Biker Chic Read online

  She fanned a hand in front of her face, trying to cool herself off. God, but she was drenched in sweat. The sun was beginning to sink into the west, but the heat was hardly lessening. If anything it felt more intense, broiling. Her skin felt grimy, gritty. Her makeup had practically melted off her face, and her clothes were clinging to her body like a second skin. All she wanted to do was strip everything off and take an ice-cold shower. “I don’t mind.”

  Both guys shrugged. “Suit yourself.”

  His good deed done, the one called Bill ambled back to his motorcycle, swung a leg over and kick-started the engine. The old machine roared to life. “Catch up down the road,” he shouted and pulled out, sending dust and gravel scattering.

  Jake shook his head, then turned to her. “Sorry. He isn’t very friendly.”

  A bit relieved her throat had thus far not been slit, Melanie gave a weak grin. “Too tell you the truth, he didn’t look very friendly.”

  “He’s okay.” He looked from her to the car, back to her. “You sure you want to stay here? I can give you a ride to the next town.”

  She wavered. “Well, I hate to leave the car here…”

  He laughed. “It ain’t going nowhere, lady. I guarantee it will still be here when you get back.” He shrugged. “And if it’s not, you got insurance, right?”

  She nodded. “I guess so.” She eyed his vehicle. “But I’ve never ridden on a motorcycle before.”

  “Then you’re in for a treat. Let’s go.”

  A little bit apprehensive about her decision to accompany this strange man, Melanie reluctantly grabbed her purse and locked the car. She’d obviously have to leave her luggage. There was no place to put it on the motorcycle. She thought about waiting for another ride to come along, then vetoed the idea. Cars were few and far between out here. She might have to wait for hours for someone to stop. At least if he took her to a town, she could use the phone, get a room, and wait for the car to be towed in and repaired.

  “That thing is safe?” she asked, small beads of sweat rolling over her skin.

  Jake straddled the bike and sat rubbing his chin. “It is if you don’t wreck it. Got a scar under my chin from rolling one down the highway.”

  “Oh, Jesus,” she breathed.

  He half turned in his seat and lifted the helmet perched across the rear passenger support bar. “Here. Wear this.”

  She eyed the helmet. “Aren’t you supposed to be wearing it?”

  He grunted. “No helmet law in New Mexico.”

  “Aren’t you afraid you’ll crack your skull?”

  He shrugged. “No loss if it happened.”

  She hefted the heavy helmet. “It’ll ruin my hair.”

  “The wind isn’t exactly going to fix it,” he observed sardonically. “Besides, it’ll help keep the bugs out of your teeth.”

  “Bugs in my teeth?” She gasped, stepping back. “Yuck.”

  He rolled his eyes. “Just put it on.”

  Her hair was limp from the heat and sweat anyway. Melanie grudgingly put on the helmet and tucked the strap under her chin. It was a little big, but it would suffice. She could only imagine what a person’s head would look like contacting with the asphalt while going sixty miles an hour. The fact he’d admitted wrecking once didn’t exactly bolster her confidence. “Guess this makes me a biker chick now.”

  Jake eyed her from head to foot, taking in her prim blouse, skirt, and high-heeled sandals. She could feel him looking at her, and immediately she started to tense, suddenly self-conscious.

  “Biker chic, maybe. Biker chick, hardly. You’re so far from biker material, it almost hurts my eyes to look at you. Definitely not the road-hog type. What the hell you doing out in the desert in an expensive convertible anyway? There’s no cotillions out here.”

  She bit down on her bottom lip to try and keep herself from screaming. It didn’t work. “I got lost! It’s easy to do in this godforsaken nowhere land,” she snapped, trying to pull the helmet off. “And forget going with you, you big stinking lout. I’ll wait for another ride.”

  He put out a hand, catching her wrist. “Hey, settle down, lady. I was just kidding.”

  “You’re making fun of me,” she sulked, too acutely aware of his skin contacting with hers. A shiver ran up her spine, though she was far from cold.

  “Yeah? Well you called me a lout, so we’re even. You coming or not? I’m not going to wait all goddamn day for you to decide.”

  “Yes, okay,” she conceded. “What do I do now?”

  For an answer, he flicked out the kick-start with one booted foot, then came down on it hard to bring the big motorcycle to life.

  “Get on and hold on,” he shouted over the deafening din. “Keep your legs clear of the pipes. They’ll burn.”

  “Oh, great,” she muttered. Wearing a skirt, there was no graceful way to climb onto a motorcycle. To get on, she had to hike it up around her hips, showing quite a bit of leg. Hand on his shoulder, she clambered onto the back.

  Settled onto the narrow leather seat, legs splayed open, her crotch almost directly connected with his ass. She was wedged against him far too close for comfort, but the wave of heat suffusing her body told its own betraying story, the sudden pulse of desire invading all the way to her clit. Immediately her tension started to grow, a strange sexual fierceness filling her as sure as the moist heat spreading between her legs. The massive machine between her legs vibrated with an intensity that almost caused her to climax. It shocked her to feel this heady, almost wanton pleasure, just straddling an idling motorcycle. It was like playing with a thousand-cc vibrator.

  Jake guided her arms around his waist. His casual touch redirected her attention. She was gut-wrenchingly conscious of the power of the muscles beneath his skin, more than achingly aware of his body, his sheer maleness, in a way she’d never before been aware of a man’s physical masculinity. She felt positively wicked, never having been this close to a strange man in her life. She was actually trembling from her physical reaction to his very nearness.

  “Hang on!” Gunning the engine, he simultaneously released the clutch and gave it gas as he shifted down into first gear. In one smooth motion the motorcycle was on the road, skimming easily down the highway.

  Body trembling, drenched with sweat, Melanie tensed at first, then let herself relax as she leaned into him. He smelled of heat, asphalt, and tangy sweat, the scents clinging to his clothes and skin and mingling with the musk of his unmistakable maleness. Receiving a new shocking charge of erotic awareness, she tightened her grip around his broad chest. A fine thrill pierced her heart. She could feel him grow tense at her touch; she could almost hear the blood hammering through his veins. His muscles were rock-solid under her hands. It was all she could do to restrain herself for letting her hand sneak lower toward his crotch.

  She wanted to rip through those skintight jeans and go straight for his hard male flesh. Beneath her clothes, her skin felt as though it were on fire. She could imagine his hands at her waist, his blond head bent over her body, lips pulling at a bare nipple. There was nothing more she wanted right now than the intimacy of his mouth against her own, his body pressed against hers, his erection pressing against her belly…

  A soft sound of appreciation escaped her throat, thankfully muffled by the roar of the engine. God, but I’d love to run my hands over his package and see what comes up.

  The very idea stunned her, but not half as much as it excited her. She knew all she’d have to do was reach down and touch him. Trouble was, she didn’t know if she could handle what might happen next. A woman could get in trouble for playing the cock tease.

  Chapter Seven

  The dirty little town they pulled into didn’t even have a sign posted to announce its name. Like a mirage in the distance, it suddenly appeared on the horizon of the flat, deserted land. Unlike a mirage, it had nothing beautiful to offer anyone passing through it, which was why people did exactly that... passed through it. It was a tiny town. Blink and you wo
uld miss it. So small there wasn’t even a traffic light. The town boasted a little general store, a post office, a few gas stations, and other stores only locals would shop in. Most buildings had been shut down, broken windows boarded over. The only thing seemingly cultivated was weeds, wildflowers, and cactus, hardly a lovely sight. The long summer had been so dry even those were wilted and burned by the intense sunlight.

  Jake pulled into a gas station. As he took care of fueling his hog, Melanie hopped off, ditched the helmet, and headed for the ladies’ room. Filling the sink with cool water, she splashed it on her face, washing off her makeup and the layers of road grime. She felt positively filthy. Her bare arms and legs were scorched red. A few more hours out in the sun and she would have shriveled up like a raisin. There was no reason to try and re-fix her face. It was a lost cause. Her hair was almost as bad. After dunking her head in the water, she combed it back and braided it into a neat, simple style. It wasn’t beautiful, but it would suffice.

  That done, she gave the key back to the clerk and asked for a pay phone. A quick call to Triple-A would fix everything.

  Ten minutes later, tears of frustration pricked at her eyes, but she was too furious to cry. “I can’t believe Phil canceled my membership,” she cursed, banging down the receiver. “Now what the hell do I do?” She pressed a shaking hand against her forehead. She wasn’t used to dealing with these things. She didn’t know how. Not for the first time, she realized just how dependent she’d been on her ex-husband. Phil had taken care of everything, part of his all-controlling nature to handle every detail of their lives. She never saw the bills, never worried about house, lawn or car maintenance. God, when had she become so helpless?

  Don’t I know how to do anything? And then it hit her. No, she really didn’t. She’d been a daughter and then a wife all her life. First she’d had parents to do it for her, then a husband. After all, a man was supposed to take care of those things…right?

  Wrong, she thought. Instead of making her secure, it had made her weak, dependent and helpless. She didn’t know how to do anything. Well, then it’s time to learn how to handle a mess. You got yourself into this, get yourself out.

  The sound of footsteps on gravel interrupted her thoughts. She turned around to see Jake walking up to her, two sodas in hand.

  “Look like you could use something to drink.” He handed over the icy-cold can.

  Melanie gave him a wan but grateful smile. “Just what I need.” She popped the tab and took a long drink.

  “So, get some help with the car?”

  She shook her head. “Not yet. I’m a little stymied, since I am no longer a member of Triple-A.”

  “Oh.” He took a swig of his own soda, quiet for a minute. “We passed a little garage a few blocks back. Odds are, these desert rats can tow your car in and do the work. You look like a lady who has a lot of cash. Should be no problem.”

  “Cash? As in hard money?” Again, Melanie had to shake her head. “I’ve only got credit cards, a few traveler’s checks, and a few dollars in change. I’ve never really gotten into the habit of carrying more than ten dollars.”

  “You should learn to carry a fair amount of the green for emergencies. These little backwaters aren’t really friendly to anything less than cold hard money.”

  "I’ve never had many emergencies,” she admitted.

  “Welcome to the real world, lady.”

  “Melanie.”

  “What?”

  She cleared her throat and held out her hand, which seemed a little formal since she’d had her thighs wrapped around his hips for the better part of a hundred miles. “My name is Melanie Brooks.”

  “Jake Marrs.” He took her hand, his grip firm, unyielding. His bear’s paw practically swallowed hers. His hands were rough, callused, his fingernails corroded with dirt and grease. She couldn’t help wondering how those hands of his would look cleaned up. For the first time since they met, he smiled, revealing a row of straight white teeth. “Well, Melanie,” he continued. “Why don’t we amble on over there to the garage and see if we can’t find someone to fix your car?”

  The walk was a short one, less than four blocks. The garage wasn’t much, seeming to be nothing more than a tin shed, a little rickety and not nailed together too sturdily. All kinds of junked cars were parked around the garage, most of the parts rusted down and welded together by the intense desert heat and sand they were sinking into.

  The owner of the garage was indeed an old desert rat who’d apparently spent his whole life as a shade tree mechanic. Dressed in coveralls without a shirt, his skin was deeply tanned, leathery, and creased. He might have been sixty or maybe a hundred. It was hard to tell. He was bald, toothless, and reeked of the tobacco chaw staining the scraggly beard around his mouth a nasty yellow shade. Seeing Melanie, the old fellow gave her a wink and a smile.

  “Not every day a pretty woman comes in here,” he said by way of a greeting.

  “My car doesn’t break down in the desert every day,” Melanie countered, trying not to wrinkle her nose over the stench emanating from the old man.

  “You folks broke down, huh?”

  “About ninety or so miles down the highway,” she replied.

  “What’s the matter?”

  Not knowing exactly what the matter was, she looked helplessly toward Jake.

  “Snapped the fan belt, no water in the radiator, overheated the car,” he said. “Easy fix. Just need someone to go and get it, do the work.”

  The old man scratched his whiskers and nodded. “I reckon that’s easy enough. I could send my grandson out to tow it in.”

  Hearing his words, relief flooded her. “Great,” she said. Digging in her purse, she pulled her credit card out of her wallet. “I’ll pay anything to get it fixed.”

  The old man eyed the piece of plastic speculatively. “I don’t take credit cards.”

  Hope plummeted to her feet. “You don’t?”

  The old man shook his head.

  “Uh, traveler’s checks?”

  Another shake of the head. “Cash only.”

  The gods must hate me, Melanie thought. Murphy’s law is certainly in effect today. I can’t win for losing… She sighed. “Where’s the nearest ATM?”

  “ATM?”

  “You know, cash machine?”

  “I don’t know if we have one of those here,” the old fellow replied honestly. “Might be one at the bank, but it’s closed.”

  Jake broke in. “How much to tow in the lady’s car and put a new belt on?”

  The old timer did some silent figuring in his head. “Oh, ‘bout fifty dollars.”

  Jake nodded and reached in his hip pocket for his wallet. Unfolding it, he slid out a crisp fifty. “Better get on it then.” He handed the money over. “Silver-blue convertible. Can’t miss it if you go straight down the road.”

  The old man nodded. “I’ll get Toby right on it.” Tucking his money safely away, he whistled, then hollered as he pounded on the side of garage with a gnarled hand. “Boy, get your lazy ass up.”

  A tall skinny kid appeared around the corner. About seventeen, he was dressed in faded jeans and a T-shirt. An Ipod was glued to his hip, a pair of headphones dangling around his neck.

  “Get the truck and pull it around front. We got some work.”

  The boy lit up. Something to break up the boredom of his day.

  “Pick it up tomorrow,” the old man told them.

  “Good enough.” Jake turned to Melanie. “Okay with you?”

  She gave a grateful nod.

  The old man spat a wad of chew onto the parched ground at his feet. “Suppose you’ll be getting a room for the night.”

  “Yes, I suppose so,” Melanie said.

  “I’ll have Toby come around and let you know when it’s fixed.”

  “Okay. Should I give you a call to let you know where I’m staying?”

  The old man laughed. “There’s only one motel here.” He made a vague gesture. “’Bout six blocks u
p.”

  She gave a slight shake of her head. The town was that small. Of course there wasn’t going to be a huge selection of places to stay. Bidding the old fellow and his grandson a final goodbye, she followed the big biker as he began to walk toward the convenience store where they’d left his bike. The sky was slowly morphing from bright blue to dusky pinks and darker purples. The heat was slowly receding, slinking away with the shadows. The cooler night winds were beginning to winnow across the desert plains.

  “Thanks so much for helping me out,” she said, doubling her steps to keep up with his stride. “I can pay you back, write you a check.”

  Jake made a vague ‘forget it’ gesture. “It wasn’t a problem.”

  “No, really,” she insisted. “I can pay you back.”

  “No big deal.”

  She threw up her hands, a bit confused by the blend of irritation and wryness in his voice. “Hey, suit yourself. I can’t make you take a check. But I appreciate the time you took to help me.”

  Another shrug. “Didn’t have anything else to do, I guess.”

  “Guess I’m still stuck here for the night.”

  “Only a night. You’ll live.”

  “I guess I have no choice, huh?” She gave him a long look. “You seem to know your way around here.”

  “Been here a few times, going back and forth.”

  Melanie’s stomach rumbled, reminding her she hadn’t eaten anything solid in quite a while. “So why don’t you let me thank you by taking you to dinner?” she suggested, surprised by her own boldness. “We can get a room, clean up, grab a bite. That is, if you haven’t got anyplace to be…” She let the sentence trail off, unfinished.

  Jake scratched his chin, running his fingers along his jaw line. “I suppose I could clean up a little.”

  “And you have to eat, right?”

  “Yeah.”

  She smiled. “Good. Then we’ll do that, and I can pay you back.”

  Chapter Eight

  The motel room was shabby but clean. The furniture was plain, well used, but obviously as well kept as possible. Two narrow little beds had been pushed together to make one larger bed. The décor was the usual faux-southwest patterns found all over the homes in town; Indian-inspired motifs of Kachina dolls and speckled corn. It was so ugly it could belong nowhere else but in New Mexico.