Cora crossed her arms and jutted out a hip. “No.”
He came round to where she was standing, got close, close enough to tower over her. “Then ride with me.”
He wasn’t sure why he was pushing her—scratch that. He knew exactly why the hell he was pushing Cora. Because he liked her. And staying away from her was hard as fuck. Harder than he expected, especially with her living in his house.
He saw her fresh from bed and sleepy at night. He heard her shower water running and couldn’t help but imagine what he’d once touched. He talked to her and listened to her and watched her make his boys fall in love with her a little more every day. And he liked her. At least this way she’d be all over him, without it leading to them getting naked and sweaty. Theoretically, at least.
“Okay. But what about the boys?” she asked.
Five words that threatened to reach right inside his chest, because she always thought of them. Always. “We won’t go for long.”
“Then just show me what to do.”
Atta girl, he thought, loving that she was game for this.
He ran inside and washed up at the kitchen sink, but on the way to the stairs, something made him stop dead in his tracks. The coat closet by the front door. He opened it. Pulled out his Raven Riders cut. Denim and leather, with the Ravens’ colors on the back and other patches here and there. He walked to the mirror by the door, looked himself straight in the eye, and slid it on.
Damn. Damn. Where have you been all this time, Slider?
It was his own thought, but he heard his brothers’ voices asking it. Dare and Maverick and Jagger and Phoenix and Doc and all the rest. He didn’t have a good answer for them, because the past was dead and buried. But he had now. And he had tomorrow. And those he could do something about.
A stair creaked behind him.
Slider turned, and found Sam standing at the banister.
Wasn’t it a bitch that he was suddenly self-conscious? That was how much he’d lost himself. “So, uh . . .” He held out his hands. “What do you think?”
Sam nodded, his face solemn. Too solemn, Slider thought, for a boy of ten. “I think it’s good.”
“Yeah,” Slider said. “Would you be okay if I take Cora for a spin? Twenty minutes. Thirty, tops.”
Sam’s eyebrows went up. In truth, his whole face lit up. Cora Campbell seemed to have that effect on his boys. Hell, on all the Evans men, if he was being honest. “Cora’s gonna ride?”
Slider couldn’t help but quirk a little smile. “First-timer, even.”
His son nodded. “It’s cool, Dad. No worries. I’ll watch Ben.”
With that, Slider was out the door and crossing the yard. He found Cora sitting on an overturned bucket in the sun, her back against the garage wall, her eyes closed, and she was singing along to the radio.
He just stood and watched her. Because he couldn’t do anything else.
Her eyes fluttered open, the green even brighter in the sunshine. “Oh!” she said, breaking into a chuckle. “What are you, a ghost? I didn’t even hear . . . you . . .” She rose, and her mouth dropped open as she took in what he wore. “Wow.” She walked all the way around him, and her fingers fell against his back. He knew the Ravens’ colors well enough that he knew exactly what she was touching. She traced the raven to where it perched on the handle of a dagger, and then followed the blade as it went through the eye socket of a skull.
Then she stood in front of him again.
He arched a brow and borrowed from her book of defense mechanisms. “I make this shit look good.”
She barked out a laugh that was as sweet as it was sexy. “Someone’s full of himself today,” she said.
Oh, hell, what he wouldn’t give for someone to be full of him today, but he kept his mouth shut. Still, she seemed to realize the innuendo that could be weaved by her words because her cheeks went pink and she rolled her eyes. “Seems like something’s put me in a better mood lately, that’s all.”
And then those cheeks went pinker.
Damn if Slider didn’t enjoy making Cora squirm. In all sorts of ways he had no business thinking about at all. Or wanting to repeat.
“Ready to ride?” he asked. Because he sure as hell was ready to feel her holding him, her body molded to him, her thighs wrapped around his ass. Some bikers were more particular about who they invited into their saddle than they were about who they invited into their beds, and though Slider had never been that hard-core about it, on a certain level, he got it.