Shaken, Not Stirred

  "Eyes back here, Goldie," the dark-haired man says and just to make sure he has my attention, he tugs on the hem of my shorts just enough to pull me in a bit closer to him.

  My eyes slowly lift up... taking in his muscled and tattooed arm... the strong hand holding onto mine just at his stomach. Right up that massive wall of a chest, over the swirling tattoo design coming up out of the collar of his t-shirt and right back to that beautiful face.

  I sigh inwardly because this man here... standing intimately close to me and exuding all kinds of male dominance and alpha tendencies, is exactly the type of man that is dangerous to me. He's the type of man that I couldn't control, which makes him immensely appealing to my inner psyche... that most secret part of me that is tired of being the one calling the shots all the time. Of course, the reason I have to call the shots is so I don't get hurt, but that's something that would take a few psychologists to get untwisted in my brain.

  Oh, this hot biker man.

  The things we could do to each other. I can feel it... the vibe of attraction between the two of us pulsing almost tangibly in the air. I wonder what it would feel like to be with someone like him. A common man that exudes raw sexuality from his entire being. I bet he's the type that has to possess a woman... make her a slave to his whims, and just the thought of doing as he commands causes a naughty shiver to snake up my spine.

  "What are you doing tonight?" he asks in that sexy, rough voice.

  Tonight? What am I doing?

  I blink hard and my mind races to figure out the immediate future. But then it all comes crashing down on me. It doesn't matter what I'm doing... whatever it is, it can't be with him.

  Definitely not with someone like him... all tall, dark, and so completely far out of my comfort zone that I would be crazy to entertain even the notion of hooking up with this guy. He doesn't look like someone that could be so easily discardable.

  Stepping away from the man, I tug my hand loose and push my hair behind my ear just so I have something to do to justify my withdrawal. "I have plans tonight."

  "So cancel them," he murmurs and steps toward me again, his eyes intensely serious.

  Yes, cancel them. Go out with this man and just experience one super and stunning night of hot, out-of-control passion.

  I give myself a mental slap.

  Shaking my head, I give him an apologetic smile. "Can't. I have a date tonight with my boyfriend."

  Lie, lie, lie.

  Those light blue eyes stare at me for a moment, considering whether he should argue with me, but then they quickly fill with disappointed resignation. He gives me a slight nod of his head and an ironic smile. "Lucky man."

  Unlucky me, I think to myself, and I'm on the verge of telling him that I had a momentary lapse of idiocy and that I would love to do something... anything... with him, when my phone rings. Giving him a short smile, I pull my phone out and see it's Hunter calling me back.

  Turning my back on the two men, I walk a few paces away from the Jeep as I answer his call. "Hey... did you get my message?"

  "Yeah," he says, and I can hear music in the background so I know he's at the bar. "Do you need me to come get you?"

  "No," I assure him. "I had two good Samaritans stop to help me out. They're putting my spare on, and I should be there soon. But I apparently have a nail in the tire and need to get that fixed."

  "I'll take the tire for you this afternoon, get it plugged, and then change it out for you. It will be all good by the time you get off your shift this evening," he says, and then his voice becomes muffled as I assume he covers the mouthpiece on the phone to yell at someone in the background, "Hey... get off the damn table before you break your neck."

  I snicker and shoot a glance back over my shoulder. The blond guy has the spare on and is releasing the jack from under the Jeep. The dark-haired guy is leaning back against my tailgate, hands casually tucked in his pockets, watching me.

  Damn, he is so amazingly gorgeous that I'm struck a bit stupid for a moment.

  "Sorry about that," Hunter says. "Stupid college frat kids in here getting drunk all day. You're going to have your hands full when you get here."

  "Crap," I grumble as I turn back away from the gorgeously hot biker watching me. "College kids don't tip worth a shit."

  Hunter chuckles. "Well, at least it's a Friday and you'll have more customers so that means more tips."

  "Aren't you just a ball of sunshine," I quip at him. "I'll be there soon."

  I disconnect, shove the phone in my back pocket, and turn to walk back to my Jeep. Both men watch me approach with appreciative eyes and while I never mind a man checking me out, I have to say I very much like it coming from the dark-haired biker. I saunter past them both toward my driver's door where I reach in and grab my purse.

  "Here... let me give you guys some money for helping me out," I say over my shoulder, not really having the money to spare but feeling obligated to offer it all the same.

  "No need," that deep voice says from right behind me, but then sounds further away when I hear, "Glad to help."

  I push back from the interior and look over my left shoulder, watching both men walking back toward their bikes. The dark-haired one doesn't give me a second glance but the blond looks over his shoulder before turning around to face me, then walking backward right alongside the other guy. His eyes rake up and down me, and he gives me a wolfish grin. "It was our pleasure for sure, Goldie."

  I smirk at him, shake my head, and get in my Jeep. By the time I have my seatbelt on and the engine cranked, they're just swinging their legs back over their bikes. I check the traffic in my rearview mirror, see it's clear, and pull out onto the road.

  With a few short punches of my fist to the steering wheel, I beep my horn in acknowledgement and take off down the road, leaving that dark, sexy biker behind in reality... but I guarantee he'll make an appearance in my future fantasies.

  Chapter 4

  Tenn

  As I strap my helmet back onto my head, I watch the blue Jeep pull away with my fantasy woman inside and try to tamp down my annoyance. Of course she'd have a boyfriend. What woman that looked like that, walked like that, talked like that... wouldn't have a boyfriend?

  "Fucking eleven-plus," Kyle says from beside me.

  My head swivels his way as I pop my kickstand back with the heel of my boot. "Eleven plus?"

  "Goldie there," he says as he nods his head down the highway where I can barely see her vehicle as it drives away in the distance. "Eleven plus on the scale."

  Higher, I think to myself, because fuck... a woman like her was created to define the word beautiful. But what I really liked about our brief interchange is the confidence in which she bears that beauty. Not in a cocky or self-absorbed way, but more in an assured, intelligent way. Like she works what was given to her in calculated measure, and I've always respected a woman that has the independence to want to look out for her own best interests. Don't get me wrong. There's nothing wrong with taking care of a woman... protecting her. But I like the confidence of one that knows she can do it herself, and that without a doubt, is the type of woman Goldie represents.

  Golden from fucking head to toe... except for those dark blue eyes that held secrets within them. Secrets I wouldn't mind torturing out of her with my mouth between her legs.

  "I'd sell my left nut to know what you're thinking right now," Kyle says, and I blink my eyes to dispel the fantasies I had started conjuring before I ended up with an embarrassing hard-on.

  I grin at Kyle. "Just thinking she's more than an eleven."

  "Which makes your strike out all the more painful," he observes, and that is completely true. "So I say let's go grab a beer. Andrea doesn't get off work for another hour, and she texted me the name and address of a bar she said she'd meet us at. I don't think it's too much farther up the road."

  "Sounds good to me," I say just before firing up my bike.

  We pull back onto the highway and motor on, and just three miles north,
Kyle slows his bike to make a right-hand turn into a gravel parking lot. A long building with gray, salt wood siding backs up to the ocean dunes with a sign across the front door that says "The Last Call."

  Clever.

  We park to the left side of the building, which gives me a glimpse of a huge outdoor deck coming off the back that is packed with people slugging back beers in their bathing suits. I'm thinking I'm a little overdressed in my jeans, t-shirt, and shit kickers out here on the beach, and I know I'll need to make a store run for some appropriate clothes this week. I didn't pack but a few changes of clothes in my saddlebags, figuring I could do my laundry at Bri's apartment, but nothing I brought was with the idea in mind I'd be spending a week at the beach.

  As I start to unstrap my helmet again, Kyle reaches out and gives me a slight punch to my shoulder. When I look at him, his head nods at something just over his right shoulder. My eyes slide past him and focus on the teal-blue Jeep parked on the other side of the lot.

  My eyebrows raise and my gaze slowly moves back to Kyle. His grin is almost evil, and I answer with a sly smile of my own.

  "Well, what do you know," I muse. "Looks like Goldie didn't get very far down the road."

  Kyle steps off his bike and hooks his helmet to the handlebar. "Maybe you can get her drunk and take advantage of her."

  I snort and level a hard stare at him. "Not my style. Besides, she has a boyfriend."

  "At least we'll have something nice to stare at while we wait for Andrea."

  "Truth," I agree as I swing my leg over my bike and run my hand through my hair.

  We walk into the bar, and I give my eyes a moment to adjust to the interior darkness. There is a long bar to the right with a few patrons nursing drinks. A pretty, dark-skinned girl with long, silky black hair smiles at us from behind the bar. "Welcome to The Last Call."

  I nod at her and a brief glance around yields no Goldie. I hear a racket of voices from the left, seeing a hallway that disappears to what I'm thinking is another room. I follow it down, Kyle just a few paces behind.

  As we emerge into a larger area filled with another bar, pool tables, dartboards, and a ton of partying people, my eyes do another quick scan. When they reach the bar, they immediately focus in on that long, golden hair that seemed to have sparkled in the sunshine but now just seems to glow in the ambient lighting behind her.

  Her back is to me as she pours a beer from a draft tap.

  Huh... I wouldn't have pegged Goldie as a bartender. Even though she was casually yet sexily dressed, I figured her more of an office-type worker for some reason.

  Kyle brushes past me and walks up to the middle of the bar, taking a seat at a stool right in front of the beer taps. Goldie's eyes lift up in welcome to the new customer and when they focus on Kyle, she holds his gaze for only a nanosecond before her eyes immediately scan around the room. When they lock onto me, her gaze fills with recognition and fuck me... pleasure to see me standing there.

  A sly grin comes to her face, and her gaze focuses back onto the beer she's pouring. "You guys following me?" she asks, and I'm not sure if she's talking to Kyle or me.

  "Nah," Kyle assures her. "Just meeting someone here in a bit."

  I walk up and take a seat to Kyle's left, resting my forearms on the bar. Those blue eyes lift back up to mine as she pulls the glass away from the tap. "Give me a second and I'll be back to get your orders."

  "Can't wait," I murmur and fucking dig the sexy incline of her lips I see just before she turns away. As she walks down to the far end of the bar, Kyle actually stands up on his stool a tad, leans over the bar, and eyeballs her retreating ass for a moment.

  When he sits back down, he looks at me and shakes his head in amazement. "Damn dude... fucking fifteen I'm thinking."

  A million, I think to myself.

  It only takes a minute for her to deliver her beer to an old man at the end of the bar, give him a soft smile, and take a few dollar bills from the small pile of money resting in front of him. She puts one dollar in the tip jar, the rest in the cash register, and walks back up to Kyle and me.

  "What are you two drinking?" she asks with a smile. "And it's on me because of all your kind help."

  We both order bottled Budweiser, as we aren't into fancy microbrews or drafts. I watch her with sharp eyes as she efficiently gets our beers, takes some money out of her tip jar, and puts it in the register before delivering our orders to us.

  "Enjoy," she says as she sets a bottle in front of each of us.

  I take the beer and hold it up to her in salute. "Thanks, Goldie."

  She winks at me and sets her forearms on the bar, leaning slightly in toward us. It makes the edge of her tank top dip a little, and I can't help my eyes when they drop for a moment to admire the swell of her breasts and dark shadow of cleavage.

  My gaze slides back up to hers, and her eyes are sparkling with mischief. She knows exactly what she's doing... working her assets and all that.

  Sticking her hand across the bar at me, she says, "It's not Goldie. It's Casey Markham. I take it you two are new to the island?"

  I've already held that delicate hand in mine, but I'm not going to pass up another opportunity. I reach my digits across and take ahold of her again. "I'm Tenn and this is Kyle," I say, jerking my head to the right.

  She gives me a soft squeeze, angles her head, and gives a smile to Kyle. When she looks back at me, she pulls her hand back and asks, "Ten? That's an unusual name. Your parents mathematicians or something?"

  I chuckle and shake my head. "No. It's spelled T-E-N-N."

  "As in the abbreviation for the state?" she asks as her ear dips toward her shoulder in curiosity.

  "No, as in the poet."

  "There's a poet by the name of Tenn?"

  "Not that I know of," I tell her conspiratorially. "But I'm not a real big fan of poetry, so I'm not really sure."

  She looks at me inquisitively and waits for me to enlighten her, instinctively knowing there's more to the story of my name.

  "Lord Alfred Tennyson," I supply.

  "Ah... now that's a name I do recognize. I think we had to read him in college, but I hate shit like that."

  "Me too," I commiserate.

  "Going to take a piss," Kyle butts in and stands up from his stool.

  Neither Casey nor I look his way but continue to stare at each other.

  Her lips curve upward in amusement, and I focus in on how full and soft they look. She leans a little more across the bar, and I struggle not to let my eyes drop to her breasts again. "Your parents are romantics then," she hypothesizes. "Lovers of poetry?"

  I smile at her and shake my head. "Literature in general. And more my mom than my dad, God rest her soul."

  She gives me a sympathetic look over the reference of my mother's passing but doesn't dwell on it, which I appreciate. "Interesting. Any siblings?"

  "Smart girl," I compliment her. "Younger brother. Woolf."

  "As in Virginia?"

  "As in," I say with a smile as I hold my bottle of beer up to her again in salute.

  Casey takes a hand and traces an unrecognizable pattern on the wood of the bar with a fingertip. She watches her progress for a moment, and then raises her eyes back to mine. It's a subtle yet flirty gesture. "Your name should be Woolf. It's a better biker name."

  Chuckling, I shrug my shoulders. "I'm not a biker."

  "Yet you ride a bike," she points out. "You wear the Harley t-shirt, have your shit kickers on, tats all over the place, and a dangerous look about you. Very Sons of Anarchy."

  I snort and slap my hand on the bar. "You watch too much TV, Goldie."

  Casey slides her hand closer to mine and with the end of her finger, strokes it lightly across the side of my wrist. My skin fucking tingles from the contact, and her subtle flirting goes full on in my face. I find it fascinating that the woman who proclaims to have a boyfriend is so free with her touches, and all of a sudden... I'm not feeling so gentlemanly about her being involved with s
omeone already.

  "A shame," she whispers, her eyes moving from our hands to my face. "Something just really hot about bikers."

  My hand snakes out and wraps around her wrist, my thumb coming to rest right over her pulse, which I can feel fluttering madly against me. "I'm a biker then," I assure her with a growl. "Whatever you want if you'll cancel your date with your boyfriend tonight."

  Casey's head turns left and then right, looking down both ends of the bar and assuring herself that she's not needed by any customers at the moment. When she looks back at me, her eyes spark with playfulness. "Just out of curiosity, what would you do with me tonight if I didn't have a boyfriend?"

  Many women have flirted with me. I understand it is often a playful, back-and-forth banter that ultimately seeks an outcome of two people coming together. Sometimes, I enjoy that shit, other times, not.

  Now is one of the times I'm not into it, because Casey is too direct and forward to engage in that crap. So I just decide to throw the truth out to her. "If I had you tonight?"

  She nods at me, her gaze locked to mine.

  I lean across the bar and in a tone so low I can barely hear myself, I tell her, "I'd make you come over and over and over again. And when you insist you couldn't give me any more, I'd make you come again just to prove you wrong."

  Casey inhales through her nose sharply and her pupils actually dilate. Her soft, pink lips part and a tiny huff of spearmint breath blows out. "You don't mince words," she observes with a murmur.

  "Not when I see something I want," I tell her, my thumb now stroking the silky skin of her wrist. And then I command her, "Dump the boyfriend, Goldie. Come spend the night with me."

  And there it is... in her eyes, I see it--the first signs of acquiescence. I want to stand on the bar and beat my fists against my chest in victory.

  But I don't dare let go of her wrist until I get the words I want from her.

  She opens her mouth but before she can speak, a hand claps me on my shoulder and I hear Kyle say, "Look who I found, dude."

  I don't turn to look at him. I don't let go of Casey' wrist. I continue to stare at her and wait for her to give me the words I want. To tell me that I can have her... at least for tonight.

  But the heat and promise dies from her gaze just a tad, and she slowly turns her head to the right to look at Kyle as she pulls away from my grasp. Her eyes light right back up again in more than just nominal recognition of Kyle, and a smile forms on that beautiful mouth.