Making Choices (Black Shamrocks MC Book 2) Read Online Free PDF Page B

meeting when I’d assisted Ollie with three surgeries. Each operation was more uncomfortable than the last as Ollie’s mood became worse. The only thing that stopped me from falling into his trap and apologizing, or something equally stupid, was the hope that Lucas would be waiting for me if I managed to tough it out.
    A big part of me doubted that he’d be waiting. The tiny , hopeful part that could still feel him pressed against me this morning was being beaten down by my reservations that a man who looked like him would be interested in a woman like me.
    Walking into the foyer forty minutes later than I said I would, I’m genuinely surprised to find Lucas waiting for me, one red rose lying on his lap. He’s sprawled in the seat, his head hanging back as he snores quietly. I’ve only known him for a day or so, and the whole time he’s looked commanding and intense that it stops me in my tracks to see him looking so young and innocent as he sleeps. I would put him in his early thirties at most, not that much older than my twenty-seven, but when the authority and masculine potency that he exudes is stripped from his demeanor, he looks in his early twenties.
    He’s an impossibly good-looking man. Handsome and built—his looks are in a league of their own. I’m not insecure in my looks, but I don’t see how someone like him could be interested in a tiny, red-headed, green-eyed woman who’s slightly above average attractiveness at most.
    Especially interested enough to bring a rose.
    “Are you gonna keep staring at me, or are we gonna actually leave this hellhole tonight?”
    I jump when his sleep-roughened voice interrupts my ogling, and he laughs at me as he pushes himself out of the chair, handing me the rose.
    I put it to my nose and inhale. It smells divine.
    As his long frame unfolds in front of me, I take a step back so I can see his face. The mirth covering his features makes me laugh with him, helping me shake off the residual tension of the day.
    Clasping his hand in mine, I drag him toward the front doors.
    “Let’s get out of here, Lucas.”
    ***
    A fter a small negotiation, we finally settle on taking Lucas’s bike. He refuses to tell me where we’re going, simply winking at me when I give in. Sliding his spare helmet over my head, I climb on the back. I’ve never been on a motorcycle before.
    My father would have a heart attack if he could see me now.
    I don’t know where to put my hands, so I place them gingerly on his hips.
    Wrong move. He grabs them and brings them together in the middle of his waist, his action pulls me tight against his back, my thighs encasing his hips. My smallish breasts press against his broad back.
    “Hold on tight, Doll.”
    We ride for a good twenty minutes, and after a few scary moments at the beginning because I wasn’t sure what to do when we turned corners, I start to feel comfortable behind him. The sense of freedom that overcomes me as we weave in and out of the end-of-workday traffic is nothing I’ve ever experienced. I feel like holding my arms out at my sides a ’la Rose at the bow of the Titanic, but I don’t. I’m not quite that brave.
    Once the city traffic has thinned out, we pull into a quiet, suburban street, and then into the driveway of an expensive-looking sprawling, single-story house.
    Lucas turns off his bike, motioning for me to climb off.
    My legs are wobbly from the vibrations, and he grins at me when I hold my arms out to steady myself.
    “Is this your house?” I ask him after he’s removed first my helmet and then his.
    He nods, leading the way to the front door. I follow, pulling the long strap of my satchel over my head so I can hold it as we walk.
    Once the front door’s unlocked, Lucas gestures for me to enter first. His house is much nicer than I expected a biker to have, with classic oak furniture, random touches of forest green, and expensive-looking artwork hanging on the walls.
    “Nice place,” I tell him, emitting a low,