Beauty & the Biker Read Online Free PDF Page A

expected that. Damn well hadn’t expected her to cut across a massive field on a freaking lawn mower. Then again, oh, yeah. Tank Marlow, Nowhere’s number one mechanic—a fellow bike enthusiast and poker player—had mentioned something about the truck being Mooney’s only transportation—right after he’d busted Joe’s hump for claiming said truck instead of an IOU. Joe knew Bella lived with her dad, but did that mean they shared the truck, too?
    “Hell.”
    He stood there, torn between returning to the house to throw on a shirt and crossing the expanse of the overgrown lawn to unlock the front gate. The last thing he wanted was to deal with a teary female who’d probably come begging for the return of her dad’s wheels. Not that Joe intended to keep the truck, but she didn’t know that. Mooney didn’t know that. No one knew, except for Tank who’d guessed Joe’s true intent five seconds after Joe poured Mooney into a cab and covered the fare.
    Except for making a professional connection with Tank, Joe had gone out of his way to deter sociable exchanges. Including refusing a basket Bella had left hanging on his fence post his first week in residence. She’d packed the napkin-lined basket with a mason jar of homemade lemonade, a tin of oatmeal cookies, and a handwritten note welcoming him to the neighborhood on behalf of her and her dad. Joe had been raw then, too raw to deal with the thoughtful gift that invited neighborly interaction. Instead of contacting her later with a simple thank you, he’d left the basket on the Mooneys’ porch—the contents untouched.
    A cold response to her kind gesture, but it sent a message. Stay away .
    A message she’d honored. Until now.
    Rather than continuing around to the southern front gate, Bella parked the lawn mower alongside the eastern fence and cut the engine. Apparently, they were going to have this conversation with a barrier between them. Fine by him.
    Joe turned for the house. Too late to jog upstairs for a shirt, but his shoes were just inside the door. No way was he walking barefoot through mud to greet Bella. As for his shirtless state, she’d have to deal.
    “Don’t you run away from me, you insensitive jerk!”
    Joe glanced over his shoulder. She thought he was running? From her? He’d been a detective with the CPD for fourteen years. The last third of that run with the Bureau of Organized Crime. He’d tangled with gangs, mobsters, and drug lords. Running from a creampuff in a ball gown was not in his DNA or training. Rather than address her idiotic statement, Joe moved inside—barring Killer who tried to follow. Lacing up his boots, he glanced out the screen door and saw Miss Sunshine climbing over his four-foot fence in that puffy long-ass dress and were those…? Yeah. Red gym shoes. She threw one leg over, the skirt flew up, and Joe got a flash of creamy legs and purple panties.
    “You gotta be kidding.” He pushed through the door just as she slipped and fell on her ass on his side of the property. “Dammit.”
    “Dang it!” She bounced up quickly enough, but her gown was covered with mud. “Now look what you did, you heartless monster!”
    Joe froze. Out of all the names he’d been called in his lifetime, hard to believe monster could cut to the bone.
    Bulls-eye, sweetheart .
    A hundred mug shots crossed his mind. A thousand cases gnarled his gut. One investigation, in particular, burned through his blood like acid. He was forever scarred and, because of one moment of insanity, forever changed.
    Instead of moving to help the hopped-up woman, not that she needed his help, he crossed his arms and leaned against the post—hoping the damn thing didn’t give way. Killer rubbed against his leg then sat at attention as if guarding the house from an approaching nutball.
    Joe watched and waited as said nutball stomped toward him in those bright red shoes, a hot pink bag slung over her glittering yellow gown. And he knew now, underneath it all,