Chasing a ghost is easy. It's finding yourself that's the real challenge.
Drowning in darkness, Mace struggles to move on from a past filled with sorrow. Anger is a much easier emotion to handle, one he readily embraces. Burying himself in his work and spending his nights with his brotherhood of bikers, Mace is determined to spend his life playing by his own rules.
Plagued by her own guilt, Lena desires nothing more than to break free from her past and to start afresh. But fear and anxiety threaten to keep her hostage, leaving her frustrated and stifled. The last thing she expects is another brooding man to be her possible way out.
While Lena is determined to fight for her future outside of the Deadwood MC, Mace is resolute to avoid any hope of happiness. Together, they have to decide what they're willing to risk for the perfect chance.
I pulled out and drove to our local drive-through coffee house. I'd never paid attention to the place before, but soon discovered it was bloody perfect for Lena. She didn't need to get out of the car—though we were working up to that—yet she had the freedom of leaving the office and doing something everyday people did.
It didn't take long before we arrived. Unbuckling her belt, Lena leaned over me to speak into the microphone to make her order. I held back my groan as I inhaled her scent: fresh peaches that smelled fucking delectable. I couldn't help but wonder if I'd spent the first week messing up her order on purpose, to give me the opportunity to have her all but sprawled over my lap. I was a sadistic bastard if that was the case, punishing myself by revelling in the closeness, but not allowing myself to touch.
She made her order and then turned her head to look at me, her brows raised in question. I held my breath at her closeness. All I had to do was lean in a couple of inches, if that, and my lips could be pressed against hers.
"Mace?" Her voice reminded me that she was waiting for my order.
She grinned at me, still in close proximity, her arm brushing against my chest and her other hand moving to my thigh for support. "Excuse me?"
Thinking fast, I said, "Peach smoothie?" not intending for it to come out as a dumb-arse question.
"Alrighty," she said with a laugh, turning her head away from me and leaning closer once more to the open window. The movement caused her hair to sway, releasing more of the peach scent that apparently left me incapable of thought.
Before I could stop myself, I leaned forward, my nose touching her hair. It wasn't until her hand shifted a fraction, tightening on my thigh, that I realised what I'd done, or that Lena had noticed. I froze, not daring to move. In the past two minutes, I'd grown a fucking vagina. Sniffing her goddamn hair; enjoying the smell of peaches. Pussy-whipped, yet I'm not even getting any.
Spending the last few years near the Queensland coast, Becca is rarely out of the sea or off the beach. Dragging her long board with her and her overworked Kindle Fire, Becca enjoys her three addictions: reading, surfing and ogling surfers, one of whom is her husband of ten years.
She can still be found regularly on the beach with her family. Becca tends to leave the surfing to her boys; she's far too busy immersed in her own writing or, of course, with her head still buried in a new read.