Meet Your Mate (A Good Riders Romance Book 1)

by Floyd, Jacie

  “How do you feel—” She paused to raise up on her elbow and lean her head against her hand.

  Ah ha! Here it comes! That’s what they always wanted to know.

  “—about not winning the award?”

  Where had that come from? “A little bummed, I guess.” And a little pissed to know that he hadn’t held her attention for more than five minutes past her mind-blowing climax. Her second one! Had she been thinking about the damned award the whole time they’d been mak—having sex?

  She smoothed his hair off his forehead in a comforting gesture, but he pulled away. He couldn’t believe she thought he needed comfort. He had been comforting her, and now, she tried turning the tables on him!

  “I thought if I didn’t win the award, you would.” Her fingers trailed tentatively across his shoulder.

  “I guess I just didn’t sleep with the right person,” Max joked, although all he really wanted to do was roll her onto her back and make her shout down the roof again. He still couldn’t believe Annabel was such a screamer.

  “Is that how she did it?” Annabel asked, eyebrows raised in shock.

  Just because she tested his control beyond endurance and made his blood pound, he sometimes forgot what an innocent she really was, until she said something that naive.

  “How else would you explain it?”

  She pushed her hair off her forehead, raising her arm and diverting his attention to where the sheet slipped down to her waist.

  “Talent?” she suggested, tugging the sheet back into place. “Topical subject matter? The backing of her production company?”

  “We had all that, too.”

  She cocked her head to the side and studied him in a way that was so knowing and so wise that it made him want to grab his pants and run. “Would you have slept with someone just to win?”

  His eyes crinkled into a smile as he tightened his arm around her. “Only you.”

  “You seem to be taking it pretty well.”

  “What? Sleeping with you?”

  “No, losing.”

  Why did they have to talk about this now? If he wanted to bare his soul, he’d have gone to bed with the station’s sexy lady shrink who’d been sending him some pretty strong do-me signals for the past few months. “I won’t be if you keep repeating the L-word like that.”

  “Seriously.”

  Damn, he hated hearing that word, especially in a beautiful woman’s bed. “I wanted to win the award to brush up my image for a network job. Just being nominated might have done the trick, but I’ll know soon enough.”

  Her hand on his chest stilled, interrupting the erotic pattern she’d been tracing. “Is the job in New York or LA?”

  “New York. Didn’t I tell you?” He tried hard to sound casual, knowing he had hinted about it at best. Still it wasn’t like they were joined at the hip—not usually anyway. And no contract had been signed. “Investigative journalist for a national program. I might still do some on-camera work, but mostly I’d be developing and investigating the stories.”

  “What a great opportunity.” Her enthusiasm rang a bit forced. “When will you know?”

  “Soon. My agent’s hammering out the deal now.”

  “Well, congratulations.” She leaned over and gave him a stiff-lipped kiss, more maiden aunt than hot new lover. “No wonder you weren’t as concerned about winning the award as I was.”

  “Howard will still let you do what you want now, won’t he?”

  “Oh, sure,” she said too quickly, not meeting his eyes.

  Her future was not his concern. But still. “What will you do if he doesn’t?”

  “Something else.” She shrugged, pretending indifference. Worst liar Max had even known. “Meanwhile, do you know what I’d like?”

  “I hope so.” He started easing the sheet from her grip. Even though the mood for romance had been strangled out of him about ten minutes ago, he might be able to revive it with the right incentive.

  “I’m hungry,” she announced, tracing his tattoo down his side.

  “Hey, me, too, babe.” He reached for her. She stopped him with his mouth a half-inch from her breast.

  “For food.”

  “No wonder.” He sighed, disappointed, but understanding. “You hardly ate any of the rubber chicken at the dinner.”

  She tossed the covers back and hopped out of bed. “Give me a minute, and I’ll make you an omelet.”

  Her bare ass disappeared into the bathroom.

  Idiot! Annabel turned the shower on full blast. Of course, his plans don’t include me. Tonight was nothing more than two people coming together on a night of mutual need. If he turned out to be funny and personable, sweet and gentle, it was because he’d had a lot of practice at moments like these.

  She’d wanted to put some zip and zing into her life, and now she knew—too much zing took the zip right out of her. Still, it had been a night to remember. She intended to put on her happiest face for whatever time they had left. He’d said she could have all night. That meant they had about three or four more hours. She’d make the most of them.

  After she stepped out of the shower and dried off, she reached for her flannel robe. It zipped down the front, had a hood, and made her look more like a linebacker than a femme fatale. Definitely not sexy enough for Max. She returned the robe to its hook.

  She went into the bedroom to grab something with a little more pizazz from her dresser. Max blessedly had his back turned, bent over putting on his trousers. She paused to enjoy the view until the outcome of the action registered. Putting on his pants!

  “Are you leaving?” She clapped her hand over her mouth as soon as the words were out.

  He turned and looked at her. First, like he was appalled by her question. Then, like she was nuts. And finally, like she was naked. She liked the third look the best.

  “No, we’re going downstairs.” He pulled another condom from his pocket. “And being a former Boy Scout—always prepared—I thought we might need this.”

  “Oh, thank heavens! You have another one.” She went over and put her arms around his neck, brushing lots of bare skin against him. He sucked in his stomach as all his muscles turned to granite. Encouraged, she let her hands slide over the contours of his back.

  “Last one.” He cupped her bottom and pressed his erection into her. “We can use it now or later. Your choice.” His kiss encouraged now.

  She wanted him again, already. And incredibly, he seemed to be hers for the taking. For the moment. Unused to the instant gratification of any of her desires, let alone sexual ones, she hesitated. She knew the value of waiting for what she wanted. “If we use it now, there won’t be any later?”

  “Well, we’d have to improvise. But I have some ideas about that.” He knelt in front of her and kissed the heart-shaped birthmark on her hip.

  “Improvisation is good.” She clutched his head, unsure whether she wanted to pull him to her or push him away. His mouth caressing her intimately was a much-anticipated fantasy. One that had kept her awake for several nights and was totally outside her limited experience.

  “Sometimes, improvisation is the best.” He kissed a path across her stomach and dipped his tongue into her navel.

  She trembled. Too much! Definitely too much. But she wanted what was coming next. She feared it. She doubted if she could live without it. Still... She made a half-hearted attempt to delay. “But anticipation is good, too.”

  “Oh, yeah,” he agreed. “Love anticipation.” He nestled his face against the triangle of curls and let his tongue tease her slick flesh. “But I love the taste of you more.”

  His mouth took her then and caressed her at the exact spot where every sensation pooled. She didn’t know she could feel this much. It’s too much. Too much. The refrain repeated in her head with the rhythm of his tongue against her until too much was not nearly enough.

  She sucked great gulps of air into her lungs as the pressure built and her fists tightened in his hair. As his tongue ras
ped over her faster and faster, her climax came closer and closer. She felt hot all over and dizzy, and so, so good. She tensed and arched her hips against him, shouting her release as her orgasm slammed into her, overwhelming and compacting all other sensations into one powerful, defining focus. She surfed the wave of the moment, longing for it to last forever.

  Her knees had never failed her before, but now, they buckled. Only her grip on his muscular shoulders kept her from crumbling into a heap. Light-headed, she eased to the floor in front of him, thighs straddling thighs, forehead touching forehead. Shaken, she couldn’t speak. If he made a wisecrack, she’d smack him.

  He leaned back a fraction and looked at her, his eyes filled with wonder. His fingers went to her cheeks, touching the moisture she hadn’t realized was there. “Hey, you’re not supposed to cry. I wanted to make you feel good.”

  “Good is such an inadequate word.” She closed her eyes and dropped her head onto his shoulder. “That far exceeded good. Thank you.”

  Encircling her in his arms, he rocked her back and forth while she fought to control her unruly emotions.

  “You’re—I never—Oh, my.” She paused to catch her breath. “That was incredible.”

  “Have you never done that before?”

  Reduced to a physical and emotional puddle, she could only shake her head.

  “Why not? You obviously enjoyed it.”

  Why not, indeed? It seemed disrespectful to think of her husband and compare him unfavorably. “My husband was older. Very dignified, very reserved.”

  “Very boring.”

  “Not boring,” The disloyal thought shamed her. “He just wasn’t as interested or comfortable with sex as you are.”

  “Was he gay?”

  “No!”

  “Then there’s no excuse.”

  She remembered the nights Carl came to bed, pajama-clad. He’d reach for her and enter her so silently, so distantly. They’d never shared this kind of pleasure in their intimacy. Even though it had been less than fulfilling for her, she’d thought she might be the one who was lacking. She never realized how much laughter and emotion could be shared in the moment. “I don’t think he would have enjoyed it.”

  “He should have.” The color of Max’s dark eyes deepened. “You’re incredible, you know. You should be with someone who appreciates you.”

  She covered her ears with her hands. “Don’t say anything more about him.”

  “Sorry. You’re right. It’s not my place to talk about the things your husband did or didn’t do for you.” Max cupped her cheeks in his palms, rubbing her cheeks with his thumbs. “But don’t waste any more of your life limited by someone else’s boundaries, okay?”

  He looked so serious, so adorable with his gaze locked on hers. He’d opened doors to sensual thresholds she’d only read about. Drawn to him on emotional levels he wouldn’t welcome, she opened her mouth to express feelings he wouldn’t want to hear. As if reading her mind, he touched his fingers to her lips and shook his head.

  She swallowed and formed the most difficult words of the night. Words that just might be necessary to her self-preservation. “Maybe you should go.”

  “Go?” His eyebrows shot up. “No way, lady. I promised you all night, and you promised me an omelet.”

  An omelet. That put things into perspective.

  If he could be nonchalant, so could she.

  Even if it killed her.

  Chapter Ten

  Relieved to escape getting the boot, Max peered out of the blinds in Annabel’s bedroom. The limo remained in the driveway. While he and Annabel had screwed one another upside down and sideways, the persistent drizzle had escalated into an all-out storm, complete with window-rattling thunder and lightning.

  Annabel slipped into some purple shorts and a silky top that were too revealing to be anything other than underwear, but way too delicious to be covered up by regular clothes. With an intimate smile, she took his hand and led him downstairs.

  “Do you know who makes the best Denver omelet in Cincinnati?” They arrived for his first visit to her kitchen. Nice, efficient, tidy. Just as he expected, the counters gleamed. Not even a dirty fork lurked in the sink. He’d see about changing that.

  “Duffy’s on the River?”

  “No, Ms. Smarty Pants.” He slipped his fingers into the waist of her little shorts and snapped the elastic. “I do.”

  “Oh, really? Then wash your hands and get to work.” She retrieved an armload of ingredients from the refrigerator, laying them out precisely on the counter. “I’ll make the bacon and toast.”

  “And coffee. We have to have coffee.”

  Pointing to the kettle, she wrinkled her nose. “Not tea?”

  He scoffed. “Tea’s for wimps. If we’re going to stay busy all night, we need high-octane caffeine.”

  “Good point.” She reached into the pantry for K-cups.

  Her skimpy top rode up her back, exposing a flash of smooth skin. He gravitated forward to wrap his arms around her waist. She deftly avoided him and shoved the chopping board and a knife into his hands.

  He attacked a green pepper with his usual fervor. He didn’t cook often, but when he did, he put a lot of energy into it. After several strips of green pepper sailed across the chopping block and onto the floor, Annabel crossed her arms and pretended to glare at him.

  “What?” He tossed an onion over his shoulder and caught it behind his back. “You’ve never seen anyone cook before?”

  “Not with such abandon.” She shoved a bowl his way. “Here. You break the eggs. I’ll finish chopping. It worries me to see you wielding a sharp object.”

  Chewing on her bottom lip, she proceeded to lay strips of peppers side by side and cut them into uniform squares. Next, he figured she’d measure them with a slide rule.

  Planning to wow her with his proudest kitchen accomplishment, he picked up an egg in each hand, tapped both against the side of the bowl, and then cracked them open at the same time. The egg-innards slid into the bowl. He deftly pitched the shells into the trash with a basketball hook shot. He looked up to see if she’d caught his grandstanding.

  She had. Pushing him aside, she chased a minuscule shell fragment around the bowl with a spoon. “I see you like your omelets crunchy.”

  “You don’t worry about a few eggshells, do you?” He trapped the speck beneath a fingertip and flicked it aside. “A little roughage is good for you.”

  “Uh huh.” She pursed her lips together, obviously trying to keep herself from either scolding him or laughing. He wondered which one.

  She followed along behind him after that, taking over every task he started, from whisking the eggs to adding the splash of hot sauce. When he prepared to flip the omelets without benefit of a spatula, she took the pan away from him. “I’ll do it. You go butter the toast.”

  “You know what your problem is?” he asked as they sat down to eat. “You’re a control freak with no sense of adventure.”

  “Really?” She looked around at the chaos he’d made of her formerly spotless kitchen. “And you’re a disaster waiting to happen.”

  “I might be messy, but I’m fun.”

  “True.” She hid a yawn behind her hand.

  “Sleepy?”

  “A little. I’m not used to staying up all night, are you?”

  “It happens.” Just the night before he’d stayed up until dawn on a pointless stakeout. But even that was more productive than most of his all-nighters. “Can you sleep late tomorrow?”

  She frowned at the clock on the wall. “It’s almost two A.M. So, tomorrow is already today, and I have a yoga class at nine.” She rubbed her eyes with her knuckles. “I might have to skip that. What are your plans?”

  “I’m running in a charity race at eight. What about in the afternoon?”

  “Attending a tea at The Conservatory. Are you riding with the motorcycle club?”

  “Not until Sunday. Tomorrow afternoon I have tickets to see the Reds.”

&
nbsp; “Can you rest after that?”

  Rest on a Saturday night? Not until he was dead. “Nah, it’s my poker night. Will you be turning in early?”

  “Probably, but first, I have to go visit my aunt in the hospital.”

  Man, we really don’t have anything in common. Too bad. Things had gone so well between them tonight. He’d like to spend more time with her, but didn’t have to be hit over the head to see that their schedules and interests didn’t coincide anyplace but in bed. That might be enough for him, but he had a feeling she’d want more.

  And he was surprised to note, he kind of wanted more, too.

  She popped a piece of bacon into her mouth and followed it with her last bite of egg. Holding her coffee cup in one hand, she rested her chin on the heel of the other. She beamed at him, and the warmth of her smile caressed him from across the table. And his immediate physical reaction didn’t have a thing to do with the cleavage peeking at him over the plunge of her purple silk tank.

  Realizing it had been too long since he’d touched her, he pushed his chair back, prepared to change that.

  “You do make the best omelet in Cincinnati.”

  “Why, thank you, ma’am.” Moving to stand behind her, he adopted an exaggerated aw-shucks stance. “But you did all the work.”

  She leaned her head back and smiled at him upside down. “I’d say we did it together. We made a good team.”

  He pressed a kiss to her soft lips. She tasted of coffee and strawberry jam, and he let his mouth linger. Without breaking contact, he pivoted to kneel beside her. She enclosed him in her sweet-smelling embrace.

  “Know what we should do now?” His voice was a whisper as his lips moved on hers.

  “Clean the kitchen?”

  “Sure, let’s do that.” He moved to cup her breasts, feeling the weight in his palms. “Later.”

  She sighed with pleasure as he teased first one and then the other with his mouth, dampening the thin material. With his tongue coaxing her nipples to hard points, his hands moved a slow path from ribs to hip to inner thigh. He felt her twitch with impatience, but he intended to prolong the game of stimulation indefinitely.