Devil Riders: A Biker Erotic Romance Read Free

around than a Steinway.”
     
    Charlie grunts again. “Yeah, I guess I can see that.” Charlie stares at me with his ice-blue eyes. “I was impressed by how you handled yourself that Friday. You really hung that fiddle player out to dry,” Charlie’s lips twist into a mischievous smile, “and you gave as good as you got Saturday. I’ve never seen Liz speechless before.” Charlie pauses, then chuckles. “It may have been because you were using big words. In any case, you may look and talk like a school teacher, but you have some fire in your gut.” I can feel myself frown, unsure whether his words are a complement or not. “That’s a compliment,” Charlie continues, “I just mean there’s more to you than meets the eye.”
     
    “Why do I think I could say the same about you?” I ask.
     
    “Hell, I don’t know anything about anything except drilling,” Charlie says quietly. “Drilling and riding,” he adds after a pause. “One pays for the other.”
     
    “And drinking. And fighting,” I suggest with a smile. “Not to mention fucking.”
     
    Charlie’s mouth twists into a crooked grin that dissipates the cloud of danger that seems to hover over him. “Well, drinking and fighting anyway.”
     
    I stare at him a moment before I bubble over into giggles. Bobbi’s right, there is something about Charlie. “I have to get started to pay for my dinner.”
     
    Charlie smiles and moves off, sitting down at the bar and chatting with Christine, the bartender. I work though my set and every time I look at Charlie his eyes are on me. I’m used to having people watch me, but his expression suggests more than just a passing interest in a musician. It’s the same intense gaze I noticed that Friday night. As I wrap up my first set, I see Bobbi bring out two plates and sit them at the table where Charlie lounges with his feet kicked up in a chair. As I step off the stage, he waves me over, motioning to one of the plates.
     
    “Is that for me?” I ask.
     
    “If you want it,” Charlie says. “Tango is a crotchety old fart, but he can whip up a mean sandwich.”
     
    “Charlie, you didn’t have to do that.”
     
    “Why, have you eaten already?”
     
    “Well, no, but…”
     
    “Then sit down,” Charlie interrupts, kicking the chair back from the table with a foot. “I can’t eat both of these.”
     
    I dither a moment then sit. I can’t afford to eat out on my limited budget, and the sandwich looks delicious. I take a quick peek at the contents of the sandwich followed by a delicate sniff before taking my first bite. The chicken covered in melted cheese and spiced with peppers is delicious, and I nearly swoon. “Oh my God this is so good!” I exclaim around a mouthful of food. I inhale the sandwich like a ravenous wolf. This is the first meal I’ve had in a restaurant, or bar and grill, in months. Charlie and I talk as we eat, and I can tell there’s a keen intellect hiding under that glowering façade. Charlie may act like a brawling, hard-drinking badass, and maybe he is, but there is definitely more to him than that.
     
    “So, tell me why you’re here,” Charlie says during a lull in the conversation. “You didn’t say before.”
     
    “You invited me to sit down,” I say, teasing him. “Seriously? I needed a job and this beats washing dishes.”
     
    Charlie looks at me for a moment as he chews. “I don’t know sh… anything about music, but I can tell you’re too good for his place. There has to be more to it than that. Why aren’t you playing with some big orchestra in New York or some place?”
     
    I try to decide if I want to air my dirty laundry in front of this near-stranger. “I did, until a few months ago. In Oklahoma City.”
     
    “What happened?”
     
    I tell Charlie an abbreviated version of my story. “I’m still looking, but until I can find another seat, this is where I play,” I finish.
     
    Charlie has finished his sandwich while I was talking, so