Bikers and Pearls (5 page)

He started for the back of the building, and people parted like the Red Sea. Without
the binding of a ponytail, his hair was mussed up and sexy, like he’d just hopped
out of bed and only had time to run his fingers through it.

As he took long strides, air caught in his jacket and almost gave the appearance of
a cape. Black and red. And dangerous.

Goodness, he was handsome, even with the lengthier locks.

He stood at the entrance to her office. She had to shake her head to break the trance
of it all.

“Hi,” he said. His gaze went right through her.

Her heart beat like a hummingbird’s wings against her chest. “I thought I was supposed
to call you,” she said as she stood up and looked at her watch.

“Yeah, well. I was in the neighborhood.” He shifted his weight to his other foot,
which was covered in a rattlesnake boot.

“But how’d you know where I work?” She looked over his shoulder to see some of her
coworkers staring in her direction. And Mandy was acting like the office paparazzi.
Was probably even taking notes for her next exposé.

“Bertie Houseman,” he said, as his intonation increased to add emphasis. He turned
to look behind him. “You worried about what they’re thinking?”

The truth was that she was somewhat concerned, but she couldn’t tell him that. He
wasn’t from the South; his accent told her that much. He’d never understand the unwritten
rules of Southern etiquette. Appearances. Manners. Family names. The importance of
silver that had been passed down for generations. Belonging to all the right clubs
and organizations. “They’re not used to seeing me take personal visitors at lunch.”

That was also true. She kept her personal life—what little there was of it—out of
the office. And boy, had it been bland until now.

“Well, they’ll just have to get over it. I thought we could talk about the rally over
a burger or something.” He took off his jacket.

Her head started whirling for words.
The accident, the fire, her father, all her risk-management statistics
.

She took in his form and noticed that his sleeves were rolled up more than they had
been last night. And there it was. A Rebel Angel tattoo. Full blown in all its infamy.
He had a past that made him her enemy. She couldn’t possibly go to lunch with him,
no matter how captivating he was.

Oh, and then there’d be all the office gossip, led by Mandy. Everyone in town would
know by 5:00 p.m. And if her parents—or rather her father—ever found out…

She was so glad her parents had retired to Columbia, South Carolina, the state’s capital,
about an hour or so away, where her father would be less stressed. She couldn’t shield
him from everything, though, because he still stayed in touch with his old friends
from Summerbrook. The worst part of the move was that he had to sell his rebuilt hardware
store, but the doctors had already told them that he wouldn’t survive another heart
attack. He needed to take it easy. She wasn’t ready to lose him. He hadn’t had the
chance to walk her down an aisle yet. However, at this point, it didn’t look like
he’d ever.

Her stomach tightened as she tried to think of what to tell Bull. But right as she
was about to speak, Charles Woodall, the manager of the branch, stuck his head inside
her office. “Anything wrong?” he asked.

Bull overshadowed her immediate supervisor in every way—height, looks, voice. Bull
shifted his perfectly distributed weight again. “Don’t think so,” he said.

Charles’s eyes switched glances between her and Bull. “’Kay then. April, can you have
those reports ready for me by one thirty instead of three?” Charles sized up the stranger
with his gaze until it finally settled on Bull’s snakeskin boots.

She looked at the clock on her makeshift cubical wall. “If I work through lunch, I
can.”

“’Kay then. See you in my office at one thirty.” He took in Bull’s form one last time
and left.

Bull wrinkled his face and pointed in the direction her boss had walked. “Did I forget
to take off my horns and tail this morning?”

“Sorry about that,” she said. Her supervisor was so obvious. Bikers must get stared
at a lot in her town. “There’s a history here.” He had to have heard about the old
fire. But he didn’t acknowledge a thing.

She gazed at Bull briefly to completely see what Charles had just seen. Bull’s appearance
was
discomfiting. Discomfiting and insanely handsome. She moved her head to break the
spell. “I do have that list for you, though.” She reached into her desk drawer, pulled
out a folder, and gave him a copy.

He perused it with great interest. And she perused that jawline of his again. His
skin was taut and slightly tanned—and it was only March.

She hoped he wouldn’t notice something on the spreadsheet, but then he asked, “What’s
this?”

“What?” she asked as innocently as she could, fidgeting with the strand of pearls
around her neck.

“Your address and number. It’s your work address.”

“Well, I’m here about as much as I am at ho—”

“Don’t. Don’t explain.” He shook his head and looked around her office. His gaze settled
on the sign on her desk. “Look. Miss…Risk-Assessment-Manager.” His words sounded like
an indictment. “The Angels are out of town. And none of the rest of us bikers want
any blood, you know.”

“I don’t think you understand.” How could she possibly tell him all about how her
little head had thudded on the dashboard? How all the glass had twinkled as it rained
down on her? And how the sounds her father had made when he was beaten that night
still woke her up sometimes?

Bull probably wouldn’t buy into her reticence. Because she knew that all bikers weren’t
drunken brawlers. In her
head
she knew that. Heck, she insured regular bikers every day—just not gang members who
had a pile of DUIs so high she couldn’t reach.

He held up his hand as if to stop her again. “Look, I know you need to—” He glanced
around the room. “Type something or pretend to type something or who knows whatever
Mr. Brooks Brothers said.” He paused. “Anyway. This all appears to be a little too,
um…difficult for you. So why don’t you let me handle the advertising on my own. I
thought that we could plan the rally together, but I don’t think this is going to
work out.”

April was uncomfortable, but she remembered Mr. Houseman’s words. She needed to be
an example and to represent the Humanity Project. And she needed to distance herself
from the emotions she’d attached to that motorcycle wreck so many years ago.

She walked from behind the safety of her desk. She picked up a pen and tapped it on
the wooden edge. “I gave my word. I said that I would help. What do we do next?”

He ran his fingers through his untamed locks. “So, you’re sure about wanting to help?”

April folded her arms. “Yes. I need to help.”

“Well, in that case… I thought we’d make some fliers this evening. The computers at
the garage where I work are down for maintenance, so we can’t do it there. What about
your place?”

Her head spun, searching for alternate locations. There was no way she was going to
take a chance like that—letting a virtual stranger into her home—even if the guy did
seem nice. Still, he was a risk taker, and she couldn’t forget that.

“What about the library?” That was about as safe as a person could get. A public library.
“They have everything we’ll need for fliers. We can do all the printing there also.”

He arched his brow. She knew what he was thinking. His skeptical look told her that
he knew she was concerned to be alone with him. But who in her right mind wouldn’t
be? She’d known him for less than twenty-four hours. Even if Mr. Houseman
did
know him. She didn’t.

“Fine. Say six thirty?”

“Six thirty.” She nodded.

He took one step out of her office cubical, turned, and said, “I’m not going to bite
you, ya know.”

She closed her eyes.
Biting
. An image of him nibbling at her neck took her by surprise and she dropped her pen.

She startled and opened her lids. He was far more dangerous than she had first imagined.
Even her thoughts weren’t safe from the perilously handsome man.

Chapter Three

April tapped on the door of Ben’s hospital room door and walked in. As soon as he
saw her he lifted his arms for a hug. “Hey, Ben-ificent,” she said as she wrapped
her arms around him. She placed a notebook and some markers on the table beside his
bed. “Brought you some more. I couldn’t believe you completely filled up that last
notebook I brought you.”

“Yep. I did. You wanna see? I drew three cypress trees, one sweet gum tree, and eight
oak trees. Look at that last one,” he said and handed her a red spiral notebook.

She thumbed through his drawings. “These are great, sweetie.” All sorts and sizes
of trees decorated the pages, until she got to the last page. It was a drawing of
a big oak tree with a little boy standing on a limb. He wasn’t quite as proficient
at drawing people, but she knew the boy was supposed to be him. “Is this one mine?”
she asked.

He nodded and smiled. It wasn’t the same smile he had merely a month ago, though.
She removed the page and placed it beside her purse. “That one’s going on my refrigerator.”

“I knew you’d like it,” he said.

“I’ve got some news for you,” she said. “The people who built your family’s home are
helping to put on a fundraiser. For you.”

“What’s a fundraiser?” he asked.

Oops. He probably didn’t have a clue that his stay in the hospital was costing his
family every dime they had, and a lot more they didn’t have. How was she going to
get out of this? “Well, it’s really a motorcycle rally in your name. Some people are
calling it Bikers for Ben. We want everyone to keep you in their thoughts and prayers
so that you’ll get better soon.”

He sat up in bed. “Motorcycles? I love motorcycles. My pop-pop has one, but my mom
won’t let me ride on the back. He says if I keep it a secret, though, he’s gonna ride
me around the hospital when I feel better.”

“I’ve met your pop-pop. He’s a very nice man.”

“What are they going to do at the rally?” he asked.

As she told him all about the plans for Saturday and Sunday, his dispirited eyes lit
up in spite of the dark halos around them.

“There are a lot of people hoping that you’ll get better soon. Everybody misses you
very much,” she said.

He smiled wanly. She’d give anything to watch him pull the ribbons out the little
girls’ hair at a project build again—even if she would have to quiet down the diminutive
screaming divas. Since April had first met him, she had always imagined that he was
what a son of hers would look like—if she were to ever have one. His hair was the
same dirty-blond color that hers was, and his eyes the same chocolate brown. But now
he looked so different from her. So sad. So sick.

She glanced at the clock on the wall. “I took off work a few minutes early to run
the markers by, but I’ve got to get back to make it to another meeting tonight. What
shall I bring next time, sweetie?”

“Peanuts. The same kind you brought me before,” he said.

“You got it, little buddy,” she said and bent down to kiss the top of his head. “My
number is inside the notebook. Just like last time. Call if you need anything. Like
you did today. Okay?”

“Yes, ma’am. Thanks for the markers and the notebook, Miss April.”

“Okay, sweetie, I’ll see you later,” she said as she walked to the door. She turned
and paused. The thin boy opened the markers and surveyed the colors. He chose a blue
one and started drawing in the notebook. She was going to do whatever she could to
help Ben.

…

After her bell rang inside her condo, April opened her door. Jenna was standing there,
struggling to get her phone into the proper compartment in her purse. The moment she
glanced up, her mouth flew open. She removed her small wire glasses to get a better
look. “And where might you be going, all Calvin Kleined? I didn’t know you even
owned
a pair of jeans.”

“Very funny.” April kicked off the red, runway heels and rummaged in the coat closet
by the door for her favorite pair of black leather clogs. She slipped her feet into
them. “There. Much better.” She didn’t really think so. The other shoes were so much
more head turning. She wasn’t thinking straight, though. She didn’t need to turn anyone’s
head—especially Bull’s.

Jenna asked, “You still haven’t answered me. Where are you going?”

April tried to speak nonchalantly and said, “The library.” It was time to change the
subject. “Where have you been? I’ve left several messages.”

“I stopped by to see Ben this morning and then an emergency neighborhood watch meeting
late this afternoon. We had a break-in today, but you’re not going to change the subject
that easily.” Jenna stared April up and down again. “Seriously. We’ve been best friends
since kindergarten. I know you. That’s not an I’m-only-reading-at-the-library get-up,
now is it? Don’t even try to lie to me.”

April wasn’t about to lie to her best friend, but she wasn’t going to answer her,
either. The grief she would get would go on and on, and April simply didn’t have time
for that right now. Bull was probably already there. From what she’d already seen
of him, he was pretty reliable and punctual—like Jenna.

“Sweetie, I wish I had time right now to talk, but I’m making fliers for that charity
thing for Ben. And I’m late.” She saw the concern in Jenna’s eyes. The same concern
she’d seen when they were seven and Jenna stayed by her bedside. Jenna had talked
and talked and talked—until April came out of her silence.

Jenna put her glasses back on and took one long, last look at April. “Okay, I’m gone.
But call me when you get back in. You can’t be too careful after last night. We still
need to talk.”

April gave her friend a quick hug and closed the door. She glanced at her watch. She
was really late now. Frantically, she darted to her bedroom to get her purse and keys.
After she glanced in the mirror, she took off the pearls and raced the berry lipstick
over her lips once more to punch up the color. There.

She stared at her image. Ever since college, she’d only been on a handful of dates.
Each one more boring than the last. As her expectations dwindled, so did her attempts
at trying to dress to impress anyone. But look at her now. The only problem was that
she wasn’t even going on a date.

At her front door, she checked her bag. Cell phone, binder, money. As she touched
the doorknob she froze. Maybe she would slip into those look-at-me shoes again. She
kicked off the clogs and slid her feet back into her designer heels.

We’ll just see what happens.

…

Bull waited at the computer he had confiscated for his and April’s work. He checked
his watch again. The woman was only five minutes late. Why was he thinking that she
wasn’t going to show up? Because he knew she was apprehensive of him and his past.
That was why. But as he was about to swing back around in his seat, he saw her.

And
wow
. She hardly looked like the same April. Put a leather jacket on her, and this woman
would look real nice sitting on the back of his Harley—or anybody else’s for that
matter. She was really something. Appeared like she belonged on the pages of one of
those fashion magazines instead of
Business Week
like she’d looked earlier.

He stood up and raised his hand to signal. Good. She saw him.

“Hi,” she said, keeping her distance. She clutched a thin notebook to her chest—as
if to protect herself.
Why is she so guarded?

He had a strange urge to touch her in some way—to shake her hand or give her a hello
hug. He didn’t know. Something more than “Hi.”

“I brought along some ideas,” she said and held out the binder.

“So did I.” He pointed to the computer. “I brought my flash drive from home. It’s
all loaded.” He looked around to get a chair for her, grabbed one from the table behind
them, and placed it at a slight distance from his own seat at the computer.

“Okay,” he said, clicking on the icons on the screen. “This is what I was thinking.”

What he was really thinking was how beautiful she was and how sweet the fragrance
was that drifted from the air around her. He hadn’t seen her in lipstick and heels.
Heels and jeans. Jeans and—well, everything about her looked flirty and hot. He hadn’t
thought it possible that those words could ever be used to describe her—Miss Risk
Assessment Manager.

He’d better keep his mind on the task at hand and not her brown eyes and swinging
hair. “How ’bout this for an initial advertisement?” He showed her the graphics he
had worked on earlier in the day.

She leaned in toward the screen, and her hair swung forward. She glanced at him.

“Wow,” she said as she slowly placed her notebook on the floor, keeping her gaze on
the screen. “That’s excellent. Look at the detail. You’re very talented.”

“Thanks,” he said. “I have a couple more I wanted you to look at.” He pulled up the
others and leaned back to give her room.

She moved her seat closer to the screen and closer to him. “These are great. They
look like they were done by a professional graphic artist.”

He smiled. If things hadn’t worked out so that he could buy the Hickory Street Garage,
he may have become a graphic artist. It was the first time he felt anything positive
coming his way from her. At first, he thought she’d never be able to see past his
bomber jacket. And he hadn’t really cared—until now. At this moment, it seemed very
important that she admired his work.

She turned her head toward the screen again and he watched as her sandy hair brushed
over her small shoulders.

“Let’s see your ideas,” he said.

Not bothering to turn around, she said, “I don’t think that’ll be necessary. I love
what you’ve done. You’re very talented on the computer…and with graphic design, you
know.” She smiled. “So, how’d you get so good?”

“Years ago, I took some classes,” he said.

“I don’t have an artistic bone in my body.” She closed her eyes and smiled.

“Didn’t think I did, either. My little brother, Adam, had inherited the art-and-music
gene. I was only competent with numbers and machines—until the classes.”

“Well, I did get the music thing, though,” she said. “I’m actually helping my neighbor
give Ben lessons.” Her eyes lit up. Then an expression of sadness covered her face.
“That is—until he got sick,” she said. “It’s very important to me to help raise money
for Ben and his family.”

“Me, too. He reminds me of Adam.” Something lodged in his chest and he glanced away.
“Adam’s gone now. Died when we were kids.”

April placed her hand on his arm. He drew in a difficult breath and observed her fingers.
It had been so long since he’d felt that kind of touch from anyone.

“I’m sorry,” she said as she looked though a liquid veil over her eyes.

He couldn’t believe he’d just revealed the truth of Adam to her. Few people knew about
how the tragic events around Adam had colored so much of his life.

He touched her hand and smiled. The easiness of being with her and talking to her
surprised him.

She gazed at their stacked hands for a moment, and then turned her face toward his.
Oh, man
. What was going on?

She must have sensed it, too, because she turned to the screen and unlocked their
stare.

They had work to get done. He leaned in toward the screen as well, his arm brushing
against hers. She didn’t pull back. “What if we changed this?” he asked, typing and
moving things around on the monitor almost at the speed of light.

“That’s even better,” she said and smiled. Their arms remained pressed against one
another.

Her lipstick brightened her smile, and her lips were so close to his that he had this
ridiculous urge to kiss her—to sample her lipstick to see if it tasted like raspberries—the
exact color of her mouth.

The situation was getting comfortably uncomfortable, and he wanted to do something
about it—to take it up a notch, to reach for her hand or put his arm around her shoulder
or something. He liked the way it all felt. He liked the way she smiled at him, and
he liked the way she looked at his side. He liked everything.

“April?” a voice from behind them called out.

They both jumped and wheeled around at the same time. Their knees tangled in their
turn, and his arm automatically moved to support April’s back.

A serious look came over the face of the young woman who stood a few feet away as
she asked, “Is everything okay?”

April looked at Bull, then again toward the young woman who was nervously adjusting
her navy cardigan. “Everything’s fine, Jenna. What are you doing here?” she asked
in an almost inaudible voice.

“I forgot to give you the Ladies League application I had brought to your condo earlier.”
She held out some papers.

April stood. “Excuse me for one minute,” she said to Bull and walked a few paces away
with her friend’s elbow in hand.

Jenna’s mouth moved rapidly, but the only thing Bull could hear was “Rebel Angels”
and “bikers.” April glanced over her shoulder at Bull, and Jenna looked in his direction,
too. He could tell that whatever slight connection he had felt with April a few moments
earlier had slipped away. He was definitely not on any approved list of men to be
hanging out with. And Missy, Prissy Jenna—or whatever her name was—had spelled it
all out to April.

Maybe it was for the best. Jenna had brought April an application to the Ladies League.
They were nothing but a bunch of social-climbing young women who wanted to follow
in the footsteps of their elite predecessors. Why would April want to belong to them?
The same bunch of women who’d ostracized his mother when she’d come to live with him
right before she’d passed? The only thing his mom had wanted to do was to leave behind
some of her favorite family recipes with the group to include in their stupid, old
cookbook. But they had a list of hoops and challenges that his mom couldn’t make it
through to belong to their club. They could have simply taken her recipes and let
her die knowing that they’d live on for others to enjoy. No harm done.