Manhandling

by Karen Anders

  “All done,” she said, her voice way too soft. She heard Sherry calling her name. She would get impatient if Laurel didn’t answer. Impatient enough to come back here and catch her with this wildly interesting man. Suddenly, he stood up, his hip hitting her leg. He cupped her face. His eyes traveled over her. He caressed the skin of her cheek.

  “I asked you a question,” he said, his voice rough.

  “You look exactly like the kind of guy I want to hang out with.”

  “What kind is that?”

  “Dangerous.”

  “Dangerous,” he said, his dark brows cocked.

  All she could do was nod.

  “So, I make your heart beat faster?”

  “How do you know my heart is beating fast?”

  He lowered his head and kissed the spot on her neck where her pulse beat rapidly.

  The back of his hand trailed down her cheek to her throat and to the back of her neck. His thumb tilted her chin up. His mouth wavered over hers, and that sense of anticipation and aroused male enveloped her, surrounded her like a cape.

  One of her legs was between his, and the press of his muscled thigh was unintentional, yet the pressure inflamed her. Dimly she pushed back her caution. This wasn’t the time to worry about whether or not she could trust this guy. She was getting out of her comfort zone.

  It was her chance to make her move—break out of her self-imposed prison.

  He paused, as if he had his own doubts about kissing her. She acted. In that very moment, she was the one who brought her lips against his. She needed that kiss or she couldn’t have taken another breath.

  Beguiled by the scent, by the sudden heat flaring between them and the overwhelming temptation, she jumped into the unknown.

  His mouth was soft and oh so tantalizing. She didn’t think she could ever get enough.

  The heat of his mouth seared every other kiss she’d ever received out of her thoughts and permanently out of her memory.

  There was a wealth of passion in this man, and it reached out and engulfed her as easily as the unrelenting crush of a tidal wave against the shore.

  He deepened the kiss, his sensuous lips flexing over hers in an urgent fierceness that left her breathless. She felt him spread those heavily muscled thighs to give him better balance, jerking her hips against him by sliding his big hands over her buttocks.

  The pulsing heat from his groin reached out to her even through the heavy denim of his jeans and made her groan into his soft lips.

  Mac pulled away from her, turning his head, cursing. She couldn’t gather her thoughts.

  “Laurel,” he said his voice uneven, his breathing rapid, “your friend is calling you and she’s right outside the door.”

  “Who?” The profile of his jaw was so strong and it was torturous being this close to his face. Why didn’t he kiss her again?

  He laughed shakily. “Your friend.”

  He turned back to her, and the heat in the bathroom seemed to go up ten degrees. “My friend…?” she said, getting lost in the crystalline blue of his eyes.

  “The woman you came here with. She’s probably finished buying a bike,” he speculated, patiently explaining.

  “Right, my friend. She’s calling me,” she said, trying desperately to focus.

  “Now, Laurel.” He stared at her and she felt her insides melting. “You have to let go of my neck,” he said, amusement lighting his features.

  She quickly realized that she still had her arms entwined around him. “Oh. Sorry,” she apologized as he separated his body from hers and reasoning returned to her numb mind with a jolt. She could hear the footsteps outside the bathroom.

  He moved away from her, and she felt bereft, alone. All she could think about was that toe-curling kiss. She brought her hand to her mouth, touching her tingling lips with the tips of her fingers.

  “You go ahead. I’ll wait until you’re gone. She won’t know we were in here together.”

  She knew she should go, but she felt rooted to the spot. She reached into her bag and pulled out a business card. Hastily she wrote down her home telephone number. “Call me,” she said before she grabbed her bag and made her way past him.

  MAC LOOKED DOWN at the piece of paper in his hand and couldn’t believe that he had Laurel’s number and that in the last five minutes she’d kissed him full on the mouth as if he was the most sexy guy in the world.

  “Looks like you got yourself a number,” Tyler said, standing in the bathroom doorway, his shoulder against the jamb and a self-satisfied smile on his face.

  “What did you do?”

  “Just a little misdirection.”

  “You told her I was a bad-boy biker?”

  “Sure did.”

  Mac couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “But that was deceitful.”

  “Excuse me, bro, you were the one eating your heart out over this woman. So she thinks you’re not exactly who you are. Play it up. By the time she finds out who you really are, she’ll be hooked.”

  “I don’t know exactly how to be a bad boy.”

  “It’s easy. Come on,” Tyler said as he moved away from the door. Mac followed him out to the front of the dealership. Tyler walked directly to the clothing racks.

  “Take these riding leathers.”

  “What are these for?”

  “To protect your legs when you’re riding, Einstein. It helps if you wear tight jeans underneath. Outlines the package.”

  Mac laughed.

  “Don’t laugh. If you think women don’t check us out like we check them out, you’re crazy. She was all goggle-eyed over your ass in those tight jeans.”

  “No way?”

  “Way.”

  “Tight T-shirt in some silky material is good. Shows the pecs and biceps and the material is soft to the touch. Women like that.” He handed Mac a slinky black T-shirt. “Also, the must have if you’re going to show that you’re a bad-boy biker—the leather jacket, preferably with lots of buckles and chains. Women think that’s cool, too.”

  He threw the jacket over Mac’s arm. Then he walked over to the footwear. “You’ll need work boots in black, cowboy boots in black, and a pair of biker boots with lots of buckles again. Women are into the hardware.”

  Mac looked down at his groin and back up at his brother. “The hardware?”

  Tyler grinned and said, “Yup.” He slapped Mac on the shoulder and said, “Get yourself a few pairs of black jeans, black pants and some more T-shirts. White goes over good.”

  “You’re suggesting that I use this quiz she took and seduce her like it’s a strategic plan.”

  Tyler’s forearm swung around his brother’s neck into a playful headlock. “You’re telling me you haven’t thought of that? Why did you keep the test?”

  Mac extradited himself and turned to look at his brother. He knew it was true, but the guilt inside him tightened. “It doesn’t seem like a good way to start a relationship.”

  “Who cares? You’re not supposed to be thinking like Theodore Macallister Tolliver the third. You’re supposed to be thinking like Mac Hayes, rule breaker, heart breaker and all around tough guy.”

  “Right.” Although she’d pulled him down to her succulent mouth, he deepened the kiss.

  “Wouldn’t hurt to get some tattoos.”

  “Tattoos? Someone repeatedly sticking a needle in me, no thanks.”

  “Chicks dig it.”

  “I’m not interested in chicks. I’m interested in Laurel.”

  “Look Mac, I’m just trying to help. I’ve never seen you so torn up about a woman. You have a lot to offer. I’d say screw her if she can’t see you for who you are, but going after what you want takes guts and sacrifice. Question is: Do you want to tell her who you really are and run the risk of having no chance at all?”

  The question lingered in the air between them. Mac’s mind went back to that kiss, the anticipation of it. The feel of Laurel’s hot, soft mouth, the way she molded her body to his was pure heaven. The
texture of her creamy skin had been so silky beneath his fingertips. The full, lush promise of those firm breasts pressed against his chest. But more importantly, Mac couldn’t forget the way she had looked at him right before she’d kissed him with everything she had. Those eyes held such life, such heart. They sparkled with fire and need. He couldn’t ignore the way his whole being was clamoring for just another taste of her. There was something inherently special in this woman and he wanted her. “No. I don’t want to risk that.”

  “Good. Now the bike. She’s real interested in the Ducati Monster six-twenty.”

  “That’s a tight bike. What color?”

  “Red.”

  “Let’s not be too conspicuous. I’ll take the silver and black.”

  “Ducati it is. I have one that’s just come in for a customer who cancelled. It’s yours.”

  “You really think I need tattoos?”

  “Look, I know this woman who does henna tattoos. They’re not permanent, but last about three weeks. I don’t think you’d want to or could keep up a deception longer than that.”

  “No needles?”

  “No needles.”

  Mac followed his brother into the back of the dealership and stood by while he pulled the cover off the bike. He still felt that lying to Laurel was wrong, but he wouldn’t lose his chance to be with her. After that intense kiss, he was sure there was something there. The masquerade would only be for a short time. He thought he could pull it off.

  “This baby will get her juices flowing. A cool helmet and she won’t be able to resist you, little bro.”

  “Let’s hope so.”

  “One more thing. I told her you had a wild streak, impulse control problems and were a chick magnet.”

  Mac just stared at his brother.

  “What?”

  Mac took off his baseball cap and ran his hand through his hair. He closed his eyes. “Great. Just great.”

  BACK IN HIS LOFT, he was beginning to have second thoughts about the whole thing. Tyler’s heart was in the right place; he knew his brother was only doing what he thought Mac wanted. The other side of the coin was that Mac wasn’t so keen on trying to be someone he wasn’t. He liked who he was, how he treated other people. He couldn’t imagine being such a jerk. It went against the grain. He wasn’t sure how good he was at pretending or if his own strong personality would still show through whatever act he tried to put on.

  The biggest problem with his conscience was that this wasn’t fair to Laurel. Sure, she’d get her fantasy man, because he’d try to be everything she wanted. Or thought she wanted. But reality always tended to be much different from fantasy and although he wasn’t any prince, he certainly wasn’t a knave, either.

  After showering and getting a bite of lunch, he sat down at his computer and turned it on. Once the computer had booted, he dialed into the Internet and searched on the keywords “bad boy.” After a moment of searching, the Web sites popped up.

  Man-to-Man.com was one of the choices and Mac clicked on the link. It brought him to an article written by Ladies’ Man. The article’s title read, How to Use the Techniques of a Bad Boy to Snag Women.

  He started reading. Most men don’t really understand what it means to be a “bad boy.” They believe that bad implies treating women in a derogatory way. But a bad boy is basically a guy who doesn’t bend to a woman’s will or meets her expectations—this is what arouses her interest and earns a man the bad-boy label. In essence, being bad is good.

  The main difference between a typical guy and a bad boy? The bad boy places his needs before hers.

  Just as he figured. Bad boys were selfish. He guessed he could take a bit of the author’s advice. Mac really didn’t have a clue about how to do this and he was in too far now to turn back. He printed out the article, poured himself a glass of juice and sat down to educate himself.

  3

  When it comes to sex, the moves that make you crazy are:

  a. bold and adventuresome

  b. suave and romantic

  c. sweet and slow

  d. hard and rough

  —Excerpt from Who’s Your Hottie? quiz,

  SPICE magazine

  LAUREL WENT STRAIGHT HOME after she left Sherry at the dealership. She had enough time to indulge herself in her closely-guarded secret. It only took her moments to change into a white tank top and coveralls, along with a navy-blue sweatshirt to keep away the chill. After making herself a sandwich to eat on the way, she jumped into her SUV and drove out of the city.

  Her whole body hummed and not only because she was getting away for a little guilty pleasure. It was Mac. The thought of those hot blue eyes, the way his mouth had moved over hers, the hard planes of his body which she wanted to explore. Her heart picked up its beat, making her feel like a teenager with a crush on the school bad boy. That was how he made her feel—young and vibrantly alive. And anxious to see him again. She hoped she didn’t have to wait too long.

  He looked like he knew his way around a bedroom and Laurel, although cautious about sex, wasn’t a prude by any stretch of the imagination. It would be wonderful to throw off caution and have a purely physical and wild affair with a leather-clad biker. Imagining him decked out in leather and knee-high biker boots made her nipples tighten and her whole body clutch with excitement.

  Forty minutes later she was in Cranberry—a quaint little town with a diner and a hardware store where checkers were played outside on warm, sunny days. She drove through the streets, feeling glad to be a part of this town, glad to get waves from the townspeople who knew her.

  It was her secret life.

  A life that no one, not even Haley and Margo or her friends and family knew about. This place was just for her.

  She pulled up to a white clapboard house. It was small and run-down, but Laurel would get to that eventually. It was the detached garage, which she’d just finished renovating, that she headed for the moment she jumped out of her vehicle. She inserted her key into the padlock and opened the double-wide doors to let in the spring sunshine. The smell of wood, paint, and metal hit her the minute she turned toward the interior.

  For some people, it was swimming, hitting the water, feeling their muscles contract and release, the quiet and the solitude. For others it was machines, racing around a track, adrenaline kick to the stomach, a punch of excitement and a roaring crowd.

  For Laurel it was wood, the smell of it, the smooth grain against her hands, the satisfaction of a job completed, the moment when rough-hewn pieces became something she’d created.

  Her modern shop had all the “toys” that she needed to do her creating, a shop that even the most advanced craftsmen would covet. She had built an L-shaped workbench with cabinets and a board to hold all her necessary tools. Tools that had been accumulated with as much pleasure as searching for that perfect dress or those perfect heels. She had measuring tools, hammers, screwdrivers, saws, drills, clamps, tools to sand with and safety equipment to protect herself with.

  She smiled as she stepped inside and the leftover sawdust scraped along her work boots. She should have swept that up, but she’d been in too much of a hurry the last time. She’d had dinner plans with her family in the city and she didn’t want to be late and have to explain to them why. She hated lies.

  Secrets were something else. They had to be protected at all costs. It wouldn’t do for her father to find out that she’d bought this house in Cranberry. That she’d spent a good portion of the trust her mother had set up for her. Using the money Mom had left her gave her great satisfaction. Her mother had wanted her to do something special with it. She had been adamant before she died that Laurel must find a good use for it. Don’t leave it to multiply and multiply. After all, you can’t take it with you. She’d taken those words to heart.

  Her father wouldn’t find anything worthwhile about her passion for eclectic furniture or carpentry. Inside her workshop, she walked around and checked to make sure that all was in order. She inspected the half-done f
rame for the chair that would eventually look just like a pair of lips. She had yet to buy the red fabric, but it would make a nice addition to her bedroom.

  She pulled off her sweatshirt, already heated by the glorious sunshine streaming in through the four skylights she’d installed on the roof. Ready to get down to business, her attention was drawn outside when she heard the scraping of metal cans and an uttered oath.

  She left her workshop and spied Mr. Hayes picking up his metal can from the curb. She walked over to him. “Mr. Hayes, how’s it going?”

  Jeffrey Hayes was her next-door neighbor. He was retired and enjoyed living the quiet life in Cranberry. Mr. Hayes liked to grow things and can them. He sold his produce at the farmers’ market and his canned peaches were to die for.

  “Just fine, Miss Malone. And you?”

  “Good.”

  “I can see that. It’s always good when you get a chance to get something done in your workshop, brings a sparkle to your eyes.” He stared at her for a moment. “Hmmm, seems there’s a bit more color on your face today. What could have put that there, I wonder?”

  She smiled wider, knowing that it was Mac. Odd. Mac Hayes. Mr. Hayes. “I’ve sort of met a guy.”

  “Oh, I see. That’ll do it.”

  “Yes, he’s an exciting guy,” she added, reaching down and picking up the cover to the garbage can.

  “One of those fast city boys.”

  “He rides a motorcycle, wears leather.”

  “Make sure you wear a helmet.”

  “I will,” she promised and followed him up his driveway. Mr. Hayes continued, climbing up the creaky stairs to his house.

  “Speaking of danger, those stairs look like they’re in need of repair. I’ll fix ’em for you,” Laurel offered.

  “But, you have furniture you want to build. There’s no need, I’ll call a carpenter.”