Passionate Kisses

by Various

  “Sure!” Maggie looked delighted with this possibility.

  “Maggie, come on.” Liz urged her off the bike. Maggie did climb down, but only because she’d already spotted another one she liked. “This one’s not for us,” Liz told Mike.

  She followed Maggie to a shiny red and chrome bike with a seat so low she didn’t need help getting on. “How do I look?” she asked, leaning way forward to reach the handlebars.

  You look like a happy little elf riding a stallion. Liz snapped the picture and gave a thumbs-up. Her thumb was a better liar than she was.

  “Stylin’,” Mike said with a nod.

  “Maggie, you can’t buy a bike today,” Liz said. Then she came up with a stroke of brilliance. “You should take lessons before you buy. Make sure you know what you’re doing. Ryan could probably—”

  “We have a New Rider course you could sign up for,” Mike said. “A new session starts up in a couple of weeks. Should I sign you up? You ride one of our bikes while you get the feel for things; then you can make your final purchase at the end.”

  Surprised, Liz stared at Mike. They actually have classes for that?

  “No need,” Maggie said. “I already know how to ride. I took out my grandson’s bike, and it was easy-peasy. Is this one going to shake me up or give me a good vibration?” Maggie winked.

  Mike chuckled. “This one will give you a smooth, comfortable ride.”

  “I need to use the ladies’ room,” Liz announced. She pivoted toward the restrooms, took a few steps, and turned back to Maggie. “Don’t buy anything without me.”

  “I won’t. There are still more bikes to try!” Maggie handed her cell to the salesman. “Here, take my picture.” She raised her hand in a salute and smiled for the camera.

  Liz speedwalked to the ladies’ room.

  It was time to regroup. She had a little time while Maggie tried all the bikes, but then she’d whip out that check, and it would all be over. She stood by the sink and dialed Ryan’s number.

  “O’Hare,” he said by way of a hello.

  “Ryan, it’s Liz. Your grandmother asked me to take her shopping, and I didn’t know she meant the Harley dealer, but here we are—”

  “What’s the address?”

  “You don’t need to come here. I just wanted some advice on talking her out of it.”

  “Tell me the address,” he demanded.

  Her nerves jangled at his tone, but she told him. What if I lose my job after just one day?

  “I’ll be there as soon as I can. Do not let her hand over any money.” He hung up.

  She looked at herself in the mirror. She was flushed, and a piece of hair had come out of place from her usual smooth, straight, shoulder-length cut. She soaked a paper towel and applied it to her neck. Then she pulled a brush from her purse and quickly brushed her hair back into place.

  When she came out, Maggie was sitting on top of a trike. “What do you think?”

  “Well…” Liz searched for the right words. The bike was a huge three-wheeler, and Maggie looked like a little kid on top of it. “It seems stable,” she finally said.

  “That’s what I was telling her,” Mike said.

  “It’s not as cool, is it?” Maggie asked, adjusting her pink scarf.

  “Trikes are big with the boomers,” Mike said. “If you take a fast turn, you won’t skid out.”

  Liz’s eyes widened with alarm. Maggie could get seriously hurt if she fell off a bike. “You’d still be riding a motorcycle,” Liz pointed out. “A trike seems safer. Not as safe as a car—”

  “I don’t want to settle,” Maggie said, carefully peeling herself off the trike. “You got anything in pink?”

  “Nothing in the shop,” Mike said. “We’d have to custom order it, but we have some jackets and helmets with pink.”

  “Let’s see ’em,” Maggie said.

  Mike brought them to the far corner of the showroom to the apparel section, where Maggie ignored the windbreakers with pink stripes in favor of black leather jackets with pink satin lining. She happily tried one on and admired her look in the mirror. The jacket looked like a huge leather nightgown over her shorts and skinny legs.

  Liz stifled a laugh. “Try another one, maybe a smaller size.” Hopefully she could keep Maggie occupied trying on jackets until Ryan got there.

  Maggie took her time, with Liz’s encouragement, searching for the perfect biker chick look. So far, she’d decided on a black helmet with the pink Harley-Davidson logo that didn’t mess up her hair too badly, a soft black leather jacket with pink satin lining and just the right amount of pockets, and black leather gloves with pink logo and stitching.

  Liz checked her phone to see if she had any messages from Daisy. With an almost eerie sixth sense, she looked up just as Ryan yanked open the showroom door, striding with purpose right for her. Her throat went dry at the thunderous look on his face, but before she could squeak out a word, Maggie emerged from behind a rack of clothing with a pair of leather chaps over her shorts.

  Liz bit her lip to keep the hysterical laugh bubbling up inside her from bursting out.

  Maggie hadn’t yet noticed Ryan. “I think these might work better with jeans, don’t you?” she asked Liz. “Maybe with a little butt padding. I swear I used to have a booty.” She patted her butt. “Now it’s flat as a pancake.” She caught Liz’s jerk of the head and turned around to see Ryan standing there, arms crossed. “Oh, hi, Ryan. What are you doing here?”

  ~ ~ ~

  Ryan couldn’t believe his eyes. Gran wearing leather chaps in a Harley shop, talking about her ass. It was a living nightmare.

  “What am I doing here?” he asked Gran. Before he could read her the riot act on safety, Liz stepped in front of him. Her pink shirt was buttoned all the way to the top and tucked into ironed white pants. Her hair was straight and perfect. He had the strangest urge to muss her up.

  He looked over the top of her head. Gran had gone behind the rack of clothes to remove the chaps.

  “I was helping her pick out the perfect outfit,” Liz said.

  He blinked. She said she was going to help Gran make good choices, and they’re shopping for a Harley. And why is she talking about outfits?

  “Is that supposed to be helpful?” he asked in a low, controlled voice.

  She lifted her palms. “It’s not a motorcycle.”

  He leaned in close and caught a scent of vanilla. “Why did you agree to drive her here? You’re supposed to be looking out for her.”

  Liz flushed red. “I didn’t know that’s what we were doing at first, and then I was just so busy trying to figure out how to talk her out of it that I—”

  He held up a hand. “You have to take charge with her. Watch and learn.”

  Liz crossed her arms and watched.

  He gestured to Gran to come over. She did.

  “Isn’t this place great?” Gran asked.

  He exhaled sharply. “Gran, a bike is out of the question. They’re dangerous. One crash and you could be in a wheelchair for life.”

  Gran gave him a pointed look that could have meant Back off or just You’re an idiot. Either way, she headed to the checkout to pay for a jacket and helmet that sat on the counter. He considered that a victory.

  He raised his eyebrows at Liz. See, that’s how you handle her.

  Liz met his eyes and quickly looked away, picking a piece of lint off her shirt. He glanced over at the register and almost told Gran to put the helmet back—she’d never be using it—but Liz had a point that at least it wasn’t a motorcycle, and he could always use an extra helmet. A few minutes later, Gran walked past him, nose in the air, and headed toward the exit. Good. She could be pissed off as long as she was safe.

  Liz followed, hips swaying as she booked it out of there. Barely there panty lines. Probably silk. He was starting to appreciate the white, ironed pants.

  The salesman caught up with Gran. Liz was already out the door.

  “Mike, thanks for your help today,” Gr
an said. “I’ll be in touch.”

  “No problem.” Mike pulled a business card from his pocket. Ryan shook his head, and Mike slid the card back in.

  When they got outside, Liz stood by her car, a practical white Honda Civic, but Gran kept walking in the other direction. What the hell? Is she confused? He was about to call Gran back when he realized where she was going. The Ducati dealer—another motorcycle shop—two doors down.

  “Wait!” Ryan caught up to her and blocked the path with his body. “I said it was too dangerous.”

  Liz appeared at Gran’s side, flushed and slightly out of breath from running. He had a brief vision of Liz flushed and panting for a very different reason. Don’t go there. He focused back on Gran.

  “I want to feel the wind in my hair when I’m on the road,” Gran was saying. “It’s exhilarating.” She shook her head, and the short tufts of white hair barely moved.

  “Then open the windows,” he said.

  She narrowed her eyes. “Move out of the way.”

  He didn’t budge. “Gran, no motorcycle.”

  “Young man, you are not the boss of me.”

  Thirty-four years old and I’m still young man.

  “Someone has to look out for you,” he said through clenched teeth.

  Liz looked back and forth between them like she was watching an intense tennis match.

  “I look out for me!” Gran said, lifting her chin.

  “It’s not safe,” he said in an even tone, reaching for calm.

  She jabbed him in the chest. “It’s safe enough for you!”

  “I’m not your age!”

  “So I’m supposed to just sit in a plastic bubble until I die?”

  “No,” he said quietly. He didn’t like to hear her talk about death. She’d been there for him and his brothers when no one else had. Nothing could happen to her. “Gran, come on. Let’s just go home.”

  Gran crossed her arms mulishly.

  Liz piped up. “What about that?”

  They both turned to see where Liz was pointing. Across the street, the Ford dealer had a shiny red Mustang convertible displayed on a second-floor pedestal. “You could feel the wind in your hair even better with a convertible. No helmet.”

  “Brilliant!” Gran proclaimed. “I’ve never had a convertible. Let’s go.” She headed back toward Liz’s car.

  Amazing. Ryan looked at Liz. “Thank you,” he mouthed.

  She blushed.

  He slowed his walk and let Gran pull ahead of them. “You’re good with her.”

  She grinned cheekily. “Watch and learn.”

  He cracked a smile. She’s messing with me. “Okay. So you’re better with reasoning with her. I would have said no in the first place.”

  Liz halted, and her blue eyes flashed at him. He felt a jolt at her beauty as her expression came to life. “You don’t tell a woman like Maggie no. She’s smart and savvy and can make her own decisions.”

  He loved seeing her riled up. She had fire in her. “Sometimes people don’t know what’s good for them, Liz.” He gave her a wicked smile.

  She licked her lips nervously, and, damn, she looked like a pinup model hiding in librarian clothes. All that was missing was the glasses.

  Her hands fluttered in the air. “What makes you think you know what she needs?”

  He leaned in close, his mouth to her ear. “Some people send out that signal loud and clear.” He pulled back to make a slow appraisal from her buttoned-up shirt to the white, belted pants to… fire-engine-red toenails peeking out of sandals. Not what he’d expected. Something about those red toes turned him on. What else is she hiding under that buttoned-up exterior?

  Their gazes locked. He found himself leaning down toward her. Just one taste. Her breathing hitched. Then she surprised him. She stepped back, pursing her lips and giving him a slow once-over in return. By the time she’d finished, her cheeks were a gratifying shade of red.

  He gave her a slow smile. “Nicely done,” he said, working on riling her up again.

  She whirled away.

  “You two are slower than a senior scooter race,” Gran called from where she stood next to the car. “Time’s a wasting.”

  Gran’s voice brought him back to the business at hand—keeping Gran safe.

  Liz sped up. He kept pace with her. “Call me anytime about Gran. I’d rather know what’s going on than be surprised.”

  “Of course,” Liz replied tersely. “Though I’m sure there won’t be anything else I need to call about.” She avoided his eyes, practically radiating tension, as she headed for the car.

  Liz needed loosening up in a big way. He wouldn’t mind being the one to get her there. Nope, wouldn’t mind that at all.

  “I’ll drive over to the dealer too,” he said. “I can help with the haggling.”

  “That’s not…” Liz stopped at the driver-side door. “I mean, you don’t have to. I can help her.” She stood stiffly, looking everywhere but at him.

  “It’s fine. I can go,” he said.

  Liz gave a brief nod and unlocked the car.

  He walked around to the other side and held the door open for Gran. “You’re using the insurance money?”

  “Yup,” Gran answered as she fastened her seat belt. “That Toyota is melba toast. Bo-ring.”

  He couldn’t disagree. As he drove his own car to the Ford dealer, he decided hiring Liz was a good idea. He would’ve just kept arguing with Gran, and she would’ve fought him tooth and nail. This was easier. A win/win.

  And there was something about Liz. She wasn’t his usual type. He liked busty, flirty women, especially the newly divorced, who were in it for a good time. Liz probably wouldn’t know a good time if it bit her on the ass.

  At the dealer, Gran got into a convertible right away while the sales guy talked her ear off.

  “I need to make a call,” Liz said, taking a few steps away.

  He inclined his head. He wasn’t trying to eavesdrop, but Liz’s voice carried when she got worked up.

  “This last trimester is especially important for the baby’s development,” she said. “Did you read the book?…Okay. Call me if you need me. Bye.”

  It was the reminder he needed. Liz had a baby on the way, and he’d already put in his time raising his kid brothers after their mother died. He’d had to step up as the man of the house when his father decided he’d rather lose himself to drink than deal with his grief. Or his three sons.

  Liz was back to her cool, controlled self. She kept her distance at the dealer, avoiding his eyes, keeping Gran between them like he had something that was catching.

  He helped negotiate a fair price with the sales guy. A short while later, Gran drove off the lot in a shiny red convertible, with Liz and him trailing behind in their separate cars, eating her dust.

  Liz drove exactly the speed limit. He drove behind her for a while, puzzling over his simultaneous frustration with her uptight ways and his fascination with the idea of pushing her out of her comfort zone.

  Finally, he hit the accelerator to pass her. As he drew even with her car, he glanced over at her. She drove with both hands on the steering wheel in the nine and three o’clock positions, her expression serious, eyes glued to the road ahead of her. She made the perfect antidote to Gran’s newfound crazy.

  He had no business messing around with Liz.

  None at all.

  Off limits.

  Chapter Six

  Liz drove Maggie home after a long, leisurely drive in the convertible. It was their second day of “taking the car for a spin,” as Maggie liked to say. They’d taken winding country roads through the nearby towns dotted with horse farms and beautiful elegant homes. Today they’d stopped at a park for a picnic in a gorgeous gazebo, chatting over chicken salad sandwiches, fruit salad, and iced tea. Liz was loving her new job.

  Until she pulled into Maggie’s driveway. Her heart kicked into double-time when she saw Ryan’s car parked out front. She whipped off the baseball hat she w
ore in the convertible to keep her hair in place and pulled down the visor to check her hair.

  “Ah! Major hat head.” The hat had conspired with the heat and humidity to make her hair frizzy, and the ponytail she’d made this morning was half undone and drooping sideways.

  “You look fine,” Maggie said as she opened the door.

  Liz ignored her, grabbed the brush from her purse, and quickly redid the ponytail. She opened her car door and saw Ryan walking toward the trunk of his car in low-slung faded jeans and a black T-shirt that emphasized his broad shoulders. Yup, pure sin.

  “Hey, Gran, Liz,” he called.

  Liz lifted a hand in a small hello, not trusting her voice. She hated the way her voice came out all breathy whenever she was close to him. Hormones—plain and simple. Her brain knew better.

  “Hi, Ryan, see you inside,” Maggie said.

  “Liz, hold the door for me,” Ryan said as he began unloading the trunk.

  Given no polite way to get out of the request, Liz waited by the front door. Maggie had already disappeared inside.

  She held the door to let him pass, his woodsy, male scent washing over her. She couldn’t help but notice up close the flex of muscles as he hauled three bags of groceries inside.

  “Thanks,” he said.

  “No problem,” she breathed. Dammit.

  He headed back to the kitchen. Liz stayed put in the living room. A moment later, Maggie emerged from the kitchen with a couple of glasses of water in hand. “He does this every week,” she told Liz. She turned and pitched her voice to be heard in the kitchen. “Even though I’m perfectly capable of getting my own groceries.”

  Ryan appeared a moment later. “The bags are heavy. I don’t want her to carry a bunch of heavy bags up and down the stairs.”

  “Baloney!” Maggie said, jabbing a finger at him. “You just want to make sure I have the ingredients to cook all your favorite dishes.” Maggie turned to Liz. “His cooking sucks.”

  “Sucks?” Ryan asked. “Since when do you talk like that?” He shook his head and headed back to the kitchen.

  “You want a sandwich?” Maggie called.