He swung into the seat of his bike and pulled out his cigarettes. He’d smoke another while she drove home, and then he’d put his plan into action. And he’d be successful. Failure wasn’t an option.
Shewouldbe on the back of his bike with her arms around his body and her cheek on his cut before the sun set.
****
Leah grabbed a can of cola from the refrigerator then set about filling a soft bag with t-shirts, shorts, bikinis, and a few toiletries. She wouldn’t need much, just comfortable lounge clothes and something for the beach.
The tune to the latest Beyoncé song came to mind and she sang as she packed. It was wonderful to feel lighter, to have something nice to do for a change. Okay, so she had some files to go through, but it was nothing overly taxing, just a bit time-consuming.
She shoved her trusty pink vibrator into a side pocket, then added a few hundred dollars from her safe along with her passport. She scooped up her laptop, chargers, and a sunhat, then headed back out the front door.
After throwing her holdall on the backseat, she put the zip code of the rental into her phone, then turned the key.
Nothing.
She frowned. Tried again.
The damn engine didn’t even click, not a sound. It was totally dead.
“How did this happen?” She popped the hood and got out. The VW had been working without a hitch minutes earlier when she’d driven home from the office.
She scratched her head and stared at the engine. Metal and pipes, and wires and vents were a foreign language. She had no idea what they were, what they did, or what could have gone wrong.
She turned at the sound of a familiar deep rumble. It was getting louder, denser, vibrating around the houses and into her chest.
A bike appeared, big, black, shiny, with wide handlebars and ridden by a man she instantly recognized.
What the—?
Carter Harris pulled his bike to a halt, returning silence to her quiet suburban street. He then swung his leg over the seat and swaggered toward her, the evening sun glinting off his dark shades.
On the front of his t-shirt was a faded picture of a fist on fire and his leathers sat low on his hips. With his full sleeves and heavy boots, he was a poster boy for all things deliciously bad and sinfully seductive.
“Why are you here?” she snapped, irritated that her body was heating at the sight of him and her heart had done a silly flutter.
“This.” He stopped in front of her and held out his hand. Nestled in his palm was a tiny silver earring. “Is it yours?”
“No.” She’d never seen it before.
“I found it outside your office block. Thought it might be precious.”
“Perhaps it is, but it isn’t mine. How did you know where I live?”
He kind of shrugged and shoved the earring into the front pocket of his pants. “It’s a small town.”
Her attention went to the interesting bulge in his groin being hugged by the worn leather.
“Got a problem?” he asked.
“What?” She dragged her gaze back up. “What do you mean?”
His mouth tilted in a wickedly sexy smile. “A problem. With your car?”
“My car … yes … it won’t start.”
He stepped to her side, close, so close his body heat radiated onto her bare shoulder, and studied the engine.
“Complicated things, VWs.”