Page 29 of Desert Rain
Savannah killed her engine beside me and climbed out. Amber and Evie were already unloading bags. Regan stood at the front door with keys in hand, looking entirely too pleased with herself, like she’d brought home a rescue puppy. Or a hostage. The distinction seemed flexible.
I climbed out and stretched, my spine popping from too many hours behind the wheel. The desert air had cooled, but heat still clung to my skin under the dust and sweat. “This place is ridiculous.”
Regan grinned. “Needed space.”
“For what?”
“Sanity.”
Bandit slammed against the crate again, rattling it hard enough to make me wince. I opened the passenger door and reached in, bracing for claws, insults, and whatever other violence he considered appropriate.
Headlights swept across the dirt lot.
Motorcycle.
The engine rolled low and deep, a heavy mechanical growl that vibrated through the ground before cutting clean. The women barely looked, which told me they knew him. I turned with one hand still on the crate.
Tall. Big. Not gym big. Built big. The kind of muscle that came from labor, lifting, fighting, real use. Broad shoulders filled out a black Henley, sleeves shoved up over tattooed forearms. His hands were massive, rough-looking even from where I stood, knuckles scarred, palms thick and calloused like he worked with engines or fists. Probably both. His hair was dark brown, longer than I expected, brushing the collar of his cut in rough waves with auburn streaks that caught under the porch light when he moved.
His eyes were green.
Not bright green. Not pretty green. Deep green, darker at the edges, like wet moss after rain.
The thought irritated me immediately because it was specific, poetic, and unhelpful.
He looked like the kind of man mothers warned daughters about and daughters pretended not to hear.
My body noticed first, which was rude. A quick tightening low in my stomach. Pure instinct. My brain corrected immediately.
Absolutely not.
He stopped near Regan, his gaze moving over me with a slow, unreadable sweep that felt invasive without being obvious. “What’d you drag home now?”
The women laughed.
I frowned.
Regan rolled her eyes. “Behave.”
His attention landed on the crate. Bandit hissed like a psychopath.
Then those green eyes lifted back to mine. “Which one’s the stray?”
More laughter.
I stared at him. “That line work often?”
One side of his mouth moved, not quite a smile. “Wasn’t trying to impress you.”
Dick.
Regan stepped between us, waving a hand. “Sienna, this is Mason.”
Mason gave me a nod like acknowledging my existence fulfilled his courtesy quota for the evening.
I shifted the crate, adjusting Bandit’s weight. “This the security you all keep talking about?”
Savannah coughed behind me, trying not to laugh.
