Revved Up Soul: A MC Romance
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Authors: Liz K. Lorde
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE Romance In Red
Revved Up Soul
Steel Knights Motorcycle Series
#1
Written By
:
Elizabeth ‘Liz’ Kathryn Lorde
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to an actual person, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/ use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.
All rights reserved.
Copyright 2015 by Liz K. Lorde
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CHAPTER ONE
Jasmine
For a week straight now she had seen the mysterious and handsome stranger roaming the halls of St.Augustine; yet he was nowhere to be found this morning. Stop fantasizing, she chided, the guy is probably as bull headed as he looks.
Jasmine Giuseppe was sitting alone again today, unsure of how satisfied she should be with saving the life of two criminals – saving a gang member’s life was hardly the same as rescuing a family man from the jaws of death. The hospital’s lunch area was bustling with the usual chatter; complaining about the macaroni and cheese, eying fries and fawning over cheesecake.
Was she tempted? Absolutely, would she give in? Not today.
Jasmine lazily poked at her salad, which was laced in her favorite dressing of thousand islands. She didn’t understand why she couldn’t make any friends; did nobody like her at all? Connecting with people was never
this
hard. At least her mentor, Augustus Lark, would sit with her every once in a while.
Jasmine sighed and then ate a small helping of her salad. Too bad I didn’t straighten my hair today. Jasmine curiously pushed around a few leafs of her salad. She had long, thick, curly ringlets of raven hair that when she stood up would hang to her ass. She’d learned over her years of residency that getting close to people was a dangerous thing. Patients die, friends of friends pass, Brothers— Jasmine’s eyes stung then, welling up and threatening more. Stupid, she thought.
That was when a plastic brown tray of fries, practically a mountain of them, absolutely covered in cheese, crashed down to the other end of her table. What the hell was this?
A man sat down, dressed tightly in a black biker jacket with his jet hair swept into a small pony tail.
Jasmine eyed the man carefully, staring daggers into him – in hopes that he might openly bleed for the intrusion of her space. Fluttering, nervous little butterflies made her chest dance with excitement.
The devilishly handsome biker turned his chair and kicked his feet up onto the nearest seat; grabbing a cheese laden fry and popping it in his mouth. He had the most shit eating grin Jasmine had ever seen on a person’s face, like he had just climbed a mountain and was ready to piss off its end. She noted the thick bronze ring on his finger, but could not make out its engraving.
“Can I help you?” She snapped in a whisper. Her heart tapped quicker against her breastbone. She’d never seen eyes such as his. One brown as tree bark, the other blue as a summer’s sky. The blue in them reminded her of Mr. Prestly, oddly enough – she had hesitated that day.
Hesitation, it was the currency dealt by death. She shuddered, pulling herself from that moment.
The Biker popped another golden, crispy . . . Jasmine had to look away. Suddenly her salad didn’t seem nearly as satisfying. She flicked her gaze back to the man, admiring his roguish and handsome face – he had just a bit of stubble, not too much, enough to give him a sexy and rugged look. He had a hooked nose and upturned eyes. Jasmine felt a tightness form in her core.
Ugh. Not a chance, steel cowboy.
Languidly, the man picked up another fry and brought his feet off of the chair, turning to face Jasmine and leaned forward. “Yeah, you can sit there and look pretty for me,” he japed, “can have some fries too, if you want,” his voice was much deeper than she had expected, given his childish demeanor.
Wow that’s not grating at all. Jasmine raised her eyebrows, “Uh, no,” she said. “I don’t think so.”
“Why?” The Biker teasingly brought the fry up and above his head, letting it slowly sink down to his mouth – not breaking eye contact.
“That’s disgusting.”
Crunch. Then a moan. Even his stupid and exaggerated moans were strangely satisfying to hear.
“I seriously don’t understand how you can eat that pile of crap,” Jasmine chided, flicking back a couple strands of her raven hair. Chili cheese fries are infinitely better than
just
cheese fries. Mom, rest her soul, would be rolling in her grave if she saw Jasmine now, turning down a plate of fries for some silly salad. “You’re going to ruin that body of yours,” Jasmine added casually, a wave of heat rushed through her then and a nervous sensation pricked at her feet.
Shit
.
The Biker laughed something deep from his chest. “I know how to take care of my body,” he replied confidently, his gorgeous and oh so exotic set of eyes gleamed playfully. “Need me to help you take care of yours?”
Her jaw dropped and her brows rose half an inch. Liquid fire filled her veins. W-what? Was he serious? She could feel her cheeks blushing like the morn as she squirmed in her chair. I’m actually being hit on right now. And then something peculiar happened – something vastly unusual for Jasmine’s routine interactions with the opposite sex – even for as different as it already was.
She laughed.
“I mean come on.”
Jasmine’s tongue was locked with devil’s love, and her body had long since submitted to nervousness.
He pointed with his thumb and index finger at Jasmine’s bowl of salad. “You gotta get some meat on those bones little lady – kick back and let live,” he raised his chin in emphasis. “You feel me?”
She brushed back her hair and smiled. “Is this your routine?” She asked. “Peddling food to health conscious and fiercely independent doctors?”
“Nah,” he took a moment to eat and then cocked his head. “Should it be? My usual shtick works pretty well.”
“Oh?” Jasmine batted her eyes, only barely aware of her quicker breathing. “Enlighten me, steel cowboy.”
“Ride like my life depends on it and live each day like it’s my last.”
Damn.
The Biker’s smirk widened half an inch, and he offered his hand to Jasmine. It was a big hand, or at least in comparison to her own delicate little ones, a real man’s kind of hand. She could see callouses on his fingertips.
Dark, sensual waves crashed against Jasmine’s core – leaving her feeling exposed.
“Luke,” he said, softness in his voice. In that moment he could not have sounded more divine. “Luke Reynolds.” What a sexy—no! Control yourself woman.
Jasmine reached her hand to join Luke’s and shook it – her itty bitty hand dwarfed by the man’s She curiously noted the contrast of his white, pinkish skin against her own, which her mother always told her was ‘kissed by the sun’. “I’m Jasmine Giuseppe,” a half smile walked across her face. “And just so we’re clear, cowboy, I’m
not
available, so don’t get anything going through that thick skull of yours.” It was true in a way, she had her career to focus on – the past still haunted her too much. More than she wanted to admit.
“I’d never dream of it, Doc. Not my type anyway.” Like hell I’m not, was that supposed to be a challenge? For the first time since she had moved to Sequim, Jasmine had finally made a friend.
If she could just stop wanting to jump his bones at least.
Day One of Seven.
Taking the stairs was always exhausting considering just how much Jasmine had to be on the move during her shifts at St. Augustine; but it kept her figure slim and in an odd way she cherished them, since it helped to clear her mind. She had a peculiar longing for the man she’d met yesterday.
I wish I was home already. Season three of House M.D and a pint of cherry ice cream – was there
really
a better way to spend the evening? If only Robert Chase were real, she swooned.
Jasmine worked her way up the staircase, fingers of sunlight pouring through the windows while dust particles danced to their own tune.
The concrete walls were a simplistic gun metal color, but along them were graffiti of various different things – all color and urban and creative – funded by the hospital through Project Hope. The image of young Alejandra popped into her head, the rebellious girl’s face twisted into a sneer; she had dark and stormy eyes that held too much pain for such a young wildcat.