He stared at Cherrie Moore. Unabashedly and unapologetically stared.
Jesus, how was it possible the woman could get any more beautiful in the space of eight hours? Last night, in a torso-hugging leather vest and tight jeans that showed off beautiful tattooed brown skin, toned arms, a heart palpitation–inducing pair of breasts, a cock-hardening ass and incredibly long, thick legs, she’d been a walking wet dream. Today, straddling the high-powered, bulky sports bike most people considered a man’s machine, and encased in a leather jacket, equally tight jeans and motorcycle boots, she was pure, unadulterated fantasy.
Swinging his leg over his Ducati, he skirted the other riders and approached the trio, his focus concentrated solely on the statuesque beauty with the solemn brown eyes and lush mouth. Her features created a fascinating, striking face that had branded itself into his mind. In his dreams. As did her walking away from him.
Last night, he’d fucked up. Being on the road or being shuffled from one relative’s house to another most of his life hadn’t instilled in him the greatest of social skills. Which meant tact was often a foreign concept, and his aptitude for flirtation could be compared to that of a rampaging bear. Didn’t mean anything he’d said hadn’t been true. Or that he had any intention of giving up on Cherrie Moore so easily.
She’d walked. And he had no problem with following.
As if sensing his presence, she glanced up, and an emotion that veered too close to panic flared in her eyes, causing him to hesitate. But only for a moment. Curiosity and determination streamed through him. Why, he didn’t pause to analyze, just as he hadn’t the night before. For the first time in, well...ever, he acted on instinct. On impulse. And every instinct demanded he not let this woman escape him.
“Morning,” he greeted.
Belinda and Daryl turned, smiling, as they returned his greeting with a hug from her and a back slap from him.
“Hey, you,” Belinda said. “I was wondering if we were going to see you here this morning.”
“I told her you wouldn’t let anything like closing up at 3:00 a.m. keep you from going on a ride.” Daryl squeezed his shoulder. “And thanks again for last night. We really appreciate you opening your place to us.”
“Always,” Maddox replied, then shifted his attention from his friends to the silent woman with the fire-dipped dark curls. “Morning, Cherrie. Good to see you again.”
“Maddox.” She dipped her chin in recognition.
“’Scuse us. My husband is going to treat me to a cup of coffee from Mimi’s before the ride starts. If he knows what’s good for him,” Belinda drawled.
A wry grin tugged at Daryl’s mouth. “And he does.”
Maddox watched the couple walk off toward the popular and no doubt crowded café, shaking his head. “There goes a very intelligent and possibly scared man. I don’t know whether to admire him or rescue him.”
Cherrie snorted. “If he wants to be rescued.”
Maddox turned back to her, arching an eyebrow. “I think we just described marriage.” Her bark of laughter surprised him, and from the slight widening of her eyes, her as well. Taking advantage of the chink in her armor, he shifted closer and brushed his fingertips across the Busa’s gleaming side panel. “Nice ride.”
“For a woman?”
His eyebrow hiked higher as he studied her for a long moment. Observed the faint firming of those sensual lips. “Is it just me who gets your back up, or are you this defensive with everyone?”
She stared at him, then her mouth twisted into a rueful half smile. “It’s just you.”
He chuckled. “Thank you for your honesty. Although I’m not sure if me annoying you is a good thing or a bad thing?”
“Not annoying,” she muttered under her breath, but since every bit of him was tuned into her like a homing signal, he caught it. “And it’s bad. Very, very bad.” Before he could question her about that cryptic admission—and hell yes, he planned to question her on it—she said, “And thank you.” She stroked a hand over one of the grips. “I’ve had her for two years now. I travel a lot for my career, but whenever I’m home, we’re out on the road together.”
“Where’s home?” he asked, hungry for any information he could gather. Yeah, he didn’t analyze that need, either.
“Chicago.” She shrugged a shoulder. “Well, it’s where I land most when I’m not on the road. Since I can’t tow a motorcycle with me everywhere, I don’t get to ride as much as I’d love to. Just one reason I look forward to this rally. Yes, I sell my jewelry here, but it’s also two straight weeks of me, my Busa and open road. Doesn’t get much better than that.”
“Ride with me.” The invitation burst out of him with no time for his brain to check the wisdom of it. But he didn’t rescind it. Instead, he moved closer to her and lifted his hand, giving her enough time to avoid him. When she lifted her gaze to his and didn’t move, he threaded his fingers through her dark, tight spirals, savoring the rough silk texture of them. Imagined gripping the strands tight as he used them to hold her close and take her mouth. “I want to ride this road next to you.”
He didn’t admit that the only thing he wanted more was for her to straddle and ride him with the same sexy confidence and control she rode that bike with. Yet for some reason, her next to him, sharing the experience of this ride together, seemed just as...intimate. And that’s what he hungered for with her. Intimacy. Damn, this craving for a woman he barely knew, and who, for all intents and purposes, rejected him, should’ve shot up a neon red flag of caution in his brain. And maybe it did.
Maybe he just didn’t care.
He didn’t flinch under Cherrie’s narrow-eyed perusal. No, he welcomed it. Welcomed any part of her touching him, even if it was only her gaze. And as she roamed from his face, to his leather jacket and down his body to his jeans and boots, his fingers curled into fists. A necessary prevention to keep from reaching out, circling her wrist and dragging her hand to stroke all the places her eyes had brushed over.
“Fine,” she murmured, swinging off the bike and avoiding looking at him. But it was too late. Before she’d turned away, he’d caught the flicker of desire in her almond eyes. Satisfaction burned inside him, and he clenched his jaw to contain the grin that would most likely appear feral. “Let me check my levels, gauge and the gas, and then I’ll come find you.”
Nodding, he slowly turned, indulging in one last lingering sweep over her curves, before he strode back to his Ducati. Excitement sped through his veins. Excitement and something sharper, brighter. And imperative.
Again, not analyzing it.
CHAPTER THREE