I wipe the tears from my face struggling to meet his eyes. I mumble a quick apology and duck into the bathroom to collect myself. I lock the door behind me and go to splash some water on my face. Bracing my hands on the counter I take a few more deep breaths, trying to get my emotions under control again.
You need to get your shit together girl, you don’t have time for a breakdown right now. Pull up your big girl panties and go ogle the tatted-up Adonis downstairs again.
I take another deep breath and check myself in the mirror, making sure I only look like a hot mess and not the full on escaped-from-a-psych-ward chic that I feel. When I come out of the bathroom, I find the bedroom… my bedroom… empty. I take a moment to look around the room again before I head for the door to go grab Evan and find Clay. When I get to the second landing I stop outside the doorway to the nursery and see Mr. Sex-on-a-Stick sitting on the floor next to Evan, playing planes together. I can’t help the soft smile that tugs at the corner of my lips as lean against the doorframe to watch.
I take this moment to stop and really look at him, to see past the tattoos and intimidating air. The first thing I notice is his eyes. Damn those eyes. He’s focused solely on Evan right now, but I can remember the rich warmth of them, the color of bourbon. I could get drunk on those eyes.
Wait… what the fuck? Leave the romance novel shit to the books please. Gag, girl. Gag.
His sandy brown hair is cropped short on the sides and kept longer on top. The longer strands are swept back, he must drag his fingers through it all day. He has a neatly trimmed beard covering his strong jaw, and my fingers itch to run along the lines of it. His nose is a little crooked, like it’s been broken and reset more than once. His ears are stretched with large wooden plugs. He’s wearing faded blue jeans, black motorcycle boots, and a tight black t-shirt beneath a well-worn leather jacket with what looks like another leather vest over it. There are tattoos covering the back of his hands and coming up out of the neckline of his shirt, so it’s safe to assume he has many more hidden underneath his clothing. The visible ones are all done in shades of black, gray, and red. Still crouching on the floor with Evan, it’s hard to make out any other physical attributes, but damn I want to see more.
Bruised Adonis is buzzing his lips and making silly plane noises, calling out faux commands and playing with Evan like he knows the difference between a bank and a roll and it’s making something in my chest constrict. I close my eyes and let his voice wash over me. It's rough gravel, deep and rumbly washing over me like a warm scrub. Seriously, it should be illegal for men to be this good looking and so sexy sounding all at once. Not fair, my ovaries are screaming against this affront.
I stop and give myself a mental slap upside the head, reminding myself that the last thing I need or want right now is a man, much less one that attracts danger like this one must. I can see that “1%” patch on his vest. I’m not stupid, I’ve seen Sons of Anarchy. I know that means he’s an outlaw biker and that I want absolutely nothing to do with that shit. I don’t care how ungodly sexy, handsome, and downright lickable this man is, or the fact that his voice could have the power to turn me into a puddle with one word. Nope. Don’t care. I stiffen my spine, shake off my dumbfounded look and step into the room.
“Well, what’s going on in here?” I say sweetly, drawing Evan’s attention. He smiles before letting out a glorious little giggle and flails his arm with the toy plane still in his hand. Sawyer smiles down at Evan again before rocking back on his heels and pushing to his feet. My eyes stray to his thighs as they flex with the movement. The tight stretch of his jeans over the muscle dragging my thoughts in a decidedly ‘R’ rated direction for a moment. He’s tall, like crazy tall. I guess about six foot two compared to my diminutive five two self. He has an imposing build with broad shoulders and narrow hips. The way those jeans hang off those hips and cling to his ass should be a sin. I wonder if he gets them special-made to do that...
Down girl. He’s just a good-looking outlaw biker. Who’s most likely amazing in bed. NOPE. Not going there. He has a tiny, crooked little penis. It twists like a corkscrew. And he has weirdly saggy balls. That are different sizes. Yep. He does. Just keep telling yourself that… it’s probably true.
I try to push away the lusty haze my traitorous and lonely lady bits have shoved into my brain and attempt to maintain my footing in this exchange.
“Ummm… thanks for watching Evan and for helping get everything set up. I hope it wasn’t too much work for you,” I say with a forced brightness in my tone as I bend down to grab Evan; god I sound like a schoolgirl when I do that. Evan continues to giggle and slap his arms with the plane in his hand as I straighten and prop him on my hip, placing a quick kiss to his temple.
“No problem,” Sawyer says, sliding his hands into his pockets and rocking back on his heels, his eyes intense as he takes a good look at us. Is he nervous? Is the big bad biker worried about being caught playing with a baby? How dare he do anything other than wave a gun around and beat someone up. I can’t help but roll my eyes at the thought.
“Well, I have him from here so you’re off the hook. Thank you again,” I say with what I hope looks like a sweet smile. Seriously, could this exchange be any more awkward? Why is he staring at me like that?
“A Brother needed help, so here I am,” he offers with a shrug. His voice is stronger now, losing its awkward edge, but the gravely rumble is more pronounced, even more devastating to my wanton vagina.
Get it together dammit! Stop it! Freakin hussy.
I scold my traitorous anatomy again. I have zero desire to ever get sucked into another man’s mess ever again: not happening.
“Umm… Okay then. Well, Thanks again Mr. Sex…” I cut myself off with a cough as I realize what I was about to say.
Bitch! You did NOT just almost call him Mr. Sexypants to his goddamn face! That’s it, pussy is going on timeout.
“I uh… I am just going to grab Clay and go find Evan before he leaves… I mean find Clay… I...” my thoughts are a jumble and I stumble over the words as I nod my thanks to Sawyer again. I turn to leave the nursery, hoping I can get the hell out of this room before I either say something monumentally stupid or he sees the deep red blush I can feel creeping up my neck.
“The name’s Sawyer. You can say it,” he rumbles behind me, suppressed laughter clearly in his voice. I turn and look back over my shoulder. He is looking at me with a devastating smirk as he scratches at his jaw in that ridiculously sexy way men seem to instinctively be able pull off. His eyes warm with a teasing light that somehow burns right through me.
Oh my, damn.
That smirk is… lubricating. Damn traitorous lady bits.
I make a mental note to avoid Sawyer and his devil smirk at all costs from here on out. I’m pretty sure that’s what they call a “panty melting” smile and it is entirely too accurate of a description. I need to beat my libido back into submission tonight once mommy has some alone time.
I gape at him for a second before squeaking some little response and rushing out of the room. His deep chuckle follows me down the stairs as I hurry to the main floor. Stepping into the kitchen I see Clay sitting at the weathered wood table in the far corner of the room. He and another man are laughing quietly as Clay tells him a story. The new man laughs at something Clay says and I smile at the sound of his easy laughter. He has a boyish air about him that is utterly disarming with his dark brown hair that has just a hint of curl to it and his clear framed hipster glasses.