by Kara Parker
“I’ll come with you.”
Shayla walked stiffly toward the newsroom. She was acutely aware of just how close to her Anthony was walking. She was still enveloped in his coconut cloud, and she resisted the urge to cough.
Meg eyed her down from across the room once Shayla was back in the newsroom, and she’d never been so happy to see the perky blonde in her life. She left Anthony and fast walked all the way to Meg’s cosmetic corner, hoping that he didn’t follow her there too. She reminded herself that she only had to work with him long enough to bag a job at another station. Then she could put Anthony, Amy, and all the other bullshit at the station, in her past.
“You look pale,” Meg observed. “Sit.”
Shayla did as she was instructed, watching as Meg mixed shades on her little makeup pallet to find Shayla’s perfect color. Finally satisfied, Meg dipped her sponge in the liquid and came toward Shayla with it. Before she could make her first dab, however, a hubbub erupted throughout the newsroom. Both girls looked around to find the source of the chatter.
Strolling in, looking like a biker god, was Luke Cinder. And he was carrying a huge bouquet of flowers. Shayla’s breath caught in her throat, and her jaw dropped open. Luke clapped eyes on her and stopped, the fire in his gaze causing Shayla to melt inside despite herself. He shouldn’t still be able to have this kind of effect on her. She should hate him!
For a reason known only to him, Anthony decided to gravitate toward Shayla in the wake of Luke’s entry. Shayla looked over at her co-anchor quizzically. Surely he couldn’t be making some sort of show of dominance? Ownership? What a tool.
Luke’s nostrils flared and he crossed the room, pressing the bouquet into Meg’s hands without taking his eyes off of Shayla. “Please put these in Shayla’s office.”
“Uh,” Meg stuttered. “She doesn’t have an office.”
Luke glanced over at Meg. “Then put them on her desk. Or in her corner. Or wherever Shayla does work.”
Meg nodded and scurried off to the wall where Shayla’s desk stood.
Shayla stood from her chair, eyeing down the muscled monster. “I think the custom is to give them to the recipient directly.”
“The recipient and I need to talk.”
Anthony was still somehow holding his ground, despite the noticeable atmosphere of it being Luke and Shayla’s business. Noticing this, Luke turned a hard stare onto Anthony. He looked even bigger and tougher than the last time Shayla had seen him. Even carrying flowers, he looked ridiculously manly. She couldn’t imagine Anthony facing off against him and winning.
And, as expected, Anthony cowered and stalked off. When he was gone, Luke turned those vicious green eyes on Shayla again.
Chapter Fifteen
The last place Luke Cinder ever thought he would be was a flower shop. He’d never gotten a girl flowers in his life. Even his mom, who he’d loved right up until the day that the cancer took her, had never been on the receiving end of a bouquet from Luke. He’d favored practical gifts instead. He often got his mom good cuts of meat. It was a strange present, but that woman had appreciated good cooking and fine food. If he showed up with a lamb shank, she was guaranteed to be pleased with it.
But this situation with Shayla...it seemed like it required a different approach. He tried to think what someone else would do in his position. Someone who wasn’t a big scary biker. He supposed they would probably get the girl they hurt flowers.
It wasn’t like Luke was opposed to getting flowers normally because he thought it didn’t suit his image. He’d ridden around with a kitten in his jacket for a day, for fuck’s sake. He just didn’t think they were very useful. But he would do it if it meant hopefully getting Shayla back on his side.
The shop assistant gave him a bemused grin as he made his purchase. Shit, flowers were expensive. How could anyone afford them in this economy?
The next problem was that he was on his bike. He doubted a bouquet would hold up well against the wind. He asked the shopkeeper to wrap the whole arrangement in plastic, which only served to amuse her further. Whatever. He wasn't going to show up at the news station with a handful of goddamn stems.
After tucking the flowers as far into his saddlebag as they would go, Luke hopped back on his bike and buckled his helmet. The station wasn’t far away, and he was beginning to feel a little nervous.
Luke Cinder was not a man who felt nervous. He was the person who made other people feel nervous. But something about Shayla… He needed her to know that he wanted her. And that his marriage wasn’t real. Not in any way that counted.
He roared up to the front of the KTMA building and parked his bike, retrieving the flowers from the bag and settling his helmet on the handlebar. Then, with a grim yet determined expression, he stepped toward battle.
The receptionist eyed him up, seeing first him and then the flowers. “You’re back,” she said brightly. “Are those for me?”
Luke’s only response was a bark of laughter before he breezed past her desk, bursting straight through the back doors and into the hallway. It was quiet, as it seemed to always be, in the office section of the station. Luke supposed that more people would be around during the day, but his girl was on night duty for some reason. He hoped that he’d be able to help her get a better slot.
He hoped that she would let him.
His boots smacked across the floor, and with a great bang he burst into the newsroom. While it had been busy prior to his entry, the room seemed to explode with life once its occupants caught sight of Luke and his giant bouquet.
Shit. Was Shayla going to be too distracted by the flowers? He needed her full attention. He needed her eyes. The last time he’d seen them, full of rage and hurt, haunted him. He needed to fix that. It would be better to pass the flowers off on someone else.
Luke scanned the room and saw Shayla in the makeup chair in the corner. She saw him only seconds after he saw her. Her expression hardened, turned sour. She clearly did not want to talk to him.
Too bad.
Luke paced toward her and thrust the flowers into the makeup girl’s hands, even though she had a sponge in one of them. “Please put these in Shayla’s office.”
She stammered something about Shayla not having an office, and he replied, but Luke barely even recognized what was happening outside of the staring contest he and Shayla were having.
Her eyes spoke rage.
He journeyed back to the moment when he’d had her pinned against his door, her eyes telling him something very different. God it had been good. There was more to this girl than there appeared to be. She might seem all sunshine and easy to ruffle, but she was as cold and hard as ice, with just as much complexity as a snowflake. And god, did he want her.
She stood up, as if squaring up with him for a fight. She was full of surprises. “I think the custom is to give them to the recipient directly.”
“The recipient and I need to talk.”
Only then did Luke notice that that snake of a man, Anthony Blake, was standing nearby. He was too close for anyone’s comfort, especially Luke’s. Anthony needed to be as far away from Luke’s girl as his feet could take him. And now.
Luke directed his stare over to the smaller man, adding a little sneer in to get his point across. He was glad that Anthony got the message without Luke having to snap at him for real. He was feeling on edge about the situation with raven, and how it had possibly cost him a great girl. Frankly, he was raring for a fight.
Anthony skulked away, though he attempted to make it seem as if something interesting on the other side of the room had caught his attention. As if anyone there would believe that. Still, he was gone. The makeup artist had disappeared with the flowers. It was just him and Shayla.
“I don’t want your flowers,” she spat. “You can take them home with you. Maybe you could give them to your wife.”
Anthony scowled. “I can explain.”
She scoffed. “That’s like the line of the century, isn’t it?” She sho
ok her head. “I don’t want your explanation. I want you out of my newsroom and out of my life. It was a mistake ever getting involved with you in the first place.”
Luke took a step closer. He towered over her small frame. “You’re going to want to hear this.”
“Just because you say I’m going to want to hear it, doesn’t make it true.” She thrust forward and brushed past him. The contact set Luke’s hairs on edge.
“What about a story then?” Luke called after her, swinging around to face her retreating form. “A big one.”
Shayla stiffened and Luke smirked. He knew she was a slave to duty. She’d have to hear him out now.
Shayla craned her neck and regarded him with narrow eyes. “What kind of story?”
Luke shrugged. “The usual. Gangs. Drugs. An arranged marriage.”
Shayla’s eyes widened. “Are you serious?”
Luke gave her a slow nod. He saw her deliberating with herself, but she didn’t do so for long. When she turned to face him next, she had made a decision.
“Tell me.”
“On one condition.”
“What’s that?”
Chapter Sixteen
The story was too juicy to resist. That’s what Shayla kept telling herself, anyway. Why else would she have agreed to have dinner after work with the guy she had, only that afternoon, wanted to kill?
Getting through the broadcast with the prospect of dinner with Luke following was tough. She didn’t mess up any of her words, but she came close to spacing out a few times while Anthony was talking. She couldn’t help it—there was a sexy biker waiting in the greenroom for her. He had a story that could save her career (before it had even properly taken off, no less) and possibly one that could save her heart. What if he wasn't the bad guy she’d made him out to be all day? What if he did have a good reason?
She still wasn’t sure what reason that could be, but her hurting heart chose to rationalize it in any way she could. Shayla was a reporter, after all; she had to get to the root of the story.
Knowing that Luke was watching her every move, her every twitch on screen, affected her in a way she hadn’t thought possible. She remembered what it had felt like to have him inside of her, pounding flesh against flesh until she reached oblivion. She remembered his hot breath on her neck, and the way her whole body had lit up for him like a switchboard on a controversial talk show.
And knowing that, she imagined the kind of things he might be thinking about while he watched her. The dirty thoughts going through his head, and the salacious grin he reserved for her image alone. It was making her more than a little hot under the collar. She squeezed her thighs together under the newsdesk and hoped—prayed—that his story checked out. She didn’t think she’d be able to resist getting another dose of Luke’s hot touch tonight, and her ego would never forgive her if she slept with Luke if he was as devious as she’d originally suspected.
The broadcast began to wrap up, and the grin on Shayla's face was genuine. She would try and hide it once she saw Luke, but for now she was supposed to smile—she may as well get all her smiling out while she could. He’d get only her hardest stare until he explained himself.
She had chosen her clothes for their looks, not their comfort. The skirt was tight against her skin, and the blouse was unyielding. Altogether, the outfit allowed little movement. And little room to breathe. And the closer the clock got to eleven, the more Shayla needed the room.
“Thank you for tuning in,” Anthony said finally. “And goodnight, Templeton.”
“We will see you tomorrow,” Shayla chimed in.
They smiled and waited.
“And... we’re out!” announced Amy. “Good work everyone.”
Shayla shot up from the desk, wobbling on her heels from the sudden head rush. Anthony looked up at her quizzically, but Shayla was already making her way toward the door to the green room. Then she realized how eager she looked, and took a detour to the snack table. She grabbed a bottle of water and chugged it almost in one go, the sensation of the cool water flowing down her throat almost like heaven. She took a moment to breathe, then finished the bottle, crinkling it in her hand.
“Woah there, Rambo.” Meg sidled up beside her. “Somebody a little thirsty tonight?”
Shayla let out a cynical laugh. “You have no idea.”
“I think I have an idea.” Luke’s dulcet tone crept into her ear, and Shayla spun around to face him. He looked like the cat that got the cream, his sensual lips tugged up into a half smile as his eyes dragged over her curves.
Again, her core throbbed. What was with her today? Surely it wasn’t normal for her body to go crazy just because of one guy?
“Are you ready?” Shayla asked, ignoring Luke’s comment.
His emerald eyes lit up, and he took a step toward her. Meg stood at the sidelines, eyes wide, watching the exchange. Probably wishing she was in Shayla’s shoes.
“I was born ready, sweetheart.”
Shayla narrowed her eyes at him. “I told you not to call me that.”
He shrugged. “Stop me, then.”
Shayla let out an angry sigh and stalked past him, calling behind her, “I can’t ride your bike in this skirt so we have to take my car.”
He easily kept pace beside her, hands thrust in his jean pockets. Shayla had to stop her eyes from traveling down his body the way he had gazed at hers. God, he was a fine specimen. It was a shame she hadn’t gotten to see him naked. Though, with any luck, she soon would.
“Where do you want to go?” she asked, pushing through the door to the hallway.
“I take it you don’t want to go to the place we went last time?”
Shayla glanced at him. “Which one?” Then she snorted. “Actually, I guess it doesn’t matter. The answer is no either way.”
They emerged into the reception area of the station, and Shayla sent the sleepy-looking Sharon a tight lipped smile. Luke, notably, did not. He kept his eyes on Shayla or on the path in front of him. It was as if the rest of the world didn’t exist.
“Then I guess it’s your choice this time.” Luke held the door open for her, and when she walked past him she got a whiff of leather and something spicy and masculine. She had to suppress the urge to lean into his warmth and sniff him.
The cold night air blasted her face, providing a well needed damper to her internal fire. “Let’s just go to Springfield.”
“As you wish.”
Shayla walked toward her car, trying not to think about the man walking behind her. She unlocked it and they both slid in. Luke seemed to fill up the whole vehicle. He had a presence that Shayla doubted anyone was ever able to ignore.
“Buckle up,” Shayla reminded, trying to ease the tension she felt.
Luke smiled at her but didn’t comment. He simply reached back and pulled the belt over his lap, and she heard it click into place.
Shayla turned her key in the ignition, and they were off.
The silence in the car was stifling. Shayla didn’t particularly want to speak to Luke until he had explained himself, and Luke didn’t seem to feel the need to shoot into an explanation. He sat there and watched the world through the windshield while Shayla turned left and right down the darkened streets. Luckily, Springfield was close.
Shayla had gone to Springfield a lot during high school. It had been the closest diner to her school, and though the coffee was crap it was always filled with high school students during the week. Still was. Since it was late at night, the dingy diner was relatively unoccupied. The owner kept it open until one a.m. every evening, and later on the weekends. Shayla wasn’t sure why, since it didn’t seem busy enough to warrant it, but it suited her needs, anyway.
After she parked, the pair exited the vehicle and strolled up to the glass front door. Luke wrenched it open and held it for Shayla to walk through. A clanging bell on the door announced their entrance. That was a new addition.
There were three other diners, seated throughout the dining room. An
old man and his wife were eating soup in the far corner, and a young woman was sitting in front of a steaming cup of black coffee, eyeing herself in her phone’s front camera. She couldn’t have been more than twenty-two, and by the looks of things she was getting ready for a night out.
A man in a black t-shirt embossed with the diner’s logo came out of nowhere and greeted her and Luke. “Hello! Welcome. Booth or table?”
“Booth, please,” Shayla said.
The man nodded, gesturing for them to follow him as he walked along the aisles of booths. He was the owner, if Shayla remembered correctly. A man of about sixty, Shayla had spent much of her time here as a youth trying to figure out how he stayed so peppy when confronted with hordes of hungry, rude teenagers. Apparently he was still just as peppy.
