Three days.

That’s how long since I lost my mind.

I can’t say what made the final break. It could be the tall, built, sexy biker with beautiful lips, blue eyes, brown and copper tinted hair. It could be the fact I’ve been living in a nunnery for way too freaking long. Maybe it’s hereditary; Lord knows my mother was always a few French fries short of a Happy Meal.

I couldn’t tell you why I’m being so stupid. Maybe it’s a mixture of all those reasons and more. All I know is that this is day three I’m meeting Logan. Day three of risking my cover, and it’s definitely the third day I’m falling deeper in lust for the biker named Devil.

I haven’t kissed him—though I’ve wanted to. I’ve not told him a lot about my life—though the temptation to do that was there too. I’ve held hands, listened to his stories about his brothers. I’ve laughed at his jokes, and shared a few cold sandwiches he brought.

I’m in trouble and when I say that, I mean that there is this giant sign above my head in flashing neon that says “Stupid!” and there’s an arrow under that word pointing directly at my head. I know all of this logically, but when I make it to the park, this time wearing jeans and a shirt—that I hid under the long black uniform dress I normally wear for confession—I find I don’t give a damn. I want more time with Logan and I want to do it as me… Torrent Bishop. Not the make-believe Torrent I’ve been forced to become.

“Damn, Angel.”

“What?” I respond, wondering if something is wrong.

“You’re trying to kill me, showing up here like that. You can’t tell me this is what nuns normally wear,” he grumbles, his voice doing like it always does and sending sparks of awareness instantly through my body. Sometimes when he says my name, I swear it feels like a physical caress.

I start to tell him what I originally wore and stored behind a tree when I got away from the others. The girls are working at a local farm today with some children. I pretended to be sick, and stayed back as everyone else boarded on the bus. It was a little dangerous, but like I said, I’m insane and spending time with Logan has become as essential to me as air and water.

“Whatever,” I mutter, walking closer to him. “If you don’t like it, you don’t have to look.”

“Oh, I like it, Torrent. I like it too damn much,” he says, scratching his beard. I almost giggle at the look on his face. It’s clear he’s struggling—but not that much, since his gaze is zeroed in on my ass. Devil is an ass man, that much is clear.

“Horn-dog.”

“Arf, arf, baby,” he jokes and I giggle. “How long do we have today?”

It’s a simple question, but it causes my body to heat and my heart-rate to kick into overdrive. I can’t stop myself from looking over my shoulder in the direction I came. I half expect to see the other girls, including the Mother Superior, standing there ready to…

Crap. I don’t know what they would do, I only know whatever happened next wouldn’t be good.

“An hour or so,” I tell him, knowing that’s pushing it. Most everyone might be gone, but there are still people at the convent and if one of them decided to check on me and discover the pillows under my cover…

“How do you feel about riding a bike?” he asks, surprising me.

I can’t stop the smile that stretches on my face. I miss so much about my former life, but one of the biggest things—outside of father and my friends—has been riding. I was on a bike practically before I could walk. My dad bought my first bike when I was a teen and the bike I have now was built exclusively for me, by him. I cherish it and I miss it every day.

“Umm…”

“Never mind. I can tell from that grin plastered on your face you want to. You’re a different kind of woman, Torrent.”

“You don’t know the half of it,” I mutter under my breath.

“But I want to know more,” he says, proving he listens to everything I say—even when I’d rather he didn’t.

He takes my hand and I almost close my eyes at the feel of his fingers linking through mine. My heart squeezes in my chest and I feel flushed through my whole body—especially between my legs.

Logan struts, there’s no other way to describe it, as he walks back through the park. Immediately I know that he’s proud to be seen with me. I don’t have any illusions about my appearance. I look decent, but because of my family and the way I was raised, most boys I’ve been around are intimidated by me. They’ve definitely been afraid to make a move. Which means most of my boyfriends and the men I’ve let into my life have been part of the club, and have been a closely guarded secret. Shit, if Wolf knew I was trying out the other brothers he’d flip his shit. Wolf intimidates the hell out of me, and the only thing I do know is I am not cut out to be his old lady—even if I thought of him like that… Which I don’t. Wolf is practically the same age as my father, a habitual cheater on his women and hard partier. No way is that the kind of man I want.

Logan…

The truth is, I don’t know what kind of man Logan is, but the man I’m getting to know could win my heart as well as my body—that much I know and I should be scared instead of being happy. But I’m not. I’m happy. Logan’s hand in mine fills me with so much happiness, it’s kind of scary. I’m on the back of his bike without really remembering how I got there. I was too caught up in spending time with Logan, of having him close to me and smelling that masculine scent and that sexy as fuck aftershave he wears.

“You get on a bike like you’ve done it for years, Angel,” he says and he’s looking over his shoulder at me. His dark eyes are trying to see inside my brain. I know a flash of panic, but I shrug it off.

“Not the first bike I’ve been on, Logan.”

He nods in agreement, but doesn’t comment. Instead he hands me a helmet. I curl my nose in distaste.

“Put it on, babe. Not risking you getting hurt,” he orders. That’s sweet and all, although I’m not really sure how I feel about it. Most of the men in my dad’s club wouldn’t be caught dead with a helmet on them or their old ladies. Still, I shrug it off and put the thing on.

We drive ten minutes down the road, and cut off on an old dirt road that I had never noticed before. I’m not real familiar with this area in Tennessee. I’m from the opposite end of the state essentially, but it’s clear that Logan knows this place like the back of his hand.

My hands are wrapped tight around his stomach, my legs pressing into his thighs. The vibrations of the bike are working through me and I’m aroused.

Painfully so.

It’s more than just doing without sex for a long time too. It’s the fact that I’m more sexually attracted to Logan than I’ve been to any other man in my life. Hell, I’m lusting after him and it’s not purely about the sex either. For the first time in my life, I actually really and truly like everything about Logan. The more time I spend with him, the deeper that goes—which has never happened before.

After going down the dirt road he cuts off again, this time in front of a sign that reads: Lake Conte Public Boat Ramp.

He drives down the small incline and then parks his bike under a huge willow tree. The tree might be the biggest one I’ve seen, the branches spanning out so far it encompasses the entire ramp, shading it.

I slide off the bike, my legs shaky—not from riding, but from the need to be touched. Even through my pants, I can feel the muscles of my pussy clenching in hunger, the wetness painted on the inside of my thighs, and I know without looking that my nipples are so hard they’re probably visible even through my shirt and bra.

Logan steadies me and then reaches under my chin and takes the helmet off of me. He lays it on the seat of his bike and I rifle my fingers through my hair, trying to tame it—although I’m sure I’m not successful at all.

Logan reaches into his saddle bags, taking out a paper sack from one and a blanket from the other. Then he grabs my hand and leads me to the other side of the old tree. I watch as he spreads the blanket with quiet efficiency.

“Time for a picnic,” he says as he sits down on the blanket and pulls me down to join him.

“We couldn’t picnic at the park?” I ask, thinking that might have been safer. It might be hard to resist Logan out here… alone with him… his eyes sparkling in the mid-day sun… with him smelling like a freaking god of sex and leather.

“This is prettier,” he says, and I can’t deny that at all. He reaches behind him and picks up the paper sack he placed on the ground earlier, as he spread the blanket. He takes out a peach Nehi soda for me with a grin. During one of our conversations I let it slip that it was my favorite drink ever and he laughed at me, but it’s clear he took notes and that thought makes my heart feel…full. Then he takes out a can of beer—which he proclaimed was his favorite drink ever during the same conversation. I curl up my nose and he laughs.

“That crap still tastes like warm piss,” I tell him—exactly like I did before.

“Angel, have you ever drank a bottle of piss?” he asks, still laughing at me.

“No, but if I did, it would taste exactly like that. You can just tell.”

“You can?”

“It’s the smell. It smells like piss that’s been sitting in a toilet for hours without being flushed.”

“Maybe we should change the subject. It’s going to make it hard to get romantic with you if we don’t,” he says, taking out a couple of sandwiches.

“You shouldn’t be trying to get romantic with me, Logan.”

“You can’t deny there’s something between us, Angel.”

“There’s a pull between us, I’ll admit that.”

“It’s something we should investigate,” he says plainly, his dark gaze boring into mine.

“It’s something I’m not free to investigate,” I tell him, and it’s the truth—even if it’s not for the reasons he believes.

“Not yet,” he responds and in a way he could be right, so I don’t say anything further.

Maybe because I’m hoping he’s right.