by Annie Kelly
“Do you mind if I touch it?”
He shakes his head. “Go for it.”
Licking my lips, I run the tips of my fingers along the deep dip of the leather seat.
“I love motorcycles,” I say quietly. Owen doesn’t say anything at first—just moves a little closer. I can hear his breathing closer to my ear.
“Not something I would have pictured,” he says, his voice low, “you riding a motorcycle.”
I shrug. “I had one—a Victory—until my parents found out. I tried hiding it in the boathouse when I was in high school and I guess they went out there one day and realized it was mine. I never saw it after that.”
I turn to look at Owen. His arms are crossed over his broad chest and he’s grinning.
“Seems like you and I have more in common than I realized.”
I can’t help but smile back at him. “Yeah—parents with money, for sure. Love of motorcycles, too, apparently.”
We fall silent then and I lean back against the passenger door of my car. Owen drops his arms to his sides, watching my face as he inches closer.
“I didn’t see you all day. Where did you go?”
I run a hand over my hair, realizing then that I’m actually a little nervous being alone with Owen. Being this alone with Owen, anyway.
“I—um, I worked on setting up the conference room. I figured we could start with a mock-up of the room until the grants come through.”
Owen nods. “That makes sense—actually, that’ll be really good for Friday. I’ve got some guys from the city coming to check out our programs and facilities.”
“Oh. Well, good.”
I fiddle with my keys, wondering what exactly I should be doing next. The way Owen’s eyes are focused on me—well, I feel almost frozen in his gaze.
“Listen, Rainey . . .”
He starts to speak, but I hold up a hand.
“Let’s not do this again, Owen. I’m fine. We’re friends. It’s better this way.”
Owen stares at me for a long moment. I stare back.
And then our bodies collide.
It’s a crash of mouths and teeth. It’s tongues tangling and lips devouring, and our arms wrap around each other. There’s no thought. There’s nothing but this moment and the oxygen between us. Owen slides a hand from the small of my back and up into my hair.
“God, what is it about you?” he murmurs into my mouth, moving his lips along my cheek to my jaw. “I can’t stay away from you. And I don’t want to.”
I pull back then to look at him.
“Are you sure? Because today in your office . . . it sure as shit seemed like you wanted to stay away from me.”
He shakes his head, brushing a tendril of hair off my forehead with one hand.
“That’s the last thing I want. I just don’t know how we could possibly be anything public. I mean, think about it—people would talk shit and you know it. People would say you got me the job because we were hooking up—that you got Remy fired so you could bring me in. Do you really want that?”
I cock my head, considering his words.
“Honestly, most of me doesn’t give a shit,” I admit to him. “And it’s no one’s business anyway. But I see what you’re saying.”
Owen leans in to kiss me again. This time, he’s slow and deliberate in his movements. He lets his tongue graze my lips, then sweep into my mouth.
I can’t help it. I moan. Straight-up, loud-as-fuck, guttural moan of desire.
“All I can think about . . . all I’ve been dreaming about . . . is getting my hands and mouth all over you,” Owen whispers. “Today in my office—God, I just wanted to get you naked. I just want to touch you, Rainey.”
I dig my nails into his biceps and suck in a breath. He, in turn, takes advantage of my widened mouth. He presses me harder against the passenger door of my car.
“Can I ask you a question?” he breathes.
I nod, relishing in the feeling of his body against mine. He shoots me a slightly wicked smile as he looks me in the eye.
“Would it be presumptuous if I asked you if we could go somewhere?”
I lick my lips, then return his grin.
“It’s a little presumptuous.”
His face falls so quickly that I almost laugh out loud. I lean into him and press a kiss along his chiseled jaw.
“But that’s not a no,” I whisper. “Do you have an extra helmet?”
He grabs my hand and squeezes.
“For you? Anything.”
Chapter Eleven
The seats and trim of the motorcycle are rich leather, a deep grey color that is almost black. Owen straddles the seat like someone who has done that move a thousand times. He is so incredibly sexy in his confident ease. I place a hand on his shoulder, throw a leg up and over the motorcycle’s cushioned seat, and lean back a bit as my feet find purchase on chrome-plated footrests on either side.
“Ready?” he asks as I loop the helmet’s straps beneath my chin and tighten them. I give him a thumbs-up and he grins. When he revs the engine, I feel a bolt of thick, hot desire shoot through me. When we actually pull forward and out of the parking lot, I tighten my thighs around his hips and lean closer to his back. Seconds later, he shifts into a higher gear and I’m forced to lean into him completely. I relish the warmth of his hard body against my much softer parts.
We ride through the night silently, save the deep, throaty roar of the bike. The bite of the wind on my face makes me burrow deeper into Owen and I can’t help the stupid grin spreading across my face.
A few minutes later, we pull into an overlook above the south end of the Baltimore Harbor. It’s nothing fancy—just a gravel pull-off. In the distance, I see the glass roof of the Baltimore Aquarium. Owen uses his heel to move down the kickstand and we both climb off in opposite directions. The breeze has me wrapping my arms around myself as I stare off at the cityscape.
“Are you from here?” I ask, turning to face him.
“You mean, Baltimore?” Owen asks, then shakes his head. “No—I’m from the panhandle of Florida, but I’ve lived here for a couple years.”
“Well,” I finally say, glancing back at him. “I never knew this place existed.”
He smiles. “I like to find the quiet, out-of-the-way spots where I can get away from things.”
“What kind of things?” I ask softly, watching his face. For a second, Owen’s expression is far away. Then he cocks his head and gazes at me.
“When I moved here, it was to get away from a family—from a life, a business, a world—that I really didn’t want to be a part of.”
I think of my parents and my sisters, then start nodding.
“Yeah. Escaping somewhere—fuck, escaping anywhere—sounds nice.”
Owen nods, too.
“Still, I figured I’d move up here—Baltimore, where I know absolutely no one—and I’d find the person I was supposed to be. The path I was supposed to follow.”
Suddenly, Owen pins me with a dark sexy stare. I open my mouth to speak, to say something witty or charming, but the words slip from my head before they can even be formed. My entire body presses against his. I can feel my nipples hardening against my sheer bra. I shiver as his hands slide up into my hair.
“The last thing I thought I’d find on that path is the most beautiful thing—the most beautiful woman—I’ve ever seen.”
His voice is slightly strained but his hands are gentle as he places them on my shoulders, kneading the muscles below gently. He lets his palms run down over my collarbone, then sweep beneath the curves of my breasts. I moan with pleasure.
“All I want is to touch you and make you feel good,” he whispers. “I’ve been thinking about seeing your body—touching your body—since the moment we met.”
I glance around at the empty lot, then grab Owen’s han
d and drag him over to a bank of pine trees that provide a little more privacy. Sure, it’s still outside, but that doesn’t stop me from whipping my shirt over my head. I watch Owen’s gaze slide down to my breasts and belly. My skin is pale in the moonlight, but I know my hardened nipples are visible beneath my white cotton bra.
Yep. White cotton. Couldn’t be less sexy and I know it. But Owen is looking at me as though I’m wearing a lacey negligee—or nothing at all.
And Owen doesn’t waste any time, either. He ducks his head and captures a nipple in his mouth, tonguing it through the fabric. I grip his biceps with both hands.
“Oh, God,” I moan.
I let my hand migrate up into his hair, feeling the short silky strands against my palm. I thread my fingers through it as his mouth moves along the valley between my breasts, giving the skin lush, open mouth kisses until he reaches my other nipple and nibbles at it. Losing patience with the fabric, he dips his thumb beneath and bares it, then devours my breast with his teeth and tongue.
“You are so fucking beautiful,” he says against my skin.
Owen wraps one arm around my waist and hauls me into him, then slides his free hand up my thigh. As his fingers travel up, I attempt to steady my breathing and my spinning head by beginning to be less of a bystander. I run my hands down the front of Owen’s cotton dress shirt, then begin to unbutton it. I drag my nails down over his abdomen, and, as my hand reaches his belt, Owen sort of growls. His own hand had reached my waist and, without even pausing, plunges into my pants and under my panties.
“Yes,” I murmur, biting my lip as his fingers slip into my wetness and hone in on my clit.
“I have been going crazy,” Owen whispers into my ear, tugging on the lobe with his teeth. “Having to work with you and see you every day, when all I want to do is this—to do so much more than this. It’s been torture. Wondering if you were thinking what I was thinking. Wondering if you wanted the same things I wanted. If you want the same things I want.”
I lick my lips, heaving in gulps of air as I push my body into his, letting his hardened cock notch between my legs.
“I’m here because I want to be, Owen,” I say quietly. “We’re in this together.”
And then I pull myself up and press my mouth to his. I cup his cheek with one hand as I deepen the kiss, letting my tongue dart out into his mouth as he utters a quiet groan. Without hesitation, I move down to my knees and begin to undo his belt. His brow is cocked and he’s watching every move I make with the sexiest expression on earth.
I need to be just as sexy. I need to blow his mind.
Seconds later, I’m unbuttoning his jeans and yanking at his zipper, desperate to get his cock in my mouth, to taste every inch of his delicious, salty skin.
At least, I was. I really was. Until a car pulls into the parking lot, its lights illuminating our performance like a spotlight.
I squint at the car until I realize who—or what—it is.
It’s a police cruiser.
Shit.
***
The consistent mantra of “please don’t be Charlie’s stepdad, please don’t be Charlie’s stepdad” made me feel about fifteen years old, but it seemed to work. The officer was a complete stranger—not that it made him any more understanding that two people in their mid-twenties were grinding up on each other in a vacant spot in the middle of the night. He didn’t write us a ticket, although he’d threatened a “lewd acts” charge that would honestly probably make us both lose our jobs.
But instead, we got a stern talking-to as though we were a couple of kids. We managed to look sufficiently mortified, but once the cop had pulled back into the night, Owen and I looked at each other and dissolved in laughter.
“Dude, I thought he was going to cuff us,” Owen chuckles, shaking his head.
I nod and wipe the tears from my eyes.
“I know—and I think we should probably really be horrified that possibility exists. The last thing we need is a charge against us for getting it on in public. There go our clean records.”
Owen shrugs, then hands me my helmet. When I go to grab it, he takes my wrist in his other hand and pulls me to him.
“It was worth the risk,” he murmurs, his gaze meeting mine. I bite down on the smile that’s spreading across my mouth.
“Ya think?” I ask softly, cocking my head.
He gives me a nod.
“Totally—but it’s also easier for me to say that considering we didn’t actually get a ticket.”
“Fair enough.”
I grin as I slide a leg over the motorcycle and wait for Owen to rev the engine. In fact, I’m grinning for most of the rest of the night—grinning as I guide him to my apartment complex, grinning as he kisses me, slow and sweet, before firing up the engine and roaring out of the parking lot. Grinning as I head up the stairs and think about how good Owen’s body feels pressed up against mine.
Okay, the truth is that hooking up with my boss really isn’t the ideal workplace situation. But once I make it home, I decide to pin down exactly how much trouble we could get in—not with the police earlier, but with the city—if our relationship is discovered. I go through all of my training paperwork—the packets shoved into a folder that I was really sure I’d never look at again and am tremendously glad I never threw away.
And, while it’s true that dating staff members is not exactly encouraged, it seems like the worst-case scenario would be a transfer—one of us would have to go work at a different facility in the county. I mean, it’s not what either of us would want, obviously, but it’s not like we’d be losing our jobs. Plus, at this point, this situation is nothing but a convenient hookup. Something easygoing. Something casual.
Which is sort of thrilling, to be honest. It feels both illicit and easy. And that’s all I feel like I can handle right now. Especially when I get the call from my parents that they’re coming up for the weekend.
“We’re staying at the Hilton,” my mother says, her voice breathy from a recent tennis game exertion. “Your sister discovered this new artist in Fell’s Point—incredibly new. Something about landscapes created from street signs. I’m not entirely sure . . .”
Mom trails off and I can hear a muffled sound on the other end, then a soft voice speaking to her. I bristle. There is nothing that is more infuriating than when my mother is interacting with other people and insists on having a conversation on her cell phone. She does it to me constantly and I’m always telling her to call me back. Not that she listens. Ever.
“Anyway,” she continues, clearly talking over the person in the background, “I was thinking we’d do a brunch at the Chart House, then maybe shopping at the Galleria? There’s some gunsmith in Pikesville that your father has been dying to visit . . .”
I start to tune her out as I walk from the bus stop toward BYC. I can see Owen’s car—his sensible black Toyota SUV—in his spot rather than his motorcycle. I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised. The kids would have a freaking conniption if they saw him on that thing—not to mention it’s far more likely to get jacked up or stolen completely.
“Mom, I’m just getting to work,” I say, trying to keep the bored-as-fuck tone out of my voice.
“Well, I will see you tomorrow, then,” she says. “I’ll have a car come by and pick you up.”
I roll my eyes. “I have a car and I know the city—I’ll just meet you there.”
But the dead space on the other end of the line indicates that my mother has already blown me off in favor of making plans on my behalf. No doubt, I will have a black town car with tinted windows waiting outside my apartment tomorrow morning. There might even be a tuxedoed driver standing on one side, waiting for me to come down. My parents flaunt their wealth in ways that are endlessly embarrassing to me—it just feels distasteful and out of place. Out of step with the life I live and the world I inhabit. People don’t have d
rivers in Fell’s Point or Canton or Hampden. The working-class neighborhoods of Baltimore don’t have time for that shit.
And neither do I.
I exhale an exasperated gust of air, then shove my phone into my purse. Mom might call back, Cyn or Carson might text, but I honestly couldn’t care less right now. The truth is that this is the first day that Owen and I will be spending an entire shift in the same space while pretending that we aren’t secretly hooking up behind the scenes. I’m totally thrilled at the idea of clandestine kisses and furtive glances, and maybe, just maybe, it’ll be enough to make me forget about brunch with people who make me feel like a failure. With that on my mind and a grin on my face, I stride into the BYC doors feeling like I’ve won something intangible and completely priceless.
At least until I see Mr. Kensington, Owen’s boss—my boss’s boss—standing at the front desk. And he looks anything but happy.
Chapter Twelve
“Oh, good morning, Rainey.”
I look to the left, where Jenn is coming in from the locker rooms. She smiles at me, then at Mr. Kensington, who sort of returns the expression. I say “sort of” because his version is a tight, constipated type of smile.
I clear my throat.
“Morning, Jenn.” Then I flip my Southern charm switch and, despite hating myself for the gesture, swing my blond curls over one shoulder.
“Mr. Kensington, how are you?”
He blinks at me, taking a very obvious gander at my tits—which are admittedly in a tighter version of the BYC uniform. I did that for Owen’s benefit. Anyway, once he’s looked back up at my face, he seems to be trying to place me. I decide to let him off the hook.
“It’s Rainey Wallace—I’m the codirector here. We met last week when you replaced—er, when Owen was brought on board as director.”
He nods slowly and I notice that his silver hair is more like a cap than a hairstyle. It doesn’t even shift as he moves to shake my hand.
“Of course, Ms. Wallace. You’re actually part of the reason I’m here.”
My heart plummets from my chest to my knees, then sets up shop right around my stomach. I feel sick. Like I might throw up. Or pass out right there on the tacky old linoleum flooring.
