“He’s my dog,” she mumbled, looking down at her feet. Good Lord, she was wearing her Keds from seventh grade. “I’ll do what I want.”
“He needs some discipline,” the man advised. “Enroll him in obedience school.”
“We’re kind of free spirits, Blackie and I,” she said, reaching out to stroke the dog’s head. Blackie whined.
“I get it now.” The Hells Angel crossed his arms over his chest. “You’re both spoiled.”
“That’s not what I said.”
The silvery eyes of his had warmed up. Apparently she amused him. “The principles are easy. Let him know what to expect. Reward the behavior you want, and when he crosses the line, withdraw your attention. A little time locked outside and he’ll come around.”
“I’m not sure Blackie gives a flying fig about my attention.”
“Beautiful fairy like yourself? Any male would be ready to knock himself out for you.”
Marlys cast him a look through her eyelashes. All right, she was human, wasn’t she? And when a man this good looking called her beautiful—even when wearing her junior high Keds—it wasn’t a crime to be flattered. Or tempted.
Didn’t he imply he was going to be around for a while? With the foul mood she’d been in lately, she could use a distraction, so maybe a flirtation—or more—wouldn’t be such a bad idea.
Then she remembered. This particular temptation was here at Juliet’s house, a place she’d been looking forward to avoiding.
“Where is my evil stepmother anyway?”
Motorcycle man shrugged. “I told you I arrived early. Noah’s out, she’s out, I don’t know where either is.”
She guessed she should be grateful he hadn’t broken into the place.
“I’m Dean Long, by the way.” He stretched his hand toward her.
Without thinking, Marlys put her palm against his.
Zap.
Electricity shot to her elbow as her bare flesh met his. Her gaze jumped upward to clash with his surprised silver eyes.
“Wow,” he said.
She yanked her hand away. “It’s the crisp October air.”
His smile dawned slowly. “Yeah, must be about seventy-five, seventy-eight degrees out here.”
Oh, what the hell. She found herself smiling back and enjoying the exhilarating feel of her blood zipping through her body. “Like I said, crisp.”
“Mmm-hmm. Snap, crackle, pop.” The flirtation in his eyes heated to seduction. “I don’t know your name.”
“Marlys.” She took a step back, and bumped into Blackie. He whined, and her fingers stroked the fur on the top of his head. “Marlys Weston.”
Dean watched her retreat a few feet more, Blackie pressed to her thigh. “Are you going to come back and see me again while I’m here, Marlys Weston?”
“I think I’m going to have to,” she heard herself murmur, then she turned like a coward and hightailed it to her car.
Once there, though, she realized she’d only been telling the truth. She still had Juliet’s package.
Noah ran across Juliet at Zuma, the two-mile stretch of sand situated at Malibu’s northern end. It was the kind of beach that symbolized California. The hundred yards from parking lot to waves were strung with dozens of volleyball courts and along the horizontal stretch lifeguard towers squatted like giant toddlers hunkered over plastic pails.
Whether it was thanks to fate, or instinct, or just dumb luck, his eye had caught on her car in the near-empty lot as he cruised along the Pacific Coast Highway. Though he knew Dean was waiting for him at the house, Noah hadn’t hesitated to turn off PCH and into the parking lot at the next opportunity.
He braked his truck beside Juliet’s Mercedes and then trudged through the sand in the direction of her solitary figure. She didn’t move or shift her gaze from the horizon across the water, even as two bright yellow lifeguard vehicles trundled past with rescue surfboards strapped to their racks.
From twenty feet she turned her head and looked at him. The breeze off the ocean had dashed pink color against her cheeks and onto the tip of her elegant nose. It had made her mouth rosy, too.
The mouth he’d kissed.
The mouth of the woman who last night had confessed her longing for a man’s touch.
He stumbled on nothing, tripping over his own feet like a skid row wino. One of the lifeguard trucks slowed beside him. “You okay, pal?” the driver called out, lifting his Ray-Bans to scrutinize Noah’s face.
“Fine,” he said, waving with the hope the gesture would be enough. Sure, he was publicly intoxicated, but he didn’t feel like explaining that he was drunk on memories of those reddened lips and that beautiful woman in his arms.