“Wherever the wind takes him. We’re lucky he’s stuck around this long. We usually don’t get to see him for more than a few weeks at most, and some years not even that long.” Red sighed. “I’ve enjoyed having our big, broody boy around. But this is what you want, right? For Diesel to get out of your hair?”

“Uh-huh,” Tracey said halfheartedly, feeling oddly like her legs had been kicked out from under her. He was leaving. That was good, right? So why did she feel like she needed to hold on tight to the one man who made her crazy?

DIESEL CLIMBED OFF his bike in front of the cute house where Tracey lived. A picture window overlooked a small garden, and above that, a single window was centered in the gable. Since when did he think in terms of cute? That chick had been fucking with his head since she’d first walked into the bar, those doe eyes pleading for safety. He’d felt it then, the unstoppable pull in his gut to watch over her, and that metal-to-magnet feeling had only intensified since. He could have killed that man who’d grabbed her last night. That was when he’d known his time in Peaceful Harbor needed to end.

He climbed the steps to the minuscule covered porch, pushing aside the unease that had been gnawing at him since he’d spoken to Biggs that morning, and knocked on the door.

The door swung open, and holy hell, Tracey stood before him looking like a sex kitten in a fuck-me plaid miniskirt and thick-soled black boots that made her look edgy and rebellious. Her hot little body taunted him as much as the challenging look in her eyes.

Fighting the urge to back her up against the wall and fuck that smirk off her face, he gritted out, “You gonna change?”

“Nope. I’m all set.” She stepped onto the porch, her ass brushing against him as she turned to pull the door closed, stirring the monster in his jeans. She planted her hands on her hips, eyes narrowing. “I talked to Red.”

“You got a point?”

“I know she already told you to back off.”

He probably shouldn’t take pleasure from her scowl, but when she got fiery like that, cheeks pink, eyes shooting fire, it only made him want to get up close and personal with those flames, feel them lick their way up his body. “Just keeping trouble out of the bar. You do your job, I’ll do mine.”

“You.” She poked his chest as she’d done last night. “Are.” Poke. “A.” Poke. “Pain.” Poke. “In.” Poke. “My.” Poke—

He captured her hand beneath his, holding it against his chest, and she gasped. “You want to touch me, baby girl? I prefer it much lower.”