Build

by Gillian Archer

  Screw this. I’d buy him one drink as promised then get the hell out of there. I still had some self-respect.

  As we approached the restaurant, my eyes were drawn to the motorcycle at the end of the lot. It wasn’t difficult to picture him straddling the powerful bike. Even through my irritation over his treatment, the mental image was still powerful enough to get me excited. There was something insanely hot about a bad boy on a bike. Especially this one.

  I followed him to the front of the building where he pushed through the double sets of doors. He didn’t even pause to check to see if I was following him. His attitude was starting to irk me.

  More than a little annoyed, I trailed behind him as he plowed his way through the crowd gathered around the maître d’s stand. Afraid to lose sight of my guy, I stayed glued to his back and gave half smiles of apology to the people he mowed down. I was relieved when he stopped at the bar.

  “Bushmills Black Bush. Neat. And a—” He threw a look at me over his shoulder.

  “Whatever’s on tap.”

  He raised an eyebrow at me. I gave him a wide-eyed innocent look back.

  He let out one of those annoyed man grunts. “And a light draft beer.”

  When the bartender plunked down our drinks, I dug through my purse for some cash, but stopped when I felt a hand on my arm.

  “Don’t worry about it.”

  I looked at him, nonplussed. This was the whole reason we were here, after all. Of course I was buying the round. And then I was getting the hell out of here.

  Before I could protest, he tipped his head at the bartender, grabbed my arm, and pulled me to the other side of the room. Not wanting to make a scene, I clutched my beer and followed. He stopped at a table in the corner, pulled out a chair, and sat. I stared at him for a moment, then shook my head and took the other chair.

  We sipped our drinks in silence. I stared at my glass, watching the foam slowly dissipate. Very few American drinkers appreciated the head on a beer. But then again I really liked head. I smirked into my glass before taking another swig.

  “What?”

  I blinked when my knight finally spoke. I thought maybe we were just going to do the silent, awkward thing. “I was thinking how much I like head.”

  Now it was his turn to blink.

  I enjoyed the moment before I lifted my glass in explanation. He shook his head and looked away with his own little smirk.

  “So do you have a name?”

  He turned back and gave me a lingering once-over. The heat of his gaze seared me from the tips of my breasts to the juncture of my thighs. His golden brown eyes raked over my body until I was sure there wasn’t an inch of skin he hadn’t covered. I felt exposed and turned on all at once. Taking my own survey of him, a quick glance at his lap told me he liked the view as well.

  “Zag.”

  I shook my head and looked up into his fascinating eyes. “I, uh, what?”

  “My name. Zag.”

  “No, really.”

  He lifted one shoulder in a shrug.

  Oookay. “Well, it’s nice to meet you, Zag. I’m Jessica.” I’d been tempted to give him a fake name back, but I was afraid I wouldn’t be able to remember it later. Besides, I really wanted to hear him say my name.

  I held out my hand and waited. After a beat, he took it. His hand was rough and calloused, but his grip was firm. Not too firm to make me uncomfortable, but not some wet-fish handshake. I'd once heard someone claim a handshake was an extension of a man's cock. If that were really the case, Zag wouldn't have any problems in the bedroom. My cheeks flushed at the dirty turn of my thoughts. Again. What was it about this man? He was like a walking advertisement for wicked fantasies. I couldn’t help myself.

  I just knew Zag was watching me with those eagle eyes of his. I could practically feel them even though I kept my own glued to the tabletop. After a beat, from the corner of my eye, I saw him turn away.

  What the hell was wrong with me? Was I looking for a happy ending for what had turned out to be a craptastic night? Or was I really into this guy?

  I turned my head slightly and gave him another once-over.

  His jacket had parted enough for me to see the grease-stained T-shirt underneath. And the ripple of abs beneath that layer. Oh, I was definitely into this guy. I'd always had a thing for bad boys but never could quite get up the nerve to pursue them. All that attitude wrapped up in such an attractive wrapper was more than a little intimidating for a good girl like me. Hell, I’d been the honor society president in high school, a good girl who didn't lose my virginity until I was out of my parents’ house at nineteen. I was the poster child for following the rules. So why did I want to follow my badass biker home?

  Because he was forbidden and hard in all the right places. Everything I wasn't.

  Including leaving.

  Zag took one last gulp of his whiskey, Irish and straight up—how gangster was that?—and pushed away from the table.

  “Do you often save damsels in distress?”

  He shook his head. “Nope.”

  “Wait. Can I buy you another drink?”

  “Nah. I gotta head out.” He tipped his head in my direction. His hair fanned out and brushed the stubble on his jaw. “Thanks for the round.”

  Panicked that he was going to leave before I got up the nerve to proposition him, I threw out the only thing I could think to say. “Wait. Can I get a ride?”

  I immediately flinched. That had to be the stupidest thing I could’ve said. And so desperately obvious. I was pretty sure there had to be a blinking neon sign above my head: Hello, horny woman wants a “ride.”

  Zag raised an eyebrow.

  God, that was a sexy look.

  “Cut the bullshit. I don’t have time for stupid games. Just say what you wanna say. I got business to handle.”

  “I um, just thought it’d be fun to take a ride on your bike. Maybe not now. Just sometime, you know, when you find the time. If you’re free, that is. And don’t mind giving me a ride.”

  A wave of mortification swept over me. I couldn’t seem to stop myself. The rambling words kept leaving my mouth in an endless stream of nonsense. Where were you when I needed you, brain? I didn't just say that. The muffled laughter from the table next to us answered for me.

  Dammit, just when I thought the night couldn't get any stranger. This settled it. After tonight I was done with dating. With men. And possibly with ever leaving the safety of my home ever again.

  But I felt something with him. A magnetism or a connection, whatever you wanted to call it. It was the reason I’d pushed him to have a drink with me. And I thought he felt it, too. But the silence from the other side of the table was telling.

  And humiliating.

  I didn’t need a mirror to tell me my face was flaming redder than ever before. I dug through my purse for a crumpled bill to pay for our drinks. I couldn’t wait with this audience and my embarrassment to pay with a card.

  “Sure.”

  RUTHLESS (True Brothers #1) is available now. Get your copy here.

  And look for Fast: A Pregnant by the Bad Boy Romance (Burns Brothers #2) Summer 2019