Biker Babe in Black

by Debra Kayn

  “You want to know something?” He waited for her to answer.

  She nodded.

  “I’ve never met a woman who didn’t want me for my money or my social standing. It gets old. It would be a pleasure to take you. We know where we stand with each other. You tell it like it is, and keep me toeing the line.” He gave her a slow smile of masculine appreciation that had her glad she was holding onto the table, because her legs suddenly grew weak.

  “Is this really happening? You want to spend time with me?” Margie sucked in her bottom lip and held it between her teeth.

  “We’re employee and employer, but I hope we can also be friends.” Remy paused. “Please.”

  Margie tossed her napkin on the plate, her appetite gone. She considered whether he spoke the truth or not. Did he pity her or think she was too dumb to figure out he’d manipulated her into trusting him?

  He must know she wasn’t financially secure, and he couldn’t exactly call her independent when she lived in his house. She had nothing to claim as her own, except her motorcycle. She even had her mail held at a post office in Reno, and only picked it up a couple times a year as she passed through town. She didn’t belong anywhere.

  She coiled a link of her hair around her finger. Damn, this whole situation is getting mess “Remy. I’d like to help you out but I just can’t.”

  “Can’t or won’t?” He placed his fork down and leaned back in his chair.

  She definitely liked the idea of being his escort, but she also knew if she attended any parties, bad things might happen. Bad luck always showed up at the jobs she took. Ever since childhood, horrible luck followed her around. She didn’t want these negative things to happen around him. She’d die on the spot from embarrassment if she brought humiliation into Remy’s life.

  “I can’t. I’m sorry.”

  Margie picked up her plate. She scraped the remaining food into the trashcan, rinsed the plate off, and set it in the dishwasher.

  “Why not?”

  “Don’t ask me, Remy. Just let me be your maid.” She glanced over at the table and caught him studying her. She turned away and concentrated on cleaning up the kitchen.

  Remy’s chair slammed against the wall. He threw down his napkin and advanced toward Margie. “Damn it, this has gone on long enough. You are not my maid.”

  He held her by the upper arms and refused to let her walk away. She let her chin fall to her chest, but he used his hand to raise her face to his. “You’re crying.”

  She sniffed. “So.”

  “I’m sorry. Jesus, Margarine, don’t cry, baby.” He wiped the lone tear she tried to hide.

  Remy wrapped her up in his strong arms, and for a minute, she enjoyed the security his embrace gave her. If only he worked in a garage or drove a bus for a living…

  “You must know I have feelings for you.” His breath tickled her ear.

  “Then why did you hire me as your housekeeper? Ugh, Remy. You can’t just go buying people so they do what you want them to do. The real world doesn’t work that way. People…people have feelings, you know. I’m not one of those girls that’ll just roll over and accept any of your pretty words.” Margie pulled away from him.

  He leaned back against the counter and ran a hand through his hair. “Honestly. It’s the only way I could get you to spend time with me. You scare the hell out of me, sweetheart.”

  She snorted. “Me? You’ve got to be kidding.”

  He shook his head. “When I saw you that first night when you smacked into me at the restaurant, I thought you were lovely. Then I saw you in the parking lot, and you were brave and confident too. Hell, you smacked me with your purse, and drove away on a motorcycle, sexier than sin and left me wanting to know more about the woman who dared to be different. You were like no other woman I knew.”

  “And now?” She encouraged him to continue. Despite her misgivings on how the evening was turning out, a part of her wanted to hear more. His words soothed her self-esteem.

  Remy took a deep breath. His gaze searched hers. “And now I see this woman that takes my breath away. You never let anything stop you, and when something goes wrong, you pick yourself up and march on. Yet, for how independent you are, I see a side of you that’s so innocent, and I wonder how you’ve remained so carefree and happy.”

  Margie had never heard a man confess his thoughts to the degree Remy had. One of the most powerful men in the country, and he chose her, Margarine Butter, to pursue.

  “Oh, Remy.” She placed his hand on her heart. “I’m bad luck. I don’t want to do something that would cause you any hurt.”

  Remy shook his head and frowned. She brushed her hand across his forehead to smooth the lines of frustration. “Besides, I live out of a suitcase. I would have nothing to wear to those fancy parties you talked about.” She winked and attempted to laugh, but a sob caught in her throat instead. She moved to step around him.

  Remy blocked her escape and cupped her face with both his hands. “I’ll buy you everything you need. Please, Margarine Butter.”

  Damn him. He did it again. He used her full name.

  Margie inhaled and turned toward the table. “Just so you understand… You buying me clothes to attend the parties with you doesn’t equate to purchasing my affection.” She looked up at him. “I’m not that kind of girl.”

  Remy nodded, crossing his heart with his finger.

  “You’re a special man, Remy. I’m not quite sure I understand you, though. We just met each other and now—”

  “Will you take a chance to get to know me?” He raised his eyebrow.

  “I still want to be your housekeeper, Remy. It’s important to me that I earn my keep the right way.”

  Remy lifted her chin. He brushed his lips to hers. “We’ll take this slow. Slow…and sweet.”

  Margie went up in flames. Remy’s full, sensual lips had her tumbling, unable to escape the excitement shooting through her body. Her mouth opened under the demands of his and as the tip of his tongue stroked her lips, she melted.

  Her head swam, her knees weakened, and with a cry of desperation, she wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him back. Deep down, it wasn’t her situation that had her throwing herself at him; it was the fact that he wanted her. He wanted Margarine Butter!

  Chapter Nine

  Margie stood in front of the bathroom mirror, frowning. Her hair curled in every direction around her and refused to stay pinned up on the back of her head. How would she ever manage to look halfway decent tonight?

  The dinner party at Remy’s business associate’s house fast approached. She slammed another hair clip on the counter and stuck out her lip. This is ridiculous!

  Her hair was so long, she couldn’t even see the ends in the mirror. If she chopped off eight inches, maybe she’d be able to figure a way to make all the strands stay up without all the extra weight pulling it down. She groaned. Her hair was perfect if she wanted to go to a club or scare little children on Halloween, but not for a dinner with the rich and famous, where perfectly styled hair was the norm.

  “Are you almost ready?” Remy called from the other side of the bathroom door.

  “Hang on a minute. I’m still getting ready.” She clipped another section from the side of her head, and several strands sprung out of the attachment. She stomped her foot and growled. “Remy, this is useless. I can’t do it.”

  “Can I come in?”

  She opened the bathroom door and dared him to make fun of the mess she’d made of her hair. She held her thumb and index finger up in front of his face. “One word, Remy, and I am this close to breaking out in tears.”

  Remy stepped inside the room, turned her body around, and lifted her head. Working his fingers into her hair, he pulled clips out and tossed them onto the floor.

  “Stop. I’ll never get my hair up in time, and you’ll be late.” She grabbed his wrist.

  “Shh…look in the mirror.” He ran his fingers through her hair. He spread the curls over her shoul
ders, down her back. “This is the way you should wear all this lovely blonde hair. Wild. Free. Like you.”

  “I look like I just got out of bed.” She cocked her head.

  “I know.” He winked at her reflection and chuckled.

  Warmth filled her face. “It’s not proper.”

  “The hell with proper. Every man there will be envious of me when we walk through the door.”

  “I don’t want every man’s attention.” She turned around and faced him. “I’m hoping no one pays any attention to me…except you.”

  Margie thought by the way Remy bent his head and looked into her eyes that he might kiss her. She moved closer, her hand going to the front of his shirt. Instead, he gave one of her curls a yank and walked out of the bathroom.

  She clamped her mouth shut and squealed. “Do I have bad breath or something?”

  The last few days, he’d done the same thing. Act one way, and then do an about-face. She cupped her hand in front of her mouth, blew into her palm, and inhaled through her nose. Her breath didn’t stink, but another swish of mouthwash wouldn’t hurt.

  ***

  Margie’s hand settled into the crook of Remy’s arm as she walked beside him on the pathway to the front door of the party. Her stomach rolled. Please let this party go all right tonight.

  The house shone brightly in the dark. Each window lit up, and crowds of people mingled inside. Margie hesitated and pulled back on Remy’s arm. She needed to take a deep breath.

  “What’s wrong?” He stepped in front of her and rubbed her arms.

  “This is so out of my element.” Her voice shook, and her hand trembled on Remy’s arm.

  He leaned closer. “There’s nothing to worry about. No one’s opinion matters to me. It’s always been that way. If they don’t like me, screw them. I’ll do business with someone else.”

  “That’s because everyone wants you. You benefit them.” She sighed. “They’ll judge you for who you’re with. I’m a—”

  “I want to kiss you. God, I really want to kiss you.” He sucked his breath in.

  A calmness came over her. He really didn’t care what happened tonight. She tilted her head. “You can.”

  He ran his finger along her bottom lip, and she opened her mouth enough to flick her tongue across the tip of his finger.

  With a frustrated growl, he stepped back. “Later. Tonight I only want to think about kissing you. Every time I look at you, I want to imagine what you’ll taste like when you give yourself to me.”

  She swallowed. Her body no longer trembled with nerves, but loosened and warmed beneath his words.

  “Just remember, prior to laying your pretty head against the pillow tonight, I will kiss you like you’ve never been kissed before.” He put his hand on her lower back and led her up to the door without another word.

  Ignoring the sizzle of awareness low in her stomach, she stood gracefully beside him. The dizziness cleared slightly, but her body seemed to stay on hyper alert. Every time Remy touched her, looked at her, or spoke, she shivered with need.

  The click of the door and the invasion of noise from inside the house jolted her out of her thoughts. Margie stepped away from Remy and struggled with the sensual arousal he brought about in her body. The promise of a kiss would come tonight; Remy’s Boy Scout honor would see to that.

  The butler escorted them into a large room fit for entertaining. Caterers carried trays of shrimp appetizers and pre-dinner drinks around the room. Margie forced herself to breathe through her nose and out through her mouth to calm the butterflies in her stomach.

  Remy clasped her hand in his and guided her across the room. She held on extra tight, afraid he might abandon her. Usually, she took any situation by the horns, but tonight she wanted everything perfect.

  “Remy!” A loud masculine voice called out. Margie glimpsed at a man in the corner waving in their direction, above the heads of the other guests.

  “I need to go say hi. Just stick with me.” He gave her fingers a squeeze. “Clay can be…annoying, but I won’t let him bother you.”

  “I’ll be okay. Go, do business.” She didn’t let go of his hand. She needed to connect with him. He calmed her.

  “Remy, my man.” The man held out his hand, oblivious to the liquid that spilled over the lip of his glass and onto the floor.

  “Clay.” Remy shook the man’s hand and nodded at another gentleman. “I’d like to introduce Margarine Bu—”

  Margie pinched his arm hard enough to draw blood if not for his coat being in the way.

  “Call me Margie, please.” She flashed a smile at the men to appease her rude manners. She forgot all about letting Remy know not to call her by her whole name. Not everyone accepted it with a straight face.

  “Whoa, Remy, a new lady on your arm.” Clay lifted Margie’s hand and brought it to his lips.

  Out of her peripheral vision, Margie witnessed Remy’s jaw muscle twitch. She fought the urge to yank her hand out of the clammy grasp of this Clay person. The way he leered at her creeped her out, and she knew he wasn’t someone to trust.

  “I must say your presence here tonight makes the party brighter for all of us who are still single.” He held on to her hand too long, and she gently pulled it free.

  Margie smiled politely and stepped closer to Remy.

  “Unfortunately, all the single men will have to look elsewhere, I’m afraid. She’s taken.” Remy’s smile didn’t quite reach his eyes.

  “Okay, okay, I hear you, bud.” Clay patted Remy’s shoulder in an old show of good male sportsmanship.

  The ding-a-ling of a bell rang. Everyone’s attention shifted to the black-tuxedoed man who announced dinner would be served. Margie strolled with Remy to the dining room.

  Six large tables arranged in an intimate fashion dominated the candlelit room. Margie sat beside Remy. The name card by her plate read “guest”. She mimicked Remy’s actions and placed the napkin on her lap, the moment ripe for weeding out the people with money versus the woman who hung out with people named Crowbar, Reefer, and Tank.

  Someone walked behind her and accidently snagged her hair as they passed. The willies traveled up Margie’s spine. She leaned forward to move her hair out of the way and glanced over her shoulder.

  A tall, sophisticated lady who could have been a runway model snuck up behind Remy. The woman’s hands came around to cover Remy’s eyes, and Margie lifted her brows.

  “I’ll give you one guess.” The woman bent down and sucked Remy’s earlobe into her mouth.

  Margie glanced away and kept her eyes downcast. Who is this creature? Moreover, who is she to Remy?

  Curiosity got the best of her, and she turned her head back around to observe the situation.

  Remy laid his napkin on the table and used his hands to remove the woman’s fingers from his eyes. Remy pushed his chair back and stood. “Gloria. I see you’re back in the States.”

  “Yes, I am, and isn’t it lucky for you I arrived back in the states today and could attend the party.” She flashed Remy a kilowatt smile. “And here you are.”

  This woman, Gloria whoever, latched on to Remy’s arm and whispered something Margie couldn’t hear. She concentrated on straightening the silverware and looked anywhere besides the other people at their table. People tended to scrutinize the third party involved in the relationship to gauge their reaction. Like a bug under a microscope.

  Remy removed the woman’s arm that wound around his back, cupping his ass. Anger replaced Margie’s curiosity. Who the hell did she think she was, handling Remy that way in front of everyone? Hello? Didn’t she comprehend that she was Remy’s date?

  Remy reached down and clasped Margie’s hand. She stood, and Remy drew her to his side, his arm around her waist. Take that, Miss Swimsuit Model!

  “Gloria Steinbeck, I’d like you to meet Margarine Butter.”

  Dead silence broke out around the table. Margie contained her groan. She steeled herself against the unwanted attention, held her h
and out, and cemented the fakest smile on her face.

  “Oh, God, you poor thing. Your parents must have been hippies that believed in alternative mind treatments to saddle you with that name.” Gloria ignored Margie’s hand and instead placed her hand on her own chest in horror. “I would have legally changed my name years ago.”

  Gloria moved right in on the jugular. Margie tossed her hair and gave an airy laugh. She wouldn’t lower herself to this…this bitch in front of Remy and his friends.

  “If you’ll excuse us, Gloria. It looks like dinner is about to be served.” Remy helped Margie sit down, pushed in her chair, and found his own seat. Left behind, Gloria resembled a fledgling that waited for food, her mouth wide open. An obvious snub.

  The guests at the table continued to stare at the drama going on. Margie breathed through her nose to calm her pulse without anyone noticing. She didn’t think a catfight with hair pulling, or a contest on insults about each other’s Hogs might work in a situation with polite society.

  Ten to one, the bitch didn’t even ride a motorcycle.

  The serving woman appeared and handed out their dinner plates. Margie lowered her lashes and peeked at Remy, who found her hand under the table in her lap and gave it a squeeze.

  “You okay?” he mouthed.

  Conversations once again picked up, and everyone’s attention was drawn to the meal in front of them. Margie gave Remy a small nod and a shaky smile. She knew better than to think this was the end of the drama tonight. Women like Gloria never gave up.

  A Mr. and Mrs. Chapman and another man whose name she’d forgotten sat at the table with Remy and Margie. The nameless man engaged in conversation with the Chapmans, leaving Remy and Margie to talk with each other. The meal ended, and the guests retreated back to the room where they’d gathered prior to dinner. Unsettled, Margie took over the role as silent observer.

  Everyone sought Remy’s attention, and she delighted in how magnificently he performed. He complimented, involved others in the limelight, and bonded with his employees. She found herself studying the way he worked and forgetting about those around her. Impressed with the way he conducted himself, Margie understood how he became successful in his life.