Page 33 of Falling for Her Grumpy Boss

The porch creaks softly beneath my heels as I shift my weight, the old wood still warm from a day baking under the Kansas sun. Somewhere out in the yard, Caleb curses under his breath as smoke rolls up from the grill again, followed immediately by Asher telling him he’s murdering the burgers. Logan’s laughter carries across the yard while the smell of smoke, grilled beef, and barbecue sauce drifts through the thick evening heat.

Lily sleeps through all of it.

I glance down at the baby tucked against Clara’s chest, her tiny fist curled near her cheek, completely unaware of the noise surrounding her. Soft breaths stir the wispy strands of hair at her temple with every exhale. Clara adjusts the blanket over her daughter with careful fingers, her movements instinctive now.

“She does this all the time lately,” Clara says quietly. “A few weeks ago, somebody sneezing would’ve woken her.”

I smile faintly. “Guess she’s adapting to the Brotherhood.”

“That or she’s accepted chaos as her future.”

The rumble of motorcycles rolls up the driveway. The machines are loud. Lily sleeps through it all.

I frown at the three bikers.

The engines die almost in unison, and three men swing off with the easy confidence of people who've spent most of their lives in the saddle.

The one in the middle pulls off his helmet, revealing blond hair in the exact same shade as Clara’s. Ethan Bennett.

I shouldn't be surprised to see Clara's nephew. Family is family, even when that family spends most of its time wearing leather instead of a suit. It's the other two who make me blink.

Even people who'd never spoken to them knew who they were. Iron Ridge had been shaking their heads over those bikers for years.

Ethan laughs at something the man on his right says as the three of them head toward the yard.

Clara smiles before lifting one hand in greeting, as though there isn't anything unusual about her nephew keeping company with the notorious bikers.

Maybe there isn't.

The thought lingers for all of two seconds before another burst of male laughter rolls across the yard.

My gaze drifts automatically toward the sound.

Not because I care what Caleb managed to burn this time.

Because I’m looking for Dylan.

The realization lands hard enough that I tighten my grip around the stem of my wineglass.

He’s not near the grill.

Not sitting at the picnic table.

Not leaning against the railing with the others.

Gone.

I scan the yard again anyway, slower this time, my attention catching on every broad pair of shoulders before disappointment flickers low in my stomach when it isn’t him.

Jesus.

The obsession unsettles me more than the attraction itself.

I’ve wanted men before. Desired them. Enjoyed them. At Indigo, men watched me constantly, their attention almost tangible at times, thick enough to feel against my skin before they ever crossed the room. I learned quickly how to hold their focus, how to direct it, how to keep control of a scene without giving away more than I intended.

But my mind always stayed clear.

Dylan should have stayed in that same carefully separated category. Temporary boss. Temporary assignment. Temporary attraction. Simple, manageable boundaries that made sense from the beginning. Instead, somewhere along the way, he stopped feeling like work and started feeling dangerously personal.