Born to Ride: A Biker Erotic Romance (Blue Mustangs MC) by Emily Stone Page B
Authors: Emily Stone
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I’m old enough to judge him myself.”
Atticus pulled away from his daughter, trying to get a grip on the anger that was eating at him. “Sandy, I know you think you’re all grown up now but I’m telling you, as someone with much more life under their belt, stay away from Christian. I’m not kidding.” He turned on his heel and stomped down the stairs and out the door. He needed to work off this mad before Mariah came home.
*****
He’d blown two pool games watching her dance , and a third watching her flirt with what he assumed was an old boyfriend. He didn’t bother starting up a fourth.
Yes, Daddy’s little girl had definitely grown up. She’d strutted into the place wearing a tight black vest with a Blue Mustangs patch on the back, cutoff blue jean shorts, fishnet stockings, and those old boots of hers. Everyone had flocked to her. Old, young, men, women; they’d all wanted a moment of her attention. She was Atticus’ only daughter, and they treated her like royalty.
As the night had worn on, she’d shown how much a part of this club she still was. A daughter raised in the life, well-versed on club politics and easily one of the toughest women he’d seen, even as a kid. She greeted everyone equally. Everyone but him.
She made a point to stay on the other side of the room from him. After the old man’s earlier warning to him, he’d expected no less. There was little doubt she’d gotten the same warning to stay away from him.
Thing was, he’d decided he didn’t want to stay away from Atticus’ daughter. No, he wanted little Sandy Rivers to want him bad enough to go against her Daddy’s wishes. He just had to figure out the best approach, because it was clear that she wasn’t going to be easy.
*****
She was set up in her old spot in the back of the bar by noon the next day. She might have a brand spanking new college degree in graphic design, but her passion was the art of tattooing. She’d gone off to school to improve her artistic skills and make her tattoo art better, not to work in some office behind a computer screen creating commercials for hair gel. No, she was going to have people lining up for one of her original designs.
It was warmer in the back, and she went into the store room to see if she could scrounge up a fan. When she returned, empty handed and sweat on her brow, Christian was standing in the doorway. Her mouth went dry.
He was walking sex, or at least her vision of it. Tall and built well, Christian had fairly heavily muscled arms and thighs, a trim waist, and very wide shoulders. The sun had bleached some golden highlights into his light brown hair. Unlike most of the men in the club, he had no beard, but what seemed like a permanent five o’clock shadow. It suited his face. So did the dark brown eyes that she’d often dreamed would look at her the way he looked at some of the other females around.
She stood there staring, unable to form a greeting. There had to be a way to get past this little-girl crush; she was an adult now, for Christ’s sake. This was her place of business for the time being, and she had to be professional. “Mr. Belz. What can I do for you?”
The sound of her voice startled him. She was quiet. “I hear you do originals. I also hear you’re really good.”
“I do, and I am. Are you in the market?” She moved past him and pulled out her rolling stool, sitting down to stop her knees from knocking. That voice of his was killer.
He watched her nervously brush past him with a smile on his face. She was nervous around him. That was a good sign. “I am. A cover-up. You good with those?”
“Depends. Cover-ups can be complicated. Can I see it?” The excitement of new work helped settle her twitchy nerves.
“Sure,” he replied, pulling up on the bottom of his shirt. He pretended not to notice the sharp little breath she took as he took the garment off. “It’s pretty bad.” He
Atticus pulled away from his daughter, trying to get a grip on the anger that was eating at him. “Sandy, I know you think you’re all grown up now but I’m telling you, as someone with much more life under their belt, stay away from Christian. I’m not kidding.” He turned on his heel and stomped down the stairs and out the door. He needed to work off this mad before Mariah came home.
*****
He’d blown two pool games watching her dance , and a third watching her flirt with what he assumed was an old boyfriend. He didn’t bother starting up a fourth.
Yes, Daddy’s little girl had definitely grown up. She’d strutted into the place wearing a tight black vest with a Blue Mustangs patch on the back, cutoff blue jean shorts, fishnet stockings, and those old boots of hers. Everyone had flocked to her. Old, young, men, women; they’d all wanted a moment of her attention. She was Atticus’ only daughter, and they treated her like royalty.
As the night had worn on, she’d shown how much a part of this club she still was. A daughter raised in the life, well-versed on club politics and easily one of the toughest women he’d seen, even as a kid. She greeted everyone equally. Everyone but him.
She made a point to stay on the other side of the room from him. After the old man’s earlier warning to him, he’d expected no less. There was little doubt she’d gotten the same warning to stay away from him.
Thing was, he’d decided he didn’t want to stay away from Atticus’ daughter. No, he wanted little Sandy Rivers to want him bad enough to go against her Daddy’s wishes. He just had to figure out the best approach, because it was clear that she wasn’t going to be easy.
*****
She was set up in her old spot in the back of the bar by noon the next day. She might have a brand spanking new college degree in graphic design, but her passion was the art of tattooing. She’d gone off to school to improve her artistic skills and make her tattoo art better, not to work in some office behind a computer screen creating commercials for hair gel. No, she was going to have people lining up for one of her original designs.
It was warmer in the back, and she went into the store room to see if she could scrounge up a fan. When she returned, empty handed and sweat on her brow, Christian was standing in the doorway. Her mouth went dry.
He was walking sex, or at least her vision of it. Tall and built well, Christian had fairly heavily muscled arms and thighs, a trim waist, and very wide shoulders. The sun had bleached some golden highlights into his light brown hair. Unlike most of the men in the club, he had no beard, but what seemed like a permanent five o’clock shadow. It suited his face. So did the dark brown eyes that she’d often dreamed would look at her the way he looked at some of the other females around.
She stood there staring, unable to form a greeting. There had to be a way to get past this little-girl crush; she was an adult now, for Christ’s sake. This was her place of business for the time being, and she had to be professional. “Mr. Belz. What can I do for you?”
The sound of her voice startled him. She was quiet. “I hear you do originals. I also hear you’re really good.”
“I do, and I am. Are you in the market?” She moved past him and pulled out her rolling stool, sitting down to stop her knees from knocking. That voice of his was killer.
He watched her nervously brush past him with a smile on his face. She was nervous around him. That was a good sign. “I am. A cover-up. You good with those?”
“Depends. Cover-ups can be complicated. Can I see it?” The excitement of new work helped settle her twitchy nerves.
“Sure,” he replied, pulling up on the bottom of his shirt. He pretended not to notice the sharp little breath she took as he took the garment off. “It’s pretty bad.” He
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