Claiming the Two Biker Brothers in Thirty Days

Jane

“…he asked me to move in with him.”

“He…oh my god!” Jane plugged her fingers into her ears before Amanda began screaming. Her best friend was all over the place, as if Jane had told her that she won the lottery to pay off their joint college loans and credit card debts.

Amanda rushed over to her bed side, grabbing her hands. “Tell me you said yes!” She squealed. “Tell me you said yes?”

Jane said nothing.

Her best friend's enthusiasm fell from a thousand to a zero as she blinked rapidly. “You turned him down?”

She hadn’t.

Not yet, at least.

She didn’t buy his whole speech about being indebted to her, as tempting as he made it sound. Because she really wanted to wipe the smug off his face.

But she wasn’t sure she could stand him long enough for her to think of the best way to revenge for the global humiliation.

Amanda slumped against Jane’s shoulder with a devastated sigh. “You don’t know how many people would kill to be in your shoes.” She looked up, her bottom lip jutting out. “I spent thousands of dollars on raffle tickets to attend his fan signing.”

Jane scoffed quietly. “Did you get in?”

“No.”

“How many times did you try?”

Amanda raised a finger. Then two, then five. Then both hands, with all ten fingers open. “That was just last year alone,” she mumbled.

Jane patted her back. “Sorry for your loss. But,” she added firmly and resolutely, “—I’m not moving in with some stranger, handsome or not. I could ask him on your behalf, though. We could trade places.”

Her best friend waved her arms frantically. “Absolutely not. I’ve gotten close enough to smelling his cologne and getting his autograph. That’s good enough for me.”

Jane was confused. “You literally have his pictures plastered all over your bedroom walls. You had his face on your twenty-first birthday cake.”

“That’s how being a devout fan works,” Amanda told her. “You love them so much, but you know that you can never and should never cross the line.”

It sounded like horseshit.

“He’s not a random person either. He has over ten million followers and he posts everything he does online. You’ll be perfect—” she grinned, “—safe.”

“And,” she joined the tips of her index fingers together, wriggling her brows, “if you’re there, then I could use you as an excuse to get closer to him. Within the boundary, of course.”

The answer was still no.

“Remember the promise you made to me?” Amanda said, making a pleading face. “And you have that project, remember? The one with the documentary?”

Shoot.

She’d forgotten about that. She was about to enter her final year of college, studying journalism. One of her projects was to document how relationships formed.

“There’s no relationship between us, ” she argued, even as his roguish smile, with his messy, gorgeous hair, flashed through her mind.

Amanda shrugged. “It doesn’t have to be romantic. He caused your fall, you ended in the hospital and now he’s offering to take care of you. You’re also…” she tapped her chin, searching for the right word, “…polar opposites. He’s a popular biker, a heartthrob and you’re…”

“Normal?” Jane quipped sarcastically.

Her best friend nodded eagerly. “Exactly. It’s perfect. It’s A material.”

It was trouble, that’s what.

But her best friend had a point. She could either spend the semester searching for the right materials—couples, friends-or she could use Marcus Wolfe as her muse.

“Mm?” Amanda nudged her.

A wild idea popped into her head. Wild, scandalous and exciting. It was the way to get her revenge.

A wry smile pulled at the corner of her mouth. “Okay. I’ll do it.”

She shoved her fingers in quickly, muting Amanda’s ear-piercing squeals and wincing as her best friends threw her arms around her neck. “This is going to be the best summer break ever!”

Oh, it was.

Because Jane had a plan.

She was going to make Marcus Wolfe fall in love with her in thirty days. And then she was going to dump him, on camera, for the world to see.

That would be the perfect revenge.

***

A black Mercedes-Benz sprinter was waiting outside the hospital doors when Jane was wheeled out by a nurse, with Amanda by her side.

Her best friend had ignored her decision to stop by her studio apartment—and rushed there herself—to pack a bag.

A man in a clean-pressed suit and black shades got out of the driver’s seat, walked over to them. He took off his glasses as he nodded curtly. “Miss Forrest?”

He was looking at Amanda.

Jane groaned under her breath. Her best friend quickly shook her head, pointing at her. “That’s Jane. Not me.”

The man looked visibly disturbed by his mistake. He lowered his head slightly. “My apologies, Miss Forrest. Mr. Wolfe didn’t give me a description of whom I was supposed to pick up.”

“It’s fine,” she said.

It wasn’t his fault. Nobody would think a celebrity like Marcus Wolfe would be bringing her to his home. Especially when she was wearing a faded shirt she had since eighteen and an equally ugly pair of sweats she bought from a thrift shop.

Amanda handed the bag to the driver as Jane struggled to stand. He offered a hand, helping her into the van.

“Call me when you get there!” Her best friend shouted as the door closed. The last thing Jane saw was her jumping up and down, tripping over the wheelchair and ending up sitting in it.

It made her laugh, at least.

She leaned into the chair, her fingers brushing over the soft leather. It was soft. Luxury. Unlike the car she bought for a few thousand dollars, that picked the days it wanted to work, had two windows that wouldn’t wind down and an AC that shot out hot air.

***

The ride was about thirty minutes long.

The bus came to a stop and the door slid open seconds later. “We’ve arrived, Miss Forrest.” The driver offered a hand again, helping her down. Jane’s mouth parted as she stared at the building in front of me.

It was…huge.

She had no idea what underground racers made, but Marcus Wolfe’s house looked absurdly expensive. The sleek mansion was larger than her entire apartment building, its glowing windows and towering entrance making her feel very, very small.

“I’ll take you in,” the man offered, sweeping his hand out. “Mr. Wolfe had to attend to some business after he left the hospital, but he’s given me instructions for you to settle in.”

Jane nodded and followed him inside.

The mansion was even larger on the inside, with ceilings stretching overhead and every surface polished to perfection.

She tried not to gawk, but it was practically impossible.

A sharp ringing sound cut through the air. The man fumbled as he dug into his pocket. A flicker of genuine panic crossed his face as he stared at the caller ID, his thumb hovering.

“You should answer that,” Jane said quickly, offering a small, awkward smile. “I’ll be fine. Really. Just point me in the right direction.”

He hesitated, clearly torn, but the phone buzzed again. “Third floor,” he said hurriedly, already stepping back. “Main staircase to the right, then left down the hallway.”

The phone was still ringing. “Just…the room with the blue accent walls. I’ll be up shortly.”

Before she could ask for clarification, he answered the call and strode away.

She stood alone in the echoing foyer for a moment, then shrugged.

Blue accent wall.

How hard could that be?

Jane’s crocs squeaked softly as she climbed, the sound swallowed by the sheer size of the place. She passed several doors, some locked and the others she had to open, but none had an obvious blue wall.

After two wrong turns and one very awkward peek into what looked like a home theater, she finally spotted a slightly open door with a faint blue glow visible beneath.

Relief washed over her.

Got it.

She walked in, glancing around. It was sparsely furnished, but the bed looked large and inviting. She kicked off her crocs and plopped face down on it.

The sheets smelled like cinnamon and she burrowed her nose inside, sniffing happily. She didn’t hear the soft click.

Or the sound of barefoot on the floor.

“Well,” a deep voice said. “Either I’ve forgotten that I invited you, or you’re in the wrong room.”

Jane gasped in horror, jolting and tumbling off the bed. She scrambled to her feet, coming face-to-face with the other person.

A man.

With nothing but a white towel secured low around his hips. Her throat went dry as her gaze settled on the water droplets glistening on his hard, chest muscles. His dark hair hung damp against his forehead.

He wasn’t Marcus Wolfe.

They looked somewhat alike, but he had a dark scowl on his face and an entire arm sleeve of colorful tattoos.

“I—” she stammered as her face turned red, forgetting how to breathe. “I’m here to see Marcus Wolfe.”

He arched his brow, his scowl deepening. “You’re one of his groupies, aren’t you?”

Groupies? Jane rolled her eyes. She might’ve ended up in the wrong room, but she wasn’t going to take insults from him.

She folded her arms tightly. “Who are you?”

He took a step closer, his towel slipping down a half-inch. Her gaze strayed to the sculpted Adonis line below his stomach and Jane’s face grew hotter.

“Ryder Wolfe. Marcus’s twin brother.”

Her eyes widened as her head snapped back to his face.

Marcus’s twin brother???