“Happiness is Pop-Tarts?”

“Absolutely.”

He stared at me a second and then threw his head back and roared with laughter, his arms convulsing around me.

My body got stiff.

“I’m being very serious, West Hardy,” I informed him.

“Yeah, babe,” he said through his hilarity, his eyes focusing on me, “I know.”

“I just endured a drama,” I reminded him.

“Yeah, babe, I saw.”

“There is nothing to laugh at,” I snapped.

“Gorgeous, you just told that asshole to tell your ex to shove six and a half million dollars up his ass.”

“I know, but that is not funny.”

“I’m awash with happiness. Lead me to him straight away,” he quoted, shaking his head, still laughing. “Some a’ the shit that comes outta your mouth, babe. Fuckin’ priceless.”

“Buck, I’m not finding this amusing.”

“Do you want an island in the Pacific or are you thinkin’ Caribbean?” he inquired.

“Stop joking!” I snapped and slapped his shoulder.

“It can’t be too expensive. We gotta leave you at least a million to buy bikinis and pumice scrub, whatever the fuck that is,” he remarked.

With a frustrated noise, I tried to shove out of his lap, but his arms only got tighter.

“You leave my lap, babe, you do it to lock the doors and close the blinds.”

“It’s normal operating hours, Buck,” I told him haughtily. “The doors and blinds are open during normal operating hours so I can see what’s going on and the boys can get to me if they need me, even if I’ve just endured another drama.”

“They don’t need you for the next half hour.”

“Deliveries don’t come on my schedule. They come when they come. And Jimbo takes his break at three o’clock sharp. I’ve been saving him a cupcake and he knows it.”

“Jimbo’s gonna have to delay breaktime, babe. Go lock the doors and pull the blinds.”

I tilted my head as I looked at him and asked, “Why are you being weird?”

“Because I don’t give a fuck if someone sees or walks in on me fuckin’ you on the desk, but I reckon you will, so you need to lock the doors and pull the blinds.”

I sucked in breath and my eyes grew wide, even as I felt my nipples get hard.

Then I whispered, “You aren’t fucking me on the desk.”

But I kind of hoped he was.

“Yeah, I definitely am.”

Oh my.

Then I remembered where we were.

“You can’t,” I hissed. “They already call me Redhot. You do that, they’ll hear, and I’ll never live that nickname down.”

“You’re never gonna live it down anyway, Toots, so you might as well live it up.”

He had a point there.

“I have things to do,” I informed him.

“And you can do ’em. You let go instead of holdin’ on, I might be able to make you come in twenty minutes rather than half an hour, then you can get to doin’ the things you gotta do.”

I tried a different tack.

“I can’t have sex in the workplace. People don’t have sex in their workplace.”

“Babe, quit fuckin’ around.”

“But—”

“You keep fuckin’ around, I do you on the desk with the blinds open and doors unlocked. You want that?”

I narrowed my eyes on him. “Why are you so annoying?”

“You can tell me I’m annoying when I got my dick inside you and you’re moanin’ at me to fuck you harder. Now, go lock the doors and close…the fuckin’…blinds.”

I glared at him.

He absorbed my glare and lifted his brows.

Then I pushed off his lap, locked the doors and closed the blinds.

I did this because I was protesting, but it was only for show.

What I really wanted was Buck to fuck me on the desk.

Lucky for me, I got what I wanted and Buck “did” me on the desk, right on top of my papers, files and everything.

I was pretty certain anyone outside heard it.

I was also pretty certain Buck didn’t care, not even a little bit.

What was surprising was…

I didn’t either.

17

There’s No Way Out

It was afternoon in the office the next day.

Friday.

Payday.

The first thing I did when I got to the office was log into my account online.

Promptly after, I did my first-ever, very loud whoop and holler of sheer glee when I saw I had a positive bank balance and that positive was more than a dollar and fifty-seven cents.

In concern after the big drama the day before, Raul came running.

I just gave him a homemade oatmeal and chocolate chip cookie and sent him back to the warehouse so he could load up for his job that day, assuring him all was well.

After that, I paid on all three of my credit cards and sent a check off to Raymundo for my part of Mrs. Jimenez’s rent.

I didn’t pay a lot on the credit cards because I liked the feel of having a positive bank balance, the next payday was two weeks away and my cards needed about six months of full-on payments to get under control, but at least it was something and maybe they’d call off their collectors.

With this start, I knew that day was going to be better than the day before.

This was thinking positively, of course, considering my life and the fact that anything could happen in it. But I was holding on to that with all I had.

And anyway, tonight was Buck’s enchiladas with Mrs. Jimenez, Gear, and Tatiana.

Sure, Tatiana wasn’t a bonus in that mix, but the enchiladas would make up for her not liking me.

It was now the afternoon, and there had fortunately been no dramas.

So, of course, the day took a turn.

Chap, Jimbo, and Raul were sitting on the couch in my office. Jimbo and Raul were taking a break and enjoying a fresh mug of coffee and the last of the cookies (they’d made it that long because I’d tripled the recipe, I’d learned that early). Chap was taking sips from a flask. Minnie was sitting on my desk gabbing. I was printing off invoices.

Then the door opened.

I looked up, and the room went instantly wired.

This was because Detective Rayne Scott, looking gorgeous, wearing a Henley, a sports jacket, jeans and boots, and sporting a badge and gun on his belt, walked in.

I forgot to mention.

Also that morning, I’d placed a call to the police station leaving a message for Rayne Scott.

I stared at him looking gorgeous (worth a repeat) and standing in my office.

Fantastic.

He couldn’t just phone?

“Cop,” Chap growled in a weirdly unhappy way as I felt Minnie, equally weirdly, get tense on my desk.

I kept staring at Scott and ignored their responses.

Many of the biker and biker babe responses were still a mystery to me. Though it didn’t take years living in the biker world to know bikers and cops weren’t the best of friends.

Still, Scott had just walked into a room. He didn’t do it with a SWAT team at his back, gun drawn, shouting, “Freeze!”

I pointed out the obvious, “You got my call.”