Beauty & The Biker by Glenna Maynard Read Free Book Online Page A

parks his motorcycle. Ominous, large, dark oak with a heavy brass knocker stands before me. I have this eerie feeling that someone or something is watching me from the other side of the door, waiting for me to enter. This place gives me the heebie jeebies.
    A shiver runs through my bones, which is the oddest sensation paired with the summer heat. Tristian is pushing the heavy door open and ordering me to come inside. My steps falter as I cross the threshold and I nearly topple the two of us to the floor, but I manage to only take myself down. My nerves outweigh my wit right now.
    “Not even here a minute and trying to jump my bones. I don’t fuck the help,” he says coldly leaving me in a heap on the cold stone floor. “Get up. I’ll give you the tour and show you to your room.”
    He continues thumping his heavy boots across the floor. Getting, up I knock the dust from my clothing. Didn’t he say his housekeeper retired a few weeks ago. This place appears to have not seen a good scrub in months, maybe years, I think to myself as I notice the cobwebs covering the chandelier hanging high above my head. This isn’t a home; it is a deteriorating medieval tomb.
    I walk along the worn, red rug that runs the length of the corridor Tristian disappeared down. Portraits of whom I assume to be his family, line the hall. The paintings are gilded in large, exquisite, golden frames that should belong in a museum.
    I find Tristian waiting for me in the renovated kitchen; it looks newer than the rest of the rooms I have passed by. He shows me around the room quickly before taking me up narrow, winding, stone slab stairs. Lanterns light the way with the aid of a small window. This must be the interior of the tower.
    The restorations to the place through the years must have cost a fortune. 
    The upstairs is cleaner and nicer than the lower level.  The carpets are newer and the rooms appear untouched. He stops in the center of the hall. “This is the bathroom; it’s the only one upstairs. The warm water takes a few minutes to heat up, and the pressure is low, but it gets the job done.”
    I peer inside, becoming perked up at the sight of the black claw foot tub. I go to tell Tristian I love his bathtub but he has disappeared from my side.
    He is further down the hall standing outside of another door. This huge house is so quiet. I guess we are the only ones here. The article didn’t mention any other family. But I don’t detect anyone else as I pass by the closed doors.
    “This is your room. You are next to me. My room is off limits and you are never to go inside it. Understand.”
    How odd . But whatever. “Sure, whatever you say.” I can respect his need for privacy.
    “You won’t wear clothes like this any longer.” He jerks on my loose, blue frock dress. “Your new dress is on the bed. Change into it then meet me downstairs in the kitchen.” He doesn’t give me a chance to say anything, leaving me alone. His steps echo through the walls loudly.
    I look down at my clothes. I don’t see anything wrong with the way I dress.
    I feel out of place as I glance around the grand room.
    My suite is fit for a queen. It’s beautiful. I’ve never seen such a large bed before. I run my hand over the large knob post of the footboard. Sheer curtains hang from the ceiling, drawn back at the headboard. The comforter is a gorgeous shade of periwinkle blue. Everything in here looks royal. And way more expensive than anything I have ever owned.
    There is a dressing chair and small table next to the window by the fireplace. Fresh blue roses are displayed next to the bed on the nightstand.  Picking one out from the dozen, I prick my finger on the thorn. An image clouds my vision momentarily; a small pale hand is placing a blue rose in mine.
    Blinking, my blood drops onto the blue rug. I hope it doesn’t stain.  I will never be able to afford to replace it.
    Wrapping my finger with my other hand, I rush down the hall to the bathroom in