by Regina Cole
Laying the jacket over his arm, he resumed his grip on the phone. He left his bedroom, making sure to walk softly on the polished wooden floors. Motorcycle boots had a distinctive thunk. “Yeah. Just let me know if you see anything suspicious. And uh…” Garrett lifted the keys from the marble countertop carefully, making sure not to let them jingle. “I’ll be out doing some yard work, so if you don’t get me, leave it on my voicemail, okay? Sure. Thanks, Trent.”
He killed the call without much remorse. Trent had been on his ass all night once Reg and Quentin had left, wanting to know what was up with him and Mia. And Garrett’s firm “it’s over” didn’t seem to wash. No matter how much Garrett insisted there was nothing between them, and the split hadn’t affected him in any way, Trent never believed him. He’d argued, but had eventually agreed to keep watch over Mia at the convention for Garrett.
So a little white lie had been necessary. If Trent had known what Garrett was about to do, he’d have done his best to talk him out of it, probably even bringing the other two guys in to block his path.
Garrett pulled on his leather jacket, glimpsing out the wide window in front of his kitchen sink. A beautiful, sunny day, but the thickening clouds on the horizon promised the weather would change later. A soft tinkling met his ears, the little silver wind chime Priscilla had hung on his front porch so many years ago, still reminding him of what he had to fight for, what he had to correct. She hadn’t deserved her fate.
Garrett snorted as he let himself out of the house and into his large garage, punching the door button on his way by. None of them deserved the shit that had happened to them. Not Priscilla, not Trent, Reg or Quentin or even—
He stopped in front of his shiny black SUV.
Mia.
Garrett leaned against the hood for a second, the memory of their conversation in the restaurant washing over him. God, the pain in her eyes when she’d talked about losing her grandmother. The loneliness. It had echoed what he felt in his own heart.
A heavy bang reverberated through the garage as his fist landed atop the hood. She was living her life now. And so was he.
Throwing his leg over the bike seat, he settled himself onto his favorite mode of transportation. Today, he was going to track down a key member of Art Ford’s team, and then he was going to interrogate the bastard until he found out about Ramirez. Trent would never have allowed him to go alone.
Garrett’s smile was grim as the engine rumbled to life beneath him.
Trent would have to be content with mothering Mia today. Garrett had shit to do.
* * * * *
Rain pelted against Garrett’s leather jacket and thousands of tiny needles stung his face. Revving the engine, he hunkered closer to the bike’s grips and accelerated. In the rain-freckled side mirrors, a midnight-blue Mustang still followed.
“Shit,” Garrett hissed as he took a tight curve on Highway 78. Floyd, a newer member of Ford’s team, hadn’t recognized Garrett, but he was intensely suspicious. Garrett had kept it light, posing as a dealer looking for a new supplier, but Floyd hadn’t wanted to play ball. And since Floyd liked to keep a posse around, roughing him up was out of the question.
Garrett booked it out of the Buckhead high-rise, but ever since he’d left the parking deck, the Mustang had been following. He’d been driving for over an hour now, taking quick turns without signaling on the downtown streets, winding through the city as if on a Sunday drive, but the car was always there.
A quick glimpse at the horizon showed an especially dark thunderhead on its way. Here at the edge of twilight, with a heavy storm coming and a couple of Floyd’s associates on Garrett’s tail, he knew it was time for drastic action.
Lowering his head, Garrett kicked the bike into high gear. The precision engine responded instantly, rocketing Garrett forward as if he and his bike had been shot from a cannon. Here on the outskirts of Atlanta, the roads were curvier, hillier and as familiar to Garrett as the back of his own hand.
The speedometer crept higher, from seventy to eighty, eighty-five… The Mustang grew smaller in the mirror. Garrett’s adrenaline surged as he allowed himself to drag in a heavy, rain-tinged breath. Up ahead was his salvation, and none too soon.
He decelerated fractionally on the gentle curve, guiding his bike onto an almost indiscernible path on the edge of the road. Once his tires hit grass, he braked hard. Just as he’d hoped, the firm ground beneath didn’t give under the strain of his sudden stop.
Cutting the engine behind a thick copse of river birches, he waited. A huge clap of thunder heralded the storm’s arrival, and water poured from the sky as the Mustang shot around the curve. Garrett allowed himself a breath of relief. It was Sunday, and less than a mile of curvy road ahead was a speed trap. The Mustang wouldn’t be able to avoid it.
After a silent ten minutes, Garrett cranked the engine and headed home. No need to tell the guys about this one. He hadn’t gotten any new information, and after the idiots in the Mustang got through with the license check, they’d report to Floyd that he’d disappeared in the country.
By the time his bike rumbled up his drive, the rain had slacked off a little bit. It was a matter of longstanding habit to do a sweep of his surroundings, and as his gaze wandered across the front of his house, a large black object caught his eye.
A suitcase was sitting on his front porch. A black suitcase.
And on the other end of the porch, huddled on the white wicker swing, was Mia.
Excitement shot through him for a split second, followed immediately by incredible rage. What the hell was she doing here? How had she found him?
But just as quickly, the dull metallic taste of fear filled his mouth, and he checked his rearview mirrors. What if the Mustang had made it through the checkpoint after all, and followed him here? She could be in danger.
Because of him.
Shit.
He punched the garage door button in his pocket and thrust the kickstand down. The engine had barely stopped growling when he threw himself off the bike and ran around the front of the house. He took the steps to the porch three at a time.
“Inside,” he snapped, grabbing her arm. “Now.”
Chapter Twelve
“Hey,” Mia yelled as Garrett dragged her unceremoniously through the rain and into the garage. Her black pumps sank into the rain-soaked lawn as she tried to pull free of his grip. He let her go then went back into the rain to wheel his bike inside. The garage door slowly closed behind them.
“You owe me a new pair of shoes. These cost me a fortune.”
“I’m not the one who told you to show up at my goddamn house,” Garrett said without looking at her. He yanked the keys from the bike’s ignition.
Mia’s retort bubbled to her lips, but just then she realized where she was standing.
“Holy shit,” she whispered as she looked at the collection of vehicles in front of her.
It was a three-car garage, holding only two cars. But oh what cars they were. A black Cadillac Escalade occupied the spot closest to the door to the house, gleaming chrome rims shining in the fluorescent light. A cherry-red Camaro sat by the far wall, one of those vehicles that only seemed to show up at auto shows. A shiny chrome blower sat atop the hood, the car’s silky black convertible top contrasting with the brightness. Subtle, thin scrollwork decorated the sides of the body, dips and curves reminding Mia of a woman stretching across the red paint.
In the center of the garage was a trio of motorcycles. The black one she’d already been on, a bright-green crotch rocket and a Harley that looked as if it had come straight from the 1980s. Despite its dated look, it was obviously clean and well cared for.
There was a shit-ton of money in this garage.
Garrett stalked past her without another word, yanking down the zipper on his black leather jacket. He mounted the steps to the house, shoving his key in the lock almost violently.
Mia kicked off her heels and followed him. She couldn’t blame him for being upset. Tre
nt had brought her here. She’d assumed he’d told Garrett what was going on—obviously she’d assumed wrong.
He punched in a code on the alarm pad beside the door while she launched into her explanation.
“Listen, I’m sorry. Trent said he saw someone at the convention. He brought me here because he said it’d be safer. I thought he’d call and tell you, but I guess he didn’t. So I’m sorry you didn’t know about it beforehand. But I won’t apologize for being here.”
He arched a brow at her.
“I won’t. There’s something between us, something big. And I want to see where it takes us. I know it’s not the best of timing for you, because of this whole vendetta thing, and I get that. I wish things were different. I wish you’d let the police or the FBI or whoever handle it. All I know is—”
A finger pressed against her lips, silencing her. She didn’t fall quiet because she agreed to being shushed, more from surprise.
“You finished? Good.” Garrett dropped his hand and threw his keys onto the counter. “Trent was wrong, Mia. It’s not safer for you here. You’re leaving. Now.” He glanced out the dining room window.
“I don’t want to go.”
He stepped closer, and for a second she thought about moving back against the counter. Nope. She wasn’t budging. Her chin lifted in defiance.
“What about your job?”
“I got fired. I’m happy about it.”
“Why didn’t Trent take you back to his place?”
“He told me you’d be home all day and would be glad to see me.”
“That goddamn traitor,” Garrett said, shaking his head as he looked at the ceiling. “Fine. I’ll take you home.”
“But what if they’re looking for me? I mean, I live a couple hours away, but still…”
He glowered at her, his chest swelling in temper. “I’m going to kill Trent.”
She raised her brows as she stepped right up to him and crossed her arms tightly. “He’s your best friend, right? Don’t you think he’d have kept me away from you if I’m really that bad?”
“What the hell do you want from me, Mia?” His yell rang through the large kitchen.
“I want to help you, you dumbass!”
Mia stared straight into Garrett’s gray eyes, daring him to push her. He didn’t look away. Her heart pounded as she realized how close they were standing, the heat from his body radiating into hers. If she leaned forward just a bit, her breasts would brush against him. If he leaned down just a little, he could kiss her.
The silence was crushing, her frustration draining into the floor from her bare feet. A shiver went through her, not because her dress was spotted with raindrops, but because of the anticipation that danced up and down her spine.
He leaned down, fractionally, slowly, so gradually that Mia thought she might scream. But then, finally, he was close enough for her to rise up on her toes and brush his lips with hers.
The first electric touch was enough to break the tension. Garrett descended on her like a hawk on his kill. He gathered her into his arms as if he’d waited his whole life to do so, and she wound her arms around his neck, not so much to steady herself as to press as closely as she could. Their kisses were deep, wild matings of lips and tongue, fierce and uninhibited. Garrett’s hands cupped her ass, bringing her into sharp contact with his erection. She gripped his shoulders and rubbed her hips against him. His mouth, so hot and wet, explored her as thoroughly as she did him.
He pressed her against the counter, lifting her atop it. She moaned into his mouth as he hiked up her dress to settle himself between her thighs. His body was so hot, so hard, so thick with ropes of muscle. She indulged her itchy fingertips, running up his strong shoulders and neck to feel the back of his skull, around to rest on the thick pads of his pecs. Then down between them, bumping over his defined abdominal muscles, delving beneath the waistband of his pants.
He tore his mouth away, making use of the ornate twist of her hairdo to yank her head to the side, allowing him access to her neck. She gasped as he continued his onslaught on the tender skin of her collarbone, his nipping, licking kisses sending fire straight to her core. Her hips twisted as she arched her back, begging for more.
“Mia,” he mumbled against her skin, yanking her top down to reveal her breasts. “God, I…”
“I know,” she said, pushing his head down hard against her cleavage. “Don’t say it. Show me.”
Garrett breathed deeply, so damn glad to be near her soft skin that he didn’t give a shit he’d been livid only minutes earlier. He was eager for her, his cock straining against the tight confines of his jeans, throbbing with anticipation of being sheathed within her soft body.
He pressed her tighter against the counter, letting his mouth trail where it so desperately wanted to go—over her generous breasts. Her dusky nipples beaded beneath her black lace bra, their turgid points begging for his touch.
Her fingertips scraped up his arms to dig into his back. She dropped her head back, so far that she would have fallen backward if he hadn’t scooped her into his arms.
Striding through his kitchen, he held her close. She wound her arms around his neck, her head pillowed against his chest. He kicked open his bedroom door and placed her gently on top of the dark-blue comforter on his king-sized bed.
“Wait here,” he said, then pressed a firm kiss on her lips. She moaned into his mouth when his tongue delved inside, but he pulled away quickly.
If he was going to do this, by god he was going to do it right.
He yanked a trunk from beneath his bed, the flat black rectangle contrasting with the plush cream Berber carpet beneath. Even though his brain and blood were buzzing with passion, his movements were quick and sure as he flipped open the trunk lid to reveal its contents.
He’d wondered if he’d ever get to use these again. He couldn’t help but be glad the time had finally come, and with her. He had a feeling she’d enjoy this.
The cuffs came first. She raised an eyebrow at him as he stood with the red leather cuffs in his hands.
“Strip,” he said, nodding toward the dress that was still rucked at her waist and the bra that didn’t hide anything from his hungry gaze. “Now.”
She rose to her knees, and that stubborn chin of hers went up into the air. He didn’t say a word, just dangled the cuffs in midair.
Glancing at the cuffs, then back at him, she gave a deep, shuddering breath then did as he ordered. He just watched as she shoved the dress down and off her body, then tossed it aside. Her lacy black thong followed, and then her bra. Once she was completely nude, she knelt on the bed in front of him once more, her wide green eyes curious, sparkling with desire.
“Turn around.”
“Just tell me one thing,” she said, rising higher on her knees in order to look him dead in the eye. “Are you going to make this worth my while?”
“Mia, sweetheart, you’ve never had a night like the one I’m about to give you.”
With a half-smile and a laugh, she turned and faced the heavily draped windows.
God, she was so beautiful this way. On her knees, that heart-shaped ass looking especially round and delectable, her tattoo colors popping against her tanned skin. Only one more thing before he cuffed her…
There. With a little fiddling, he’d released her hair from that intricate knot, allowing the cascade of curls to fall where it wanted.
Wild. Wanton. That was Mia, and that was the woman he wanted to share this with.
“I want you to pick a word,” he said, wrapping one of the leather cuffs around her right ankle. It was linked with about six inches of chain to another red cuff, and this one he attached to her right wrist.
“What, like a safe word?” She looked over her shoulder. His cock leapt as her tongue darted out to taste her lips.
“Exactly.” He tested the cuffs to make sure they were secure on that side.
A low laugh came as he started the process again on her left. “Biker boy.”
> He smiled as he finished snapping the cuff in place. “Biker boy is your safe word?”
With her arms forced down by her sides, she turned her torso enough that he could see her breasts. God, they were lovely. She was lovely. “Yes. If I say ‘biker boy,’ it’s too much.”
He nodded then pulled two pillows from the head of the bed. Arranging them in front of her, he ran his free hand down her bare back, smacking her ass lightly.
“Head down, Mia. Relax.”
She went quickly, willingly. And he knelt by his trunk again, pulling free a small red case. As he opened it, anticipation raced through his blood. God, he hadn’t done this in forever. But it felt right. So, so right.
He worked quickly, arranging the attachments to be easily accessible and plugging the long black cord into the outlet strip on his bedside table. Carefully putting the large, mushroom-headed attachment into place, he gave his arm a quick test on the lowest setting.
A tiny blue spark arced from the violet wand onto his skin, giving the lightest flicker of sensation. Good. Just right for her first time.
“What are you doing?” Mia’s ass wiggled in the air, and he sucked in his breath at the sight of her spread pussy. God, he’d been so distracted setting up the violet wand that he hadn’t seen the feast she was showing him. “I feel like I’m waiting for the show to start.”
“You are,” he said, flipping off the lamp. “It’s a light show. Close your eyes and tell me what you feel.”
He started on her back, pushing her curls aside to reveal her shoulder blades. Hovering the blown-glass globe over her skin, he moved it back and forth, small arcs popping as the wand buzzed with its low voltage.
“You’re tickling me with something. And it sounds like a tattoo machine?”
“It’s a machine, but it doesn’t do tattoos.” He moved the wand across her arm, completely unsurprised when she opened her eyes.
