Playing for Hearts (107 page)

Pain — hot, flashing agony — pricked her calf. She jerked, screaming even louder. Her leg on fire, her heart raced, her throat burned, and she struck out blindly with her eyes squeezed shut.

Then she was off Crazy Eyes, off the bike, and cradled in the arms of another man. Not any man, but another biker if she went by the long hair, leather under her hands where she held on to his shoulders, and a tattoo of a flame curling around the side of his neck and disappearing under his hair.

She straightened her legs, trying to remove herself from him. He tightened his hold. “Stop wiggling.”

That was when she realized all the bikes sat quiet and it wasn't the roar of the engines thrumming the air, but her heart. “P-please. Let me down.”

“Be still.”

“I'd like to go home,” she said.

“Not now.”

“But — ”

“Don't argue.” He carried her out of the maze of bikes and across the parking lot.

She gazed over his shoulder at the other bikers, her truck, the Coffee Shack. Nothing moved. “If you could just let me down, I'll get out of your way. I'll even pay you. How does free coffee for a week sound?”

Her capture kicked the front door of Cactus Cove open and carried her through the bar, down a back hallway, and entered another room. The cool air inside made her leg burn even more.

“I'm going to scream if you don't let me go,” she said, pushing at his shoulders.

She couldn't budge her way out of his arms. She fisted her hand, brought it back, and forgot all about her plan to deck him when he deposited her on top of a desk.

He pointed to her chest. “Don't move.”

Now that she could see all of him, she stared at the black leather vest, no shirt. Prepared to leave the room to find Gladys or Taylor, one of the waitresses she'd met Friday night, she froze with her foot on the floor and her hip still on the desk. On the backside of his vest, he had the word
Bantorus
scrolled over the expanse of his broad shoulders.

He stopped in the doorframe without turning around. “I said, don't move. I'm getting a first aid kit. Your leg needs cleaned. Be here when I come back.”

“Fine.” She scooted farther away, sitting smack dab on the desk. “You don't have to act so bossy. You could've just said you were helping me.”

“Trust me, babe. I haven't helped.” He walked out of sight.

She frowned. What did he mean by that?