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“You told me you didn’t have problems getting dates,” she said. “You said you went to the wedding alone because of me.”
“I lied.”
Tipping her head back, she lifted those big blue eyes to his. “Really? So you don’t want to sleep with me?”
Steering her past the buffet, he angled his mouth close to her ear and whispered, “There’s no want. I intend to sleep with you as soon as I can convince you to get naked.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Oh, I get it now. You’re desperate. You could have picked an easier mark, Gerard.”
“True, but I don’t want easy. I want you.”
He couldn’t have explained and didn’t bother trying, not when bracing himself for her comeback. But to his surprise, she only gave an exasperated huff and kept walking.
Mac took advantage of the moment and buried his smile in her sweet-smelling hair. Alcohol might not outwardly impair her much but it certainly made her chatty.
Guiding her toward the door, he told the doorman, “Nigel, please get word to Josh Eastman that I was called away.”
“I’ll take care of it, Mr. Gerard.”
He led Harley onto the floor where hundreds of slot machines flashed and beeped for attention. She blinked against the sudden glare.
“Sure you want to run off?” he asked. “It’s still early.”
Glancing at the slots, she said, “The night’s over for me.”
A cryptic remark from a woman who lived to be blunt? Mac suspected here was yet another clue that all was not well, although the fact she’d been drinking already confirmed it. The teamwork training session they’d attended had lasted a full five days, and during that time she’d declined even a sip of wine at dinner. He’d assumed her devotion to the martial arts meant she didn’t drink alcohol—an assumption reinforced at the wedding when she’d toasted the bride and groom with lime-laced water.
He should have known not to assume.
A doorman swung the door wide in the front lobby and Mac led Harley to the valet. “Where’s your ticket?”
She rummaged through her purse, bracing herself against him for support, before handing over her ticket.
The feel of her body pressed close did amazing things to his. He felt each smooth curve as a promise, the clothing separating them a reminder of the bare skin below. Pressing another smile into her hair, he treated himself to a breath filled with her faintly spicy scent, enjoyed a calm moment with a woman with whom calm didn’t usually factor into the equation.
She finally tipped her head back, and those blue eyes searched his, the color of midnight in the glare of artificial lighting that threw the night-dark city into shadows beyond. She must not have liked what she saw because she pulled out of his arms and said, “Will you stop—”
The rapid-fire rumble of a motorcycle’s engine drowned out her protest.
“Would you look at that,” Mac said, admiring the Harley-Davidson chopper the valet pulled into the driveway. Sleek lines of highly polished chrome showcased a bright red body and a low-slung front wheel that was much sparser in design than any hog built today. A very well-maintained classic.
The valet left the bike to idle and slid off in front of them. He must have noticed Mac’s interest because he shot him a smile and said, “It’s awesome.”
Mac watched in surprise as he handed the helmet to Harley. She accepted it, tipped the guy and turned to him.
“Harley on a Harley. That’s just priceless, Price.”
She ignored him, so he grabbed her hand. “I’ll drive.”
“It’s a one-butt ride.”
“It’s a two-butt ride unless you’ve decided to spend the night in this casino.” He brushed her aside, slid onto the smooth leather saddle and couldn’t stop a low whistle. “I had no idea you were a closet biker. My opinion of you has just jumped several notches.”
“Don’t let it go to your head. I’m only baby-sitting it for a friend. He’ll kill me if you ding his paint.”
He’ll kill me.
Well, here was unexpected info that fitted another piece of the puzzle into place. “I won’t hurt the bike.”
“You’re not driving the chopper, Gerard.”
“Neither are you, Harley.”
The valet shifted his attention between them, understanding finally dawning. Mac had to give the kid a lot of credit when he faced down a scowling Harley and asked, “Miss, would you like me to call a cab?”
She exhaled sharply, obviously not alcohol-impaired enough to miss that she’d lost this battle.
“No, thanks. Looks like I’ve got a chauffeur.”
The valet retreated and Mac kept his mouth shut as she tugged on the helmet and climbed behind him. His pulse kicked when she slipped her thighs against his and threaded her arms around his waist. He put the bike into gear, leaned into the throttle and steered onto the street.
Well, here was another perk to broadening his horizons. Mac hadn’t ridden a bike since college. And never a ride as sweet as this or with a girl so tempting. He wiggled backward to make her spread her thighs wider.
Mmm-hmm. The heat of her body contrasted nicely with the cooling night air. The bike maneuvered silkily, tires chewing up the road beneath a steady rough-velvet roar of engine. Mac maneuvered through the streets toward the Garden District, enjoying the whip of the wind, the way it snapped his clothes against his skin.
The only negative tonight was learning there was someone who might interfere with his plans for Harley.
He’ll kill me.
Who was he? Mac knew Harley wasn’t married. They’d worked together closely for the past five months and he hadn’t heard anything about a boyfriend or any sort of companion. He’d assumed Harley wasn’t involved.
Another reminder never to assume with this woman. But he was finding out more about her tonight than he had since they’d first met and he wasn’t about to retreat now. Not with a chance to find out what might be holding her back from a fling.
“Which house?” he yelled over the roar of the engine when he’d turned onto her street.
She directed him down several blocks then into the driveway of a mansion, only dimly lit in the glow of antique ironwork post lamps. Mac took in the pristine white facade, the huge classical pillars of the portico, tried to see if the mansion had been divided into apartments—the unfortunate fate of so many Garden District homes.
“Let me off,” she said, and he brought the bike to a stop in the driveway. “I’ll get the garage door.”
She slipped off and headed up the drive unsteadily. He walked the bike behind her, prepared to catch her if she went down. He parked beside two high-ticket sedans, neither of which were Harley’s cars. Plucking the helmet from her, he strapped it to the tail bar.
“Can you call someone to pick you up?” she asked.
He glanced at his watch, but couldn’t make out the time in the dark. “Don’t you want to invite me inside?”
“I’d rather you didn’t even know where I live.”
“Getting to know each other will help us get along.”
“Or make us dislike each other more.” Her bravado was slipping around the edges and he took the opportunity to wrap his arm around her shoulder and steer her out of the garage.
“That way.” She motioned to a flagstone walkway leading away from the house.
Clouds separated, allowing moonlight to illuminate the neat lawn and a sizable cottage on the north corner of the property that had likely begun life as a guest house.
He helped her up the steps and waited while she fished through her purse for keys. After unlocking the door, she flipped on the porch light and he glimpsed the interior, an open floor plan, sparsely decorated and very neat. He recognized the lines of antebellum architecture and the gleam of wooden floors.
“Are you going to call a cab?” She swayed slightly before leaning against the doorjamb for support.
“Are you okay?”
A beat of silence passed before she admitted, “I don’t usually drink.”
Opportunity knocked again and Mac didn’t hesitate. He scooped her into his arms and kicked the door shut.
“Gerard—”
“Hang on or I’ll drop you. You’re heavier than you look.”
She made an unladylike grunt but did as he asked, wrapped her arms around his neck and rested her head on his shoulder. He navigated through the cottage easily in the darkness and found her bedroom off the living room. He reached for the light switch but she grabbed his hand.
“No light.”
“You want the bathroom instead of the bed?” He’d already passed one but saw another doorway across the room that might lead to a private bath.
“No. My head is swimming. The bed.”
He’d been fantasizing about hearing those words and it figured that when she finally said them she wouldn’t mean them.
But he enjoyed the feel of her in his arms and took the opportunity to observe her inner sanctum. For a woman who made weapons and leather a fashion statement, her bedroom was surprisingly feminine. Tester bed with a lace canopy and a surplus of equally lacy pillows tossed over the matching comforter. Floral wallcovering. Filmy sheers on the windows.
So there was a real woman behind the shields. Wasn’t Harley just full of surprises?
Depositing her gently on the bed, he watched her curl up and close her eyes.
“Come on. Off with the jacket.” He lifted a boneless arm and tugged off the sleeve. She didn’t resist until he tried to move her to get at the other.
“Leave me alone,” she insisted. “Just let me sleep.”
“After I get some of these clothes off you.”
“You wish.” She gave another of those unladylike snorts, her sarcasm firmly in place.
“No surprise there. Now come on, give me the gun. You can’t sleep with it digging into your back.”
“I can.”
“No, you can’t.” Sinking to the edge of the bed, Mac lifted her into his arms to strip the jacket away. The instant he brought her up against him, awareness kicked in. She was a nice armful, much more appealing than when she was attacking him during training.
She helped him by shrugging off the jacket and each brush of her bare arms sharpened his awareness that they were sitting on her bed, at night, with the promise of skin between them.
He drew a deep breath. Another.
After dropping her jacket on the foot of the bed, he unfastened the holster. More contact with skin as he followed the leather straps down her back, around her waist. She shifted against him, her breathing growing shallower. He knew she must be aware of his hands hovering just through her clothes, because when he started on her one-piece pantsuit, she tried to brush him away and said, “Don’t.”
“Shh.” He swept her hair away from the zipper. “I want to put you to bed so you can sleep comfortably.”
Alcohol dropped her shields more than he’d realized, because she didn’t resist. Or maybe she was just as paralyzed by awareness as he was, a sensation that had grown almost palpable.
Resting her face in the crook of his neck, she let him peel away her bodice. He eased the sleeves away one-handed, his blood heating dangerously when he realized she wasn’t wearing a stitch below. Not a bra. Not a camisole. Not a thing to hide all that creamy skin.
She gave a shuddering sigh as he eased her back against the pillows, gifting him with a view of her full breasts and blush-colored nipples, delicate shoulders and the contour of her graceful neck up close and personal.
Just where Mac had longed to be. He couldn’t ever remember being broadsided by the sight of a woman before, had never known the sort of anticipation that arced his body from zero to sixty in less than a heartbeat that throbbed so hard it hurt.
His hands actually shook when he maneuvered the leather over her hips and he revealed her sleek curves, her long, long legs with a reverence that was so entirely unfamiliar.
Her cream-colored thong came as a surprise for a woman who went braless and loved leather. Mac wasn’t sure what he’d expected, but the sight of that lacy scrap of silk wasn’t it. He had to force himself to keep dragging the pantsuit away because he so didn’t want this show to end.
“Why are you fighting me so hard, Harley?” he asked, his voice raw in the late-night quiet. “You can’t tell me you’re not attracted to me. I know you’re feeling what I do.”
He shouldn’t reveal so much. She’d only use his need against him, but with her stretched out before him, all gleaming skin and sleek curves, his need made him reckless.
“I don’t want to feel anything for you.”
“But you do.” He couldn’t resist the urge to prove it. Trailing a finger up her shapely leg, he touched her warm skin.
“Gerard…” Her voice trailed off, breathless.
“Why not, Harley? A fling makes sense.”
He continued tracing a path up her thigh, a light touch that heightened the anticipation, a small defiance designed to entice the truth from her. Or maybe just entice her.
He wanted her to feel as reckless as he did right now.
Dragging his fingertip beneath her thong, he followed the lacy edge around her hip toward the juncture of her thighs.
She trembled.
He smiled.
She frowned. “Why won’t you take no for an answer?”
“Because I want you. I want you to admit you want me.”
Simple. Honest.
“What difference will it make if I admit it? I still won’t sleep with you.” Raising her arms above her head, she stretched, a languorous display of skin, a move meant to tempt him with the very thing he wanted.
