“Naw, ol’ Dawg loves his baby sisters. He might snap and snarl, but he’d not kill you over her.”

Brogan wasn’t so certain of that.

“Better claim that pretty little thang afore it’s too late,” Poppa Bear claimed. “There’s a lot of nice-lookin’ boys that’ll snap her right up ’fore you know it.”

“Yeah, like the one who asked her out last night.”

Brogan’s head jerked around to Donny’s unusually quiet tone of voice as Poppa Bear and his family headed to the restrooms.

“Do what?” Brogan asked.

He didn’t have to force the vein of surprise in his voice.

“There was a guy at the bar who asked her out to dinner last night.” Donny shifted on his feet, moving with a nervous rhythm that made Brogan want to order him to stand still.

“What did she say?” He frowned.

“Well, she accepted.” Donny scratched nervously at his cheek. “They’re having dinner at Mackay’s tonight at seven.”

The hell they were.

Brogan could feel the blood suddenly boiling in his veins.

Glaring at Donny, he wondered whether the little bastard would have the nerve to lie to him.

“Man, I wouldn’t lie to you about it.” Donny lifted his hands helplessly as Brogan silently cursed the other man’s ability to read him, if only for a second.

“How the hell would you know?” Brogan snapped. “I thought you and Sandi were barred from Walker’s Run.”

Donny shook his head and shrugged his shoulders uncomfortably as he cleared his throat. “Just Sandi. But I doubt I’ll be around much without her.”

Yeah, he felt real sorry for them. When hell froze over.

“Sorry, man.” Brogan grimaced. “I guess it was more than I expected. Thanks for letting me know.” He gave the other man a short, tight nod before turning back to the Harley and jerking his helmet from the handlebars.

“Brogan?” Donny spoke again, his voice lower.

Turning to him with a frown, Brogan waited impatiently.

“I’m like Poppa Bear; I don’t think Dawg would kill ya because you’re sleepin’ with his sister. Break her heart, though, and Natches might.”

Yeah, yeah, yeah, he was getting damned tired of that refrain.

Securing the helmet beneath his chin, Brogan mounted the Harley, kicked the stand back, and turned the key. The engine purred instantly.

Ignoring the confused summons from the riders returning from the concession building and bathrooms, Brogan sped from the rest stop. Pulling onto the two-lane road, he pointed the motorcycle toward Somerset and the woman who just might have it in her head to see whether Brogan could be pushed from her life.

Brogan had no intentions of being pushed out.

He’d made a mistake in waiting. He should have never given some bastard the opportunity to slip in.

It was a mistake he would rectify.

NINE

He absolutely couldn’t believe Doogan would do something so damned underhanded.

Chatham Bromleah Doogan, director of special operations of the Federal Protective Service, had actually dragged his ass out of his D.C. office to come poke his nose into Brogan’s operation.

It was unbelievable.

As he drove the three hours back to Somerset, Brogan tried to figure out exactly what was in the director’s mind.

There was no figuring it out.

Doogan was known for his oddities, but Brogan had never known him to physically interfere in an investigation. Especially as he was now.

He was a known player when it came to women. The man had no heart and no belief in a woman’s tender emotions.

The son of a bitch would take Eve’s innocence as though he had a right to it. Then he would ride off into the sunset and never give her another thought. And there was no doubt of Eve’s innocence. Brogan knew from the investigation report Doogan had shown him that Eve had no lovers in Somerset since she had arrived. Brogan’s investigation into her life in Texas revealed there had been none there.

Mercedes had kept a tight rein on her daughters and raised them to understand their responsibilities to themselves and one another. Survival had been uppermost, juvenile sex had been highly frowned upon. Mercedes, he had heard, had tried to instruct her daughters often on the dangers of sex and the chances of conceiving a child they were far too young to care for. Seeing their mother’s example, living the hardships and the weariness their mother had suffered had obviously convinced the girls that she was right.

As he pushed the speed limit as far as he dared, Brogan found himself gritting his teeth.

Dammit, at this rate he’d wear his back teeth to nubs.

Knowing what Doogan would do to her tender heart brought another realization, though. Brogan had never taken Eve out. He’d almost taken her virginity in her own bed, but he hadn’t taken her out or shown the world she was worth far more than the pleasure he would find in her body.

Doogan thought he could wine and dine her, but the ruse had nothing to do with showing the world a damned thing. Getting lucky after he took her home was all he would care about.

That, and ensuring that he pulled Eve Mackay in on an operation she had no business being a part of.

Brogan made one stop.

Driving into the back parking lot of the inn, he pulled a spare set of keys from the magnet beneath the four-by-four truck parked there, unlocked it, and a second later slid it into drive.

It was well after seven that evening before he pulled into valet parking at Mackay’s Fine Dining, and gave the young man, Mark Carlson, a hard look and a fifty-dollar bill as he growled, “The truck stays here.”

“You gonna be long?” Mark eyed the fifty-dollar bill dubiously, making Brogan wonder when a fifty stopped impressing kids.

He slapped another in the young man’s hand. “Mark, that truck moves and I’m going to kick your ass and take both these fifties back,” he promised softly. “You got me?”

“Alls I can say is, as long as Declan, Rogue, Janey, or Alex don’t yell at me.”

Brogan wasn’t worried about Declan for sure.

Declan Mackay, formerly Faisal Mackay, the Afghani whom Natches Mackay had adopted more than five years before, was the floor manager of the restaurant.

“Just tell them whose truck it is; they’ll be fine with it,” Brogan promised as he turned and entered the restaurant.

He strode past the well-dressed customers waiting for a table, knowing damned good and well that he was far from the dress code in his biker boots and khaki shirt tucked into his jeans.

He’d been riding for more than six hours. The bandanna skullcap was still tied around his head, and Brogan didn’t give a damn.

Striding past the sputtering hostess, he looked around quickly, caught sight of Eve, and strode toward her.

Damn, she sure looked pretty, too, he thought.

She wasn’t dressed in her customary jeans and snug cami. Tonight she wore a sundress with thin straps at her shoulders. The bodice cupped and loved her breasts. It skimmed to her hips and fell to her knees in shimmering chiffon.

The soft blue color brought out the green of her eyes and made her look like a tempting little sorceress.

A sorceress he was set and ready to claim.

* * *

Eve could feel her heart racing, pounding in her chest as she watched Brogan stalk across the room.

It was obvious he’d just returned from the ride. She had understood, based on listening to other members of the touring club, that the riders wouldn’t be arriving back until late into the night.

He looked hot, though: rough, tough, dangerous, and so damned sexy she almost caught her breath in excitement.

Jeans, a road dust–stained khaki shirt, rider’s boots, and a dark blue bandanna skullcap wasn’t exactly adhering to the restaurant’s dress code, though.