A Wild Ride(5)

My friend-whose name I didn't know, I realized-rumbled in his chest like a bear. "Watch it, punk," he growled.

John paled and backed up against his car. "What are you doing, Leo? What's going on?"

I sighed and wiped rain off my face. My friend just sat impassively, listening and not responding.




 

 

"John, I told you. We're done. There's nothing you can say or do, not anymore."

John's eyes wavered and he stepped toward me again, grabbed my arm and tried to pull me off the bike. "Why? We can fix this, honey! Come on, get off this bike and let's go home."

I jerked my arm free, and John grabbed it again, pulling me off balance. Biker growled again and swung his fist, connecting with John's chin. It was a lazy, slow, almost casual punch, but it sent John flying to tumble onto his ass.

"Get your hands off the girl," Biker said. "She's not going with you. You had your chance and you clearly f**ked that up. If I see you bothering her again, I'll wreck you."

John nodded his head numbly, fearful. Biker squealed his tire, spinning the back of the bike around in an arc, splattering John with mud and rain. We pulled out into traffic and Biker guided the bike with a care and a precision that surprised me. He had done the thing with the tire to scare John, but he was in fact a very careful driver, if only because I was on the bike and it was raining.

I hadn't told him where to go, but he was riding as if he had a destination in mind. I clutched his belly and let him ride, content to be taken somewhere. It might have been foolish, but for once I was making decisions that weren't responsible or careful.

He took us to condominium building in downtown Royal Oak, parked in the underground garage. He took my hand as I swung my leg over, and then caught me when I stumbled. My feet hurt, suddenly, throbbing, and my legs were jelly from the vibration of the Harley's engine. He pulled me up and I found myself leaning against his chest and looking up at his gray-green eyes.

I shivered, whether from being cold and wet or from the heat of his gaze, I wasn't sure.

"God, I'm so sorry," Biker said, ripping his coat off and draping it over my shoulder. "You must be freezing! I should have given you my coat when you got on."

He seemed truly chagrined, and I felt a little safer yet. His jacket draped down to my thighs, and it was warm from his body. I huddled into it, grateful, and somewhat turned on by the smell of it around me: sweat, wet leather, cologne.

Biker took my hand and tugged me toward the elevator. "Come on, let's get you dry."

I pulled back and he stopped. "Wait a second. Where are we?"

"My condo. I figured if that little punk was saying he wanted to go home that you lived with him, and that you wouldn't want to go back there just yet."

"That little punk is my fiance," I said. I wasn't at all sure what my point was, or why I was saying it.

His mouth quirked up again, and his eyebrow lifted, an arch expression of wry contempt. "Not anymore," he said. 

I shrugged. "That's true. And he is a little punk."

I stepped toward Biker, and he turned into me, looking down at me with an expression that I once again couldn't read.

"I'll take you somewhere else, if you're not comfortable here," he offered, then ruined the moment with a sly smile. "I mean, if you're afraid, that is."

I stepped even closer, and now I was nearly pressed against him. My heart was pounding at my own bravado. I'd seen how strong he was; he'd knocked John flying, and John was a tiny little nerd. He just wasn't anything like this leather-clad warrior in front of me.

"I'm not afraid. I just don't go home with men when I don't know their name."

"When do you go home with men?"

"With men like you? Never."

His eyes narrowed. "Men like me?"

"Yeah, men like you. In fact, I've never gone home with a man." I inched even closer, and now my head was level with his shoulders, my eyes tipped up to look at him through my lashes. "But then, I dumped John because I needed a change. So, here we are."

"Men like me?" He asked again. He was really hung up on this "men like him" thing.

"Oh relax," I said. "I was teasing."

"Sure you were," he rumbled.

He pulled me into a walk again, leading me toward the elevator. I let him get me in front of the silver doors before I pulled my hand free.

"You haven't told me your name," I said.

"Shane Sorrenson." He was looking down at me again, and his eyes were boring holes in mine.

"Well, Shane, we can go in now. Thank you." I turned to the elevator and waited.

He hadn't pushed the button yet, which I knew. He grunted in something like amusement mixed with frustration, and punched the call button with his thumb.