No Man's Daughter: An MC Biker Romance Read Online Free PDF

wasn’t a sound she had noticed before and the place had been quiet before.
     
    It was getting louder. And it was coming towards them.
     
    Like a herd of Montana whitetail led by a magnificent stag, a troop of motorcycles filed in front of Ollie’s and systematically filled the vacant slots of the parking lot. Neat and square, a row of bikes, sparkling, with chrome-clad curves, pipes, and wheels like silvered wasps, formed in the prime places at the eatery. Lydia’s heart, if it could waft, did. The sight of these warrior-like men, whose mail was form-fitting tees, denim, and leathers that showcased heart-stoppingly beautiful musculature, nearly made her lose her footing. Lydia viewed men with muscles all of the time. Many with the smell of leather on them. Quimby was cowboy country. Almost no one around was a pencil pusher or a keyboard jockey. But these men on bikes, none of whom Lydia had ever seen before, were positively stunning. The spectacle, especially that of their hold-the-door leader, made Lydia lonely and lustful all at the same time.
     
    Ten men politely milled into the eatery. They hesitated, obviously wanting to take command of the floor plan. Dean the cook had come out from around the counter to greet them. He gave them the go-ahead to push the tables together. “Please by all means,” he said. Lydia lightheadedly handed out menus as she was steeped in the smell of leather and grease and the electric force of masculinity. One fellow had a bag on the floor. Lydia was not paying attention and she felt herself almost airborne as she stumbled over. A very powerful grip took hold of her lean hips and steadied her.
     
    “Easy, baby,” came a low, easy, honeyed voice.
     
    Never in her life did Lydia ever experience such a surge of warmth. The contact of this Viking-like man radiated a pooling erotic heat within her that created a struggle for consciousness within her. His enormous hand grazed the hard surface of her thigh as he braced her upright. He held his contact there until he was sure she was steady. “Okay?” he inquired. “Lydia?”
     
    “Yes, sure,” Lydia lied. She was not quite sure she would ever be okay again. “How did you know my name?”
     
    He laughed. “It says so on your name tag. Unless you borrowed it.”
     
    She laughed at herself. “No.”
     
    “We can be a little overwhelming, poor darlin. You folks usually this busy on a Friday night?” He extended his giant paw to shake with Dean. “Mickey O’Halloran.”
     
    Lydia replied, “We’re dead because of the round up the next ranch over. Usually the place is hopping. We have been swamped with the extra hands.”
     
    “Goodness,” Mickey replied in perhaps the most sensual voice Lydia had ever heard. “What did you do with all of those hands?” After a moment’s pause, in which both Dean and Lydia were stunned, he continued. “If we are the dinner crowd I suggest the two of you come join us.” Lydia felt her eyes get involuntarily big. “In fact, Royce here is a fabulous cook. He can help you. What are there, ten of us? And two you of you … dinner is on us, for everyone here and just about anyone else who comes in, within reason.” Mickey handed Dean a fold of cash. “Will this buy the place for the evening?”
     
    Lydia was certain Dean’s eyes watered and it wasn’t even his restaurant. “I think it will. You don’t have to do that.”
     
    “I’m in a good mood and I am feeling generous,” Mickey replied. “Second question. Those cabins out back. Are those active? Do you rent rooms?”
     
    “Yes,” Dean and Lydia said together.
     
    “So do we have the place for the night?” Mickey asked.
     
    Dean looked at Lydia, who could barely maintain her faculties. “Sure, why not,” he conceded. “You only live once. Hey, are you men drinking men?” he asked. The only response Dean got was a burst of hearty laughter. “Lydia, why don’t fix these fellas up with some beers and Barn