“You have a son?” I asked, this surprising me.

I hadn’t done an inventory of his home, but it seemed like a bachelor pad, a nice one, but a bachelor pad all the same.

“Yep, and a daughter,” Buck answered.

Oh wow.

“A daughter?”

“Tatiana.”

“Pretty name,” I whispered, and he grinned.

“She’s a pretty girl, which fuckin’ sucks.”

I blinked again. “It does?”

“Babe, a man does not want his daughter to be gorgeous. He wants her to be plain. Gorgeous attracts attention. Plain, not so much.”

I smiled at him because he was being funny and sweet, and his attention dropped to my mouth again just as his fingers tensed on my back.

“They don’t live with you,” I remarked,

His eyes came back to mine, and they were no longer warm with sleep, necking and chatting while sitting in bed.

They were unhappy.

“They live in Flagstaff.”

I felt my eyes get wide. “That’s not very close.”

“It sure the fuck isn’t.”

My belly got warm again at his tone.

He missed his kids. Not a little.

A lot.

This defined him too, in a good way.

“How old are they?” I asked quietly.

“Gear is seventeen, almost eighteen. Tatie just turned sixteen.”

My wide eyes got wider. “Did you start early?”

“I was twenty-one when Locke was born.”

Yes, early.

Though I was surprised.

Doing the mental math that made him thirty-eight (almost thirty-nine) years old.

He didn’t look thirty-eight years old.

And he definitely didn’t have sex like he was thirty-eight years old.

I’d have pegged him around thirty-two.

Thirty-three at most.

Though I’d never had sex with a thirty-eight-year-old man, so I wouldn’t know.

But Rogan was thirty-six, and he didn’t come close to Buck.

“Um…” I hesitated then braved, “Is Kristy their mom?”

“Unfortunately, yeah,” he answered without hesitation.

“She isn’t a good mom?”

“She’s a bitch, babe,” he replied and moved back, his arm coming from around me so he could indicate the scar on his lower, left abs with the other tattoo of Never again over it. “She gave me that.”

I felt my body get tight at this news.

“Pardon?” I whispered.

“Bitch stuck me with a blade,” he said.

My tight body froze, and Buck put his arm back around me but at my upper back. He did this at the same time he laid back against the pillows, carefully taking me with him so I was bent over, my chest resting lightly on his.

This wasn’t painful, but it was uncomfortable, so I shifted my legs as he pulled me up over his body which meant I was lying full-body on him and not on my injured hip.

Now, this was comfortable.

Hmm.

Lovely.

When he got me in this position, I rested on my bent arms with hands flat on his chest and he carried on.

“Judge was fucked. Not a fan of bikers. Can’t say I lived a clean life, have a rap sheet, nothin’ big, nothin’ like stickin’ my wife with a blade. Still, the asshole gave my kids to her. She got ’em and took off. Like a shot, just to fuck with me. Went to Flagstaff. Fought that, lost it too. It took about a week before she got herself hooked to an asshole. She thinks his shit don’t stink. My kids hate him, mainly because he’s a dick. The minute Gear got his license, I gave him a car and they come down as often as they can to get away from that shit.”

“That doesn’t sound good,” I noted.

“It isn’t,” Buck agreed.

I lifted a hand and rested it on his cheek. “I’m sorry, Buck.”

His hand drifted up my back and into my wet hair. “Thanks, Toots, but it ain’t as bad as it was before. I was supposed to have them every other weekend. She jacked me around, found ways to keep them from me. Sometimes I’d show and they’d be gone. I’d wait for hours, I’d search, no sign, no warning, no explanation. I’d drive two hours and come back without my kids. It was a pain in my ass and the kids suffered. They like bein’ with their old man. Now, they can get in a car and come when they want. They’re here nearly every weekend. They’ve been with me all summer, just went back for school, but they’ll be back Friday night.”

I found this both heartening and concerning.

I didn’t want to meet his kids, not looking like I did, and Friday was only two days away, so I didn’t figure I would look a lot better when they got to their dad’s.

But I also didn’t want to meet the children he obviously loved while living the life I was living. And I was getting the hint that he intended to be a part of that life which came with meeting his kids.

Still, I was glad he got to spend time with his children.

“That must be hard for them, being here every weekend when their friends at school are at home,” I noted.

“Sometimes they bring their friends with them. Sometimes they miss a weekend because they’re hangin’ all weekend with their friends at their houses. One way or another, they escape home. Both of them are funny, make friends easy. They got as many friends here as they do at home.” He gave me a gentle squeeze. “They’re survivors, darlin’. Gear is nearly free, and he’ll break for it. It won’t be long before Tatie can too.”

“Well, that’s good,” I mumbled.

He grinned up at me as he said, “Yeah.”

Then, frighteningly, he kept talking.

“Gear’ll like you, babe. My boy’s been a flirt since he could focus his eyes. The prettier the target, the more effort he gives it, which means he’ll put a fair amount of effort into it with you. Tatie’ll be harder to win over. She’s her dad’s girl. She doesn’t warm up quick to women around me.”

Oh dear.

This did not sound good.

“Um…Buck, we should talk about that,” I told him.

In response to this pronouncement, he twisted his hand around my hair and lifted his head to give me another lip brush.

Once he was done doing this, he curled up, taking me with him, moving me in his arms while he threw his legs over the side of the bed. He stood and put me on my feet.

When I was looking up at him, he stated, “Yeah, Toots, we got a lot to talk about. But we’ll do it over coffee and breakfast.”

Okay.

That sounded like a plan,

I nodded.

He grinned, lifted a hand to tug a lock of my damp hair and then he moved away, going toward the bathroom.

I stood still, watching him.

This was because he was naked, and my life might be uncertain and a little scary, but what wasn’t uncertain was the fact that West “Buck” Hardy looked really, really good naked.

It was also because I saw that his back was tattooed too, from shoulder blade to shoulder blade, spanning his ribs and down his spine. It looked like an emblem and included snakes, flames, chains, motorcycle wheels and a poker hand.

And across his upper back, with flourishes (masculine ones, and those existed, trust me), in a kick-butt font, it said, simply, Aces High.

I had never been cool, never in my whole life.