Page 4 of My Enemy Biker

"No."

"Then we're done for today."

"Yes."

Neither of us stands.

Her jaw tightens like she's irritated with herself. "Tuesday. Seven o'clock. Bring the insurance documentation and a draft agreement."

I stand because staying means doing something neither of us is ready for. "Agreed."

She walks me to the door, steps out onto the porch with me. The heat is immediate but she doesn't retreat.

"You built that fence yourself?" I ask.

"Yes."

"It's solid work."

She doesn't smile or acknowledge the compliment, just watches me, waiting for whatever else I'm going to say.

"The club needs that road," I tell her. "We'll make this work."

"After we finalize terms." Emphasis onfinalize. She's drawing a line, making sure I understand nothing happens without her agreement.

I respect that even as I want to press her against the door frame and find out if she'd push back or pull me closer.

I walk to my bike. Don't look back because I will if I let myself. Start the engine.

She's still on the porch when I pull out, standing exactly where I left her.

The first mile I'm processing the conversation. The points she made that I'll need to counter. The case law I'll have to review. The framework that might actually work.

The second mile I'm thinking about her hands on that pen. The curve of her breasts when she leaned back. How herattention felt when I conceded that easement point, like she saw something worth seeing and filed it away.

By the time I hit Route 9, I'm hard and irritated about it.

This doesn't happen to me. Not with someone who argued with me for ninety minutes and made me want to keep arguing just to stay in the room with her.

I grip the throttle. Speed doesn't fix it. I'm still seeing her pulse jumping at her throat. Still wondering what she'd have done if I'd crossed those last three feet.

The clubhouse comes into view through the trees. I pull into the lot, kill the engine.

Clint's on the porch. Looks at me. Doesn't ask. Knows I'll report if necessary.

It's necessary. I just can't articulate what yet.

"Fence coming down?" he asks.

"No."

"She going to be a problem?"

"We're negotiating terms."

His eyebrow lifts. Clint doesn't negotiate. Neither do I, usually. "She's got legal standing?"

"Yes. And documentation. She's prepared."