“How would you know?” he asks.
“Because that’s not where she lives.” I take back my previous name calling. Labelling her was dumb. She’s as bright as I originally thought. “She’s duped him into thinking that’s where she lives.”
“Fuck, Prez, you’re right. A cab has pulled up, and she’s come out of the building and jumped into the back. Do you want us to follow her? Find out where she does live?”
“Make your way back to the clubhouse.” I take hold of my helmet once more, and place it on my head. I throw my leg over my ride, kick off the stand but wait to finish my call before firing it up. “I’ll let you know if I need you again.”
“Sure brother.”
I cut the call, slip my cell into my pocket, and fire up the engine.
There are two reasons why I told Cub and Rex not to follow Tenley to where she lives. The first being that I already know where she’s heading, to her apartment on East Street. She’s not the only one who’s been doing a little research. Second, the last thing I need is for them to see me when I pay her an impromptu visit.
Chapter
Sixteen
Tenley
Before I get out of the cab outside my apartment block, I quickly check my surroundings, and when I don’t see any signs of an avocado-colored car or tall, charming, green-eyed Lothario, I pay the cabby and step out onto the sidewalk and quickly make my way inside.
Although Paddy had been nothing but the perfect gentleman on our little ice cream date, when he’d offered to give me a ride home, I had declined. But his cheeky smile and constant badgering and assurance that I could trust him were relentless. So, eventually, I gave in and accepted the offer. However, I’m not stupid. I wasn’t about to offer up the knowledge about where I lived, so I’d directed him to a decoy place several blocks away.
My home is my sanctuary, so only a few people have my address, mainly the mail office and the HRdepartment at the newspaper, both of which have strict data security policies.
My apartment is in a relatively small building rather than one of the large monstrosities. I love it because most of the people living here keep themselves to themselves. My days are saturated with work and my need to succeed immeasurably, so I have no time to waste on pleasantries with the neighbors or getting all buddy-buddy with them for coffee mornings.
One of my utmost bug bears is people turning up at my door unannounced, catching me in the middle of an important piece of research while in various levels of undress. As our building is currently missing security because of a change of contractors who have messed up with the dates they were supposed to switch, we are without a doorman to ensure that no one gets further than the foyer without my consent. The last thing I need is a walking hunk of testosterone, with a body and face to die for, aka Paddy Dunne, turning up on my doorstep and testing my resolve.
I’ve enjoyed the lighthearted flirting today, and it’s something that I’ve been starved of for many years while I’ve been concentrating on my career. I don’t deny part of me, mainly my vagina and clit, to be honest, had been throbbing for attention, imagining me sliding onto his lap and rubbing against his junk like an attention-seeking cat. It had got to where I had to call an end to our date, only then to be closer to him in his car.
Thank goodness the journey was a short one.
After taking the lift to the top floor wheremy apartment is, I walk down to the end of the corridor to my door. I push the key into the lock and the door releases. Once inside, I close the door firmly behind me and kick off my shoes, leaving them exactly where they drop. With every step I take towards the bathroom, I shed my clothes again, leaving a trail behind me. By the time I arrive at the shower door, I’m naked and rather than letting the water run until it’s warm, I step inside and hit the faucet.
“Holy shit,” I squeal out loud when the cold water hits my heated skin, but I need to clear my head of the hot Irish man and all the dirty thoughts swimming around in my mind.
When the water turns warm, I set about cleaning my hair and body so it’s in line with my head.
Once I’ve rinsed off, I shut off the water and step out onto the fluffy mat, grab a towel from the rail and drape it around my body. I quickly dry my hair with another, enough to let it fall around my face without dripping water everywhere. With one hand holding the loaded toothbrush, I throw the damp hair towel into the laundry hamper. Teeth clean, mouth rinsed, I step out of the bathroom, making my way to the kitchen and pull open the refrigerator door. After the mountain of ice cream, I’m not the slightest bit hungry, but I have a raging thirst that only chilled water will quench.
I take a fresh bottle from inside the door, a tall glass from the cupboard shelf, and pour the water in until it’s almost spilling over the rim. Bringing the beaker to my lips, I gulp down nearly half the amount before taking abreath. I take the rest over to the couch, where my laptop remains open on the coffee table.
I hit the button that wakes it up and press my thumb to the sensor that unlocks it, and it springs to life on the last page I’d been checking out on the web.
Instead of the green eyes of Paddy Dunne staring back at me, it’s a pair of rich brown ones with hooded lids and a lazy stare.
When it came to finding information on the Young Outlaws, I needed to do some serious digging. For their president, even more so. After trawling the usual social media sites, eventually I’d found a single picture, the one that I see now. Edge to edge, top to bottom, seeing how I’ve zoomed and re-saved so it completely fills the fifteen-inch touch screen.
I flutter my fingers across his image, careful not to actually touch the screen, which would cause it to flicker. Those cheekbones, thick brows, and lips that I can only imagine what they would feel like to suck on. His look is broody, hot and sexy and as tempting as fuck. Even more so when you see him in the flesh.
What the hell am I thinking?
Lusting after two men who are both dangerous, violent and sworn enemies. I’m playing with fire and at risk of getting seriously burnt.
“Damn-it girl,” I berate myself, shifting in my seat as a whoosh of heat builds between my legs. “Get it into your head. Never gonna happen.”
I click over onto the Word document I have opened in the background and read through the last paragraph I’dwritten, describing Wolf’s background and how he’s father to Cub, the youngest member of the Young Outlaws. That just about covers what information I need to include for each of the members. Now, I need to report on the darker side of the MC. Not the stuff that’s already out there and easily accessible. I’m talking about the real dirt that seems to have been brushed aside over the years by the press and the law, but with little evidence, I haven’t got a clue where to start, because no one is willing to talk.
