If Bradan took off the kutte, you wouldn't label him a biker. The man whose bed I'm lying in this morning is anything but rough or violent. At least, to me, that is. Last night, I couldn't sleep. My mind was going a thousand miles an hour, and instead of trying to force me to talk about things, Bradan scooted closer, pulled the back of my shirt up, and ran his fingertips lightly over my skin until I passed out.
I've been up for about an hour, laying in his bed and listening to him and Tas in the kitchen. I only know it's the kitchen because Bradan has said loudly several times for Tas to get back from the stove. I'm pretty sure I also heard a baby cry, but that might have been in my sleep or something.
"Can I go wake her up now?" Tasmin whines loudly, dragging out the W.
Somethi
