Wild Desire: A Curvy Girl Steamy Romance (Wild Heart Mountain: Wild Rider’s MC Book 14)

Three weeks later…

The aroma of smoking meat fills the air outside the clubhouse as Arlo lifts the lid off the smoker to check on the ribs.

He peels a piece of meat off and stuffs it in his mouth, chewing loudly as he makes appreciative noises.

“Meat’s ready.”

I look up from my book and shift against Paul. We’re sitting at one of the picnic tables outside the clubhouse a little away from the group. I’ve got my feet up on the bench, leaning against him while we both read.

“I’ll go help bring the salads out.”

His arm slides around my waist, and he pulls me against him as he nuzzles into my neck. “If you go, I’ll be left reading on my own. And that’s just anti-social.”

I wiggle around to face him, and he plants a soft kiss on my lips. “I hate to break it to you, but it’s considered rude to read through dinner with your friends.”

He chuckles and kisses me again. “Remind me why we’re here again?”

He’s only half joking. At home, in Paul’s cabin, we’ve initiated the reading dinner. Not every night, but if one of us is in the middle of an unput-downable book, or if we just don’t feel like talking, we’ll both read our books while we eat.

To outsiders it might appear strange, like we don’t have anything to talk about. But for us, it means we’re comfortable enough with each other that we don’t need to talk. I love our reading dinners, and our nights sitting side by side in armchairs with the fire going and a good book each.

Some nights, instead of reading, I write.

I finished my first book, and Paul helped me figure out how to self-publish. I put my book up for sale and was surprised that some people bought it, and they left good reviews. I’ve since written another and am onto my third.

I love writing short over the top alien romance, and there are readers who love my stories. It’s not bringing in much money, but I don’t need much. I’m happy, and I feel like myself for the first time in years. That’s all I need.

I extract myself from Paul and head into the clubhouse kitchen.

“The meat’s ready,” I let Isabella know.

She claps her hands together and stands up from the chair that’s been dragged in for her. “Right ladies.” She takes charge; as the old lady of the Prez, the women listen to her. Isabella expertly directs who to take out salads and who to take out plates and cutlery. She gives tasks to some of the older children who are keen to help.

I grab a bowl of pasta salad from the fridge and carry it outside.

Soon we’re all seated on the picnic tables passing plates of food around. There’s the sound of easy chatter and the clinking of cutlery. The kids are at a small table of their own with Isla and Luke sitting with them, helping whoever needs it.

Paul is on one side of me and Sydney on the other. “Do you want some soda, Cassie?” Sydney asks.

She pours me a glass full and tops up her own. “How are the books going?” she asks.

I swallow my mouthful. “Good.”

She raises an eyebrow. “Just good? Specs was telling me you’ve sold a bunch of copies and you’re onto your third book.”

Heat creeps up my neck, and I steal a glance at Paul. I hate talking about myself, but he gives me an encouraging smile.

I turn back to Sydney and search her expression for any sign she’s teasing me. But she seems genuinely interested.

After so long in fear of being judged, it’s hard to talk to people about my writing.

Isabella’s cackle from the next table has me glancing up. She’s got a forkful of food in one hand and the other arm is around Raiden. I missed the joke, but she catches my eye and gives me a big grin.

I glance around at the tables of bikers and their women and the gaggle of children. They’re my family now, and there is no judgement here.noveldrama

I turn back to Sydney. “Better than good, actually. It’s going really well.” I tell her about the books I’ve sold and the next plot I’m working on. She listens intently, genuinely interested.

The clinking of glass has everyone falling silent. Raiden stands up and clears his throat.

“It’s great to see everyone here tonight, and there’s something special we’re celebrating.”

Paul slides his arm around my waist, and I lean against him.

“We have a talented bunch of people in this club,” Raiden continues. “And now we have our first published author.”

Heads turn to our table, and heat spreads up my neck.

“Congratulations, Cassie, on your first published book.”

I’m not used to attention, and I want to burrow into Paul. But when I look around at the expectant faces with their glasses raised in a toast, a different kind of warmth spreads though me.

I found a place where I belong, where I’m accepted for who I am. A place where I’m seen.

“Thank you.” Tears spring to my eyes as I raise my glass to my big biker family.

Paul nuzzles my neck, and Sydney gives my hand a friendly squeeze.

I’m saved from giving a speech by the roar of a motorcycle.

All heads turn as a Harley pulls into the compound.

Paul tenses next to me, and Raiden extracts himself from the picnic table along with some of the other men.

Everyone from the club is here today, and by the tense expressions on the faces of the men, we’re not expecting company.

The Harley pulls to a stop, and a large man clad in biking leathers slides off it. He’s broad-shouldered and tall, well over six foot. He slides off his helmet to reveal shaggy blonde hair and a wild beard.

The man’s weather-lined face is serious as he scans the bikers.

His crystal blue eyes find Sydney’s, and he smiles. “Hello cupcake.”

Sydney gasps.

I turn to face her, and she’s gone pale.

“Who’s that?” I ask, but she’s too focused on the man to hear me.

“Viking!” roars Raiden. “When the fuck did you get back?”

The man called Viking strolls over to the group, and Raiden throws his arms around him in greeting.

Sydney stands abruptly, making the table wobble. She has to place a hand on her tight black leather skirt to extract herself from the picnic table, and her tattooed hands tremble as she picks up her soda. With her thick eyeliner, knee-length boots, and dark hair, cupcake is not the nickname I’d associate with Sydney.

While the men greet the new arrival, Sydney approaches him with her drink in hand. Her brother Nate pushes out from his place at the table and walks quickly to stand behind her. He’s the only man here not happy to see the new arrival.

Viking is released from a man hug from Barrels, and he turns to Sydney. Even from here, I see the softness in his expression when it lands on her.

“I heard you were back,” he says.

Silence fills the courtyard as all eyes are on them. They stare at each other, Viking’s eyes soft, while Sydney’s burn with rage. Then she launches her drink at him. He gasps as she spins around and heads into the clubhouse with Nate following close behind.

The man looks after her in dismay as soda drips off his beard. Whoever this Viking guy is, not everyone is pleased to see him back.