Meet Your Mate (A Good Riders Romance Book 1) (7 page)

In over her head, maybe Annabel
should tell Max she wouldn’t go with him today. Maybe she’d tell him she had to
be back home by noon. Maybe she’d demand the truth from him about
DeeDee
. And the intern.

Right. And maybe she’d change her
name to Angelina, marry Brad Pitt, and move to France.

She stretched out in the chaise,
put her feet up, and closed her eyes. Searching for inner peace, she tried one
of the relaxation techniques she’d learned during her husband’s long illness.
Take
strength from the ordinary pleasures of your surroundings, and
don’t
think about fondling Max during Wagner’s “The Ride of the Valkyries.”

Dang! Commanding herself not to
think about it only made her think about it more.

Robins and larks twittered and
fluttered around the bird feeder. A woodpecker tapped into an elm by the fence.
Faint music drifted to her from a speaker in the kitchen. Children peddled
tricycles on the driveway next to hers.

She pressed her fingertips to her
temples as an engine roared nearby. Leave it to Mr. Malone next door to decide
to get his yard work done early.

“Anna!” Carly called from inside.
“Anna, come quick. You’ve
got
to see this.”

Over the clambering objection of
her headache, Annabel rushed through the house to the front porch. Carly stood
on the sidewalk talking to one of her friends—a well-built guy wearing a helmet
with a tinted face protector and straddling some monstrous-sized motorcycle.

The girl could just save her
breath. No way would Annabel let her ride on that deathtrap.

She marched toward Carly just as
the biker pulled off his helmet. The shock of discovering “Mad Max” in
Thunderdome
attire almost caused her to miss the
bottom porch step.

“Come and see, Anna,” Carly called
out. “This is way better than a limo. Isn’t it the coolest thing you’ve ever
seen?”

Annabel remained near the house,
leery of venturing any closer. “Oh, yes, the very coolest.” Her voice and
throat were as dry as dust.

The combination of gleaming black
metal and chrome looked so alien, so dangerous,
and so masculine
. So
suitable for Max, and so unsuitable for her. Maybe they could go wherever they
were going in her car. Or she could follow him if he insisted on taking that
hell-on-wheels machine.

“I
so
want to ride on this!
Max says he’ll take me for a spin.”

“No!” Her screech jerked the evil
little elves with trip hammers inside her head into motion again. Moderating
her tone, she pressed her fingertips to her temples. “I mean, no. We probably
don’t have time for that, do we, Max?”

Oh, my!
Focusing on Max for
the first time, she took in the equally tantalizing and terrifying details of
his appearance. This was the Max she’d heard about, the wild
dare-devil—reckless and untamed, bold and exciting. What had happened to her
semi-civilized, designer-suit-wearing escort from last night? The button-down
shirt and tie had disguised the real Max—the one in black leather who scared
her to death and set her pulse racing at the same time.

The jacket had two patches on the
arm with diamond-shaped logos. One said Good Riders, the other said Awesome
Good.

She pointed to the second one and
lifted an eyebrow at him. “Bragging?”

“Nope, fact. I’ve got documentation
if you want to see it.” He opened a compartment on the back of the bike and
tossed her a blue sports drink in a plastic bottle. “Here, drink this.”

“Why?”

“Electrolytes. Good for a
hangover.”

“I had some coffee and toast, thank
you.” Barely suppressing a shudder, she moved to toss the bottle back to him.

He shook his head. “Rookie mistake.
This is better. Drink it and go change.”

She looked down at her clothes.
“Why would I change?”

“You can’t go like
that
.”
Dismissing her khaki pants, white T-shirt, and sandals with a flick of the
wrist, he climbed off the bike and headed her way.

“Why not? You wouldn’t tell me
where we’re going, but—”

“You’ll be cold on the bike if you
don’t wear a jacket.” He nudged her foot with the tip of a black leather boot.
“And for safety’s sake, the open-toed shoes have to go.”

“Oh, right,” she said with fake
heartiness. “Like a pair of tennis shoes will be any protection when my body
goes skidding across the pavement.”

Her sarcasm provoked him into
producing a heavy sigh. “That’s not going to happen, but beginners always
forget and put their feet down before the bike comes to a complete stop.”

“You don’t have to worry about me
or my feet because I’m not going anywhere on that monstrosity.”

“There’s nothing to be afraid of,
Anna,” Carly encouraged. “I’ll bet it’s a lot like riding a roller coaster,
isn’t it, Max?”

He looked doubtful. “Do you like
roller coasters, Morgan?”

“Not really.”

He tilted his head to the side and
considered her for a moment before shrugging and heading toward the bike.
Regret pulled at her with each step that thudded against the concrete.

“After last night, I thought there
might be more to you than meets the eye, but I guess I was right the other
fifty times I met you.” He settled himself on the seat and lifted his helmet
from the handlebars. “Nice
knowin
’ you, kid. 
See you around, Morgan.”

“Wait!” Carly turned toward Annabel
and actually stomped her foot, an action not seen from her since childhood.
“Don’t let him leave without you, Anna. You told me you were tired of living
your life inside the safety of a familiar box. This is your chance to step
outside it. At least, give it a try.”

Old habits and fears kept Annabel
mired in her own front yard. Carly faced Max again. “Will you take her up and
down the street once, real slow, just so she can see what it’s like?”

“Nah.” He shook his head. “That’d
be about as much fun as kissing my sister.” He challenged Annabel with a lift
of his eyebrow. “This isn’t a moped, Morgan. When you go for a ride on a
Harley, it should be a real ride, a
fast
ride, with
nothin
’
half-assed about it. You’ve got to feel the noise to enjoy it.”

He was taunting her. She
knew
he was taunting her and still the temptation shimmered before her eyes. If she
had ever wanted to ride a motorcycle, this was probably the time. Besides, how
fast could he go with Roger shadowing their every movement?

“Hey, wait a minute.” Annabel’s
suspicions about Max started to ping on her internal safety radar again. “If
this is the second date, where’s Roger?”

“Since I didn’t plan this in
advance, I wasn’t on his schedule. He’ll catch up with us as soon as he can.”

“Really.” Skepticism oozed out of
both syllables.

He shrugged a monumental shoulder.
“I figured you’d prefer it this way. Do you want the world to see your fears
and insecurities on Tess’s show if this doesn’t go well?”

“The authorities may need
documentation on where to find my body,” she muttered.

“Quit being a pain in the ass.
You’ll be fine.” He checked the time on his phone. “Make up your mind.”

Annabel took one pace, then a
second one in his direction, before stopping. What would it be like to ride the
wild beast for once instead of editing the fun through a viewfinder?

She looked at the motorcycle, so
dark and shiny. She looked at Carly, so tense and eager. She looked at Max, so
gorgeous and impatient. She looked at her life, so boring and dull. She sighed
with disgust and impatience at the lackluster image. Just this once, she wanted
desperately to go for it. What in the world was she waiting for?

“Don’t leave!” She whirled toward
the house. “I’ll go change.”

“Put on heavier pants and
shoes—boots if you’ve got ‘
em
and wear a jacket.” He
barked instructions from the sidewalk. “And don’t forget the drink.”

On the porch, she turned and gave a
mock salute. “Yes, sir.”

“Hey, it’s for your own good.”

“Or for my funeral.”

His laughter floated to her as she
mounted the stairs to her bedroom. Annabel pulled her hair free of its
perennial bun. She gathered it into a low ponytail and bound it together with
an elastic band. Considering how many pants and shirts she donned and discarded
while trying to block the terror of venturing out on the first wild and
unprotected ride of her life, she changed clothes in record time. Carly bounced
in and vetoed her final choice of a yellow Polo shirt and v-neck sweater with
Annabel’s favorite black slacks.

“Biker chicks don’t dress preppy,”
Carly teased.

“I am
not
a biker chick.”
Although the possibility sizzled through Annabel’s imagination for one
tantalizing moment.

“Not yet anyway.” Carly ducked out
of the room and returned with trendier items from her closet. “Try these.”

After the switch, the only thing
Annabel still wore that belonged to her was her underwear. Carly’s clunky boots
covered her feet from toe to ankle. A formfitting, midriff-skimming black knit
shirt topped a pair of skinny black jeans that hugged her legs.

Annabel tugged and pulled the
snug-fitting tee away from her midriff. “You don’t think it’s too, um, tight?”

“No, it’s not.” Carly left Anna’s
sensible poplin jacket on the bed and handed her a funky, studded denim one
instead. “Don’t worry. Wear this over it.”

“I don’t know.” Annabel slid her
arms through the sleeves and stared at herself in the mirror.

“It’s not perfect,” Carly said,
“but it’s the best we can do on short notice. Now,
go
, before he gets
tired of waiting.”

“Okay, okay.” Annabel detoured to
the bathroom. Before Carly shooed her down the stairs and out the door, she
popped a couple more aspirin into her mouth and slugged them down with the blue
wonder drink.

She returned to Max for inspection.
Waiting for her on the porch, he looked up from texting and gave her a long
assessing look. “Better” was his only comment. Tucking his phone into his
jacket pocket, he encircled her small hand with his gigantic one and tugged her
toward the bike.  “Let’s roll.”

Carly trailed behind them. He
handed Annabel a helmet, then took her purse, looked at it in disgust, and
stuffed it in a saddlebag-thingy. She about ripped her ears off when she jammed
the helmet onto her head, then fumbled fastening her chinstrap. It took her so
long to adjust the only barrier she’d have between concrete and a cracked skull
that Max finally tugged off a riding glove and stepped up to takeover.

Strong, capable hands snapped the
strap into place before he flicked her nose with his finger. “All set. Hop on.”
He slid his glove back on.

She eyed man and machine with
trepidation. “Any advice?”

“Relax,” Carly suggested.

“Put your visor down or you’ll get
bugs in your teeth, and lean the same way I do on the curves,” Max said. “Put
these in.” He dug into his pocket and held out a small plastic box.

“Earplugs?” She wrinkled her nose.
“No, thanks.” She’d prefer to hear the reassuring whoop-whoop-whoop of an
emergency vehicle pulling up beside her if it came to that.

He shrugged then stuck the box back
in his pocket. “Then, climb aboard and hang on.”

Her heart thumped a mile a minute
as she swung her leg over and perched behind him. She left as much room between
them as possible—all of two inches if she measured right. “Hang on to what?”

“Me.” With the devil’s own grin, he
took her hands and clasped them around his waist. His overwhelming presence
smothered her, and she pulled back.

“Where are we going?” she asked,
stalling.

“We’re going on a day trip with my
biker club.”

“Oh, my.” Her hand covered her
heart as she pictured herself cowering in a gang of Hells Angels, while they
drank whisky straight from the bottle, smoked dope, juggled switchblades, and
compared tattoos of naked women.

“You got a problem with that?”

Maybe she
should
back out,
after all. Now, while she was still on her home turf. Or maybe it wouldn’t be
as bad as she imagined. “Do you have a tattoo?”

He smiled like the devil. “Sure. Want
to see it?” His hands went to his belt buckle like he was ready to lower his
jeans.

“No!” Swallowing hard, she leaned
forward to whisper too low for Carly to hear. “Will there be nudity or drugs?”

“Not unless you want there to be,
darlin
’.” He flipped her visor into place. That, combined
with the growl of the engine, blocked her ears and drowned out his laughter.

And they were off.

>Fear for life and limb
replaced Annabel’s lesser worries as Max revved the motor into a ferocious
growl, shifted into gear, and sent them lunging forward with reckless speed.
Between the noise and the motion, her poor head nearly exploded. The body
rocking vibration of the black beast shook her insides like tapioca pudding.

She turned and looked with longing
at her safe and solid house, as well as her beautiful, lively daughter waving
them on their way. Annabel wanted to wave back, one final farewell, but her
hands refused to unclench from their death grip on Max’s jacket.

When they turned a corner and the
house disappeared from sight, she closed her eyes and buried her forehead
against the wall of black leather in front of her. The relentless rumble of the
engine filled her ears and echoed around inside her helmet, accompanied by a
tremor that rattled her brain and pounded against her eardrums.

During what seemed like an
eternity, she took a quick inventory of her life and her unfulfilled goals. She
really should have tried to patch things up with her sister. She’d never have
the chance to study with cinematographer Lance Foreman as she’d always wanted
to do. And the dream of living and working in New York or LA would remain just
that—a dream, not a reality, or even a possibility. Suddenly, it seemed like an
unendurable loss that she’d never
seen
Paris, France. Or Versailles,
France. Or even Versailles, Indiana, for that matter.

And wouldn’t it be a travesty to
win the Community First award posthumously?

At the very first stop, she should
call Carly and tell her she loved her...and remind her where to find the key to
the safety deposit box.

Just as Annabel decided they must
be near Columbus by now, the bike decelerated and the vibration decreased. She
ventured a peek to see if she recognized her surroundings.

And she did.

They idled at a traffic light not a
mile from her house.

“Stop.” She tapped Max on the
shoulder, and he turned his head to look at her. “Stop,” she shouted, motioning
for him to pull into a filling station on the corner.

With a twist of his wrist and an
energetic vroom, he obeyed. While they rolled to a stop, she put her feet down,
scuffing the toes of Carly’s boots and almost ripping her feet from her ankles.
She slammed into him with an
ooph
! and
scrambled to regain some distance between her chest and his back. Okay, she
admitted grudgingly, so sometimes he was right.

He cut off the motor. “What’s
wrong?” His voice sounded distant and sinister behind his dark face mask. Like
Darth Vader without the cape.

Her hands shook as she lifted her
Plexiglas face covering. Breathing deeply, she savored a moment of peace and
quiet and immobility. “How fast were we going?”

“Only about seventy,” he drawled.
“I can’t really crank it up until we’re on the highway.”

“Seventy!” Annabel jumped off the
bike onto solid ground. “That’s reckless and dangerous! Give me my purse and
I’ll walk home from here.”

He lifted his shield and she could
see his grin. “You’re so easy to rile, Morgan. I stayed within the speed limit
the whole time, which on this street is thirty. Now, get back on, or we’ll be
late.”

“Oh,
sor-ry
.”
Hiding her deep-down feeling of foolishness behind sarcasm, she accepted his
hand and climbed back on. “I didn’t realize the Hells Angels were such rigorous
schedule-keepers.”

He shrugged. “You know how it is.
Villages to pillage, towns to plunder.” At least, this time she recognized his
lame attempt at humor. He pulled her arms around him, then joined her hands
together in front of him. Holding them in place, he turned to look at her. “Try
to keep an open mind,” he suggested. “You don’t know half as much as you think
you do.”

Wasn’t that the truth?
She’d
been raised to live a respectable, responsible life of suffocating decorum. Her
job as a documentary editor suited her perfectly, isolating her in safety while
she observed and edited the reckless activities of others. From a safe
distance, she could decide what footage could be kept and what could be cut.

She’d hardly experienced anything
firsthand, and she knew without asking that firsthand was the way Max
experienced everything. Determined to do this for herself, for her
stepdaughter, and to show Max a more interesting side of her, she’d try living
life his way for just one day. She nodded for him to take off. Following his
advice, she kept her eyes wide open and her head up.

The scenery flew by in a blur. Colors
and shapes zipped past in a flowing kaleidoscope. Gradually, her body and her
vision adjusted to the unaccustomed motion and velocity. The sensation of
freedom and daring, of racing the world and winning, reminded her of the
champagne from the night before, fizzy and fun and going straight to her head.

At least she enjoyed it until they
passed from the structured residential streets onto the terrifying rush of
I-275. SUVs and minivans the size of tanks sped past them and brushed close
beside them. Annabel’s vulnerability increased, and she cowered behind Max—the
only stable object in an unsteady universe.

Pressing her chest against the
strong column of his back, she clasped her arms in a bear hug around his middle
and wedged his hips between the V of her thighs. Somehow the idea of fusing
herself to his comforting bulk provided her with a feeling of safety.

An eighteen-wheeler barreled
alongside and spewed exhaust and gravel in their direction while sucking the
air around them like a giant vacuum cleaner. Too bad her clothing choices
hadn’t included something more practical for motorcycle riding than faded
denim—like a suit of armor.

Just before she lost all control
and succumbed to screaming hysterics, Max took the Ellis Road exit toward
Riverbend
Music Center and the Ohio River. Off the highway,
the air blasting past her became fresher, cleaner, and lighter. After a couple
more turns off of smooth pavement onto bumpy byroads, lush green countryside
enveloped them in a simpler world. One filled with nothing more than dappled
sunlight, a powerful engine, and an incredibly sexy man creating a decided hum
of awareness between her thighs.

Raising her head, Annabel relished
the unforeseen pleasure of traveling unencumbered through time and space. Why
had she resisted? She’d been wrong, and she would admit it when they stopped.
If they ever stopped. And she wasn’t sure she wanted to. At least not while she
had this little sensual buzz building. Feel the noise, indeed.

Before the buzz took her where she
wanted to go, the Harley began to slow. She leaned into another turn, and the
gravel road ratcheted her sexual pleasure up a notch. But looking up ahead, she
couldn’t believe her eyes. Through her near orgasmic gaze, she blinked and
looked again.

Under a banner that read “Good
Riders - Ride a Bike, Feed a Tyke,” Harleys, Harleys, and more Harleys filled
the parking lot of The Hog Heaven Bar and Grill. Each machine carried a biker
more disreputable looking than the next. She wondered at the number of cows
killed to produce so much black leather. When Max said they were meeting his
bike club, she’d pictured a gang of ten or twenty, not a legion.

As they reached the fringe of the
group, men gestured and called out greetings to Max. As he had predicted
Annabel couldn’t hear a thing, but he nodded and waved. Slowing the bike to a
crawl, he threaded it through the gathering.

At the bar’s rambling porch, he
pulled into an empty space. A tall, wiry-looking guy in chaps, plaid shirt and
leather vest leaned against a beam. Despite world-weary eyes and lines on his
face that told of a life lived hard, he carried an undeniable aura of
authority. A blue bandana covered most of his red hair peppered with gray. In
the goatee he stroked, the gray strands outnumbered the red. He waited for Max
to shut off his bike. Annabel wanted to whimper when the engine finally quit
pulsating.

“Glad you could make it,” Goatee
Man said to Max.

Or so Annabel guessed. With the
residual ringing in her ears, she had to rely on lip-reading more than hearing.

The man handed an envelope to Max.
He stuck it in the back pocket of his jeans, millimeters away from grazing
Annabel’s most personal place with those long-ranging fingers. The thought
should be horrifying, instead of making her dizzy with longing.

She couldn’t make out Max’s
response to Goatee Man’s conversation, but from the other guy’s grin and nod in
her direction, that was just as well. If she looked as ready to come as she
felt, she didn’t want to know.

Max swiveled at the waist to face
her. His mouth moved, but the words jumbled together.

Annabel took off her helmet and
cupped her ear. “What?”

“We’ll only be here a few minutes.”
He mouthed each word distinctly and pointed to his watch. “You need to take
care of anything?”

Him
. She wanted to take care
of him. Or have him take care of her. Insane, but it was all she could do to
keep from grabbing him. She needed to get a grip before she attacked the man
and stripped him naked. But maybe he wouldn’t mind. The idea of a naked Max
should scare the bejesus out of her. But instead, she found the idea...
intriguing as all get out. Something she’d have to think about at greater
length. Sometime when he wasn’t standing right in front of her in all his
audacious glory.

He’d told her there wouldn’t be
drugs or nudity unless she wanted there to be, and maybe, just maybe, she did.
Not drugs, of course, but nudity sounded awfully appealing.

Annabel shook her head. No, it
didn’t. Not really. All of this jittery sensation was simply a reaction to the
crotch rocket she’d been riding, the sexy body of the man she’d had her thighs
wrapped around, and years of sleeping alone. She didn’t even like Max, and all
that sexy allure he exuded was definitely off-limits. But that didn’t prevent
him from looking damned good to a libido that was giddy from a long overdue
dose of shake, rattle, and roll.

Annabel eyed the seedy-looking dive
and the crowd of mostly men. No one she eyeballed looked half as good—or even
as reputable—as Max. Better to stick with the devil she knew.

Her legs trembled so much, she
wasn’t sure she could stand. Her jaws along with every other molecule of her
body still quivered from the ride, and she didn’t trust herself to speak. She
shook her head at Max and signaled her intention to stay put.

After more mumbled conversation,
Goatee Man climbed aboard an enormous bike. Then the army of road warriors
thundered their Harleys into a ground-trembling roar, equaling the decibel
level of a NASA liftoff.

Lines and rows formed like magic
from the random scattering of riders. Two bikers pulled into the road, blocking
the approaching traffic as the platoon of motorcycles fell in behind Max and
the man with the goatee, leading them on a journey Annabel knew not where.

Wherever they were going, they were
going full force, and they weren’t keeping a low profile. And she hoped it took
them a long time to get there.

From the way Annabel molded herself
to his back like hot wax, Max expected more questions or complaints when he
pulled into the next stop. Instead, she swung her leg over the bike like a
veteran rider, even though her limbs appeared as wobbly as Gumby’s. Instead of
complaining, she merely rested her rump against the seat and lifted off her brain
bucket emitting a low, vibrating hum.

Somewhere along the way, she’d lost
the hard edges that usually kept her face pulled taut. She looked softer and
sweeter and wore a dreamy, self-satisfied smile he’d never seen on her lips
before. If he knew anything about women, he’d think she…

Well, son-of-a-bitch! She’d gotten
revved up enough to experience her own personal moment of glory! And he hadn’t
even gotten to participate with so much as a finger in the process. She’d felt
the noise, all right. If he’d known she was that ripe and ready, he’d have
played this trip differently from the start.

“You need to freshen up?” he asked,
halfway hard just thinking of her climaxing while pressing against his back.

He fought an urge to touch the new
and pliable Annabel. Hell, he fought the urge to kiss her, touch her, imprint
himself all over her while she swam in the sensual pool of afterglow. When she
remembered coming apart in satisfaction, he wanted her to connect him to those
happy memories. He’d made them possible, after all, even if he hadn’t been
personally involved.

That sure wouldn’t be the case next
time.

She pounded the heel of her hand
against her ear. He recognized the sure-sign for temporary Harley deafness.
Harleys weren’t known for being smooth, sleek, or dependable, but they
over-compensated for all that by being loud, fast, and sexy. No point in trying
to talk to her now. Her ears would ring for a while.