Biker Billionaire #2: The Mile High Club by Jasinda Wilder

Author:Jasinda Wilder
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Published: 2012-09-04T21:00:00+00:00

Cairo, Egypt

The heat wasn't just a temperature difference, a matter of degrees. It was a living thing in and of itself. The heat was a monster that slunk through the alleyways and prowled the main streets, clung to windows and walls and ceilings, coiling between the stars and the moon even at night.

Shane claimed I'd get used to it, but we'd been in Cairo for nearly a week, gathering supplies, rendezvousing with the rest of his company, and I still had to struggle for breath as I stepped out of the super-cooled air of the hotel every morning. The difference between indoors and outdoors was shocking. Inside the hotel it was so cold as to make you shiver and your skin prickle: outside you couldn't move for the boiling heat, couldn't breathe for the dry pressure of the sun's rays on your skin.

Shane's brothers were just like Shane, massive men with hard, sculpted bodies, features as planed and angular and handsome as if they'd been carved from stone by an artist and brought to life. They couldn't have been more different in personality, however.

Where Shane was warm and genuine—with me, at least—and possessed of a razor-sharp intellect, his brothers were more physical men, their skills of the hand and eye and foot variety rather than cunning and calculation. They were cold-eyed and suave, slow-speaking and spare with the smiles.

They were openly surprised by my presence, and by Shane's clear display of possessiveness. We met in a little cafe where old men smoked in circles from long tubes around a thing like a metal, orange-glowing spider, which Shane called a hookah. His brothers were drinking tar-black coffee from tiny cups made all the tinier by their dinner plate-sized hands. They each stood when we arrived, my hand firmly grasped in Shane's.

The four brothers were all around the same height and all had dark hair and the same attractive features and builds, but the differences between them beyond that were vast. Rob, the oldest, was a bear of a man, nearly forty by my estimation, burly and thick and slow-moving, beady eyes and a mat of black, close-cropped hair, heavily scarred across his face as if peppered by shrapnel. Jon was the next oldest, maybe thirty-six. He was as tall as the others, around six-three or so, but he was lanky and wiry and toned, hard arms and lean muscles, sharp features, busy hands, shaved head and a body writhing with tattoos. Shane was the third oldest, and Luke was the youngest. Of them all, Luke was the most classically attractive. He had movie star looks, perfect hair, a straight, proportionate nose, a strong chin, gleaming, almost iridescent green eyes, a body that looked actually carved out of stone, even more so that Shane's—Luke was wearing a leather biker's vest, open over a bare torso.

We walked into the dark, smoky, cafe, an outdoor place that wasn't air conditioned, and his brothers all stood up. Shane may not have been the oldest, but for some reason, they all treated him as if he was the leader.

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