Page 56 of The Biker and the Baker

This sonuvabitch… “You know I don’t want ice-cream,” I conclude, digging around inside myself for my ire but coming up short.

“Calling me ‘babe’ was a dead giveaway,” he tells me. “You don’t do endearments.”

“Did you also know I wouldn’t be cool with what you did back there?”

“Yep.”

“But you did it anyway,” I say, nodding to myself. “Because you don’t respect me.”

He jerks at that, shoulders squaring in defense. “I did itbecauseI respect you. Don’t want that fucker calling your phone.”

“One night,” I say, holding up a firm finger. “We sharedone nighttogether and now you’re acting like a flipping caveman.”

“That one night meant a fuck of a lot to me,” he rejoins through clenched teeth. “Apparently it didn’t mean shit to you.”

“I’m a grown ass woman, Onyx. I don’t need you pissing all over me to mark your territory.”

“With Cal, that’s how it’s gotta be done,” he tells me. “Iknowthat scumbag. He would’ve never left you alone, no matter what you told him. He thought he owned you.”

“You mean like howyouthink you own me?”

“Not like that.” He sighs and sits back on his bike. “Cal likes to collect women in the same way he likes to collect expensive cars. Parks them in the garage, covers them up, then takes ’em out for a drive every once in a while, to show off.”

“And how doyouwant to own me?” I ask.

He bites his lip, his gaze roving over me. “Like my bike. Only got one. And I ride it every motherfucking day.”

There’s no anger. I’ve tried my best to rouse it, but nothing’s happening. What he did with Calvin should have me livid right now, but…nothing. And there’s a small, minuscule, insignificant, part of me thatlikesthat he wants to claim me, to own me. I don’t recognize that part of me, nor do I want to, so I ignore it.

“Who’s Stefano?” I ask.

Onyx grins at me, as if realizing that he’s just won—again. “His fiancé’s brother…who’s part of the Italian mafia.”

“Whoa.”

“She was one of his many shiny cars. But he didn’t know who she was or how old she was, until her brothers found out and showed up. She’d told him she was twenty-three, but she’d just turned eighteen. Though, in his defense, shedoeslook a lot older. Very well-endowed.

“Long story short, they told him he had to marry her, no prenup. Either that, or…whatever the mafia does to people who defy them.”

“Damn. He’s screwed.”

Straightening from the bike, he pulls me up against him. “You done being mad at me?”

I never was… “Maybe. You have a lot of making up to do.”

He dips his head and drags his teeth along my jaw. “Whatever you want, Sweet P.”

“Let’s get out of here. That ice cream shop is tempting me.”

“We can go get some if you really want it.”

“Nah, let’s go to Tipsy Scoop instead. Adult treats arewaymore fun.”

~

Around an hour and a half later, after getting buzzed on wine-cream at Tipsy Scoop, we pull into my driveway.

As we switch off and dismount, the discreet shift of my parents’ kitchen curtains tells me we’re being spied on. By Mom, no doubt. She's in vex mode right now and that woman is the queen of cold shoulders, so she won’t come out to say hi.