by Floyd, Jacie
Before the buzz took her where she wanted to go, the Harley began to slow. She leaned into another turn, and the gravel road ratcheted her sexual pleasure up a notch. But looking up ahead, she couldn’t believe her eyes. Through her near orgasmic gaze, she blinked and looked again.
Under a banner that read “Good Riders - Ride a Bike, Feed a Tyke,” Harleys, Harleys, and more Harleys filled the parking lot of The Hog Heaven Bar and Grill. Each machine carried a biker more disreputable looking than the next. She wondered at the number of cows killed to produce so much black leather. When Max said they were meeting his bike club, she’d pictured a gang of ten or twenty, not a legion.
As they reached the fringe of the group, men gestured and called out greetings to Max. As he had predicted Annabel couldn’t hear a thing, but he nodded and waved. Slowing the bike to a crawl, he threaded it through the gathering.
At the bar’s rambling porch, he pulled into an empty space. A tall, wiry-looking guy in chaps, plaid shirt and leather vest leaned against a beam. Despite world-weary eyes and lines on his face that told of a life lived hard, he carried an undeniable aura of authority. A blue bandana covered most of his red hair peppered with gray. In the goatee he stroked, the gray strands outnumbered the red. He waited for Max to shut off his bike. Annabel wanted to whimper when the engine finally quit pulsating.
“Glad you could make it,” Goatee Man said to Max.
Or so Annabel guessed. With the residual ringing in her ears, she had to rely on lip-reading more than hearing.
The man handed an envelope to Max. He stuck it in the back pocket of his jeans, millimeters away from grazing Annabel’s most personal place with those long-ranging fingers. The thought should be horrifying, instead of making her dizzy with longing.
She couldn’t make out Max’s response to Goatee Man’s conversation, but from the other guy’s grin and nod in her direction, that was just as well. If she looked as ready to come as she felt, she didn’t want to know.
Max swiveled at the waist to face her. His mouth moved, but the words jumbled together.
Annabel took off her helmet and cupped her ear. “What?”
“We’ll only be here a few minutes.” He mouthed each word distinctly and pointed to his watch. “You need to take care of anything?”
Him. She wanted to take care of him. Or have him take care of her. Insane, but it was all she could do to keep from grabbing him. She needed to get a grip before she attacked the man and stripped him naked. But maybe he wouldn’t mind. The idea of a naked Max should scare the bejesus out of her. But instead, she found the idea... intriguing as all get out. Something she’d have to think about at greater length. Sometime when he wasn’t standing right in front of her in all his audacious glory.
He’d told her there wouldn’t be drugs or nudity unless she wanted there to be, and maybe, just maybe, she did. Not drugs, of course, but nudity sounded awfully appealing.
Annabel shook her head. No, it didn’t. Not really. All of this jittery sensation was simply a reaction to the crotch rocket she’d been riding, the sexy body of the man she’d had her thighs wrapped around, and years of sleeping alone. She didn’t even like Max, and all that sexy allure he exuded was definitely off-limits. But that didn’t prevent him from looking damned good to a libido that was giddy from a long overdue dose of shake, rattle, and roll.
Annabel eyed the seedy-looking dive and the crowd of mostly men. No one she eyeballed looked half as good—or even as reputable—as Max. Better to stick with the devil she knew.
Her legs trembled so much, she wasn’t sure she could stand. Her jaws along with every other molecule of her body still quivered from the ride, and she didn’t trust herself to speak. She shook her head at Max and signaled her intention to stay put.
After more mumbled conversation, Goatee Man climbed aboard an enormous bike. Then the army of road warriors thundered their Harleys into a ground-trembling roar, equaling the decibel level of a NASA liftoff.
Lines and rows formed like magic from the random scattering of riders. Two bikers pulled into the road, blocking the approaching traffic as the platoon of motorcycles fell in behind Max and the man with the goatee, leading them on a journey Annabel knew not where.
Wherever they were going, they were going full force, and they weren’t keeping a low profile. And she hoped it took them a long time to get there.
From the way Annabel molded herself to his back like hot wax, Max expected more questions or complaints when he pulled into the next stop. Instead, she swung her leg over the bike like a veteran rider, even though her limbs appeared as wobbly as Gumby’s. Instead of complaining, she merely rested her rump against the seat and lifted off her brain bucket emitting a low, vibrating hum.
Somewhere along the way, she’d lost the hard edges that usually kept her face pulled taut. She looked softer and sweeter and wore a dreamy, self-satisfied smile he’d never seen on her lips before. If he knew anything about women, he’d think she…
Well, son-of-a-bitch! She’d gotten revved up enough to experience her own personal moment of glory! And he hadn’t even gotten to participate with so much as a finger in the process. She’d felt the noise, all right. If he’d known she was that ripe and ready, he’d have played this trip differently from the start.
“You need to freshen up?” he asked, halfway hard just thinking of her climaxing while pressing against his back.
He fought an urge to touch the new and pliable Annabel. Hell, he fought the urge to kiss her, touch her, imprint himself all over her while she swam in the sensual pool of afterglow. When she remembered coming apart in satisfaction, he wanted her to connect him to those happy memories. He’d made them possible, after all, even if he hadn’t been personally involved.
That sure wouldn’t be the case next time.
She pounded the heel of her hand against her ear. He recognized the sure-sign for temporary Harley deafness. Harleys weren’t known for being smooth, sleek, or dependable, but they over-compensated for all that by being loud, fast, and sexy. No point in trying to talk to her now. Her ears would ring for a while.
Putting his hand on her wrist, he stroked his thumb across her pulse. When her lips turned up in a small smile of awareness, he pointed her toward the bar and mimed eating and drinking.
Annabel looked askance at the dilapidated exterior of a honky-tonk the club frequented called The Hoghouse. Clearly, it didn’t meet her prissy-girl standards, even though her prissy-girl standards had tumbled a notch or two in the last half hour.
With a hand on her shoulder, he motioned for her to wait while he went inside to do the glad-handing bit he’d missed out on earlier. There, the other Hog-lovers bought smokes or Cokes and waited in line to get the next card for their poker hand. Each rider hoped to have the winning combination at the end of the run. But Max’s thoughts kept returning to Annabel getting herself off on his bike.
“Thanks again for coming today,” Dick Ubecki, the club president, said to him. “We always get a good turnout when the fellas know you’re coming along, and this one’s for a good cause.”
“Happy to help out, Judge,” Max said. “How many riders do we have?”
“A couple hundred.”
Max nodded. That many entry fees would make a hefty donation to the Feed-a-Child Foundation. “It’s a great day for a ride.”
“Any day’s a great day for a ride.” Bruce Townsend joined them with a root beer in hand. “Especially if you’re a Good Rider.”
Max and Dick slapped palms with Bruce, a tubby physician who looked more like the Pillsbury Doughboy’s version of Ozzie Osborne than a respected member of the AMA.
“What is it with you doctors and Harleys, Bruno?” Dick asked. “There are probably more of you here than there are at the hospital.”
Bruce shrugged. “Riding’s a hell of a stress-reliever.”
“And you guys are about the only ones who can afford the price of an upscale bike these days,” Dick cracked.
“Lo
oks like you judges do all right,” Bruce said. “When did you trade up for that V-Rod?”
“Last month. You should feel the way she handles—slicker than a swimsuit model’s well-oiled skin.”
Max tuned out the conversation, checking to see if the line at the bar had cleared out enough for him to get his poker card. He didn’t like leaving Annabel alone for long in the middle of this group of mostly horny, middle-aged wannabe players.
Tim Addams, Max’s financial advisor, crossed the room and clapped him on the shoulder. Tim handed over a white envelope with a card inside. “Picked this up for you.”
Damn, he’d forgotten Tim would be here. He wasn’t a wannabe player. He was the Ultimate Player. Max had known him to sample more women in a week than most men had meals. That was a good week, even for Tim, but still.
Now more eager than ever to get back to Annabel, Max stuck the envelope into his back pocket and headed for the door. “Thanks. Maybe I’ll get lucky today.” From this angle, he watched Annabel bend toward the rearview mirror while she pulled a comb through honey-colored curls.
“Looks like you already have.” Tim nodded toward Annabel and the excellent view of her truly gorgeous ass. “Who’s the lady? She looks more like my type than yours.”
Max frowned and considered his friend. He was a good guy to have on hand at the poker table, to make the rounds with on the golf course, or in the clubs on a night out. Tim looked like an overgrown choirboy with the muscular build of Beckham and the personality of a snake charmer. For some reason, that combination appealed to a lot of women who ended up either sleeping with Tim or investing great sums of money with him. Or both.
Max invested great sums of money with him, too, but only because the snake charmer was a financial genius. And normally, Max didn’t care how many women Tim screwed. There were more than enough women out there to go around. But Max balked at the idea of Tim turning his dubious charms Annabel’s way. The guy did have an eye for selecting quality women. Max would give him that. “How can you tell from here?”
“She doesn’t have on Spandex or glitter.”
Max smirked. He knew something Tim didn’t. She’d worn red lace the night before, and if there was a God, she’d have on something equally sexy today. “Maybe she does underneath.”
“I don’t think so.” Tim shook his head, not buying the bluff. “So why’s she with you?”
“I dared her to come.”
Tim laughed and nudged Max with his elbow. “Introduce me and I’ll take her off your hands.”
Max shrugged off the suggestion. “She’s no trouble.” Not at the moment anyway. “Maybe later. We’re about ready to head out.” He left Tim to rejoin Annabel, watching as she flipped her gleaming hair off her shoulder with a beguiling head toss. “How’re you doing?”
She flashed a dazzling smile. The sun bounced off the various shades of blonde in her hair, begging him to run his fingers through it. Pretty. And more intriguing still, sexy. He tried to remember if he’d ever seen it unleashed before. Not that he could recall. The effect made her look younger, more approachable. Of course, the recent orgasm could have brought on that look, too.
Annabel cupped her ear and hollered, “What?”
Damn, he’d forgotten her temporary hearing loss. Leaning closer, he repeated the question, getting a heady whiff of lemony shampoo as he did so.
“Brushing out my hair,” she said, loud enough for people across the river to hear.
“Not ‘what are you doing’.” He pushed a lock of silky hair behind her ear. “How?”
“‘Now’ what?”
“Never mind.” Chuckling, he reached into his pocket to pull out the earplugs again. “Ready for these?”
She nodded as she smoothed her hair back with her hands and tried to slip an elastic band around it.
He took her hand in his, plucked the elastic from her fingers, and placed the earplugs in her palm. “Trade you.”
“Hey, I need that.”
He shook his head. “I like it down.” She couldn’t hear him, but flushed, and he imagined she got the gist. She smiled, nodded, and slipped the earplugs in. He could do with a whole lot more of this agreeable attitude than the contrary approach she usually took.
And this time, she hopped into place behind him like a pro. With a hand signal from Dick, the two-hundred engines revved into life. Annabel’s thighs aligned with Max’s and her arms circled him as they led the herd of riders onto the road.
She felt more relaxed against him than she had at first, but then, so would a goalpost. She also seemed to get the hang of leaning with the bike instead of away from it, and her feet quit stomping on her imaginary brakes. Of course, his jacket might have her fingerprints imprinted on it for life, but he could live with that.
This next section of smooth road probably wouldn’t escalate into the kind of release she’d already experienced, but he’d just as soon she didn’t loosen up too much. A lot of daylight stretched ahead of them. If she managed to stick it out, he wanted to keep her close and slightly jazzed. A tandem ride on a bike provided the perfect opportunity for Annabel to become acquainted with the feel of his body against hers.
For a couple of disappointing minutes back at her house, he’d thought he’d end up leaving her behind. But aside from managing to get herself off and being a little shell-shocked, so far, she’d hung in there.
Her legs tightened around him again as they reached a small suspension bridge. He and Dick had led the group all the way across before he realized the cell phone in his shirt pocket vibrated. With one hand, he pulled it out and checked the number.
Mercer.
He’d have to find a way to ditch Annabel for a bit and contact the snitch at the next stop.
“We’ll be here for a half an hour.” Max enunciated the words carefully after Annabel removed her earplugs. “What would you like for lunch?”
And even though she could now make out some, if not all, of the conversation around her, she appreciated having a good reason to focus on his mouth.
He steered her toward a picnic table on the patio of yet another sketchy dive, the Blue Moon Saloon. She’d never realized there were so many out-of-the-way spots in the midst of Southwest Ohio tailor-made for eating, drinking and getting into who knew how many kinds of trouble. She definitely needed to get out more. Not to these kinds of places, necessarily, but at least to expand her horizons. Or ask Max to expand them for her.
Without his hand to keep her grounded, the phantom vibration of the bike rattled her body like a mini-earthquake. Exhaling a small sigh, Annabel sank onto the solid support of a wooden bench.
“Cae— Cae—” She stopped to clear the pound of road grit from her throat before choking out her request. “Caesar salad with grilled chicken and iced tea.”
Max rolled his eyes. “You don’t want salad. This is the Blue Moon, darlin’. They’re famous for barbecue, barbecue, or barbecue. Those are the choices.” He’d ticked all three of them off on his fingers. “They might have potato salad or coleslaw, but trust me, Caesar salad is not on the menu.”
“Do they have barbecue chicken?”
“Mouth-watering.” His smile matched the description.
“Great, I’ll take mine plain, please.”
“Without sauce?” he asked, clearly aghast. “That’s about as exciting as having sex without a partner.” Shaking his head, he went off to get their meals.
After her amazing experience on the back of his bike, she might have disputed that comment. She clapped a hand over her mouth to keep a surprised spurt of laughter from escaping.
Although she hadn’t been with anyone since Carl, her dear but unexciting husband had been polite and methodical in bed, sad to say. Since his death, she’d kept a vibrator hidden on the top shelf of her closet behind a box of old photographs. It seemed like a Barbie toy compared to the adult-sized pulsation created by the machine of steel she’d been riding this morning. So size does matter.
Max couldn�
�t really know what had happened to her back there on that bumpy stretch of road, could he? She’d done her best to contain her reaction by squeezing her thighs tightly, pressing her forehead into his back and clenching her hands in front of him—against his rock hard abs, actually. But he did have that reputation for reading women, so maybe he’d noticed the subtle signs.
While she waited for his return, she concentrated on relaxing her sore and tense muscles. It would take more than the half-hour allotted for lunch for her thighs to relax. Even though she was almost a puddle in some areas, other body parts were still clenched tighter than a corset.
A little embarrassed over her earlier response, Annabel was grateful that they’d been following a road that had more potholes than pavement for most of the morning. Whatever the road lacked in smoothness, its route alongside the Ohio River more than made up for in scenic beauty.
From her perch on the bench, Annabel noticed that the Blue Moon’s patio overlooked the river’s swelling banks. A large limb bobbed in and out of the water. A flock of geese honked overhead. A canopy of branches blocked the sun with a haze of bright green leaves bursting to life. The idyllic setting couldn’t keep her thoughts from drifting to the puzzling white envelopes she’d seen members of the group surreptitiously peeking into before pocketing.
What did they contain? Something as harmless as the location of the next stop or something dangerous like one of the new synthetic drugs she’d heard was spreading through Cincinnati like an epidemic? She’d ask Max about the envelopes at the first opportunity. But if they contained something top-secret or illegal would he tell her the truth?
Keeping an eye on the driftwood’s progress, she became aware of two guys talking on the other side of the plank fence behind her.
“I checked with my dealer yesterday, and he can’t keep up with my demands anymore. Have you had any trouble, Bruno?” a rumbling baritone asked.
“Not since I switched suppliers,” a tenor responded. “Who’ve you been using?”
“Royce out of Tallahassee.”
