Veronica's POV:
I'd seen Max in many forms by now.
The surfer boy playing in waters... The party boy with a drink in hand and that dangerous smile. The bad boy with his tattoos and irreverent attitude.
I've seen him even drunk and sick, vulnerable in ways he'd probably hate me remembering.
But I never thought he'd be a biker too.
Yet there he stood in the driveway at exactly two o'clock, a helmet dangling casually from one hand, dressed head to toe in black leather.
The jacket fit him like it was custom-made—and knowing the Ashfords, it probably was—hugging his shoulders and arms in a way that emphasized every line of muscle beneath.
His jeans were dark, his boots heavy and worn in that way that said they'd seen actual use, not just fashion.
And behind him, gleaming in the afte
