Damned: Seven Tribesmen MC Read Online Free PDF

before jetting. Just as her feet hit the bar floor, she gained Bishop's curious attention, “Where you going?”
     
    “Well, my date bailed,” Stella explained, with a one-shouldered shrug. Her words were almost drowned out by a suddenly festive bar. “I don't like to drink alone.”
     
    Bishop's eyebrows rose, a smirk twisted at his lips. “You're not alone.”
     
    “ Good night , Mr. Bishop.” Stella rolled her eyes and turned away, before he could see the red tinge on her cheeks. She desperately tried to stifle the inexplicable glee his comment caused. Heavy footfalls echoed behind her, following her across the bar. Her cheeks burned as she felt the eyes of other patrons watching. What did he think he was doing?
     
    Close to her ear, his hot breath playing over her neck, Bishop said, “Friends call me Art.”
     
    “We're not friends,” Stella grunted, shoving the door open. She fought off the amused smile that threatened to split over her lips. Cool air breezed over her skin, helping to cool down her blush, as her eyes adjusted to the darkened environment. Her shoes crunched over the gravel in the parking lot, echoed by Bishop's boots. She paused, suddenly remembering what was missing. Stan was her ride home. Stella nearly groaned with regret.
     
    “Well, maybe I want to get to know you better, Miss Holmes.” Bishop came to stand beside her, his voice oozing with seduction. She could almost see that endearing, half-cocked grin on his lips. Her core churned and warmed. They stood together in silence, Bishop's eyes surveying the lot. In the next breath, he had already figured out her dilemma, “I could give you a ride.”
     
    She didn't want to relent. Bishop was a biker and, even though he did tickle some very erotic pleasure zones inside of her, she was a fed. It was a bad mix, especially with the ongoing investigation. Stella resorted to sarcasm with a snort, “I'm sure you could.”
     
    Annoyance hardened Bishop's voice, “ On my hog .”
     
    Stella turned, her gaze raking over his body and lingering on his groin, “If that's what you want to call it.”
     
    Her amused grin burned pleasantly inside Bishop's body, “You sure do eyeball my crotch a lot.”
     
    “And you seem to find any reason to follow or talk to me,” the woman countered, despite a flare of embarrassment. She turned to him fully, her brows lowered and hands planted on her hips, “So, what's going on here?”
     
    “Well, seems to me,” Bishop lowered his voice, stooping over Stella. He loomed over her, feeling her soft body heat lick at him through his clothes. The woman shifted uncertainly at his proximity. He locked gazes with her warm, chocolate eyes and purred, “We both want the same thing,”
     
    “No, I want justice,” Stella bristled, fire flaming in her gaze as she pointed to herself with her thumb. That aggressive pointer finger jabbed Bishop in the chest, “ You are just looking to get your dick wet.”
     
    The man barely restrained himself from catching Stella by the wrist. He really didn't need “assault of a federal agent” on his rap sheet, nor did he need more eyes on the Seven Tribesmen. Still, Bishop seethed, “Oh, and Mr. This Was A Mistake was – what? – a prospective old man?”
     
    Stella's cheeks tingled from heat. Bishop had her there. Her hand fell to her side, her gaze averted. “No.”
     
    The biker caught her by the chin and forced the woman to tilt her head up. “Then what's the big deal?”
     
    “Bedding me isn't going to ease up the investigation.” Stella narrowed her eyes, but didn't jerk away from Bishop's hold on her chin. Part of her enjoyed the feeling of his hands on her. And that part was beginning to overwhelm her thoughts. Her inner agent wasn't relenting, though. “The Seven Tribesmen will get caught.”
     
    “We aren't involved, and you have nothing on us,” Bishop growled. He leaned forward, his lips close to Stella's. She inhaled deeply, his musk making