I follow Gunner’s bike in my car all the way to Tanner Springs. The whole distance there, I argue with myself about whether I should really be accepting his offer to stay at his place. A couple of times I almost turn the car around. In the end, though, the offer’s too good to pass up. The prospect of sleeping in my car for the foreseeable future doesn’t thrill me. And no matter what, I’m committed to searching for Eden until I find her. Especially after what happened with Gonzalo last night.

It’s a little daunting, though, the idea of staying in the house of someone I barely know. Especially someone like Gunner. I’m already so far in his debt. And I’m uncomfortably attracted to him, to boot. It’s a feeling that makes me more than a little wary. I keep expecting him to drop the pretense of being a decent guy, and demand payback. And with men like him, the kind of payback they usually want is something they’ll just take. Whether you want to give it to them or not.

Then I realize I’m lumping him into the same group with people like Gonzalo, and silently berate myself for judging him like that. Sure, I met Gunner in a seedy bar filled with bikers and lowlifes. But even though Gunner’s a biker himself, he’s already proved he’s not like Gonzalo. Not at all. At least, not when he doesn’t want to be. After all, he said himself that if he’d wanted to take advantage of me, he already had ample opportunity when I was passed out in the motel room. And that’s definitely true. So even though I don’t understand his motives, I can’t help but grudgingly believe him.

He probably doesn’t find you attractive. It’s not like you’re likely to be his type, after all. You’re hardly like the busty biker chicks in that bar. By comparison, you look like a ten year-old boy.

I should find that idea comforting. It really should be a relief.

But instead, it gives me an odd, sinking feeling in my stomach.

My God, am I disappointed he doesn’t want to have his way with me?

I’m so surprised and exasperated with myself that I actually laugh out loud in the car. “God, Alix, you are ridiculous,” I tell myself with a snort of disbelief. My words hang there in the air, taunting me, as I continue to ride behind Gunner, toward a town called Tanner Springs.

* * *

I only know we’ve arrived at our destination because of the rectangular green sign just outside the city limits. No buildings are visible yet. Shortly after we pass the sign, Gunner lifts a hand and makes a motion in the air to let me know we’ll be turning right soon. I slow my car to just over the new speed limit, and flip on my turn signal shortly after he does. A few seconds later, I see where he’s planning to turn. We pull off the highway onto a residential road, which ends up leading to a neighborhood of small and medium-sized houses at the edge of town. I zigzag behind Gunner’s bike for a few more minutes, winding through the streets. Finally, he hand signals a left turn and pulls into the driveway of a white bungalow with dark gray trim and a small porch in front.

Not wanting to impose, I start to park my car on the street, but Gunner waves me up to pull in next to his bike. “You’re staying here as my guest,” he rumbles at me through my open window when I’ve shut off my engine. “You can park in the driveway.”

“Thank you,” I mumble, and hoist myself out of the car. I reach in and grab my backpack from the passenger seat. When I’ve pulled it out and straightened, I catch Gunner casting an appreciative look at my ass.

“Sorry, just enjoying the scenery,” he grins sexily. “Come on, let’s get you situated.”

I shoot him an accusing look and follow him to the front door, feeling indignant but also… kind of weirdly happy.

Dammit. I can’t believe there’s a part of me that wants him to find me attractive. This is not what you’re here for, Alix, I tell myself crossly. Besides which, the last thing you need is to get yourself in the same kind of stupid mess Eden did. My sister is absolutely gorgeous, but she never seems to really believe it unless some guy is chasing after her. Her need to have male eyes on her to feel important has been the source of many of Eden’s bad decisions. And there have been a lot of them.

I’ll be damned if I’m going to let myself go down that same path. Especially when the whole reason I’m here is to make sure her bad decisions haven’t gotten her in real trouble this time.

Gunner unlocks the door and holds the screen open for me to go in. The house is small, but inviting inside. The living room is painted in reds and tans, and arranged with comfortable-looking furniture. A brick fireplace anchors one side of the room. The living room leads into a dining room with a dark wood table that’s got some bills and other papers on it.

“I wasn’t exactly expecting guests,” Gunner says easily as he leads me down a short hallway. “Bathroom’s over here to the right. Towels and shit are in the closet behind the door.” He continues to the end of the hall, where there are two doors, one to the left and one to the right. The left one must be his bedroom, because he pushes open the right-hand side door and motions me through. “Here’s your room,” he says.

It’s small and sparsely furnished, with a double bed, a standing lamp, and a short, square dresser. “The closet has my shit in it,” Gunner tells me, “But the dresser’s all yours.”

“Thank you again,” I murmur.

“Stop thanking me, Alix. It’s getting boring.”

“I’m sorry.” My face grows hot.

“It’s fine. But seriously, knock it off, okay?” Gunner pulls out his phone and grimaces a little. “Look, I gotta go. Some club business to take care of. Make yourself at home. There’s another house key hanging on one of the hooks next to the back door. You can take that so you can come and go as you please.”

“Okay,” I nod. He shoves his phone back in his pocket and looks at me. Our eyes lock for a second.

And I realize, once again, that we’re completely alone.

God, his eyes are blue.

My skin starts to feel kind of goosebumpy.

I remember how rough and callused his hands are. I wonder what they’d feel like roaming over my body.

Stop. It.

“Okay, then. Stay out of trouble.” His voice is gruff, but then Gunner winks at me, one corner of his mouth lifting. My stomach does a little flip. “When I get back, we can talk about how to find your sis.”

The clomp of Gunner’s boots gets softer and softer as he walks back down the hallway. Then the front door opens and shuts behind him.

The roar of his Harley engine has completely disappeared when I realize I’m still standing in the middle of the bedroom, in a sort of daze.

I blink and shake my head, and snort softly at how ridiculous I’m being. I’ve never really had a man affect me like this before. It’s like my body is on constant high alert when he’s around. My nipples are standing at attention, waiting to be touched.

Waiting for him to touch them.

My skin is practically buzzing. And Gunner’s not even here anymore.

He, on the other hand, seems more or less completely unaffected by my presence.

Except he seems to think my ass is okay.

I begin repeating my new mantra, It’s good that Gunner doesn’t want me. It’s good that Gunner doesn’t want me, as I sit down on the bed. Opening up my backpack, I take out the few belongings I brought with me. The bedspread under me is a soft, homey quilt, obviously handmade. I wonder who made it for him. I can’t see Gunner buying something like this. For one thing, handmade quilts are crazy expensive. And besides, it doesn’t really seem like his style. I imagine a grandmother giving it to him, or an aunt, and then I have to laugh because I can barely even envision someone like him having a granny. He’s so… masculine. And hard. It’s almost impossible to imagine he was ever a little boy, or a baby. Gunner seems like he just sprang into the world like he is right now. Hot, sexy as hell, muscled and tattooed.

My skin does that tingly thing again.

It’s good that Gunner doesn’t want me. It’s good that Gunner doesn’t want me…

I pull out the couple of T-shirts and the few changes of underwear I brought with me, and stash them with a couple of other items in the top drawer of the empty dresser. Then I take out the rumpled white shirt dress I was wearing yesterday. It needs to be washed, but I don’t want to snoop around for a washer and dryer in Gunner’s house. Instead, I go to the bathroom and hand wash it, using some of the small bottle of shampoo I grabbed from the motel. I wring it out and hang it over a towel bar to dry, placing a hand towel I found in the little closet under it so it won’t drip on the floor.

That task done, I wander out into the hallway, feeling suddenly restless. Gunner hasn’t even been gone half an hour. I wonder when he’ll come back. If he’s still gone by dinner time, should I just assume I’m on my own and eat without him? He told me to make myself at home, but I wouldn’t feel right about eating his food.

I go into the kitchen, which is simple and kind of bare. Opening the fridge, I see there’s hardly any food in it anyway, apart from a pizza box, a carton of milk, and some jars of pickles and condiments. It’s actually sort of a relief to know I’ll have to go out shopping for food. It gives me something to do until he gets back.

I wander out into the living room, noticing again how comfortable and lived-in it is, without being cluttered. It’s obvious that a man lives here from the simple furnishings and the dark colors. The only things hanging on the wall are a couple of pictures of classic-looking bikes and a large flat-screen TV mounted above the fireplace. There are no photos of family or friends, I note with disappointment. Nothing personal that will tell me anything more about who Gunner is, or the people who are important to him.

In the dining room, I glance at the piles of papers, and glimpse an unopened envelope on one stack. I bend over to see the name and address typed on it. Gunner Storgaard, I read. A tiny little thrill of excitement runs up my spine that I’ve learned his last name. But then I feel bad for snooping, even if the envelope was right there on top.

To avoid any temptation to look at anything else on the table, I move off back down the hall to the guest room. I decide I’m going to go grocery shopping. Even though I’m almost out of money, I have to eat, after all. And if Gunner does come back in time for dinner tonight, I’d like to be able to make him something to thank him for his generosity. It won’t be anything special, since I can’t afford much. But luckily, from what I saw in the kitchen, it doesn’t look like he’ll be expecting a gourmet meal anyway.

I lean down and grab my little purse off the bed, then turn to walk back out into the hallway. As I do, I notice that I can see straight through into Gunner’s bedroom from mine. Curiosity gets the better of me again. I tiptoe across the hall, even though there’s no one else here, and peek inside.

The curtains are drawn, so the room is fairly dark. I can make out a king-size bed with dark-colored sheets. The covers are flung aside, as though he just got up. Even though I know better, I close my eyes for a second and imagine the mattress and pillow are still warm from his body. I remember the clean, masculine scent of him from this morning, when I was riding behind him on his bike.

A noise from outside startles me out of my thoughts. I turn and skitter back to my room, but after a few seconds I realize the sound isn’t Gunner returning. Letting out a breath I didn’t even realize I was holding, I scold myself once again for being too curious where he’s concerned.

Groceries, I tell myself sternly. And then figure out how you’re going to find Eden. The sooner the better — so you can say goodbye to Gunner Storgaard for good.