips parted. Slow, shy smile tugging the corners.

“Like the smell?” she asked.

I pushed off the counter, closing the space between us until her back met the shelf. My arms framed her. “Couldn’t miss it.”

Her eyes darkened. “Too much?”

“Not enough,” I growled.

Her breath stuttered. She glanced at the busy room, then back to me. “You’re supposed to be working.”

“Delegated.” I brushed a strand of hair from her cheek, fingertips grazing lotion-slick skin. “Later tonight, when the brothers clear out?—”

“Yeah?”

“Gonna find out if every inch of you tastes like coconut.”

Color flared across her cheekbones. She licked her lips. “You talk big, outlaw.”

“Never bluff, angel.”

Boots stomped at the doorway. Pitbull hollered for another round. Riley’s gaze flickered to the noise—and back to me, pupils blown wide.

“Go,” I said, stepping back before I forgot where we were. “We’ll finish this later.”

She smirked, grabbed a pitcher, and disappeared into the crowd—hips swaying, scent lingering, knotting me up tighter than any fight ever could.

Brielle had been fake sparkle and hollow promises. But Riley? Riley was soft cotton and buried steel, sunshine and wild storms.

And she sure as hell was mine to keep safe.

The club might not know it yet.

But I did.