She wanted Garret to want her again. She wanted to taste his excitement, his fervor, his passion once more because she knew it would feed her own and give her one last climax.
The thing was, she hadn’t been trying to attract him back then. It had just happened. One look and bam, he’d been over the top for her. Out of control.
But now…She would have to use everything in her mortal female power (as untried as it was) to tempt him past the point of no return.
With that thought in mind, she stashed her St. Benedict medal in her suitcase and pulled out her clothes.
She didn’t have a tank top and Daisy Duke shorts (commandment number two), so she opted for the closest thing she could find—a red silk shell and a fitted black skirt. She bypassed the undies (commandment number one), added a spritz of perfume to the inside of each thigh and her belly button (number four) and donned her outfit.
She finished with a pair of stilettos and grabbed her camera bag. She had the rest of her supplies—backdrops, lighting, extra cameras, several stands—already packed in her car. Taking one final look at the list of notes she’d taken during Winona’s class, she mentally checked off the first five commandments (the rest would have to wait until she came face-to-face with Garret) and fought down a wave of nerves.
By the time the evening ended, he would be begging her for sex.
Or so she desperately hoped.
7
GARRET WASN’T begging Viv for sex.
He wasn’t begging her for anything—because he wasn’t there.
Disappointment rushed through her, along with a burst of anxiety as she walked into the spacious machine shop that housed Skull Creek Choppers.
It was just after sunset. Shadows crowded outside the glass windows that lined the front wall facing Main Street. Fluorescent lights blazed overhead, illuminating the stainless steel work tables covered with tools. Some she recognized—screwdrivers and wrenches and pliers—but most were totally foreign to her. An assortment of saw blades covered one twelve foot surface. An industrial strength welding unit overflowed a nearby corner. A grinder and several sprayers edged the sidelines while three large work tables dominated the center of the room. On top of one sat the shiny silver skeleton of a motorcycle. On another sat a large chunk of metal that vaguely resembled a gas tank. The third table held several long strips of metal that had been cut to resemble lightning bolts. They sat next to something that looked like a large welder. It had clamps and a curved wheel.
While Viv was no expert, she would have been willing to bet the machine had something to do with shaping and molding the fenders.
Her ears perked. She tuned in to the whir of the air conditioner, the tick-tock of a nearby clock, the hum of the massive computer system that sat in a small adjacent office just to the right. Another wall of windows separated the space from the actual shop.
There was nothing else. No deep, familiar rumble of his voice or the pounding of his heart or the pulse of his blood.
Her nose twitched, and she caught a sharp whiff of oil and engine fluid. The musky mingling of rubber and exhaust. The sterile scent of industrial strength soap and disinfectant.
The place was empty, all right. Despite the lights that blazed and the door that had been left unlocked.
Then again, this was a small town with zero crime.
She knew the type, which was why she’d made it her business to stick to the big cities. For the anonymity. The throng of people. The safety.
Garret was asking for trouble settling in such a rinky-dink place.
That, or he was just tired of running. Maybe he wanted to settle down and have the normalcy she’d robbed him of so long ago.
Guilt niggled at her the way it always did when she thought of the past, but she pushed it aside this time. She was through living with the regret. She was doing something about it now. She was giving back.
But first…
She cast another glance around and blew out an exasperated breath. She busied herself snapping a few pictures, desperate to calm her trembling hands and rein in the sexual frustration that whipped through her.
He would be back soon, and she would get on with the matter at hand—seducing him past the point of no return.
She was armed and ready. She’d dabbed a few drops of Winona’s Strawberry Seduction behind each ear. She’d gone over her notes another ten times before climbing out of the car. She was in full-blown seduction mode, her body quivering in anticipation, and he was MIA.
For now.
He would be back soon. He’d agreed to the date, and he’d always kept his word. He’d probably gone out for supplies or coffee or a quick bite.
The last thought stirred a rush of jealousy that made her stiffen.
She shifted her attention to the bike, eager to ignore the sudden image that popped into her head. Garret leaning over some woman, holding her, sinking his fangs deep—
She shook away the vision and reached out to trace the silver metallic skull and cross bones etched into the chopper’s rear fender. A flaming silver skull blazed on the gas tank. The seat was rounded and curved with skulls embossed on the leather. The rims were made up of a center skull with four metal-shaped “bones” for spokes. Every detail, from the skull-shaped headlight to the red cross-bone brake lights played into the theme. It was the coolest and most unusual bike she’d ever seen.
Even more, it was sexy.
It was Garret.
A tiny thrill ripped through her. Sure, it was just a pile of metal—a motorcycle, not a man—but the man had been the one to put it together.
He’d smoothed and molded the steel. He’d attached the pieces. He’d touched and shaped and put his heart and soul into the machine to the point that she couldn’t see it and not think about him.
It looked like him—sleek and masculine and dangerous. It felt like him—hard and cool and stirring. It even smelled like him—a heady mixture of rich leather and fresh air and pure adrenaline that made her heart beat that much faster.
Before she could stop herself, she set her camera on a nearby table and hiked her skirt up. Leather met her bare bottom as she straddled the seat and awareness crackled through her. Goosebumps danced up and down her skin and her nipples pebbled.
She wiggled for a better position and sensation speared her. She gasped and caught her lip against a sharp, sweet zap of lust.
No, no, no!
The chant echoed through her head because this was not what she wanted. She’d had a zillion orgasms before, but none with a man.
Just him.
Only him.
At the same time, it felt so good, and she was so wound up. A little rocking back and forth, some wiggling side to side, and she could relieve some of the tension winding her so tight. No way would she make it through the first five minutes without doing something totally crazy. Like jump his bones the moment he walked in the door.
A disastrous move, she knew.
While he still wanted her—she’d seen it in his eyes—he didn’t want to want her. To feel the attraction. The lust.
He was still hurt. Angry. Furious.
No way would he let his guard down, stop resisting what he felt for her and simply act on it.
Not yet.
She had to get him to relax, which meant she needed to bide her time and seduce him slowly.
Right.
She was too wound up. Too close to pinning him against the nearest wall and ravishing his hot, hunky body. She needed to take the edge off.
Right here.
Right now.
She leaned forward to grasp the handlebars. Her bottom slid a scant inch across the cool seat. Leather rasped her clit and desire knifed through her. She shivered. Her vision blurred. Her ears rang. Pleasure gripped her for a long, delicious moment and she caught her bottom lip.
And then she adjusted her grip, braced her thighs and started to ride.
SHE WANTED SEX.
The realization echoed in Garret’s head as he s
tood in the office of Skull Creek Choppers and stared through the glass wall that overlooked the machine shop.
A realization that had nothing to do with the fact that he was a highly sensitive, mind-reading vampire and everything to do with the fact that he was a full-blooded male.
His heart jumped, pounding harder and faster. His muscles went tight, his spine stiff. His gut clenched and his cock throbbed as his gaze roved over the woman perched atop his latest custom chopper.
It was a project he was doing for a high profile rock star. The lead singer for some insanely popular band. Jake hadn’t wanted to do the bike because they were already so busy and the guy wanted it ASAP, but Garret hadn’t been able to pass up a PR op. The exposure alone would be worth the added stress of getting the bike done on time.
Even so, Garret had tacked on a hefty fee for a quick turn-around. They would make three times their usual amount on this one project. With Jake swamped, Garret had done both the design and the build. He’d put on the final touches—a silver skull gas cap and a cross-bones kick stand—just yesterday.
The finished product had been, hands-down, the most beautiful sight he’d ever seen.
Until now.
He watched as Viv arched her body. Her head fell back. Her long, dark hair spilled down her shoulders. Her eyes were closed, her neck arched. Her full, pink lips parted on a gasp as she slid her bare ass across his leather seat…
Beautiful.
The notion stuck as he watched her move. Her breasts quivered. Her nipples pressed provocatively against the thin material of her blouse. She slid along the seat again and her hands tightened on the handlebars, her knuckles going white. A pink flush crept up her neck, over the frantic throb of her pulse and higher into her face. She worked the skirt up an inch higher so she could spread her legs wider and make better contact.
His mouth went dry, and his heart shifted into overdrive. A sliver of excitement worked its way through him, followed by a rush of whoa, buddy.
She wanted sex, all right.
What vampire didn’t?
It was the nature of the beast.
The consequence of the curse.
And it was the only explanation for his nearly irresistible urge to stride into the room, haul her off the bike, shove her up against the nearest wall and plunge deep, deep inside of her hot, tight body.
Where he’d been a slave to her hunger before, he was now a slave to his own.
He sure as hell didn’t want her because he actually felt something for her.
Or rather, because he thought he felt something.
He’d thought a lot of things way back when. He’d thought that maybe they would get married. Settle down. Raise horses and a family. That they would spend Christmases decorating a tree and hanging up stockings. That he would work the farm while she kept house, and at night they would fall into bed together.
But nothing had been real.
Not her.
Not his feelings for her.
Not his damnable dreams.
It had all been an illusion spawned by her vamp powers because she wanted sex from him. Energy. Strength.
He knew, because he’d created the same illusion for the women he’d fed off of over the years. He’d mesmerized them with his charm. Swept them off their feet with his hot, wet kisses. Spoiled them for any other man with his sexual expertise. And then he’d taken from them.
He’d done to other women exactly what she’d done to him. With one exception. He hadn’t talked of dreams and the future and a real, bona fide relationship. He’d wanted one thing and one thing only—a one-night stand—and he’d made his needs crystal clear. He hadn’t toyed with anyone’s emotions.
It had all been about sex.
The hunger roared to life, as demanding as ever. His groin tightened and his body trembled and he barely managed to resist the need screaming inside of him. His fingers balled and his muscles bunched as he turned and walked back outside.
He had to get a grip.
Resist.
The shadows welcomed him as he moved silently around the side of the building toward the back parking lot. A few feet shy, he stopped and leaned against the cold steel.
The amp in his head switched on, bombarding him with sounds. The chirp of crickets. The squeal of tires as someone burned rubber down the street. The tick-tick of a parking meter a block away.
Her soft moans pushed through the blare of noise, and he knew she was close to coming. So damned close…
He drew several deep breaths, hoping to cool the fire that raged inside of him.
Fat chance.
He closed his eyes, counted to ten, and did his best to concentrate on the sound of his own voice rather than her whisper-soft oohs and ahhs.
He hit ten and kept on going.
It wasn’t until he murmured one hundred that he finally managed to soothe his frantic heartbeat and regain his composure.
When he could think of something other than the sexy woman riding his newest creation just a few feet away, he headed back around to the front of the shop.
At one time, the place had been a service station. The ancient pumps were still there, still working, along with the original Davey’s Fill-r-Up ball that rotated atop an iron pole. He had a thing for vintage, and so he’d left the old Coke machine, along with a Fanta sign and one advertising Mmm-Mmm Good Moonpies. The only thing to clue anyone in that the place had been turned into a state-of-the-art chopper shop was the neon blue Home of Skull Creek Choppers that hummed in the front window and the hi-tech security pad that sat next to the entrance.
Punching in the code (the door locked automatically every time it shut), he walked inside and went out of his way to make as much noise as possible.
He slammed the door a little harder than usual and hit the edge of the filing cabinet. The metal rattled and shook, the sound bouncing off the office walls. He paused to shuffle papers and move a few things around near the computer.
He didn’t have to look through the windows to see if she’d heard him. He heard her loud and clear.
Her surprised whimper, followed by the faint gasp of leather and the grumble of steel as she scrambled off the seat. The soft click as her shoes hit the concrete. The swish-swish of fabric as she shoved the skirt down to a modest level.
Disappointment rushed through him, feeding the insane urge to waltz in and rip the damned thing off of her. He wanted her naked and ready and—
Whoa. The word thundered through his head, yanking him from his ridiculous thoughts and reminding him that he couldn’t. He wouldn’t.
Not Viv.
Not ever again.
Bracing himself, he hauled open the door that separated them and walked into the shop.
8
FINALLY.
That was the first thought on Viv’s mind when she heard the door open and close. Despite the fact that she’d almost been caught having a pretty fantastic orgasm.
Sex was a necessity. Like oxygen to the average human. She didn’t usually feel guilty over it. Or mortified. Or embarrassed.
Not until she soothed her skirt down one final time, hooked a now damp tendril of hair behind one ear and turned toward Garret.
He wore a soft cotton T-shirt that molded to his broad shoulders and solid chest. Worn denim cupped his crotch and hugged his muscular legs. He wore the black Stetson she remembered from the bar. The hat brim tipped low, casting a shadow over the upper half of his face.
Her gaze collided with his and there was just something about the gleam in his pale blue eyes that said Gotcha.
Heat flooded her cheeks and awareness sizzled up and down her spine. “I, um, was just seeing how she handles,” she blurted, suddenly desperate for a plausible excuse.
He tossed his keys on a nearby work table. His boots thudded on the stained concrete floor as he stepped toward her. “What’s the verdict?”
“Nice.” And how. “That is—” she licked her lips, “—the handlebars felt good. Solid.”
<
br /> He seemed almost angry at her answer. His gaze narrowed, and his jaw went tense. But then she licked her lips, and his attention snagged on the sweeping motion of her tongue. Just like that, his defenses seemed to lapse, and his body relaxed just a fraction. Strong, sensuous lips crooked in a faint smile. “So you had a pretty good grip, then?”
“Very.”
The animosity between them slipped away, and the air charged with a sudden awareness that made her spine tingle. He was flirting with her. Teasing. Tempting.
Because he’d seen her.
His eyes sparkled like ice reflecting rays of sunlight and her tummy tingled. “How about the seat? How did that feel?”
Fan-friggin’-tastic.
That’s what she wanted to say, but she caught her bottom lip just in case she was overreacting and he wasn’t being nearly as forward as she hoped.
“Comfortable.” Viv nodded. “Not too hard. Not too soft. Just—” she swallowed against her suddenly dry throat “—right.”
“That’s good to know.” He raked a gaze over her, from her head to her toes and back up again. His attention lingered on several key places.
Her nipples throbbed, and she felt the sudden wetness between her legs. Her heart pounded with excitement.
“You know,” his voice slid into her ears and rumbled across her nerve endings, “if you really want to get a feel for her, you need to crank her up.” He hooked a leg over and straddled the seat. Large, strong hands rested on the gas tank. “You don’t want a bike that vibrates too much.” His gaze caught and held hers. “You need a nice, steady hum so you can get into a groove when you’re on the road.”
He was flirting with her, all right.
His words stirred a very vivid picture of the two of them zooming along, finding their groove. Moonlight spilled down around them. Her hands gripped the handlebars while his hands stroked the wet flesh between her legs.
A Body to Die For Page 6
