CAPTURED: 9 Alpha Bad-Boys(86)

His expression turns grimmer. "Okay. Okay. I'll do it. Usual time and  place? Yeah. Got it. I'll be there. Threats aren't necessary, man."

Threats? Who is threatening him?

He hangs up, looks at me. The hard expression remains for one moment,  then he grins. "Good morning," he says. He comes up to me, pulls me to  him, and kisses me. A deep, long, slow kiss. I stand on my tiptoes. I've  never been kissed like this, like I'm the most beautiful person in the  world. It's exhilarating.

I kiss him better now that I have more experience. My kiss is softer,  more skilled, more playful. Definitely more passionate. I don't feel  clumsy now. I'm just dissolving in the sheer emotional, arousing  pleasure of caressing his mouth with mine.

Someone whistles. Someone else says playfully, "Get a room. No, wait-you have one. Go use it."

The guy frying bacon shouts and slaps at his arm, where bacon fat hit his biceps.

I'm blushing when Sawyer breaks the kiss. "Is there any other food in the fridge?" he asks casually.

"There's beer," says the blond guy.

"Breakfast of champions," adds the auburn-haired roommate, unhelpfully.

Sawyer rolls his gorgeous eyes. He looks to me. "Let's go out for breakfast."

We grab coats and shoes, and he leads me outside through the garage.  It's a two-car garage, filled by a large black pickup truck and a  trailer that had something standing on it, covered in a tarp. There are  workbenches and shelves, all of them covered in tools, tool chests,  rags, and an assortment of shiny chrome objects that must be car or  motorcycle parts.         

     



 

Sawyer pauses. Turns to me. "Want to see my bike?" At my confusion, he adds, "My race bike." He pulls off the tarp.

"Wow." All my breath whooshes out and I'm dazzled.

When I've drawn another breath, I say, "That's the most sensuous piece of machinery I've ever seen."

His eyebrows rise at my comment.

Cautiously, I approach the bike. It is glossy cherry red and all  sweeping curves. It barely looks like a motorcycle. It looks like  something out of a sci-fi movie. There could be a whole futuristic TV  show made about this bike, it looks so cool. I reach out to stroke the  curve of the seat, then stop myself.

"Can I touch it?"

"Of course."

I run my hand over the smooth, supple leather, then my fingertips glide  along the shiny, scarlet cowling. I think that's what it's called. Then I  touch the seat again. This is where Sawyer's incredible ass sits and  where his crotch rests when his legs are spread to straddle the bike.  Just thinking of that makes me feel hot and liquid inside.

"It's really beautiful. It must be very valuable."

"Reasonably so," he answers, noncommittally. "I've upgraded it a lot myself."

I look around. The whole garage is a workshop. "Do you get the whole garage to yourself?"

"That's the deal. I own the house."

"Own the house?"

"Yeah. I rent the rooms mainly to give other guys a place to live at a reasonable price."

Jenna had said he made a lot of money from racing bikes. I guess it's  true. "Speaking of which, why was your roommate eating so much bacon?"

"Because he bought it. He knows if he leaves it in the fridge, everyone else will eat it."

"Seriously?"

"Yeah. Food in the fridge is always fair game. So any guy that brings in food tends to eat it all at once."

Sawyer grins and I know it's true. He hauls up the garage door. I love  watching his back muscles bunch and move under his coat as he does it.  We take his gorgeous red car-I guess I know his favorite color.

A few minutes later, we're in a diner on Westingham's main street for  their brunch buffet. We're sitting in a booth by the window, drinking  coffee. Sawyer reaches out and strokes my fingers. It's such a sweet  gesture, it surprises me. All I heard about from my friends were his one  night stands, where he and his partner parted in the morning and didn't  hook up again.

I try to think of something brilliant to say, but nothing comes. "Do you like racing bikes?" Duh-I'm sure that's obvious.

But he frowns thoughtfully. "I don't know. At the beginning, I loved it.  Loved the speed. I liked the money-I needed it for my mother's  treatments. The truth is, I also liked proving I was the best. But you  can only make money if you have a sponsor." Sawyer sneers on the word  sponsor. "What I didn't understand was that once you've done that,  you've sold your soul."

As a high school outcast, I spent a lot of time watching people. Reading  them. I can see intense anger behind his cool expression.

"What do you mean?" I ask.

"My sponsors call the shots. Without their high stake bets, I wouldn't  be hauling in so much money. I have to do what they say. It means that  if he wants me to throw a race, I have to do it."

"But you don't want to stop because you need the money."

"Yeah, that's the basic problem."

Our waitress comes with our plates of food. Sawyer gets the ‘blue collar  special', which includes 3 servings of sausages, bacon, and ham, along  with eggs and home fries. I'm having waffles and fruit.

"I'd like to see you again tonight, Claire, but I'm racing."

"Okay," I say. I don't want to look desperate and girls in high school  said you had to make a guy pant after you. But I don't know anything  about games. I just want to see him. "Could I go and watch you race?"

"No."

He says it so sharply I draw back.

With a savage tear of his knife, he cuts off a third of a sausage and eats it in one bite.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to bite your head off." Sawyer lowers his  voice. "Street racing is illegal, Claire. Half the time, cops show up  and break up the race. I wouldn't want you to get in trouble. If I'm  racing, I can't look after you."

"You mean you could be arrested."

"If I got caught, yeah. But I don't get caught."



At midnight, my cell phone rings.

I'm studying in my room, working on calculus problems. Abby is out at a  party, so I'm lounging on my bed, eating Doritos. It's my secondary vice  when popcorn dripping with melted butter isn't available. And dripping  anything never works well with dorm beds. Too much laundry.

The ringing seems to make everything I ever knew about math fall out of my head. Who would call me now?

Oh God, what if it's Mom? What if something is wrong with my brother Charley?

My heart accelerates really fast, comes to a dead stop, then up speeds again.

Answer the phone, my brain screams at my paralyzed body.

I grab my phone from the bedside table. Not my mom. It's Sawyer.

"Hello?" I'm confused since he's supposed to be racing again tonight. I  haven't seen him for two days. We spent the afternoon together, after  our first date, studying. Well, we studied for a few hours, then he gave  me oral sex again. And again. And again. And I gave it to him just as  many times. I miss him incredibly and it's only been a day and a half.

"Claire? Did I wake you?" His voice is hoarse and raw.

"No, I was studying. I hadn't realized it was so late."

"Is it too late to see you? I need to see you tonight. I-hell, I don't want to be alone tonight."

Pain reverberates in his voice. "Of course I can see you. Sawyer, what's wrong?"

He lets out a long, shuddering groan. It's subtle and quiet, but filled  with agony. "At the race, a friend of mine crashed, Claire. He's dead."

Dead? I sit there, shocked and speechless.

"Claire?"

I don't want to ask him how it happened. Or ask him a bunch of  questions. I'm stunned that I am who he called, who he needs. "Do you  want me to come and see you? I can take a cab."

"I'll come and get you."

"Are you sure you should be driving, Sawyer?"

"Yeah, because I want to see you as soon as I can. I don't want to force  you to come all the way out here. And hell, I make money driving." He  gives a short, bitter, anger-filled laugh. "Nothing throws off my  ability to drive."





Chapter Four

When Sawyer comes for me, he drives the black truck I saw in his garage.  I hug him. I wrap my arms tight around his hard torso and press my  cheek to his chest, into the smooth, cool leather of his jacket. "I'm so  sorry about your friend."

"Thanks." His voice is even huskier than on the phone. He gently grips  my arms and makes me step back, so I have to stop holding him. He opens  the truck passenger door for me.

I slide in and wait for him to get in. As he turns on the ignition, I  say softly, "Is it okay if I ask who your friend was? What his name  was?"

Sawyer drives out of the residence roadway and merges onto the main  campus drive, his eyes on the road. "His name was Jaxon. Jaxon Winters.  But I can't talk about it yet, Claire. I just-I need you."

I'm stunned.

And my heart aches for him.

I want to be with him, but I have no idea how to make him feel better.

All I know from experiencing painful things is that you can't instantly feel better. It never works that way.

At his house, we go in through the garage. He holds my hand-holds it  firmly. At his bedroom door, he says, "You said you wanted to go to bed  with me. Is it still true?" He tips up my chin and kisses me. A long,  slow kiss. "I'd like to make love with you."