Riding With the Panther

Chapter 1

The motorcycles have gone quiet for the night. I love it when they roll past the small house I’m renting in Broken Arrow. Now that the weather is better, I sit on the front porch and listen and watch. Most nights, a few club members ride through town. Tonight, there were six of them and since they’ve grown used to me, they wave as they pass. It’s a small town and not unusual.

I’m used to small-town life. I like that when you go into the grocery store, the clerk knows your name. I didn’t even mind the curious looks from everyone when I first arrived. It’s all part of protecting your own. After six months, everyone knows me and I feel safe.

Still, watching the quiet street long after the motors go silent, my heart speeds up as I wait. I have no business looking for him. He’s not mine, and he’s new in town. I should be wary, keep my head down, and stick to working to improve my art business. If I was smart, that’s exactly what I’d do.

One moment the street is empty and the next he’s there. Jorge Panteras walks through the streets of town every night. He’s sleek and stealthy. His nearly black hair lies past his ears and he brushes it back with strong fingers. I’ve seen him in the daylight at the diner where he works as a cook. I make an excuse almost every day to go in there just to get a glimpse of him.

He’s so fucking beautiful. I shouldn’t look, but how can I not?

At this point, I should know that looks can be deceiving. Peter was good-looking and that didn’t turn out well. In fact, that failed mess is the reason I left my hometown and started fresh here. It’s one thing to have a bad breakup when you live in a big city or bustling suburb. No one notices outside your immediate group of friends. When you have a messy breakup in a small town, everyone knows all the dirty details and they never forget. I couldn’t take it anymore, so I moved. Maybe it would have been braver to stay and wait another year, but one was enough.

So why am I watching Jorge’s long legs in tight black jeans as he walks closer to my house? I don’t know, but I can’t look away. He’s made his way down my street every night for the past two weeks. He’s always alone and he never looks at me, though I suspect he knows I’m here.

I draw a deep breath. My sensible side is screaming to shut up. My body is calling out for something entirely different. “Hello.”

He stops and faces me. Even with the lawn and sidewalk between us, I can see the glow of his eyes. They’re a greenish-gold color that captivates me. He cocks his head. “Miss Whittaker.”

I stand up and step to the railing of my porch. “You can call me Daile.”

“Daile.” He says it as if he’s trying it out to see if he likes it. His lips twitch in the hint of a smile.

I guess my name passed the test. “May I call you Jorge?”

“If you wish.” There’s a hint of an accent that feels warm, like if he said it against my skin, my body would catch on fire.

“I see you walking every night. I wonder if you’d like a cup of coffee or tea. Maybe you’d like to sit and talk for a few minutes.” I have absolutely lost my fucking mind.

He steps out of the street and onto the sidewalk without breaching my property line. “You take a risk inviting a strange man to visit with you. Is this a bad habit or should I be flattered, Daile?”

My cheeks grow hot, that heat traveling all the way down my neck and even my chest. Red hair is not fair when it comes to embarrassment. I can hide nothing. “I’m not in the habit, and you’re not a stranger. I see you all the time at the Broken Diner.”

He looks at the ground where the sidewalk ends and my driveway begins, then steps over the threshold. Walking toward me, he says, “I can talk for a few minutes.”

My ears are ringing, and I may pass out. What on earth am I thinking? I can’t believe I asked him to sit with me on my porch. The fact that he’s walking toward me is exciting and terrifying. I point to my cup. “I have tea if you’d like a cup.”

When he shakes his head, his hair moves in the most mesmerizing way. I wonder if it’s as soft as it looks. He reaches the porch and climbs the two steps. “I’m not much for hot beverages after my morning coffee.”

“I have wine,” I say it too fast and with too much enthusiasm. More heat flushes my cheeks and I force myself to sit on the wooden loveseat. I fuss with a string hanging from the corner of the sage cushion. Now that I have him here, I’m suddenly embarrassed.

His smile is like moonlight, beautiful and full of mystery. He sits in the matching chair to my right. “Perhaps we can save the wine for another night. I still have things to accomplish tonight.”

“Okay. Sure. I didn’t mean to keep you from anything important. I just thought you probably live close by and that makes you my neighbor, and it’s nice to get to know your neighbors.” Oh my god, why don’t I shut the fuck up?

His silent stare shoots through my body and settles between my legs. Can he possibly know how sexy he is or what he does to me? Maybe it’s just been too long since I’ve had a man in my bed. I’m not a fan of casual sex, but I could make an exception for Jorge.

“You are a welcome distraction, Daile. I’m happy to be neighborly.” He leans back and puts his ankle over his knee. He has a way of looking relaxed and ready to flee or fight at the same time.

“Thank you. I know I can be a bit much. You’re very kind.” Relaxing is what I need to do, but I seem to have forgotten how exactly to do that.

“How long have you lived in Broken Arrow?” he asks.

Thank goodness he’s better at small talk than I am or we’d be sitting awkwardly for ten minutes before he realized what a dork I am and he ran away. “Almost six months. I like it here.”

“You’re an artist.” He looks through the large window behind me as if he thinks he’ll see some signs of art.

“I guess Milo at the diner told you. Yes. I’m hoping to have a small show here soon and get a few critics from the city to come. Maybe have a larger showing from time to time.” I have no idea why I told him that. He asked one question, and I told him my fondest dream.

“I would like to see something you’ve created.” His eyes are so captivating when he stares at me.

It would be easy to get lost in those eyes and never come back. For now, I need to get my wits about me. “Maybe when you have more time and we know each other better, I can show you my studio.”

Smiling wider, he nods. “I would be honored.”

“You have an accent.” I blurt it out because I’m afraid he’s going to leave.

“Do I?” Putting his foot back on the porch, he leans his elbows on his knees, drawing closer to me.

My breathing is too fast. I have to get myself together. What was I thinking inviting him onto my porch? Clearly, he’s too much, too male, too beautiful. “Yes, you do. Where are you from?”

“I was born in Spain, but I’ve lived most of my life in Florida.”

“Do you speak Spanish? I’ve always wanted to learn, but my two years in high school are long forgotten.” The porch feels very small all of a sudden. It’s like he’s getting closer, and I need some distance or I’ll combust. Also, I don’t want him to go anywhere. My mind is a jumble of thoughts and feelings that I can’t sort out.

“I’d be happy to teach you some Spanish if you wish.” His eyes flash as if light hit them, but the only light is the one dim lamp from my living room.

Closing my eyes is the only way to escape his gaze. I need more Jorge, but I’m too afraid to ask for more.

His warm fingers touch my cheek. “Are you unwell, Daile?”

God, the way he says my name makes my clit pulse and my breath catch. “I guess I’m more tired than I thought.” I stand.

He does the same and offers his hand. “It was nice to visit with you.”

Taking his hand, I step around the glass coffee table. The move brings me an inch from his chest. He’s tall and my eyes reach his chest. Looking up makes it worse, as when he searches my eyes, our lips are only an inch apart. Gasping, I step back. “Sorry. I…I should go in.”

The smile and flash in his eyes are gone, leaving concern. “Have I offended you?”

I dash for the door but stop in the opening. “Of course not. I enjoyed our talk. I hope we can do it again very soon, Jorge.”

Even in the small space, he moves with the grace and focus of a cat, stopping in front of me where I stand with one foot in and one foot out of the doorway. He breathes deeply, then closes his eyes, “I would not do anything to harm you.”

“I know.” I don’t know how, but I’m sure it’s true.

“My life is not simple. Who I am is not…” He shakes his head and takes a step back. “Thank you for the conversation. Good night, Daile.” He stares a second longer before turning and walking away.

Shamelessly, I watch his retreat and admire the ease of his movement and the grace of him. A minute later, he disappears into the night.

With a sigh, I close the door and get ready for bed. Everything I learned about him runs through my mind, over and over. My body’s reaction to him is more intense than is normal toward someone I barely know. There’s no doubt in my mind that I want more from Jorge Panteras than a chat on the porch. Maybe I could have a brief affair and get him out of my system. Then we can go back to being neighbors who wave when we happen to run into each other. We’re both adults, so that should be possible.

Loving the cool night air, I open my bedroom window. I turn off the lamp on my nightstand. The cry of a large cat rolls through the night.

I shiver and pull my blanket up around my chin. Thinking about the man will not help with my sleep, but he’s impossible to forget.