Throttle's Seduction(Insurgents MC Romance Book 7)(7)

Throttle jumped in front of her, causing her to slam into his chest.  Startled, she glanced up, straight into his eyes which were darkened by  anger. "Watch your goddamned mouth. Someone needs to teach you respect,  woman."

"And you're gonna be the one to do it? Hah!" She tried to get around him  but he blocked her. "Let me pass." She jutted her chin out defiantly.

"Not until you apologize," he gritted through his teeth.

"For telling you the truth? I don't think so."

A low growl came from deep in his chest. He reached out to grab her arm  when Hawk shoved himself between them. "Both of you cool the fuck down."  He turned to Kimber. "I heard what you said, and I don't like you  disrespecting one of the brothers in my shop." She started to protest  but Hawk held up his hand, silencing her. Turning to a smug-looking  Throttle, Hawk said softly, "Why don't you leave this alone, okay? I'll  see you at the clubhouse when I bring Banger's bike."

Throttle breathed heavily for a few seconds, then clasped Hawk's  shoulder. "See you." Without acknowledging Kimber, he stomped out of the  shop, slamming the door behind him so hard the glass vibrated. His  Harley roared to life, and he sped away from the shop and the  infuriating woman with the loud, smartass mouth.

When he walked into the clubhouse, it took him a minute to adjust to the  low light. Thin wisps of weed and cigarette smoke wound around him as  he went straight to the bar, motioning Puck for a double shot of Jack.  Before he reached the counter, a short glass full to the brim with a  dark amber liquid greeted him. He threw it back, loving the way the  smooth fire scorched his throat then warmed it as the whiskey made its  way down to his stomach. Jerking his head at the prospect, another  double appeared before him.

"Bad day?" Rock asked as he slid on the barstool next to Throttle.

"No." He threw back the double shot.

"You're hitting it pretty hard for a good day."

"Just enjoying my day off."

Rock eyed him, suspicion lacing his gaze, but Throttle ignored him and  took out a joint. "Want one?" he asked the Sergeant-At-Arms. After  handing him one, Throttle took out another, lit it, and inhaled deeply,  letting the tension he'd felt ever since he'd entered Hawk's shop that  morning slowly seep away. With each drag, his body relaxed, and he  actually smiled when Rock recounted his escapades with the sexy twosome  the previous night.

Hawk's new employee was a class-A bitch, and Throttle's plan was to  ignore her and not let her get under his skin. She came across as a  man-hater, and he didn't need any of that shit. There were plenty of  delicious women who couldn't wait to spend a few hours fucking him. He  wanted a woman who was soft, sexy, and compliant. He didn't need to put  up with Kimber's shit.                       
       
           



       

Wheelie came up to the two brothers. "Hey, you got another joint on you?"

Throttle jerked his head and handed him one, lighting it for him.

"I heard Hawk's got a bitch working on the bikes at his shop." A cloud of smoke billowed around Wheelie as he breathed out.

Tension pushed into Throttle's body again. He nodded, gesturing to Puck for another double.

"You seen her?"

Throttle swung up on the barstool and leaned forward, his elbows resting  on the bar. "Yeah. She's got tits that could fit on two of my fingers,  and she's got pink tips in her hair."

"No shit." Rock whistled softly. "No tits?"

"Nope."

"Damn," Wheelie said. "Does she know her way around a Harley?"

Throttle shrugged. "Hawk seems to think so. I guess we'll find out once  he brings Banger's bike to him. She worked on it. I can't believe how  fuckin' pussy-whipped Hawk is. Hiring a chick to do a man's job. I know  Cara was behind this. No way Hawk would've done it. That's the trouble  with these career women-they want to butt their fuckin' noses in  everything. Nothing's sacred anymore, you know?" The whiskey created a  nice buzz in his head, and all he could picture in his mind's eye as he  lamented the slow death of the good old boys club was Kimber's nicely  rounded ass so snug in her jeans. And what the fuck was up with her  seductive, dark perfume? She smelled like a hot vixen who needed a good  fuck. Damnit! I need to get laid. How can I even think about her?

"You listening to me, man?" Rock's voice sliced through his whiskey fog,  and Throttle stared at him bleary-eyed. "You're fuckin' wasted."

"She smells like patchouli and roses. Fuck, have you ever smelled that  before? It's damn sexy. It hits you in your cock. Right. Smack. In.  Your. Cock." He slammed his fist on the bar on each word.

"Fuck," Wheelie said after taking another drag.

Laughing, Rock helped his swaying brother to his room on the third  floor. Before he left, he turned to Throttle, who sat at the edge of the  bed with his head in his hands, and asked, "You want me to tell Rosie  to come up here to get rid of your patchouli-induced hard-on?"

Throttle shook his head. "Another time."

"You sure? She was looking for you earlier."

"I'm fuckin' wasted. I just wanna crash."

With a chuckle, Rock closed the door behind him. Throttle lifted his  head and stared at the closed door. What the hell was the matter with  him? Rosie was ready to open her sweet mouth and wrap her lips tightly  around his aching hardness, but he'd said no. What the fuck? The truth  was the snarky chick mechanic pissed him off so bad that he wasn't in  the mood for banging Rosie's mouth. This is the second time the little  bitch has made me too mad to fuck. Groaning, he flopped onto his back  and placed his arm over his hot eyelids. Incredible blue orbs filled his  mind, and he felt drawn to them as he had at Hawk's shop when he and  Kimber locked gazes. Her eyes were striking but soft, and they made his  blood dance as he drifted further into them until darkness took over.

Then he passed out.





Chapter Five





Leah Moore's high heels clacked on the brick walkway as she sprinted to  her car. Her dark hair caught the early morning sun's rays, and ribbons  of light intertwined with her dark strands. With a muted jangle, her  keys fell on the ground and she cursed under her breath. When she bent  over to pick them up, her short turquoise skirt revealed a toned, upper  thigh.

He held his breath as he took in the way her thigh muscles flexed under  all that creamy skin. Hidden behind the cluster of evergreens, he  watched her, thrilled to have caught a glimpse of her body that he  hadn't seen before. He wondered if she had on panties or a thong.

Two weeks before, the man had spotted Leah at the grocery store when  he'd stopped after work to pick up dinner at the full-service deli  counter. She'd been waiting in line to place her order for the two  pieces of baked chicken and two sides. Her long dark hair cascaded down  her back, and it glistened under the bright store lights. She was his  type: slender build, dark hair, and a nice rounded ass that would look  sexy in any panty.

After she'd received her order, he'd skipped his, for fear of losing  sight of her. He'd followed her home, and for the past week he'd watched  her from the shadows of the trees. The previous night, she'd given him a  bonus and undressed without closing the blinds. Her small, pert breasts  looked beautiful in a sheer gold bra, and her matching panties made him  salivate. He'd come back early that morning, hoping to have some time  with her lingerie before she returned from work. For the last seven  days, he'd learned everything about her routine.                       
       
           



       

The good-looking man loved the anticipation before he made his move.  Sometimes he'd spend three weeks watching the women he targeted. He'd  even slip into their rooms while they slept and watch them, careful not  to wake them up, and always leaving with a few pairs of panties. Later,  he'd use the undies to pleasure himself, the image of the sleeping woman  whose breasts rose and fell as he watched her foremost on his mind  before climaxing.

Leah Moore drove away and the brown-haired man stood frozen for quite a  while, his gaze still transfixed on the road. Finally, he wiped his  hands on his jeans and crossed the street, a notebook in his hand. Going  directly to the meter, he pretended he was reading it as his glance  darted over to the sliding glass door. He moved slowly to it and tried  it with his gloved hand. It opened. A wide smile spread over his face.  It never ceased to amaze him how many people left their windows and  doors opened. Sliding it open, he slipped inside.

Leah lived alone, which made it easier for him to do what he needed to  do. From stalking her, he knew she wouldn't be home for at least eight  hours. He had time before he had to go to work that evening. Before  going to her bedroom, he looked at the pictures of her and other  people-family and friends, he'd guessed-in various phases of her life.  Her sparkling blue eyes and heart-shaped face were beautiful. Leah  looked to be about thirty years old, and if he were a different person,  if he didn't have the craving, he'd ask her out. And she'd probably go  out with him-several women found him attractive and a real catch.  Sighing, he climbed the stairs to the second floor and went straight to  her bedroom.