One Hot Ride

Pris

My move to Broken Bend was supposed to be the start of a new life... a life free from the demands and threats of an evil man. Then Bison barges into my house on a dark, stormy night, and everything changes. He’s gruff and grumbly and gorgeous, and as much as I try to fight the heat between us, I’m helpless against it.

Bison

I’ve got a plan. Keep my head down and work my butt off until I have enough cash to open my own motorcycle garage. Then I meet Priscilla. Not only is the curvy goddess my new neighbor, she’s my new co-worker too. The more time we spend together, the more convinced I am that she’s hiding something. But now that I’ve found her, I won’t let anything come between us. She's mine. Mine to protect, mine to claim, and mine to love.

The men of the Lonestar Riders MC might be wild and rough around the edges, but their hearts will be tamed when they meet the curvy girl of their dreams. Each book features one couple, is a complete story, and can be read alone.

A flash of lightning zipped across the sky, lighting up the interior of my small family room. I looked up as the mutt I’d been sharing my place with for the past three months jumped off the couch and pranced toward the door.

“Come on, DJ. You don’t want to go outside now. I promise.”

He scratched at the door with his tiny paw and whimpered. Damn dog had a bladder the size of a peanut. It was almost midnight. Probably time for me to head to bed, anyway. Not that it mattered. It didn’t make a difference what time I went to bed. I never managed to fall asleep without tossing and turning for a few hours.

DJ hopped up on his hind legs and danced around in a circle. The little fucker would be better off with someone who could give him the unconditional love he deserved. Instead, he’d ended up with me. I might not be the best option, but he was all I had left of the family I’d finally found. Whether he liked it or not, we were stuck with each other.

I pulled the door open, and he ran out into the darkness. While I waited for him to come back, I scanned the night sky. Thunder rolled, promising a hell of a springtime storm. I could smell the rain on the air. Hopefully, it would pass by morning. I didn’t like riding my motorcycle to work in the rain, and I’d sold the sad four-door sedan my grandmother had left me to raise money for the chop shop I wanted to start. If my realtor could find a buyer for the house I’d inherited, I’d have enough to get my business up and running.

Another bolt of lightning flashed. I looked out to where the dog liked to do his business but couldn’t see a damn thing. Before my grandma died, she made me promise to take care of him. I didn’t regret giving her my word, but sometimes wondered why the hell she’d picked me. We’d only found each other a year before she passed, though she said she’d been looking for me for decades.

I stuck my fingers between my teeth and let out a loud whistle. “Come inside, DJ. You’re about to get dumped on, dude.”

Usually, I could hear the tinkle of the tiny bell on his collar, but except for the rumble of thunder, the night was silent. Dammit. I shoved my feet into my motorcycle boots and pulled the front door closed behind me. There was only one place the little fucker could have gone. Hopefully, I could get ahold of him before we both got soaked.

The skies opened up as I took long strides toward the house at the end of the block—the house my grandmother had lived in for sixty-five years. The house I’d inherited and was currently trying to sell. The house my realtor had rented out for me on a short-term lease while we waited for the market to pick up. It wasn’t the first time the dog had tried to go home, but it was the first time he’d run out on me during a thunderstorm.

The only light came from a streetlamp at the other end of the block. Most of my neighbors were retirees who’d been in bed for hours or worked the swing shift. I tried to keep my voice down as I stood at the curb and called out to the dog.

“Dizzy, come. Let’s go home.” I’d been working on training him to answer to DJ or just Dizzy instead of the name my grandmother had given him. The guys at the garage took immense pleasure in giving me shit over it. Still, it was the only name the damn dog answered to, and desperate times called for desperate measures. “Come here, Dizzy Jizzy. Here boy.”

Dark windows stared out at me like blank eyes. I had no interest in meeting the renter my realtor had found, especially after midnight during a thunderstorm. So, I hopped the short fence and walked around to the back door, hoping I’d find DJ standing by the doggy door like I had the last time he’d gotten spooked and tried to run home.

Fuck. The only thing by the back door was a pot of flowers. Dizzy couldn’t have gone inside. Last time I was over here, the doggy door had been locked. Needing to know for sure, I tapped the toe of my boot against the flap covering the cut out. The door swung inward.

Rain pelted my head as I leaned down to take a closer look. I fired up my flashlight app and pushed the doggy door open. A trail of small muddy footprints covered the mustard-yellow linoleum floor. Fuck, fuck, fuck. I was going to wring the little asshole’s neck. But first, I needed to get him back.

I could stand up, knock on the door, and introduce myself to the new renter. Or, hoping I could get both Dizzy and me out of an impossible situation with minimal collateral damage, I stuck my head through the flap in the door, wincing as I scraped my cheek against the side.