Chapter Five

“Tate. Ta-ate…”

Her head was spinning from his kisses, and she was gasping for breath, more aroused than she could remember herself ever being. Her body was arching up against him, hard enough to sway the heavy truck on its frame.

The vexation of wanting to be naked, in a bed, his hard maleness inside her, added to her emotional frustration. Capable, calm, controlled Dr. Dace was left standing in the parking lot; inside the wrecker cab, she became X-rated Dace, wild woman intent on climaxing in a semi-public display of wantonness.

She would never have believed the pressure from her twisted clothing and Tate’s hard leg rubbing repeatedly across her tender center would get her this hot and this wild so fast.

She couldn’t get close enough to Tate, despite having her arms and legs wrapped around him. Her hands clenched on his world-class ass, fingers dug in so hard she was probably leaving bruises. The tension was ratcheting higher and higher in her body, and she felt she would fly apart, shattering into pieces if the mother of all orgasms didn’t arrive in the next few seconds.

Finally, it hit her with the force of a lightning bolt, beginning at her core and shooting sensation after sensation through her body until her body clenched, her clitoris throbbed, and her womb literally tingled. So caught up in what was happening to her physically, she saw stars twinkling at the edges of her vision, and realized she was actually on the verge of passing out.

Dragging air back into her lungs, she looked up at Tate’s face, half hidden in the darkness above her. He lowered his head, and rubbed his cheek against hers while murmuring softly in her ear, simultaneously soothing her and bringing her back down to earth.

“See what I mean? Good things happen when you let go.” His voice sounded deep and husky, and she wordlessly purred her agreement.

“That was…uh, amazing doesn’t quite cover it. I’ve never…oh, I mean, I have, but not like that. I almost passed out.”

Pressed against his chest, she felt his abdomen move as he chuckled. “The French term for orgasm is la petit mort. It translates to ‘little death’.”

“You speak French?”

“College. Language elective.”

“Hmmmmm. Very apt. I think I died a little. But you didn’t…did you?” She answered her own question by arching her body slightly and encountering his still-tumescent flesh wedged between her legs. It felt to her as if he had an iron bar jammed in his jeans.

“Babe, I told you—there wasn’t enough time for what I wanted to do, but enough time to give you what you needed.” He bent his head and nuzzled her hospital identification card, still hanging around her neck on a lanyard. “You work at the hospital, so I’m sure you can appreciate safe sex. And this was really, really safe.”

She looked up at him for a moment, feeling the flush of mortification spread across her cheeks. “Tate, I am not, nor have I ever been, a tease. Hallmark does not make a card to cover this situation, so you will have to accept my verbal apology. I’m very appreciative of your actions, and I am sorry they were not reciprocal and that you, uh, didn’t achieve satisfaction as well.” Apparently, in the space of a few moments, the ever-poised and always-in-control Dr. Dace had reappeared in the cab—complete with the stick she carried in her OCD-organized ass—and kicked out wild wanton X-rated Dace.

Tate looked at her for a moment, and Dace had the sense he was surprised by her words. Then his eyes crinkled at the corners and he began chuckling, which morphed into whooping gales of laughter, complete with tears of hilarity streaming down his face. His voice sounded rusty and unused, as if the laughing fit wasn’t a usual thing for him, and that alone kept her from being completely embarrassed. To her eyes, in that moment Tate looked like a man who needed a lot more laughter in his life.

Eventually the spate of laughter wore down, and he got himself under control, with only the occasional hitching guffaw.

“Was it something I said?” she asked.

That remark set him off again, and he had to pull himself into a seated position in the truck cab. He doubled over, gasping for breath and roaring with amusement, his arms wrapped across his stomach.

Dace, too, sat up and rearranged her scrubs into some semblance of order. Then she watched him pull himself together for a second time.

“Are you all right?”

He nodded as he sprawled back against the front door of the wrecker, mopping tears from his cheeks with the sleeves of his T-shirt, looking more relaxed than he had since she’d met him. “Oh, yeah. Top of the world.”

She snuck a peek at his jeans as he shifted, and was relieved to notice his erection had subsided. That made her feel less guilty, although she would be damned if she’d mention Hallmark or apologies again.

“I think I see Fred coming out of the bar. Looks like he ordered the burger to go. “

Tate glanced across the street. Fred was indeed coming toward the wrecker, and carrying a medium-sized foam container. Suddenly Tate sat up straight, his relaxed posture disappearing in an instant.

“Fred isn’t the only one leaving.” He turned to her, his expression back to the guarded blank look she had seen when he was speaking with Whip. “Looks like the Dark Riders only wanted a free drink. You’re coming back in the bar with me. Grab what you need from your car; I’ll wait for you.”

Dace tilted her head. “Tate, I’m in the wrecker cab, I’ll just lock the doors. Fred will be here in a second. Go on in. I’ll be fine.”

Tate reached behind him and opened the door, sliding out in one smooth motion. He reached back into the cab, grabbing her chin between his thumb and index finger. The warm glow she had seen in his eyes earlier had vanished; now he looked like he was facing down a predator.

“Babe, I’m not asking. Get your stuff. Now.”

Dace felt her eyebrows climb toward her hairline. “Just a minute. You don’t tell me what to do.” She poked him in the chest with her forefinger. “You are not the boss of me.”

Tate grabbed her hand. His eyes warmed, and he bent his head and kissed the tip of her finger, flicking his tongue across her fingertip so quickly all she could do was gasp.

“Right now I am. You can walk or I’ll carry you. My guess is, you’d rather walk.”

Their gazes clashed and he narrowed his eyes at her. “This isn’t a joke, Dace. I’m going back in and you’re coming with me. I’m not leaving you in the parking lot with a bunch of bikers who don’t like me very much. Whip thinks I claimed you, and I’m not giving him a chance to test our devotion.”

“Yeah, about that claiming thing. What the…” Her remark ended in an enraged shriek as Tate grabbed her out of the wrecker cab, slung his arm around her waist and lifted her off her feet. He bent his head and whispered into her ear.

“With me. Right the hell now.”

By this time, Fred had strolled up with his bag of takeout food, ready to take off with Dace’s car in tow. Tate placed Dace carefully on the asphalt, leaving his arm around her shoulders. As they walked back to her Honda, Tate turned to him and spoke in a low tone to the burly driver.

“Fred, tow her car to the place she asked and send the bill to the bar. You’ve got a week of dinners coming, all on me. Got it?”

Giving Tate a glare that would have melted steel, Dace grabbed her tote bag, her backpack and her dead cell phone off the front seat of the Honda, and locked up her car. Tate was behind her, no more than a step away, and when she was done, he took the bags from her hands and slung them over his shoulder. Grabbing her hand, he urged her in the direction of the bar.

Whip and his crew had already returned to the parking lot, and were preparing to leave. Some of them had climbed on their cycles; the rest were stamping out their cigarettes and draining their beers, dropping the empties in the parking lot. As they powered up one at a time, the night air filled with the thrumming roar of the powerful Harleys.

As Whip noticed Tate and Dace watching him, he gave them another chin jerk.

Dace noticed the two younger men who had stayed outside to watch the motorcycles waited until everyone else had mounted up before they climbed on their machines and pulled to the back of the line. Two by two, with Whip alone in front, the men pulled out onto the deserted street and accelerated, the reverberation of the engines echoing off the deserted buildings.

Tate still had hold of her hand, and they were almost at the door of the bar when Dace pulled back. “Oh, wait. Fred still has my driver’s license and my AAA card. I need those. Hang on, I’ll be right back.”

She turned and darted back across the street toward Fred’s wrecker.