Jake took in all of Anna’s nerves and fear, and knew he should let her off the hook. Hell, he should let himself off the hook. If he ended up with an armful of Anna Richardson tonight, it probably wasn’t going to end safely. End well, sure. But not safely.
And Jesus, that dress she was wearing. He’d picked her out in the crowd immediately, her lush curves drawing his eye in a roomful of stick figures and waifs. He wanted to touch, cup, caress, and squeeze every inch of her, exploring her body like his own personal, uncharted road. His very favorite kind.
Now she breathed in a little strangled breath, and he realized he’d been staring at her mouth, her soft, trembling lips, and then she caught her lower lip in her teeth, an unconscious move that made him want to ball up his fists and pummel anyone who interrupted this moment. Because she was close. She was so close—
“You’d take me home?” she asked, and he couldn’t believe his ears. “You don’t mind leaving this place?”
“Not at all.” Hell, he’d take her out of here over his shoulder if he could get away with it. “You ready to head out?”
She gave him a sad little smile. “I don’t think I’m going to have much luck finding a date to the wedding here.”
Jake felt a surge of adrenaline run through him at her words. “I think you’ve already found him, haven’t you?” he teased, and was rewarded with another soft blush.
“Jake, I already told you, I’m not going to ask you to do that. I barely know you—”
“Unlike all of those other guys you were talking to, tonight, right.” He slanted her a look. “You certainly were collecting enough cards.”
“You were watching me?”
It was all Jake could do not to laugh. “Darlin’, I’ve been watching you for the last six months.”
“Six—” She turned startled eyes on him, and he grinned.
“Oh, c’mon, Anna. You mean to tell me you’ve been strutting by my place all this time in those short, sexy skirts and high heels, no matter how damn cold it got outside, and you didn’t want me to look?”
“My skirts are not that short!” Anna protested, but he could tell by the darker rose of her cheeks that he’d hit the mark. Anna Richardson had purposefully been parking farther and farther away from her brownstone as the weather had warmed, especially on the nights he worked. He kept the garage door up, naturally, because you could pass out from the fumes if you didn’t. And as the sun finally dropped and the day wound down, it had gotten to the point where he’d subconsciously started looking for her. And then consciously started looking for her, and then damn well came out of his skin looking for her.
Sometimes, she didn’t show up until midnight. Sometimes even later. But he liked leaving the bright spill of light there to greet her when she passed his door. And she never wore sneakers, as most of the other Boston women did after their workday was through. Nope. It could be two A.M., and sweet little Anna Richardson would still be dressed up in three-inch heels and dresses or skirts, looking like she’d strolled off one of the vintage calendars on his wall.
He knew she had other clothes, too. When she rolled out of her brownstone at odd hours, hours he suspected she thought he’d be sleeping, she wore the same old boring crap that every woman these days seemed to wear—trousers and shirts, flats and conservative suits. But lately he’d noticed that she’d been saving the best for him.
He had no problem with that. He liked to imagine her standing in front of her closet, choosing what to wear based on whether or not she might see him, holding this outfit or that up against her body, tilting that sweet face, pursing her lips. He liked it a lot, in fact. He’d gotten quite a few nights out of just that image, but it was nothing compared to having Anna in front of him now, soft and lush. His fingers ached to touch her, and he was quickly going from semihard to rock solid while she stood and blushed and trembled not two inches away from him.
“C’mon,” he said, unable to stop the rough catch in his voice as he picked up his jacket. He took her hand and she let him pull her through the crowd, though he felt her awkwardness at trailing behind him. Anna Richardson was usually the girl who did the leading, he suspected, not the following. He liked that about her. But he liked turning the tables every once in a while, too.
They came out into the hot, muggy air, and he kept ahold of Anna’s hand, shortening his stride as she fell in step beside him. “Better out here?” he asked.
“Yes. Thanks.” Anna appeared to have regained a little of her strength, and she pulled away from him under the pretext of tucking one of her blonde curls behind her ear. He let her go, but instantly missed the feel of her smooth, soft hand in his. Out of nowhere she continued their previous conversation, as if they’d been chatting the entire time they’d been leaving the bar. “Look, Jake,” she began, her words fast and clipped, like she was afraid she would get cut off before she said her piece. “You really don’t have to keep up the act about the wedding. That can’t be your idea of a good time.”
He thought about correcting her immediately, but he didn’t have a chance.
“I mean, think about it,” she rushed on. “You barely know me, you haven’t even had two conversations with me, really, and here you might be stuck for a whole weekend with me in a strange place with people you don’t know, and some of them are real asshats. I know you’re thinking ‘Well, why do you hang out with them if they’re that way?’ and it would be fair to think that, but it’s sort of hard to disown people you’ve known all through college when they’re all intent on getting married, and besides some of them are really nice. It’s just easier to go along, you know? And of course, I haven’t been going along well enough as it is, because after my ex and I broke up, I just didn’t want to deal with anyone, so I created this whole ruse of this unbelievably sexy guy who took up my days and nights and every bed in between, and people were so not buying that story on its own. So I had to make it bigger and bigger and more elaborate and now … well, I’ve come to terms with the fact that there’s just no way that I will be able to pull this off and I’m just going to have to—”
Anna finally broke off, realizing belatedly that they’d stopped. Jake patted his current work in progress with appreciation, an amped-up crotch rocket that looked like a lot more muscle than it really was, but it was black and blinged, and its owner took care of it like it was his baby girl. Jake had been tuning it up for the past several days, and he was just about to deliver it back to its home upstate—all on the owner’s dime, of course. He unclipped the helmet that he’d brought on the off chance he’d have a rider to bring back to the brownstone tonight, then turned and handed it off to Anna.
“Um …,” she managed to say, even as she took it from him, handling the smooth round plastic casing awkwardly.
“It may be a bit big, but it should work,” Jake said, undoing the chin strap while Anna’s gaze roamed from the helmet to his face and back. “Then you just need to hop on the back and hold on. It’s all city streets, I promise, and I’ll cruise real slow. You won’t even get your hair tangled up.”
“But I can’t ride that!” she squeaked, holding the helmet in front of her like a shield. “My dress!”
“Oh.” That was something he hadn’t thought of. Jake looked at the silky pink dress with the floppy skirt that barely skimmed Anna’s thighs. Well, not really a problem, in his book, but there was no doubt about it: it’d fly up and around her hips the moment they had a good breeze going. Which even moving slow, would be pretty much immediately. The thought made his mouth go dry, but Jake laid his jacket on the bike. He didn’t need the heavy thing, not in the middle of summer on back streets.
“First, on with the helmet,” he said, and to his surprise, Anna complied, sliding the helmet over her mass of curls and trapping the chin strap in the process.
“Now, put this on,” he said, picking up the jacket and holding it out.
“How is that going to help?” she asked, even as she took the jacket and slid it over her shoulders. “My God, it’s heavy.” It hung past her hips, and she looked down, frowning. “Maybe …,” she allowed.
“Special jacket, made for the kind of riding I do. Eyes up here.” He teased out and fastened her chin strap, then eyed Anna’s nervous little shimmy from foot to foot. “Aw, hell, honey. You look like you’re gonna faint. You want me to call a cab?”
“No … no,” Anna said. She straightened a little, looking impossibly adorable in the too big helmet and jacket. “Just—don’t look back, okay? Or down. Or, you know, anywhere near me.”
“That’s my girl. Just be careful as you get on, keep your legs high and your feet up.” Jake turned around and slid onto the bike, his grin widening as he leaned it toward her, then felt the machine shift as Anna slid in behind him. His smile didn’t falter as her thighs slid tight against his jeans, already clamping hard as he stirred the motorcycle to life. With a soft bleat of distress, she snaked her arms around him and held on, her fingers barely meeting.
“Where do I put my feet?” she asked.
He glanced down. “Drop your toes about two inches—there,” he said, as the edge of her sandal found the peg. “I’m not a huge fan of riders on these bikes. The weight’s effed up for a passenger to really get comfortable, but we’re not going far, and I’m going to go slow. Still, there’s a jerk of the machine when we start, so you need to be ready for that, okay?”
“Okay,” Anna said, her voice muffled. Her face was pressed against his shoulder, her breasts flattened against his back. He would not think about what that was doing to his dick or he’d never get out of here.
“Okay,” he said, breathing out. “Here we go.” He brought the machine to life then eased out the clutch, grinning as Anna gasped, half in fear, half in excitement. He could absolutely get used to hearing that sound, too. He turned out of the space and rolled onto the street, careful to keep the bike at a low speed. He could feel her relax into the movement as she turned her head to peer around. Still, she never released her death grip on his waist, her fingers digging into his abs hard enough to bruise him. He didn’t mind that a bit, actually. In fact, it was all he could do not to imagine her fingers dipping lower and lower, to slide under his jeans and wrap around his—
“Jesus, focus,” he muttered. He was going to be crippled before they even got home.
“Did you say something?” Anna shouted over his shoulder, loosening her grip just a little as she lifted her head again. She was already becoming a little bolder, and he grinned, knowing he shouldn’t do what he was about to do. Then again, he never had been a very good guy.
“Just telling you to hold on, sweetheart,” he called back, goosing the accelerator just enough to kick the bike to a higher speed, and relishing Anna’s reaction as she squealed and clamped onto him tightly again. He leaned forward and felt her stretch too, and the roar in his blood matched the purr of the bike as they rolled through the city, heading for home. He was not going to have sex with Anna Richardson tonight, even if it killed him.
But that didn’t mean he wasn’t going to have a little fun.