Gotta Have It

by Lori Wilde

  The Ducati was a sexy machine. Fast and strong. She’d never been on the back of a motorcycle, had no idea it felt so impossibly licentious.

  By holding herself back, she’d missed out on so much. How had she gone for so long denying her needs, doing what everyone expected of her, never questioning the status quo? She was a little old for teenage rebellion, but that’s what she was doing.

  And loving every minute of her newfound sense of adventure.

  They left the main drag and turned off on a side street and Abby realized she had no idea where they were headed.

  Headlights came up behind them, following too close. The glare was distracting.

  “I wish this guy would get off my tail. Hang on. I’m going to try and outdistance him,” Durango shouted over the engine noise.

  He sped up.

  The scenery, from what she could see of it, whizzed by distractingly fast. The increased speed alarmed her. Abby clung to him and tried to tamp down images of being thrown from the bike.

  The car sped up, too, and that’s when Abby started to get scared.

  “What’s with this jackass?” Durango threw out the rhetorical question. “I’m going to make a sharp right turn.”

  She couldn’t see where they were going. Abby prayed that Durango could. When he whipped the bike to the right, it looked as if they were plunging straight down the canyon.

  But there was a road, albeit an incredibly narrow dirt lane barely wide enough for a full-sized vehicle.

  And damn if the car didn’t make the turn right along with them.

  Coincidence? Or were they being followed?

  Durango kicked the speed higher. He zigged and zagged, weaving over the road. Uneasiness knifed through Abby and she hugged on for dear life.

  The darkness thickened the farther they traveled away from town. The Ducati’s headlight cut a thin swath of illumination through the midnight black. The mesas loomed like eerie stone monsters, rising up in the very near distance.

  They hit a low spot in the road and the motorcycle shimmied.

  Abby gasped.

  The car behind kept on coming.

  Her pulse thudded, surging blood through her neck, her fingers, even her toes—encased inside those killer stiletto boots—pounded.

  Her entire body rattled with adrenaline.

  The car revved and edged to their left.

  “I think the dude is trying to pass,” Abby yelled to Durango.

  “Or run us off the road,” he replied with a grim expression.

  “But why?”

  “Drunk, crazy, who knows.”

  “Try slowing down, please,” she begged.

  The strange exhilarating bouncing inside her confused Abby. She was elated by the adrenaline rush, but also she was terrified they would crash and she would end up flying over the handlebars or Durango would crack his skull wide open.

  She could see the shocking headlines. Gubernatorial Candidate’s Pantyless Daughter Injured In Freak Motorcycle Accident.

  Daddy would kill her.

  “Stop, please,” she urged him again, the fear of humiliation outweighing her thirst for adventure.

  Durango hesitated and a weird little voice in Abby’s head whispered, He wants to cause a scandal. Why else would he make you take your panties off and then finger you to orgasm in the club?

  But then she realized how ridiculous that sounded. She dug her fingers into his ribs, letting him know just how scared she was. He’d told her anytime she said the word he would pull the plug on their adventures.

  Finally he eased off the throttle.

  But it was too late. Neither of them saw whatever had suddenly jumped out into the middle of the darkened road. Swerving, they did see the large rock looming before them.

  The front tire hit hard.

  Durango fought for control and lost. The motorcycle spun away, tossing them onto the dirt. Abby bounced on her butt. She heard the heel of her stiletto boot snap off. Her right arm scraped a rock. Instantly her elbow burned, but luckily the afteraffects of the schnapps dulled the pain.

  Durango cursed fiercely.

  The car shot around them.

  Abby turned her head to see what kind of daredevil lunatic had been snapping at their bumper.

  It was the white Monte Carlo from the Conga Club.

  Durango was on his feet and calling frantically. “Abby, Abby, are you all right?”

  “Fine. I’m fine.”

  He pulled her to a standing position and that’s when she realized he was breathing as hard as she was. He’d been damned scared, too, whether he was willing to admit it or not.

  They stared at the taillights disappearing off into the distance.

  “That was Jackson’s Van Halen T-shirt wearing paparazzi jerk.” Abby exhaled.

  “Obviously, Jackson Dauber is not the one he’s following.”

  “The paparazzi has been tracking us? But why?”

  “Not us, Angel. You.”

  “Me?” Abby splayed a hand across her chest. “Why would anyone be following me?”

  “Your father is running for governor,” Durango pointed out. “You’re a good-girl socialite, I’m a bad-boy black sheep. Quite the sexy scandal. It would make for great gossip fodder.”

  “But why did the guy try to run us off the road?”

  “Maybe he didn’t. Maybe he just didn’t want us to get away because he couldn’t see well without any streetlamps. After accidentally causing us to run off the road, he panics and splits. Paparazzi are known for their brazenness, not their brains.”

  “That’s assuming he is paparazzi.”

  “What else would he be?”

  “Maybe he’s someone my father hired to scare me away from you.”

  Durango stared at her. He knew Judge Archer was not above doing whatever it took to protect his only child, but to have his daughter shadowed? That was pretty low. “You think?”

  “He’s afraid I’m going to do something to damage his credibility. The way Cassandra did. When she left him for that garbage artist twice his age, it created a lot of ripples in Silverton Heights. He was still a lawyer back then and he lost several influential clients.”

  “See that’s exactly the kind of thing I hate about Silverton Heights. The judgmental hypocrisy is stunningly cruel.”

  “You’re right,” she said, and her agreement caught him off guard. “And I’m really just beginning to see your side of things. You were the community scapegoat and I chose to go along with the crowd instead of believing in you. I’m sorry, Durango. I really am.”

  Her apology went a long way in repairing the old hurt. He shrugged nonchalantly as if it had never bothered him, but the guilt was back, needling him for his underhanded motives in pursuing a seduction with her.

  “Don’t worry about it. That was a long time ago.”

  “Yes, and this apology is long overdue.”

  “There’s no need to apologize to me.” He reached out to touch her elbow.

  “Ouch!” She drew back from his touch and his hand came away sticky with her blood.

  “You’re hurt,” he said, his heart in his throat. All his lusty plans for the rest of the evening came to an immediate halt.

  “I just skinned my elbow,” she said, not looking him in the eye. “My heel broke off too.”

  She sounded so forlorn he yearned to scoop her into his arms and just squeeze her tight. But she held herself aloof as if she wanted him to keep his distance. Durango decided to focus on checking out the Ducati.

  The bike was okay. He righted it, swung his leg over the seat and glanced back at Abby. “You up to riding?”

  She hobbled over and he helped her get on.

  “I live just over the next rise,” he said. “I could take you home with me, doctor those wounds.”

  He knew taking her to his house was ripe with temptation, but her elbow did need attention and he didn’t want to take her back to her hotel just yet.

  “I see a theme forming here. I get
hurt on our adventures, you patch me up.”

  “That’s the thing about adventures, Angel, you do get hurt occasionally.”

  She smiled at him then and his soul warmed. “At least I have you to kiss away my aches and make them all better.”

  They went to his place and Durango parked the Ducati under the carport. He helped Abby up the front walk and into the house.

  She looked around, taking it in. He suddenly saw the place from her point of view. It was totally masculine. Decorated in a rugged, outdoorsy theme, but overall he was a tidy guy.

  He might toss his work gear on the table, kick off his boots by the door, but he made sure the dishes were washed and the floor was swept. He also made his bed every morning and kept the bathtub scrubbed just in case he had female visitors.

  After his mom had died, Durango was the one who took care of cooking and cleaning. Until his father had married Meredith and she hired a housekeeper.

  He watched Abby checking out his bulletin board where he pinned messages, notes and his work schedule. He had also tacked up a picture of himself and the group of six teens he’d taken rock climbing last summer as part of the Outward-Bound program where he volunteered.

  Call it ego, but he had also posted the article his friend Eric Provost had written about him in Arizona magazine last winter. Eric was another disillusioned alumni of the school of Judge Archer.

  In fact, that’s where he and Eric had met. In jail. Durango for vandalizing his stepmother’s warehouse, Eric for shoplifting diabetic test strips for his grandmother who couldn’t afford to buy medical supplies.

  Eric had even mentioned Durango’s short stint in jail in the article and commented on the injustice perpetrated by Judge Archer against him. Eric was making a point, illustrating how Durango had rehabilitated himself and was now helping disaffected youngsters who found themselves on a similarly treacherous path.

  “Have a seat,” Durango told Abby. “I’ll go get some equipment to fix up your arm.”

  She was making him nervous, checking out his private stuff. It wasn’t that he had anything to hide, but he was uncomfortable letting her know too much about himself. He wanted her to trust him, but he wasn’t really ready to trust her.

  Not yet.

  “There’s soda and beer in the fridge,” he called over his shoulder and ducked into the bathroom for antiseptic and bandages.

  He came back out and immediately dropped the hydrogen peroxide. It bounced twice and rolled under the table. His jaw hit the floor.

  Abby was standing buck naked in the middle of his kitchen.

  “Wh…what,” he croaked, “are you doing?”

  “I don’t care about my stupid elbow,” she said. “I want you to make love to me. Right now.”

  Well, hell, this was a wild turn of events. Durango wanted to make love to her more than anything in the world, but he also wanted to be in control of when and where it happened.

  His eyes toggled from her face to her amazing body.

  Breasts, butt, thighs.

  He longed to eat her up. He had to close his eyes to keep from caving in.

  “Abby.” He swallowed. “Please put your clothes back on.”

  “Don’t you want me, Durango?”

  He opened one eye. She looked completely guileless and hurt.

  “Angel, I want you so much my teeth hurt. But you’re skinned up, under the influence of Goldschläger and I’ve got another early-morning adventure planned for us. Besides, I think you’re doing this for the wrong reason.”

  “Lusting after your hot bod is the wrong reason?” She boldly walked across the kitchen and fingered the zipper on his leather vest. “I want to feel you inside of me, Durango. I want you now.”

  “No, what you want is to strike back at your father for sending that guy to spy on you.” He had to clench his fists at his sides to keep from dragging her off to his bedroom.

  From the look on her face, he could tell he’d hit the nail on the head, but she’d been well schooled in cloaking her emotions. Quickly she rearranged her features.

  He had to get her covered up, and not in that sexy leather outfit, before all his resistance crumbled and he made love to her.

  Dashing into his bedroom, he jerked open the drawers, found a T-shirt and sweatpants.

  “Here,” he said, hurrying back to the kitchen to give her the clothes. “Put these on and then we’ll take care of that elbow.”

  She tugged the T-shirt down over her head and slipped on the sweatpants. Even though they were way too big on her they’d do the job. She looked like a kid playing dress-up.

  He led her to a chair, sat her down and turned his attention to her skinned arm. He cleaned and dressed the wound.

  “Thank you,” she told him.

  Durango let out his breath, and it was only then that he realized he’d been holding it the entire time he’d been treating her elbow.

  “It’s after midnight,” he said, “time to get you back to the Tranquility Spa.”

  “Can I stay here for the night?” Abby asked. “I don’t want to be alone. Besides, Tess might bring Jackson back to the room.”

  “They looked like they were spoiling for a fight to me. I’m betting they don’t consummate their relationship.”

  “All the more reason for me to stay. Tess will be in a foul mood if Jackson doesn’t put out. The woman wants what she wants when she wants it.”

  “I don’t have a guest room and the couch is hellaciously uncomfortable,” Durango said, grasping at straws.

  “I could share your bed,” she suggested. “And I promise no hanky-panky. I remember your no-bed sex rule.”

  Okay, maybe she could keep her promises and remember the rules, but could he?

  9

  FALLING ASLEEP next to Durango was much more difficult than Abby imagined it would be. There was something intimate and sort of permanent about sharing a bed together. Especially when you weren’t having sex in said bed and the man you’d been having red-hot sex fantasies about for years and years was snuggled up right next to you.

  She closed her eyes, but she could still hear his steady breathing. His rhythm was so relaxing, she soon found herself synchronized with him, their chests rising and falling in tandem. Two as one.

  Stop it. Knock off thinking like this. The deal you have going with Durango isn’t about romance but sex. Remember that. Sex.

  She drifted. Her body felt detached from her head. Her legs were leaden weights, affixed to the mattress, but her mind floated free, racing with a thousand dangerous thoughts.

  Durango was spooned into the curve of her body, his front pressed against her back. He had settled in that position once he’d fallen asleep. Abby wished he would move, but she wasn’t about to wake him up to ask him to shuffle over.

  To distract herself, she thought about the man in the Monte Carlo. Had her father really hired him to spy on her and report back about her activities? He’d done it before. When she was in college and he was afraid she was dating someone he didn’t approve of. Her father had also hired private investigators to check on Cassandra over the years, whenever she changed jobs or men, before he would allow Abby to visit her.

  The private eyes had never turned up anything more damning than the fact Cassandra was living her life with zeal, not giving a fig what anyone thought of her. Abby used to think Cassandra was hedonistic, irresponsible and lacked self-control.

  But now she saw that she’d simply adopted her father’s opinion. She was finally beginning to appreciate her mother. Cassandra was romantic, exciting and fun. She valued different things than most people in Silverton Heights. That didn’t make her bad. Just different.

  Abby realized she wanted to be different, too. She’d started down that path the minute she’d asked Durango to teach her how to find her heart’s passion.

  She was loving his lessons and she had no intention of stopping, scandals be damned. Let the gossip rags write about her. Let her father find out she was indeed her mother’
s daughter. She was going to shake Silverton Heights to the core. She didn’t know what Durango had in store for her, but she was determined to plunge into it with all the fervor she could muster.

  Durango was an extraordinary man who was breathing new life into her lonely body. He had awakened her slumbering soul.

  And now, it was payback time.

  DURANGO AWOKE Abby before dawn with a kiss on the cheek and a mug of hot chocolate.

  She came awake slowly, yawning and stretching so sexily he had to force himself not to crawl into the bed beside her.

  Today promised to be magic. He was yanking off the brakes, determined to show her the true meaning of letting go.

  And passion.

  He dropped her off at the Tranquility Spa so she could shower and change clothes. She came back out to the Jeep twenty minutes later dressed in shorts so teeny he knew she must have borrowed them from outrageous Tess and a little halter top that caused his groin to tighten.

  What exactly was she up to?

  It was all he could do to keep his eyes on the road as they drove to where his launch crew waited, ready to inflate the hot-air balloon on his command.

  They arrived at the site just as the sun lost its cover. “A hot-air balloon ride!” Abby squealed.

  “Do you like the idea?” Anything that could make her that happy made him instantly happy.

  “I love it.” She beamed. “Flying in a hot-air balloon has always been a secret dream of mine.”

  He leaned over and gently pinched her forearm. “You’re not dreaming, Angel. This is for real.”

  And so is the way I feel about you.

  Durango parked the Jeep and Abby hurried over to watch the ground crew set up. Not long afterward, the balloon was ready to go, complete with a picnic basket one of his crew members had picked up for him.

  He helped Abby into the woven wicker basket. The glow on her face set his heart knocking. He loved that he’d brought a smile to her face.

  Above their heads, a pilot light kept the huge flame burning that heated the air inside the envelope.

  When they were ready, Durango gave the signal and his crew removed the tether lines. Gently the balloon began to ascend.

  Airborne, they floated on the wind.