Jackass. He headed toward the bike he’d parked beside her Mustang and she followed. “She grew up and gave in to female peer pressure. I thought we missed each other at the shop, Asa. That you left for errands. How do you know I changed my clothes?”
His smile was just as wicked as she remembered as he slipped on his leather jacket and straddled a motorcycle that made her mouth water. She knew he’d done the rebuild himself, the same way he knew the Mustang was her project.
The 1941 Indian 841 Army model had a custom seat big enough for two and faded leather saddlebags on the back. He’d painted it matte black with white and old-style olive-green accents, but it seemed to shimmer in the late afternoon light.
She wanted his bike.
How did he know she’d changed? “Asa?”
“I said we missed each other, I didn’t say I hadn’t see you. Red slinky number you had on? A blind man would have felt the heat from that getup. You’ve become a fine-looking woman, Dirty Del. But then, I always knew you would.” She opened her mouth and he shook his head. “Get on.”
She slipped her purse over her shoulder and slid onto the leather seat behind him, wrapping her arms automatically around his waist. It wasn’t something she was proud of, the way she barely made an effort to resist him. How easy it was to fall back into their roles, where she’d do anything he said and he’d expect it. Hadn’t she changed? Hadn’t he?
“Where are we going?”
“You’ll see.”
She might see, or she might be so drunk on this—touching him, smelling his familiar scent of ocean and engine grease and outdoors. Of sex. Asa smelled like sex. Everything about him reminded her of it, and the rumbling vibration and bounce of the seat between her thighs was only enhancing the effect he was having on her. Making her more desperate.
They’d only been on the highway for five minutes when she made her decision. She was going to seduce Asa Wilder. Properly this time. No childish requests, declarations of love or clumsy kisses. No shocked, shy expressions when he finally gave into her youthful enthusiasm and kissed her with a fire that singed her as he rocked his erection against her sex. No more pulling back her hand in surprise when he urged it inside his unzipped jeans.
Just thinking about his expression at that moment made her cringe. And the way he’d dismissed her afterward, making her so mad she’d had to…well, she’d punched him.
But she was no longer an innocent. No longer easily shocked. She could handle him now.
And she would. Maybe then she’d finally get control of her reaction to him. Her first crush, the heartbreak that began and ended her unattainable-bad-boy-biker phase in one fell swoop.
It was a phase she was more than willing to revisit, as long as it meant finally knowing what he would feel like inside her. Over her. Behind her. Making her come.
She squirmed against the seat and tightened her arms around him, pressing her nose against his jacket and breathing him in. She loved riding with him. Loved the feeling of giving him control. Of flying down the road with the wind whipping at her skin. It was freedom. It was wild.
The sex would be wild too.
Delilah knew it. Craved it. A tiny voice in her head worried about mixing business with pleasure and losing her objectivity...but the rest of her body told that voice to fuck off.
She lifted her head when he started to slow down, and she realized where they were. He’d just turned off Canal Street onto Harbor Street. He was taking her to an out of the way bar and r
estaurant overlooking a small harbor in a lesser-known part of town. She remembered him talking about it when she lived here. It was where he and his friends used to hang out.
“It looks a little rundown.” She spoke loud enough for him to hear over the engine.
He laughed at that as he parked. “It should. It’s fifty years old. Food’s great though, and the company. Did I make the wrong choice? The neighborhood has changed for the better in the last few years, you know. Did success turn you into one of the Snoots?”
Snoots. She smiled, remembering his word for the wealthy locals that dotted the landscape of Marin County. It was a running joke that had started with a story about a woman who took him to a wine tasting to thank him for a night of coital bliss.
Delilah stopped smiling, curling her hands over his shoulders for balance as she slid off the bike. “Hardly. Little Darcy might go down that road, but Drew and I still remember the poor old days, thank you.”
He took her hand as if he’d been doing it for years and opened the door for her. It felt good. Better than that. Right.
Trouble.
There weren’t too many people there, though the few at the bar called out a friendly greeting to Asa. He nodded, but didn’t approach them. Instead, he kept walking with her, weaving through the tables in the dimly lit restaurant until they reached the back room that led to an outer deck.
Delilah took in the small boats in the harbor and couldn’t help her smile. She loved West Hollywood. Her life was a good one. But this was so familiar and welcoming. She walked to the wood railing and leaned against it, watching the water gently lull the boats to sleep and listening to Asa give their order to a young waitress.
When he was done he came up behind her and set his hands outside hers on the railing, trapping her between his arms. She shivered at the sensation of his body gently pressed against her back.
“I’m glad you’re back, Del,” he whispered against her temple. “More than you know.”