His attention was drawn sharply across the table as Wayde Harper, head of Human Resources, pulled out a chair. He plunked down, heavy set features red and ruddy. He mopped at his sweaty forehead with the back of his shirtsleeve, which was no less damp looking. The light blue had turned a darker color in the areas of the pit and neckline. The guy was about fifty pounds overweight and balding. Though he was just approaching forty, he looked at least twenty years older.
Jack might have cut the guy some slack if he wasn’t completely obnoxious. He flashed Jack a slimy grin like they were actually friends. Which they weren’t. Jack wasn’t friends with anyone. He went to work and did his job. He didn’t socialize. He didn’t fraternize. He didn’t participate in anything more than he had to. He did the bare minimum to get by and was somehow successful.
Probably because people liked a mystery. They liked it a little too much. So he’d decided, on a whim, to change it up. Make an appearance. Just one. One and done.
“You seen Giselle over there?” He turned his head, indicating a tall, curvy redhead who was most definitely married, though her husband was MIA at the party. Probably because he knew the damn thing would be boring as hell and couldn’t bring himself to endure it.
“Saw,” Jack corrected under his breath.
“Hmm?” Wayde’s thick eyebrows, like two bushy caterpillars which stood out in direct contrast to his balding head, rose a notch.
“Nothing.” Jack did his best not to make a disgusted sound.
“Or- there was this chick. Nice piece. Tall, thin, legs for days. She was wearing a red dress. Long, not the kind of thing suitable for an office party.” Wayde’s lecherous grin gave little doubt to the fact that he very much liked the woman in question’s lack of judgment when it came to fashion.
“Can’t say I have,” Jack muttered.
“She had long dark hair, green eyes. God, she looked like a model. Long, long legs,” Wayde repeated again. “I like tall women. I could just damn well climb them like a tree.”
“I think you mean like a monkey. They would be the tree.”
“What’s that?” Wayde leaned forward to hear over the music.
“Nothing,” Jack said again. “I was just saying that I hadn’t seen her.” The description, however, seemed to match the woman he’d just seen at the door. The one digging out keys even though she was obviously completely hammered. She was tall, brunette, slim, and had on a long red dress, which really wasn’t suitable at all for an office thing, though he was loathe to agree on any of Wayde’s points.
“Tall women. Lord. I just have to wonder how many positions she could get herself into with those legs. God, legs like that deserve to be locked around my waist.”
Jack tuned out the rest of Wayde’s statement. It was a skill he’d developed over the years, a way to shut out copious amounts of bullshit. How the guy was head of human resources was anyone’s best guess. Maybe he couldn’t be fired since he ran the hiring and firing department. Maybe it was because they worked for a union and no one had actually had the audacity to complain about sexual harassment. Maybe Wayde didn’t do that kind of shit at work. Maybe he saved it for extra special moments like the office Christmas party, for guys like Jack, who didn’t give two fucks about what Wayde thought.
Must be why he singled me out. Because he knows I won’t report him, since I actually don’t give a shit. Or worse… maybe Wayde searched the room to find someone he thought was just like him. The thought sent a shudder up Jack’s spine.
However delightful the company was, he decided to cut things short. He gestured to the bar then back at his empty glass. Wayde, who seemed completely clueless, got the hint pretty damn fast. Unfortunately.
As soon as Jack stood, he shoved back his chair as well.
Fuck me. Jack stalked away, weaving in and out of the people congregated around the room. He overheard snatches of conversation. Some of it about business. God, who talked business in their downtime? Weren’t parties like this a good excuse to overeat, get plastered, dance like a fool, and nurse a hangover for two days straight? It was his first Christmas party, ever, so he really didn’t know. But he’d assumed. Apparently he assumed wrong.
Wayde was still trailing behind him, a much more persistent shadow than Jack would have thought the guy had the actual brainpower to be. He dodged left and right, slid in behind a group of three women laughing like a bunch of honking birds, skipped past the bar and ducked out of the room, hopefully unseen.
Chapter 2
JACK
Jack waited a minute, but Wayde didn’t make an appearance. There were a few people mulling about on the landing, which branched off into several different hallways and a large staircase to the right.
Jack stepped away, towards the railing. He inhaled sharply, thankful to be away from everyone, just for a few minutes. Why the fuck did I even come to this thing? Oh right. Because I actually thought it might be good for me.
Silence. It never used to bother him. An empty house wasn’t as bad as predictability. He’d come as much to throw people off as to avoid another night spent alone. Women always had been drawn to him like a damn magnet. It always made him uncomfortable, being the focus of things. But the loneliness was worse.
He spotted a blonde, Emma, he thought, also from accounting. She raised a brow and glanced his way. It was obvious, from the look in her eyes, what she wanted and it didn’t involve going home alone. Everyone knew Emma was single. Everyone knew she had a damn thing for him. Well, him and half the other guys in the office.
Jack ducked his head and all but fled down the stairs. He’d been at the party for a few hours. Enough to have put in his token appearance, so he could get the hell out of there. His black shoes skimmed over the steps in his hurry. He’d worn a damn suit again, though he hated them. They were confining and rigid. He wished that he’d opted for jeans and a leather jacket. What would it have hurt to scandalize a few people?
No. He knew the rules. He knew what it took to remain invisible, to blend in. He never did anything that might draw attention to himself. Monday to Friday he wore damn suits and slacks and prickly dress shirts. He drove a non-descript, domestic sedan, a few years old. He lived in a regular house, a bungalow that hadn’t been remodeled since the nineties. That was the image he put out there. Just a regular guy. Like any other guy.
He was so focused on making an escape through the lobby that he wasn’t paying attention and nearly ran down the woman who was in front of him. He dipped right as his attention refocused, in an effort to avert disaster. His shoulder brushed hers. Too hard. She stumbled and he automatically threw out a hand to catch her.
His fingers curled around warm skin and a set of huge green eyes, green with brown flecks that caught the light of the chandelier overhead and sparkled. They were hazy, those eyes, unfocused, even when the woman blinked hard a few times.
He glanced down to where his hand remained on her arm, hanging on a fraction too long. He dropped it away quickly, back to his side. Something silver glinted in her other hand. A set of keys.
She was the one who was drunk. Obviously drunk. She had that dazed look and easy smile of someone with zero inhibitions. She smiled at him and raised the keys and he felt, strangely enough, like he was the one who had too many, though he’d drunk only two shots of whiskey the entire night. He wasn’t even buzzed.
Why then, did his eyes keep falling back to her lips? They were full and a nice pink coral, a natural hue, since any lipstick or lip gloss she might have had on was long gone. He was dimly aware of the dress, a flowing red garment that was cut too low in front and far too low in the back. It wasn’t elegant or classy. It was far more bohemian, as was the long hair that trailed in unruly waves over her dainty shoulders and down her back. The dress had a slit that revealed one long leg and a whole lot of creamy skin.
Unfortunately Wayde’s words echoed through his mind and he berated himself for even noticing those legs. The woman with no name was obviously the one Wayde had
been talking about.
“Are you leaving?” Jack found himself asking. He wasn’t sure why and his voice sounded rusty with disuse.
The brunette nodded. “Yes.” She held up her keys and flashed him a grin.
“The party wasn’t as entertaining as you thought?”
Her eyes swept over him and a wave of hard heat hit him right in the gut. And… in lower places, if he was willing to admit it. His cock jumped to life, flying at half mast, though hopefully not noticeable in his damn pants.
“I wasn’t expecting much. At least the drinks were good.” She giggled, high and sweet, though it was clearly alcohol induced.
Jack had the feeling she wouldn’t talk to him at any other time. She looked like a good girl. One of those stuck up, real trust fund girls, from a good family. Girls who were smart enough not be swayed by animal good looks and a charming smile.
Although, driving drunk was definitely not sexy and it sure as hell wasn’t smart. He eyed the keys clutched tightly in her fist. “Did you drive?”
The woman grinned up at him. She giggled again and rolled her eyes. “Of course not.”
The problem was, he didn’t believe her. Jack was used to seeing straight through people. He was no damn hero, that was for sure, but he wasn’t going to let her take to the streets and risk killing herself or others.
“I’ll call you a cab.” He slid his phone out of his back pocket. “What area do you live in?”
“Parkridge.”
He froze. No way. No damn way. “What a coincidence,” he said thickly. His eyes focused on the woman’s face, on her dainty jawline, her alabaster skin, the high cheekbones, her gorgeous eyes, but mostly on those full lips. He closed his eyes briefly and imagined what those lips would feel like wrapped around the base of his cock. It’s been a long damn time. Too fucking long. She’s not my type. “You work here?”
The woman’s eyes narrowed, like she was trying to focus through her swimming head. “No,” she finally said. “I mean, uh- no. Technically no. Not right now.”
Jack rolled his eyes. “You’re here by yourself then.”
She shook her head. “Is it that obvious that I’m pathetically single?”
Jack’s chest tightened. Something hard and feral leached into his bloodstream. It had been a long time. Over a year. No matter how he tried to justify coming to the fucking party, that he was changing it up, doing the opposite of what everyone expected, he had to admit that he was lonely. Lonely enough that he’d made the mistake of thinking the damn office party would help. Lonely enough to stoop to new pathetically low levels.
“What a coincidence,” he said again, voice like gravel. “I live in Maple Grove. I’ll get us a cab and I can drop you off along the way.”
“Really?”
Only because I don’t want to see you get killed. He dreaded reading the headlines in the morning that reported a drunk driving accident and a pedestrian related death.
He smoothly reached over and grabbed the brunette’s keys. He tucked them into his jacket pocket, regardless of her protests. He stepped to the right, fending off her attempts to reach them as he brought his phone to his ear to call for a cab.
As luck would have it, one pulled up to the glass doors. Jack didn’t bother waiting. He gripped the brunette’s arm and tugged her forward. She let out a startled gasp, but didn’t pull her arm away. By the time they were through the double doors, she’d relaxed enough into his grip. She was trusting. Far too trusting.
He wanted to do one good deed. One. Just one. He hoped he could trust himself enough to drop her off at her house and continue on his way. Only a real bastard would invite himself to spend the night at her place. Only a real bastard, but then again, despite the fact that he looked the part, Jack had never been a good guy.
Chapter 3
TIA
The guy in the cab with her was sex incarnate. He was the kind of guy that women would do anything to get in bed with. The kind that did things to people. Did things as in caused a few wet panties. Her own was already soaked.
Stupid. Tia Reid had been so nervous about going to the damn Christmas party that she’d doused her nerves with a few shots of vodka before she even left the house. Stupid. She was stupid for even considering going to a party when she’d just been hired and didn’t even start until the following Monday. Stupid. It was ridiculous that HR even extended the invitation. Stupid. It was stupid that she was alone and had been so self-conscious she’d had far too many drinks throughout the evening. Stupid. It was even worse that since she broke up with Jeremy eight months ago, she hadn’t had the willpower to pick herself back up and put herself back out there.
And now this damn god or statue or whatever is sitting in the backseat of a cab with me. She already knew if he asked, or hesitated at her stop, she wouldn’t refuse.
Even though he likely worked for the same company. She didn’t know that for a fact. Judging from the way he dressed, the way he carried himself, the expensive suit and black leather shoes, the slicked back blonde hair and the piercing eyes, he was probably in some upper management part of the company. She’d likely never have to see him again.
No one will know. Her drunk brain fired off all sorts of signals that her sober brain would have ignored. At least she thought it would. Likely, she’d be just as damn wet between her legs. Her nipples would probably still be hard enough to cut glass. Her stomach would be just as filled with butterflies and her heart would be slamming out a similar aggressive pattern.
The cab rolled to a stop in front of her house. It was a miracle she even remembered her address. Her head was swimming. Literally. She barely kept herself upright at the hotel. She’d been in the lobby forever waiting for a cab. Waiting, because she forgot her phone at home and couldn’t call one. It hadn’t even occurred to her through the thick soup that was her mind, to ask the front desk to call one.
“This it?”
The guy turned to her in the backseat. He was the typical Florida looking male. His skin was bronzed. He probably owned at least six pairs of expensive aviator style sunglasses. His haircuts likely cost more than she made in a month, his suits more than she earned in a year. He was a tailored kind of guy. The kind of man who got his clothes made for him. He probably drove an import car, a fast one, the kind that was manufactured by a maker not in her vocabulary. He had the body of a man who worked out hard just so he could show it off on the beaches on the weekend or jogging in the morning. He was the wet dream kind of guy every woman like to fantasize over.
The cab’s lights illuminated the front of her smaller, two story house. “Yeah,” Tia said breathlessly. “Can I have my keys?”
Mr. Sex God dug in his pocket and produced the keys he’d taken from her. He looked at them, studied them in the dull black of the car. A puzzled frown marred that perfect, broad brow for a second before he handed them over.
“Thanks,” she whispered. She stared at him for a second, then back to the cab driver. Her head felt like it was going to float off her body. She wasn’t sure how many drinks she’d had. She just knew they were cheap and after the first few stiff ones, the rest went down a hell of a lot easier.
The wet-dream inducing stranger stared at her with those flashing blue eyes of his. Eyes that were guarded and shadowed and not just because it was night out and the cab was dark. “You going to be okay? You aren’t going to pass out are you? Die choking? Do you know the recovery position?”
Tia couldn’t help it. She giggled again. She knew she’d been doing that ever since that stranger walked up to her in the hotel lobby, but she couldn’t seem to stop. She would normally never have had the courage to even talk to a guy like him. It was straight up vodka that was doing the talking and laughing and pretty much everything else.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about. Is it even possible to get yourself into the recovery position?” She wasn’t sure what the recovery position even was. She could count on one hand how many parties she’d been to and how
many times she’d been truly drunk.
The stranger tensed. His face was surprisingly serious. He studied her for a minute, a tense minute, in which Tia didn’t dare breathe. Does he have any idea how captivating he is? There was something about him, something that was different than other guys. People didn’t look like him. They weren’t built like him, tall, with the broadest shoulders and the promise of rippling muscle under expensive clothes, but it was more than that. He was the kind of guy that could just look at a person and see right through them.
She dropped her eyes at the same time he shifted. He dug out his wallet and she was actually jealous of the thing. Jealous of a damn wallet, since it was so close to what was likely the world’s most perfect ass. Male butts had never been her thing. Female behinds obviously weren’t either. She never looked at butts period, but lord, she wanted to look at his ass. It would be even better to touch it… taste it? What the fuck? How drunk am I?
The stranger paid the cab driver and the next thing she knew, her door was opened and he offered a hand. The second her fingers slid into his and felt his solid warmth again, her body went into full on overdrive. She felt a thousand times drunker.
Tia dropped her keys in the process of climbing out of the cab, trying not to flash any of her more indecent parts as the dress rode all the way up to her damn hips. I shouldn’t have worn this. No one else had anything on like this. The damn thing was an impulse buy, because it looked great on the model in the store. She didn’t have anywhere to wear it though and clearly an office thing wasn’t the right place. She’d felt ridiculous from the moment she walked in.
Tia stumbled, but the stranger’s hand left hers and gripped her waist. He guided her gently, but firmly, to the sidewalk. She stepped over, though she managed to scrape the top of her shoe so hard it fell off in the process. The stranger, which by then she figured must be a tall, dark, and handsome figment of her imagination, carried on. She limped her way up to the front door. She opened her clutch, which was thankfully strapped to her wrist so she hadn’t lost it, and panicked when she couldn’t find her keys.
Lonely Rider - The Box Set: A Motorcycle Club Romance - The Complete Series Page 14
