Hawk's Property:Insurgents Motorcycle Club 01(3)By: Chiah Wilder
Cara rolled her eyes. “Well, I don’t think you should put your love life on hold for too much longer.”
Shrugging, Sherrie threw back her newly delivered shot. “You still sipping your first drink? Damn, girl, you’re taking it slow.”
“Yeah, I guess I am, but this vodka tonic is so damn strong. I’m feeling a little lightheaded already. I guess I should’ve eaten before we went out. Speaking of, you better slow down with those shots. You’re on your fourth, and there’s no way I want to be the only sober one tonight, especially in this place.”
Looking at Cara with slightly unfocused eyes, Sherrie turned around on her bar stool, trying to get the bartender’s attention. Cara watched the various patrons as they came up to order their drinks. The majority of them were men, and the few women in the bar were dressed in provocative clothing: short skirts, barely-there tops, skin-tight jeans, and spandex dresses. Her blue jeans and sleeveless, knit black top made her look like the poster woman for prim and proper. Sherrie, dressed in a tight black dress with silver studs and buckles, had told her to “slut it up a bit,” but Cara didn’t feel comfortable wearing anything too revealing in a biker bar. Seeing all the women strutting their stuff, she realized she stuck out like a sore thumb. She jumped when the entrance door slammed, making Sherrie laugh.
“God, you’re nervous.”
“These aren’t the type of people I usually hang with.” Cara looked toward the door and watched a tall guy heading toward the bar. She gasped when he came into full view.
Her first impression was of raw power and sex. He was gorgeous, with shoulder-length black hair tied back in a ponytail. Sporting a nice build—muscular, but not bodybuilder-like—he wore two earrings in his right ear, jeans which fit him snugly around his legs and crotch, and a t-shirt that molded over his sculpted abs. A black leather jacket hung over his broad shoulders and gleaming silver chains hung down from his jeans’ pocket. He was definitely all male.
Cara raised her eyes from his body to his face, and a strange shiver slid up her spine, making her scalp tighten and her hands tingle. His ocean blue eyes stared at her from below perfectly shaped dark brows and above a slightly Roman nose. Full lips twitched in a half-smile, making her lick her own while widening her eyes. Hard, angular planes, a strong jaw, and a five o’clock shadow lent to his blatant sexiness. Swallowing hard, Cara glanced down again at his crotch, transfixed by the big mound against his zipper.
Looking up once again, she met his blue eyes, smoldering with intensity. Her cheeks turned crimson and she glanced away. In the mirror behind the bar, she saw him smirking at her as he leaned against the end of the counter.
“Hey, Hawk, what’s your vice?” the bartender asked him.
“A bottle of Coors.” His deep, smooth voice stroked Cara’s senses like silk. He jerked his head toward her. “Do you know her?”
“She’s a friend of the blonde who’s been coming here for two weeks chasing me. Damn, her friend’s so nervous and outta place. It looks like she’s never been to a biker bar.”
“Yeah, she doesn’t exactly fit in. Fuck, she’s hot, though.”
Cara’s whole body tensed as her face heated, and she crossed her hands on the bar while he flagrantly assessed her. She averted her eyes and stared at the scratched markings on the wooden bar, running her fingers over the grooves, while she wondered if she should be livid at his vulgarity or flattered that he thought she was hot.
Patsy, the bartender, laughed. “I know you’re checking out her big rack.”
“You know me, man. A stacked bitch does it for me every time. I’d love to have my mouth around those soft tits. Her curves aren’t too shabby, either.”