by L. B. Dunbar
It isn’t that I can’t get it up. It’s that I don’t think I deserve to sample the pleasure.
“Ranger, you’re asking for trouble.” The tone of Justice’s voice raises the hackles on the back of my neck. With my hair shorn short to my scalp, highlighting the hints of silver I’ve become speckled with, it doesn’t take much for those fine locks to prickle. His voice has me on edge.
“Trouble is my middle name.” I snort.
“Peach is your middle name,” a feminine voice says, and I choke on air. What the fuck?
“You’re a peach,” I retort, squinting at the figure who has moved closer to my perch without me noticing her. The comeback is intended to be flippant and flirty, but my tongue swells the second I’ve said it. The air around me stills. Sound disappears. The woman on my lap feels like the weight of the world. I only have eyes for the woman standing two feet away from me.
Blonde hair bright as lemonade, sapphire blue eyes, and a body like an hourglass, I can’t believe I didn’t recognize her at first. However, I am drunk. Or I was. I’m sobering up real fast. My leg begins to bounce, making the woman on my lap jiggle and she lets loose a vibrating giggle drawing awkward attention to herself. She sounds like a child on a kiddie ride, only I’m not offering free trips on the James express.
“Peach,” I whisper, not certain the nickname leaves my lips. I continue to stare at her, disbelieving she’s standing before me. She’s still so fucking beautiful. The glare in her eyes assures me she’s real, and she’s staring daggers at the woman sitting on my legs.
In a show of possessiveness and bitchiness to the max, the woman kisses my jaw, licking along the hard edge and scraping her tongue against the silvery stubble. Her eyes remain on the peach before me.
Fuck.
“James.” The blonde bombshell speaks. I’d recognize her voice anywhere. I hear it nightly in my dreams, reaching out for it to drown out the other noises that haunt me. The screams. The scrapping. The silence afterward.
“Evelyn.” Her name is sharper on my tongue then I intend. I’m pissed she didn’t call this year. She owes me every May. She promised that one concession.
“You gonna join us tonight?” The bitty on my lap teases of the woman before me who looks ready to stake me on a skewer and roast me over a fire.
Good, let her be angry. Let her be anything other than emotionless.
It was all your fault, my conscience reminds me.
I sit taller in my sit, shifting the woman on my thighs who has a firm grip on my neck at this point.
“No, I don’t think I’ll be joining you this evening.” Her sharp tone displays how unimpressed she is with this situation. Once upon a time she was impressed with me, though. She thought I was the shit, and she was my sweet peach.
James and his Giant Peach. My mother loved the irony of it.
“Evie,” I hiss. Her nickname falls on deaf ears as the beauty turns away from me. My eyes fall to her firm ass, still tight in skinny jeans. My mouth waters and insides stir in a way they haven’t for years. Justice steps back with a broad step. He stood beside her, ever the protector of the underdog, although I’m not certain who’s the underdog in this scenario—her or me.
As she walks away, the soles of her shoes clacking on the tile like the ticking of a stopwatch, I sigh uncertain if it’s relief, frustration, or fear.
“Who was that?” Trixie-Trudy-Tabby asks, her voice incredulous at the sway of hips walking away from me once again.
I answer on an exhale.
“My wife.”
Continue reading: Silver Biker
(L)ittle (B)lessings of Gratitude
As always, it takes a village to write a book, or in this case a mountain top ridge. Thank you to Mel for your unending patience, writing guidance and occasionally talking me off the ledge of doubt. To Shannon, each cover takes my breath away and I’m so grateful for your creativity. To Jenn, for squeezing me whenever I ask and doing such an amazing job a making the writing better. And to Karen, for those last set of eyes.
To the admins and readers of Loving L.B., gosh, I just don’t think I’d be anywhere without you. For love and support, laughter and a few tears, you are my world and I’m grateful every day for your loyalty and the book-love community among us.
I’d be remiss if I didn’t give a shout out to Penny (and Fiona) for their infinite wisdom. I’m learning so much by participating in your realm of knowledge.
And finally, to my family, Mr. Dunbar, MD (and D), MK, JR, and A. I’m grateful that I get to live my best life every day and you all are the best of that best life.
About the Author
Love Notes
www.lbdunbar.com
L.B. Dunbar has an over-active imagination. To her benefit, such creativity has led to over thirty romance novels, including those offering a second chance at love over 40. Her signature works include the #sexysilverfoxes collection of mature males and feisty vixens ready for romance in their prime years. She’s also written stories of small-town romance (Heart Collection), rock star mayhem (The Legendary Rock Stars Series), and a twist on intrigue and redemption (Redemption Island Duet). She’s had several alter egos including elda lore, a writer of romantic magical realism through mythological retellings (Modern Descendants). In another life, she wanted to be an anthropologist and journalist. Instead, she was a middle school language arts teacher. The greatest story in her life is with the one and only, and their four grown children. Learn more about L.B. Dunbar by joining her reader group on Facebook (Loving L.B.) or subscribing to her newsletter (Love Notes).
Table of Contents
Table of Contents
Other Books by L.B. Dunbar
Dedication
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Epilogue
More by L.B. Dunbar
Keep in touch with L.B. Dunbar
A sip of Silver Biker
(L)ittle (B)lessings
