by Cindi Myers
He’d known as much, but even so, the sound of her name made his stomach tighten. “What about her?”
“Stay away from her.”
Gladly, he thought, but he wouldn’t ever give Truitt the satisfaction of thinking he agreed with him. “I think it’s up to her to decide whether or not she wants me to stay away.”
“You listen here!” Truitt grabbed him by the arm.
Choking on rage, Zach tried to jerk away, but Truitt held him tight. How long would they throw him in jail for if he struck an officer? he wondered. And what would they do to him while he was there? Oh, but it was so tempting.
Zach’s gaze burned into the older man’s gray eyes. Eyes the same shade as Jen’s, but harder, colder. “I think you’re out of line, Chief.”
Truitt released him and took a step back, as if he, too, was struggling to control his emotions. “I’m not here as an officer of the law. I’m here as Jennifer’s father. Jennifer is a good girl. She’s smart and talented. You don’t have anything to offer her.”
Right. He was just a long-haired troublemaker. Somebody Truitt and his kind wouldn’t hire to carry out the trash. He forced his lips into a menacing grin. “Maybe she’s not interested in my brains or talent. At least, not my artistic ones.”
Truitt reddened. “Look, Jacobs, I don’t want my daughter having anything to do with a loser like you.”
“What do you know about me except what you’ve made up in your head?” Zach had dealt with people like this all his life. If you weren’t just like them—dressing like them, acting like them, thinking like them—then you were automatically the enemy.
“I know everything I need to know about you. And I’m telling you—stay away from her.”
“If you want your daughter to stay away from me, why don’t you talk to her?”
Truitt’s self-righteousness slipped for half a second before he fit it firmly back into place. “Jennifer resents my interfering in her personal life.”
“News flash, Chief, so do I. So don’t waste your time. Jen’s a grown woman. Why don’t you treat her like one?”
“How dare you—”
Zach didn’t hear whatever else Truitt had to say. He shoved the bike back, then cranked the engine and roared forward, narrowly missing the police chief as he jumped for the curb. He laughed at the image in his rearview mirror of Truitt shouting at him. But the laughter didn’t last long. He knew Truitt hadn’t been joking when he’d said he’d do anything to keep Zach away from Jen.
So what should he do? Should he let Truitt think he had the upper hand? Or show the police chief that nobody pushed Zach Jacobs around?
“THERE’S A STRANGE MAN out in the parking lot.” Analese, Jen’s fellow dance teacher, whispered this news while they were in the dressing room changing to go home after the last class Wednesday evening.
“What do you mean, ‘strange’?” Jen asked.
“He’s just sitting out there on this big motorcycle, watching the door.” Analese stood on tiptoe to see out the high dressing-room window. “He looks dangerous. Maybe we should call the police.”
Jen joined her by the window. Beneath the pinkish glow of the mercury-vapor light sat a man dressed in black leather, on a gleaming black and silver bike. Her breath caught and her heart did a tap routine against her rib cage as she recognized Zach. “D-don’t call the cops,” she said. “It’s okay. I know him.”
“You know a man who looks like that?” Analese’s eyes widened. “Since when?”
“Um, he’s the guy who did my tattoo.”
Analese’s gaze flickered to the tattoo showing at the neckline of the gauzy peasant blouse Jen had put on. “Tattoos? Men on motorcycles? Aren’t you a little young to be having a midlife crisis?”
Jen laughed. “Maybe the real me is finally coming out.”
Analese looked back out the window. “If the real you hangs out with men like that, then I wish I was staying in town so you could introduce me to his friends. I could use a fling with a hottie like that.”
“Right. Like you’re going to give up a chance to tour with a theater company to meet men.” Analese had landed a primo spot dancing in a touring company of Annie, Get Your Gun. In fact, she was the one who’d encouraged Jen to try for a place with Razzin’!.
“Well, you two go on and have fun. I’ll finish locking up here.” The two friends said good-night and Jen picked up her dance bag and headed out the door to the parking lot. She told herself not to hurry, to walk slowly and remain calm and composed. But her heart pounded as if she’d just performed a frantic jazz routine, and it was all she could do not to break into a run. Though whether she’d run toward Zach or away from him, she couldn’t say.
She stopped in front of him, trying to read his face for some clue as to why he was here. But his expression was solemn, unrevealing. “Zach, what are you doing here?” she asked.
He reached behind him and handed her a helmet. “Let’s go for a ride.”
It was a command, not a request. She bristled, wanting to tell him no. But curiosity got the better of her and she took the helmet from him. “Okay.”
He helped her strap her bag onto the back of the bike and showed her where to put her feet. She fastened the helmet and climbed on.
The bike rumbled to life beneath them, a loud, growling beast that both thrilled and frightened her. When they began to move forward, it seemed the most natural thing in the world to put her arms around Zach and lean into him.
He smelled of leather and ink and warm male, an intoxicating mix of scents no cologne could ever capture. She closed her eyes and leaned her cheek against his back and inhaled deeply while the world flew past them.
She’d never been on a motorcycle before, but she decided she liked it. The rumble and throb of the engine between her legs was surprisingly erotic, and the feel of her body against Zach’s aroused her further.
She eased her arms all the way around him, pressing her breasts into his back. He stiffened, and she grinned as she realized she could do whatever she wanted to him now and he’d have little recourse, as long as the bike was moving.
She eased closer still, her legs spread wide, the leather of his pants soft against her inner thighs, the heat of his body seeping into her. He clamped one hand over her wrist, his fingers tightening, but she only smiled and squeezed her thighs against his.
He shifted, leaning into a turn, and she stifled a moan, wishing she could be closer still. If simply riding behind him on a motorcycle had her this wet and aching, what would it be like to make love with him?
The audacity of the idea startled her. “Good girl” Jen would have never dared to imagine such a thing. But now, the thought of her and Zach together sent an illicit thrill through her. Why shouldn’t she see where this attraction she and Zach had for each other took them? Not in a childish attempt to get back at her father, but because she was an adult woman who had finally found a man she really wanted.
They rode to Town Lake, to the park at Auditorium Shores. He parked the bike near the gazebo and shut off the engine. They sat for a moment, her body still snugged to his, listening to the sounds of traffic up on the highway, distant laughter from boats on the lake and the rasp of their own heavy breathing. Just when she thought she couldn’t stand it anymore, he grasped her wrists and gently pushed her away. “Let’s take a walk,” he said.
Fearful her jelly legs wouldn’t carry her far, she managed to climb off the bike and remove the helmet. Zach did the same, then led the way down the path. She frowned at his back, wondering if this caveman routine had a point. Then she shrugged and followed him.
The trail led through a tunnel of oaks before following the lakeshore. Lights from tour boats and the occasional lone sculler shone across the water, and surfacing fish made ripples across the otherwise still surface.
“Why did you come to see me tonight?” she asked when they’d walked about a quarter of a mile.
“Your father was waiting for me when I came out of the brew
pub after supper.” He glanced at her. “He warned me to stay away from you.”
Mingled hurt and anger tasted bitter in the back of her throat. “I’m sorry. What did he say, exactly?”
“He said he didn’t want you to have anything to do with a loser like me.”
The words were sharp and painful as a slap. “How dare he call you a loser!”
“I don’t know. By his standards, that’s exactly what I am.” He turned away, walking faster.
She ran to catch up to him and grabbed his hand. “Stop.”
He slowed, then halted and turned to face her. “What? You don’t have to apologize or make excuses for your father. I just wanted you to know what he did.”
“I know.” She kept hold of his hand, half-afraid at any moment he’d leave her here, before she could do or say everything she wanted. She opened her mouth to speak, but the sight of his shadowed face, his dark eyes fixed on her, stole her words away. All she could do was let feeling take over. Standing on tiptoe, she slipped her arms around him and put her mouth on his.
For a man who looked so hard, his lips were soft. Soft and warm and skillful. For one-hundredth of a second, he froze, absolutely still. Then his arms went around her, crushing her to him. His mouth was firm and insistent, his tongue teasing, tasting, claiming her the way an explorer claims new territory.
She felt seared by that kiss, all trivialities burned away, reduced to elemental need and longing. She arched against him and he nudged her legs apart, guiding his thigh between hers.
It was all she could do not to rub shamelessly against him, to ease the ache building inside her. And all the while, he continued to make love to her with his mouth, building the fire inside her.
She didn’t know how long they stood there, lost to passion and need. He was the first to break away. He raised his head and shook it, like a man recovering from a blow. Looking dazed, he stared down at her. She sagged in his arms, the taste of him still in her mouth, the feel of his beard stubble still rough on her skin.
“What are you doing?” he asked. He stepped back, but kept hold of her. Otherwise, she might have slid to the ground, her trembling legs too weak to hold her up.
She managed a shaky smile. “I’m doing what I want. Being selfish for a change.”
He wiped his hand across his mouth. “You can’t be serious.”
“I am.” She reached for him again, but he stepped back.
“Why? Let’s face it, I’m not really your type.”
She frowned. “What do you think is my type?”
“I don’t know. Some guy who wears a suit and works in an office and drives a Beemer.”
She made a face. “Somebody boring.”
“Somebody safe.”
“Maybe I’m tired of being safe!” She shoved him back, away from her. Couldn’t he, of all people, understand that? “Maybe I want a little danger in my life.”
“Then take up skydiving.”
She didn’t even realize she’d put her hand up to cover her tattoo until she noticed him staring at it. She flushed.
“I get it,” he said. “You’re still trying to get your old man to take off the cuffs and let you go to Chicago to join that dance troupe.” He nodded. “If he thinks we’re together, he might decide sending you away is better than having you stay here with me.”
She raised her chin. “That’s one possibility. Another is that he’ll realize I’m determined to live my own life, whether or not I have his approval.”
“Then maybe he’s mad enough to see to it you’re kicked out of the dance troupe.”
She shoved down the doubt that threatened to overtake her. “I guess that’s a chance I’m willing to take.”
“Right.” His voice was scornful. “I can tell you’re a big risk taker.”
His eyes burned into her, daring her to deny the truth. That was the trouble with truth, though—everyone had their own version. Her father had his and Zach had his. And then there was her version—different because she didn’t necessarily believe she had to be, or act, the way they saw her.
Fine. If he wanted truth, she’d give it to him. “There’s another reason I want to…to be with you. A more personal reason.”
He was silent, waiting, so she took a deep breath and continued. “That first day in your shop, when I said I wasn’t a virgin, that wasn’t exactly true.”
“I don’t want to hear this.” He turned and started to walk away.
She lunged forward and caught his arm. “No, wait. I mean, I’m not really a virgin. I have had sex. Just not great sex.”
Was that a trick of light, or was he trying not to smile? “You think with me you’ll have great sex? I’m flattered.”
She hugged her arms across her chest and scowled at him. “I just think that if I’m going off to live in a big city by myself, it wouldn’t hurt to have a little more experience.”
He looked at the ground, then back at her. “Which brings us back to my original question—why me?”
“I’m very attracted to you.” She moved toward him once more. “And I think you’re attracted to me.”
He didn’t try to move away as she put her arms around him once more, but neither did he embrace her. “This would be a really bad idea,” he said.
She pressed her hands against his chest, fingers splayed. Her skin looked ghostly against the black leather. She could feel the rapid beat of his heart beneath her palm. “Are you worried about my dad hassling you?”
He did put his arm around her then, and pulled her up against him. She could feel the iron ridge of his erection against her hip, and she swallowed hard at the fresh onslaught of desire that made her tremble. “I know how to deal with people like your old man.”
“Then what’s stopping you?”
He kissed her again, until she was breathless and dizzy and melting from the inside out. When he finally raised his head, his gaze burned into hers. “Nothing’s stopping me, if you’re sure this is what you want.”
“I’m sure.” The words came out as a whisper. She was both frightened and thrilled, and more turned on than she’d ever been. The slow, sexy smile he fixed on her now made her feel as though she were floating off the ground.
“That’s good,” he said. “Because right now, the only thing I want is you.”
4
THE RIDE TO HIS PLACE was silent, the rush of wind past his helmet and the rumble of the motorcycle engine almost loud enough to drown out the hammering of his heart. Every nerve vibrated with awareness of Jen’s body pressed against his, her fingers laced together just under his sternum, her mouth resting against the back of his neck.
Every shift of his body, to negotiate a curve or slow for a stop sign, brought him into closer contact with the woman logic told him was the last person in the world he ought to be involved with. No matter how much he wanted her. Everything about her warned of complications, from her admitted inexperience to her powerful, angry father to the fact that she had plans to move to Chicago. Though the last point might be thought of as something in his favor. There’d be no question of long-term ties between them.
That was the ticket, then—to remember that this was all temporary. Scratching an itch. Enjoying the moment. He ought to be good at that sort of thing by now.
He cut the engine as he turned into the driveway, steering the bike into the shadows of the carport of his duplex. “Here we are,” he said. “Home, sweet home.”
She climbed off the bike. Immediately, he missed the warmth of her body plastered against him. It had been a while since he’d let anyone get that close to him; he’d forgotten how nice it could feel. He collected his saddlebag and watched her study the house as she took off her helmet. An artist friend had painted his half of the building last summer—a washed-out mint green trimmed in white, a row of painted-on flowers along the bottom in place of the flower beds he’d never had, a bright blue peace sign under one window. It was funky and weird and not the least bit out of place in this neighborhood of
artists, hippies and general free spirits. But he’d be willing to bet there were no houses like this in Jen’s neighborhood. He braced himself for some negative comment.
She turned to him, all smiles. “I love it.”
Uh-huh. Why should that surprise him, really? She was obviously into this whole rebellion thing big-time. She’d come to her senses soon enough. Chicks like her weren’t raised to live in crazily painted houses. “C’mon. Let’s go inside.”
He started up the walk, keys in hand, but had scarcely reached the bottom step when the door to the other half of the house opened a scant two inches. “That you, Zach?” called a quavery voice.
“It’s me, Mr. Sayers.” He climbed the steps up to the door. “You’re up late. Is everything okay?”
The door opened wider, revealing the shriveled profile of his eighty-year-old neighbor. “Just my old knee giving me fits again. I got up to get a glass of milk and heard the bike. Just wanted to make sure it was you and not some kids trying to make trouble.”
“It’s just me.” He fitted the key in the lock. “Sorry your knee’s acting up. Maybe you ought to think about having it replaced.”
“Yeah, my doctor says I ought to, but I hate the thought of Louise havin’ to look after me.”
“I’m sure she wouldn’t mind. And you know I’d help with any lifting and things like that.”
“I know. I’ll think about it some more and let you know. Good night.”
“Good night.”
Zach pushed open the door, and before he could even turn on the light, he felt something latch on to his leg. With a quickness born of practice, he reached down and scooped up a kitten in each hand, holding them at arm’s length. “Not on the leather, guys.”
Behind him, Jen switched on the light. “Kittens!” She rushed forward to gather up the gray tabby, Mick. She nuzzled the one-pound wonder to her chin while Zach cradled the yellow tabby, Delilah, to his chest, and locked the door again.
When he looked up, Jen was smiling at him.
“What?” he asked, trying for a brusqueness he couldn’t quite feel.
