Not so the loft at the top of the stairs on the landing.

Buck’s house was bigger than just what was on the landing and in the great room.

Off the great room was a kind of den, slouchy furniture, another TV, what appeared to be a communal PC on an old-fashioned roll-top desk, a free-standing cast iron fireplace.

Off the den was a large utility room with a deep, four-legged sink, washer and dryer, counterspace, not a small amount of cupboards for storage and an extra full-size freezer and fridge.

The freezer was filled with meat. So much meat, it looked like an entire cow was in there alongside an entire pig.

That was the extent of the bottom floors.

But the loft was full-on Gear’s space.

Unlike Tatiana, Gear had claimed his room.

There were some deeply slanted ceilings and a skylight. There were also throw rugs on the floors and posters on the wall, mostly scantily clad, extremely buxom women, the majority of them wet with what little clothing they had on plastered to their bodies.

Unmade bed, the sheets of which seriously needed cleaning (and I made a note to do that, after I met Gear, of course, I didn’t want him to think I was invading his space). Clothes tangled all over the floor with the rugs (just like his dad’s room had been, though not as bad). A stereo with so many CDs, Gear could stock his own music store (and it was weird, but kinda cool to see CDs—I didn’t know people did CDs anymore, I thought it was all about streaming). All of the music was hard rock or rap.

There also seemed to be car parts or other pieces of mechanical equipment lying around.

I could get a read on Gear from his room.

He liked girls with large breasts. He liked music. And as his father had mentioned, he liked to tinker with stuff.

I finished buckling my other shoe and walked quickly to the bathroom, not wanting to be rude, but at the same time stalling.

I looked at myself in the mirror.

Faded jeans but only faded because I’d owned them for a long time (I hadn’t bought any new clothes in over a year). A delicate salmon-colored blouse which I’d managed to keep in decent condition even though it, too, had been hanging in my closet for a while. Strappy matte bronze sandals which had been very expensive when I bought them three years ago and I painstakingly took care of them too.

Luckily, when they seized Rogan’s and my possessions, they’d left me with my clothes.

Unluckily, this was about all they left me with.

Further to that misfortune, a good deal of these things I’d had to commission for the money (mostly handbags and shoes, but also designer clothing).

I’d made careful selections of what to keep.

Clothes that might help me find a job and some things that I could live in and not be reminded every day that my life was in the toilet.

I hadn’t been able to camouflage much of the bruising around my eye, so it shone in high relief and my scabbed-over cut lip was impossible to hide.

I wondered what Lorie’s friends would think of me. I wondered if they’d like me. Lorie thought I was sweet, and I got the impression Driver liked me. I just hoped the others would too.

I wasn’t looking forward to this on a variety of levels, including the fact I had no money in my purse, and I couldn’t use my credit cards. If I tried, they’d probably be shredded by shop assistants at the register.

I couldn’t even afford a cup of coffee.

I felt my anxiety rising as I stared at myself in the mirror, and I was intent on doing that when I heard Buck.

I jumped and whirled to face the bathroom door.

“Babe, what the fuck?” he asked.

“Do I look okay?” I blurted, and his chin listed back.

“Come again?”

“Do I…?”

Oh God, was I really asking Buck if I looked okay?

Did you ask a badass biker if you looked okay?

No.

No, you didn’t.

From what I was experiencing, they seemed confident in every detail of their lives.

Then again, the mystery of why Buck’s hair was always so fantastically cool had not yet been solved.

And it was always fantastically cool.

If my hair always looked fantastically cool, I’d be confident too.

I shook my head and my ridiculous thoughts away and muttered, “Nothing.”

I walked to him, head bowed, spiked heels clicking on the tiles, but I had to stop because he didn’t move out of the doorway. I looked up at him just in time to see his hand come up and then I lost sight of it when it curled around the side of my neck.

“Baby, you look fine,” he said quietly.

Golly, I liked it when he was nice.

And it had to be said, he was nice a lot.

As in, all the time.

“You sure?” I whispered.

His fingers gave me a squeeze. “Yeah, I’m sure.”

“Okay.” I was still whispering.

“They’re gonna love you, Clara,” he told me.

I nodded, ready to believe him that I looked okay, not so sure I believed that.

I got another squeeze of his fingers. “Darlin’, they will.”

“Okay,” I repeated.

He stared into my eyes a second before he bent his neck so he could kiss my nose.

All right, now I felt better.

He lifted his head, and I smiled at him. His focus dropped to my mouth, his fingers tensed on my neck, pulling me slightly up as he bent his neck again then his mouth touched mine.

Two days and I hadn’t had that. Outside of the mini make out session on his bed that first morning, he’d not even brushed his lips against mine.

I missed it.

So much, I leaned in, and when his mouth started moving away, mine followed it.

Suddenly, his arms were around me and his tongue was in my mouth.

Oh, yes.

I missed this even more.

I wound my arms around him and kissed him back.

It was wet, it was heated, and it was effective. I knew this because I felt it starting, my knees got weak and my nipples got hard.

As ever…

Amazing.

He tore his mouth from mine, and with just one kiss, I was breathing heavy and holding on to him for dear life.

“You’re feelin’ better,” he growled, his voice rougher than normal, which was saying something.

“Yes,” I panted, and his arms squeezed gently, like he was testing me, his eyes studying my face.

“Good to know I can take your mouth without you whimpering in pain,” he muttered, his gaze locking on mine.

It was then it hit me that he hadn’t kissed me in two days because he didn’t want it to get heated because getting heated might cause me pain.

Oh yes, I definitely liked it when he was nice.

He carried on, “Tonight, we’ll see what else I can take.”

Oh.

Wow.

“Buck—” I whispered, and I didn’t know why because I had nothing to say except, maybe, “Yippee!”

He let me go, stepped back, and I watched him pull his wallet out of the back pocket of his jeans. I then watched him open it. After that, I watched him sift through a bunch of bills, all of them hundreds. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten…

And onward.

Yes, onward.

And there were several more in there.

He pulled those bills out, flipped his wallet closed and shoved it into his back pocket. Then he grabbed my wrist, lifted it, and planted the wad of hundred-dollar bills in my palm.