Chapter 1 #2
The biker’s head slowly turns toward my car, and I feel his gaze on me. For the briefest of seconds, there’s a glimmer of familiarity, but I shake it off. I’ve never seen this man before in my life. My heart thunders, my flesh scorching at being caught staring.
The side of his lips draw up in a cocky grin. Yep, busted.
Allie shrills, “He’s looking right at you.”
“I can tell,” I admit uncomfortably. I want to curl up and die from embarrassment.
I’m basically drooling over the interior.
With the top down on my Bug, neither the biker nor I have the roof of a car to cover ourselves, something I didn’t consider until now.
He has a clear view of me leering. I pull in a breath when, out of nowhere, the biker looks both directions, then ignores the red light and rides through the intersection.
The slow predatory grin growing on his face feels like a warning, sending my heart into a far too quick rhythm and making my palms sweat.
The sudden green light is a blessing. I tear out, eager to find a rock to crawl under.
I’m looking for the turn still when the deep purr of a bike grows close again. A glimpse at my rearview mirror confirms it’s him, Mr. Red Light. I feel like a doe running from the wolf as I hold my foot steady on the gas.
Allie turns around. “Looks like you’ve got an admirer,” she teases.
“I’m sure he’s making a U-turn just like I did,” I answer matter-of-factly.
She looks over her shoulder, a toothy grin on her face.
“Nope, he’s gesturing for you to pull over.”
“Just because he’s handsome doesn’t mean he won’t rob, kidnap, or do God knows what else to us.” It’s an excuse, and we both know it. He’s set off some primitive drive inside of me to run. A little part of me says to pull over, but fear squashes that down.
Allie lets out a shameless giggle. “Listen, that man can tie me up any day of the week.”
Forcing myself not to look back, I leave the tiny town. Even after turning off the highway and onto the interstate home, the telltale thunder of an engine confirms that he’s still behind us.
It’s flattering, and a little embarrassing at the same time.
“Don’t pull over yet. Make him work for it,” Allie declares.
I feel flustered, my stomach rolling, hands shaking as I decide what the hell I’m going to do. The last thing I want is for him to know where we live.
I risk a look, and he gestures again for me to pull over. My aunt’s house is just a few miles down the road, and there are no gas stations around.
With a resigned breath, I turn on my blinker and stop on the shoulder.
He parks behind me, killing the engine. I stare as he pulls off the black helmet, a walking thirst trap. It isn’t deliberate, not with this man. He’s just naturally irresistible.
This close, I can see a leather vest covering his torso, similar to the one Darcy’s fiancé wears. The patches are the same color blue, and I wonder if he’s in the same club.
My stomach churns with embarrassment as he comes to the driver’s side wearing a smug expression. “Hey, Baby Doll,” he says in greeting, resting those damn forearms on the door. “What’s your name?”
Face flaming, I answer, “Greer.”
“I’m Jude, and I would like your number.” His words are so confident and smooth, his demeanor just as appealing as his looks. The power of his hazel eyes on me makes my face feel numb, my chest unable to pull in air.
Goosebumps cross over my skin.
I stare at him for long seconds like an idiot until Allie, traitor that she is, hands my phone to him.
“Here, big guy, call yourself. You’ll have to forgive my cousin. Her brain just needs a second to buffer.”
My wallpaper, the Lovers of Valdaro, is visible, meaning the phone is still unlocked. So much for my plan to give him a fake number, something Allie must have sussed out, judging by the wink she gives me.
“The eternal embrace,” Jude says, studying my wallpaper.
“I just had it tattooed on me last week.” The Lovers of Valdaro are a set of Neolithic skeletal remains discovered in Italy.
After six thousand years, they’re still face to face, their bones still entwined in the sweetest of caresses.
The artwork isn’t that uncommon, since it’s been used on everything from album covers to t-shirts, but it’s still an interesting coincidence.
I don’t answer, but risk my first close-up look at him. He’s delicious in a pair of dark jeans worn thin. They fit like a glove, showing off everything.
Yes, I glanced…there.
But with the way his jeans fit, do you blame me? There’s a bulge the size of a russet potato that promises to make me hurt in the most delicious of ways.
As I suspected, it looks like they’re the same patches as Darcy’s fiancé.
There’s a white emblem, a wolf head, or more likely, since we’re in the bayou, the Loup-Garou.
A heavy chain hooks to his jeans and dips into his pocket, a silver ring on his hand.
His brown hair is trimmed into an undercut that’s smooth on top.
The name patch says, “Band Aid.” I’m tempted to inquire about the nickname when he asks, “Where are you from?”
He’s called himself and is holding his phone in one wide palm, disappointment lacing his words.
The area code. I haven’t had it changed to a local one yet. “I’m kinda from all over, but I live here.”
Handing back my phone, he quips so smugly, “Well, you can tell me all about that over dinner next Friday.”
“I could be seeing someone, you know.”
“Oh, Baby Doll, you can’t think that would stop me?” His laugh trails behind as he takes certain strides back to the sleek black Harley. I watch, stunned as he kicks the engine to life. The audacity is sexy as hell.