INKA
The evening light had turned golden outside the large windows as I entered the massive walk-in closet. Kayde had disappeared to the kitchen about thirty minutes ago.
I'd wondered why he didn't have help around the house, perhaps even a chef, as it was befitting of his lifestyle. But I'd quickly learned something surprising about Kayde: he actually enjoyed cooking. I guess it was one of those soothing things for him, like gardening was for me.
The big, dangerous biker president moved around the kitchen with quiet confidence, chopping vegetables and seasoning meat as if it were second nature. It was such a contrast to the ruthless persona.
While he worked on dinner, I took the opportunity to hang up all the new clothes we'd bought. Once everything was neatly put away, I sat on the
