Good choice, Deke. Donohue’s is one of our favorite restaurants. It’s a high class steakhouse on top of the tallest building downtown, and we celebrated here when Wheels first turned a profit.

I’ve never brought a woman here, though, and I’m pretty sure it’s not a typical date spot for Deke.

We’re not exactly dressed to the nines in our denim and leather, but when we step out of the elevator, the maitre’d is waiting for us. “Good evening, Miss. Good evening, gentlemen. Right this way.”

He leads us to a small, private room in the back. We get more than a few sidelong glances from the other diners on our way, but this isn’t San Francisco or New York. Casual wear is fine most places. Still, it was smart of my brother to call ahead.

Not that either of us cares, but Tara might prefer to eat in peace. Besides, being alone with her is always a plus. If we can’t actually fuck her while we’re here, we can certainly get her hot and bothered with some sexy talk.

“I love this restaurant,” Tara says after the maitre’d leaves the room. “My parents brought me here for my graduation. It’s a special occasion place in my family.”

“I’d say last night was pretty special.” I run the tips of my fingers lightly up her forearm and feel her shiver in response.

“Here’s to tonight being another special occasion,” Deke says, mimicking my actions on her other arm.

Tara looks between us, then down at the table. It’s cute when she blushes.

“How about some wine?” Deke asks Tara as the waiter approaches.

“Wine would be good,” she says. We’re both still touching her, but when I notice her discomfort at our contact in the waiter’s presence, I move my hand away and she visibly relaxes.

Donohue’s service is almost too attentive. Between wine service, the chef’s amuse-bouche, bread, and then salads, we’re never alone for long. When we finally settle into our steaks, Tara turns to Deke. “Did I hear someone call you Stinger tonight?”

“Yeah.”

“Is that your biker name?”

“Yeah,” he repeats.

“Any particular reason?” she asks.

My brother simply raises an eyebrow, and Tara nods and smiles in response. His nickname wasn’t originally sexual in nature, but most women assume it is and he doesn’t deny it.

“Oh, and your tattoo…” Tara says, eyes widening, clearly remembering the scorpion art on my brother’s abs. “And how about you, Jake?” she asks, turning to me with a speculative look.

“Scorch.”

She’s quiet for a moment, thinking, and then she reaches out to touch my sleeve, remembering the exact spot of my dragon. Her eyes flare and I know she’s picturing me naked. When our waiter comes in to check on us, Tara doesn’t move her hand.

“Can I bring you anything?” he asks.

“More wine, darlin’?” Deke asks.

“No, thank you.” When the waiter disappears, she asks, “What’s your club called?”

“Brimstone Friars.”

“And what’s the significance — oh, Abbott, friar?” she says, interrupting herself.

I nod. “Our uncle was a founding member and the first club president.”

Tara nods too and takes a bite of her food, looking thoughtful and somewhat uncomfortable as she chews. I get the impression that our uncle’s past doesn’t exactly give her the warm fuzzies.

“How’s your steak?” I ask, wanting to change the subject.

“Delicious,” she says with enthusiasm.

“Delicious, hmm? It’s pretty good, but doesn’t taste nearly as good as you.”

She smiles but reddens again. She hadn’t seemed the shy type until now — maybe it’s our surroundings.

“What will the ride be like tomorrow? What should I expect?” she asks before taking a sip from wine glass. Her question is clearly not casual conversation; she looks nervous.

“Nothing to worry about,” Deke says. “Just like a road trip but with bikes instead of cars.”

“The weather’s supposed to be nice,” I add.

“That’s good,” she murmurs.

“How did it feel on the back of the bike?” I ask.

“Good,” she says. “Great.” She gives Deke a special look, and I almost expect him to start blushing. Lucky bastard. She’s gonna be wrapped around me on the way back to his place. And for at least half of the night to come.

“Eat up,” I say, gesturing to her dish as I pierce my last piece of filet. “I’m ready for dessert.”

“I could go for something sweet,” she says.

Under the table, I grip her knee before sliding my hand up along her inner thigh. “I could go for some sugar, sugar.”