Lone Rider (2 page)

“You got any idea how dangerous this is? Stuck in the middle of nowhere, on a deserted highway?”

A woman alone
was implied.

“I -- I ran out of gas,” she grasped for an excuse. “Besides, I’m not alone.”  She looked up noticing that the elk were moving in once more, no longer frightened now that the motorcycle’s engine had shut off. They were a big help.

“My... friend...is walking to the gas station
,” she went on.  “A
nd should return any moment.”

The man pushed away from the car and backed up slightly. Just enough so she could breathe.

“Back that way?”  He pointed in the direction from which Tess had come.

A lousy liar, she nodded. She couldn’t very well say the direction he’d driven in from! She wrapped her arms across her chest in an effort to warm herself. And to bolster her courage.

He smiled
,
revealing white, even teeth. And a deep, sexy, dimple not quite hidden by his mustache. “Then you know there’s no gas station in that direction for forty miles. And Jeb’s won’t open till seven.”

She closed her eyes in disbelief, opening them again just as quickly. The man hadn’t moved, watching her expectantly. What did she do now? Admit she lied and ask for his help? Or stick to her story?

She looked at him again, trying to size him up. He didn’t seem nearly as threatening now that he’d backed off. The smile had helped. So had the dimple. Surely if he had meant her harm, he wouldn’t have stepped away.

“You’re not from around here, are you?” he asked, his tone softening. His voice was low, masculine.

She met his gaze, suppressing another shiver that had nothing to do with the cold. She’d bet he could ooze charisma. When he chose.

She angled her head, deciding to be forthright. Everyone she’d met out
W
est thus far had been open and honest, expecting the same in return.

“I’m from
Boston
. I guess I got lost in thought.”

He nodded. “You’re lost all right. Look lady--”

“Tess.”  She held out her hand. “Tess Marsh. And you are?”

“
Dallas
.”  He stepped close once again, grasped her hand briefly, then released it, but
didn’t step away. “Look,
Tess.
”  The way he said her name was a verbal caress.  “H
ere’s your options. The closest gas station is twenty miles that way, in
Jordan
.”  He pointed in the direction from which he’d approached. “But it won’t open till daybreak. There’s a small motel in town. You
and your imaginary friend --
” he winked, letting her know he knew
-- “c
an stay there and get help in the morning.”

His words took a moment to sink in. “You’re going to give me a ride?”  She pointed to his Harley, fighting to keep the squeak from her voice. “On that?”

He chuckled. She wore indignation like a rose wore thorns. A ravishing rose. Little Miss Priss with a steel spine. In a different life he’d be all over this woman. “You’ve never been on a motorcycle?”

“Never.”

He shrugged. “The choice is yours. Stay or go.”  He wasn’t about to leave her out here alone, but he could sense her hesitation and hoped that by giving her an option she’d decide to go on her own free will. It was a hell of a lot easier than using force.
     
Stay or go
, Tess thought. Both held risks. The thought of being left held little appeal. It grew colder by the minute
,
and it wouldn’t be light for hours. And even then, who knew when another car would come by? Or wo
rse, who would be in that car.

She looked
Dallas
directly in the eyes, searching, considering, deciding. She’d never made a faulty evaluation when she judged someone by his or her eyes. And her instincts approved. She’d be safe with this man. His eyes were trustworthy. They were also sinfully sensual, but she decided not to hold that against him.

She sighed. Well, she’d wanted to have an adventurous summer, hadn’t she? This would certainly be a start.

“I’ve got a duffel bag in the trunk. Can we strap it on the back?”  She pointed to the vertical back bar on his motorcycle.

He grunted, doubtful. “How big is it?”

“See for yourself.”  Tess led the way to the rear of the vehicle.

Dallas
whistled when he saw the contents of her trunk. It was crammed with boxes and tool cases. He pointed to a worn pickax. “Don’t tell me. Your great-great-granddaddy left you a map to his gold mine and you’re out here looking for the mother lode.”  His voice held a gentle ribbing quality.

She laughed. Maybe she’d been too quick to pigeonhole this man because of his appearance. There was definitely more to him than met the eye. Hadn’t she recently read a magazine article about the increasing number of young professionals -- lawyers, doctors
,
and bankers -- who rode motorcycles, complete with the grunge look? Weekend warriors?

This man
had confidence. He had finesse. Yes, she could picture him in a three-piece suit, in a courtroom. But as her doctor...never!

She glanced to where his hands rested on the car, taking in his long, thick fingers. The artist in her had a thing for strong hands. And his were definitely a ten.

She shoved the pick
ax to one side and scrambled to divert her line of thinking. “Actually, I design jewelry. I did a short internship at a mine in
Idaho
to get a first hand look at gems and stones in their natural environment.”

“Near
Coeur d’Alene
? Rough country.” 
Dallas
’ eyes swept over her, trying to reconcile her polished fingertips and porcelain skin with the sweat and grime
he knew it took to swing a pick
ax. His image of miners encompassed decrepit old men. Not dazzling blondes. Or stacked blondes. Or his favorite kind: adventurous blondes. His pulse stepped up.

His eyes flickered briefly over her hands. No rings adorned her fingers, engagement or wedding. He’d wager she was uninvolved. What man in his right mind would let a woman like her wander freely about the countryside? He damn sure wouldn’t.

“So where are you headed now?”

“The
Fort
Peck
Indian
R
eservation. Their big arts and crafts fes
tival is this weekend
,
and there are
two silversmiths I want to meet.”

“Planning to intern with one of them?”

“No. Actually, I’m hoping to buy inventory for my store in
Boston
. I’ll be following the summer craft show circuit for a few weeks, looking for new talent.”  A note of pride crept into her voice. “I can’t keep up with demand by myself anymore. And my clients want variety.”

Dallas
frowned, thoughtful. “You must have trustworthy help to be able to leave for weeks at a time.”

She shrugged. “The shop is closed from Memorial Day to Labor Day, which gives me time to build up stock for Christmas.”

“And probably heightens demand.”  He studied the two necklaces she wore. One was an antique silver choker. Old and valuable. A family heirloom, he’d bet. The other piece looked newer and vaguely familiar.

Giving in to the temptation to touch,
Dallas
reached forward, picking up the small medallion nestled below the hollow of her throat. The delicate silver crescent was heavier then it looked.

“Did you design this?
” he asked.  “
It reminds me of one of the symbols favored by the Cuna Indians.”

Tess smiled, her skin tingling where the pads of his fingers had brushed. The Cuna Indians lived on islands in the San Blas archipelago off the Caribbean coast of
Panama
. They were a matriarchal society, rare in today’s male-dominated world. Few people had ever heard of them and even fewer were familiar with their art.
Dallas
was either well traveled or well educated. Perhaps both. Which hopefully explained the growing attraction she felt toward this man.

She relaxed, warmed by his genuine interest. “Yes, I designed it. In fact I have a whole line of jewelry inspired by the art of the Cuna tribe.”

“You exploit indigenous people?”

Warmth flared. To fire. She tugged the medallion from his grasp. “Yes. And small children.”

“I didn’t mean--”

She cut him off. “You insulted them, not me. The tribal elders negotiated the deal. One of them has a law degree from Harvard. They’re pretty savvy. A healthy portion of the sales goes back to the tribe in the form of royalties to help preserve their heritage.”

Dallas
laughed, throwing his hands up in mock surrender. The rose had thorns. Sharp ones. “Easy! I take it back. You obviously have talent
and
a sense of fair play. Plus your work is beautiful.”

Tess glanced at him, embarrassed that she nearly lost her temper. She usually wasn’t so easily riled. “Uh-huh. Trying to flatter me now?”

“Yeah. Is it working?”

Too well, she thought. Ignoring his question, she grabbed a compact nylon duffel bag and closed the trunk.

Dallas
reached out, his fingers purposely skimming hers. One touch hadn’t been enough after all. “This is it? You travel light.”

“For a woman?”

“Touché.”  He could enjoy spending time with this lively lady. It had been too damn long since he’d been around someone like her.

Taking the bag, he quickly strapped it on the back of his bike, beside his own, then turned to ask if she was ready. A distant sound caught his ear. Low, rumbling; barely there.

Motorcycle engines. Heading this way. He knew instantly who the riders were. Shit! How much time had he wasted making small talk? Five minutes? A mistake he wouldn’t make again.

Moving quickly, he started to rush her. “Lock ‘er up and let’s go.”

Tess had climbed back in her car. “Just a minute,” she called over her shoulder. “There’s some stuff
I’ve got to get out of the back
seat. It’ll only take a sec.”

The engines grew louder. They’d clear the hill any moment. Grabbing the waistband of her jeans,
Dallas
tugged her out of the car. “
Now
!”

Tess whirled about, dropping her backpack at his feet, shocked that he had pulled her out of the car. Knocking his hands free she tried to step away but found the way blocked. “What do you think you’re doing?” she lashed out.

The roar of motorcycle engines caught her attention just then. She looked up as headlights began spilling over the hill. There must have been at least a dozen bikes. And they were all slowing down.

Her mouth went dry. She stared at
Dallas
as if seeing him for the first time. Gone was the easy smile that hinted at an educated humor. In its place was the steely-eyed look of a seasoned hoodlum. “What’s happening?” she whispered hoarsely.

Dallas
moved close, backing her up against the car, forcing her into his arms and against his chest. “Stay by me and you won’t get hurt,” he ordered. “I’m going to kiss you
,
Tess, and to make this look good, you need to kiss me back.”

Then his mouth swooped down on hers, capturing her lips in a rough, forceful kiss. She felt his fingers slide through her hair, loosening it, drawing her closer as his tongue swept unexpectedly into her mouth.

It was like kissing fire.

His actions stunned her even as he branded her with his possession, robbing her senses, making her his. She melted against him, defenseless against such a fierce assault. His mustache felt silky smooth against her lip while in contrast his unshaved cheek chafed hers, sensitizing the tender skin. Her pulse leapt beneath the blunt tips of his fingers as they skimmed down her neck.

He smelled of the night, a powerful male scent. A small moan started low in her throat as desire mingled with arousal. Dear God, she had never been kissed like this. With heat, with passion. With promise. And she had never imagined anything this pleasurable.

Or this forbidden
.

What was she doing letting this man kiss her? All at once desperate to end the kiss, she shoved her hands against his chest. It was like pushing granite.

When he didn’t budge she tried to kick his shin. He moved closer still, forcing his legs way too intimately between hers before catching her hands and lacing her fingers between his. Lifting her arms he pulled her hands around his neck and held them tight. Then he slanted his mouth and deepened the kiss, using the full length of his body to pin her in place.

To anyone observing them it probably looked like she was an active participant in a crude act. Too late she realized he had her neatly immobilized. She couldn’t even knee him in the groin. She tried to shout, but his mouth effectively cut off all sound.