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Authors: Suzanne Forster

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BOOK: The Devil and Ms. Moody
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A sound slipped from Edwina’s throat, startling her. A shudder moved through her limbs. What was she doing? This was crazy, utterly
nuts
. This man wasn’t a varsity football star! He was an arrogant roughneck she wouldn’t have spoken two words to back home in Connecticut, and here she was, vividly imagining how he was going to follow her into a shower stall and make love to her!

He bent as though to kiss her, and Edwina gasped in alarm, pushing him away. “This isn’t the girls’ locker room, mister. And you’re no Skipper Henderson.”

“Skipper who?” His brows flattened as he let the bunched silk of her blouse slip from his fist. “What kind of a weird broad are you?”

Edwina clutched at the neckline of her blouse.
Babe. Broad
. His grasp of the language was appallingly limited.

“You were right the first time,” she said. “I have to be going.” Twisting free from his grip, she started back toward Blackie’s. And counted herself very lucky. The close calls were stacking up in this case. She
was
free, however, she reminded herself. And if she was off to an unfortunate start with the investigation, at least she could give herself a point or two for survival skills.

That was when she realized her taxi was gone.
Gone
! She hesitated, aware that her options were frighteningly limited. She either found a phone or she walked. With a quick glance at the green-eyed biker, who was observing her with dark curiosity, she ruled him out as an option and headed for Blackie’s. The bartender must have a phone behind the counter. If she could slip in just long enough to ask him to call her a taxi ...

A faint smile softened the biker’s features as he followed Edwina’s progress with his eyes. He kind of liked the way she walked, although he wasn’t sure why. There was nothing sexy about it, but she moved with purpose, and her ponytail bounced with every step. He had a hunch she did just about everything with purpose, and the ramifications of that thought intrigued him. It was where she was headed that disturbed him.

“You got a death wish, lady?” he called after her. “Where the hell are you going?”

“To call a taxi.” She tossed the words over her shoulder and kept walking. “I don’t see any pay phones around here. Do you?”

“A taxi? You came here in a taxi?” Purpose, hell. She was either gutsy or crazy, and he was betting on both, a dangerous combination. He caught up with her in a few easy strides. “You go back in that bar, you’re on your own. I’m not riding to the rescue again.”

She ignored him, and in the same instant that he decided he liked her spirit, he also saw the perfect way to get her attention. He caught hold of her blond ponytail, gave it a quick tug, and stopped her cold. She let out an incredulous squeak and snapped her head to free herself. When he didn’t let go, she whirled, and with a flashing right hook that apparently startled even her, she swung at him.

He caught her small fist much as a catcher would a pop fly. “Watch where you put that thing,” he said, grinning. “You could hurt somebody.”

“What are you? A cave dweller? Java man?”

“I saved your life, and this is how you thank me?”

Edwina was more astonished than angry, but his soft snort of laughter made it all the more difficult to settle herself down. “Fine,” she said, “if you won’t let me call a taxi, how do you suggest I get back to my hotel?
Walk
?”

He scratched his sandpapery jaw thoughtfully, then strode to a black beast of a motorcycle and knocked back the kickstand with his boot. It was the same bike she’d inspected before, complete with the grinning skull and Hell-on-Wheels logo.

“Hop on,” he said. “I’ll take you.”

Edwina stared at him in disbelief. He actually thought she was going to get on that fire-breathing dragon with him at the controls? “No, thank you,” she said emphatically. “I think I will walk.”

She started for the road with every intention of walking until she hit the Pacific Ocean—or the nearest pay phone—whichever came first.

Two

“T
EN MILES TO THE
nearest phone,” he said as Edwina brushed past him. “Maybe more.”

“I can use the exercise.” Feeling his eyes on her backside, she tugged her lamb’s-wool cardigan down and continued walking.

He seemed content just to watch as she started off down the road, so content in fact that she wondered if she was heading in the wrong direction. Surely he wouldn’t let her wander off and get hopelessly lost in these mountains?

A couple of cars passed her as she began her trek down the mountainside, and she made up her mind that she would flag down the next one and ask directions. The August sun was meltingly hot, and she wasn’t dressed for warm weather. At least she’d worn good walking shoes.

She must have covered close to a mile by the time she heard the drone of another engine behind her. Her forehead was dripping, and her calf muscles were on fire. She turned to wave and saw flying dark hair and an even darker machine coming her way.

“It’s a long way to San Gabriel,” he said, roaring to a stop beside her. “The offer still holds.”

Edwina didn’t like anything about the vibrating death trap he rode, especially the earsplitting noise it made. But if she felt some trepidation, she felt even more relief. She still didn’t know where on earth she was, and the balls of her feet were killing her. Uneasily, she took the hand he held out. He brought up his arm—the very same brawny arm that had pinned Mad Dog—and she found herself seated on the bike’s passenger pillion behind him.

“Grab hold!’’ he yelled, revving the motorcycle’s engine.

“Grab hold of what?”

“Me, Princess,” he said sardonically. “It’s like riding a horse. It works better when you hang onto something.”

She grabbed for the side ties of his leather vest and felt them come loose as soon as the bike surged forward. Swaying backward from the powerful thrust of the machine, she nearly toppled off the bike. It was her stranglehold on his vest ties that saved her. She dragged herself forward and lunged for his torso like a drowning woman grabbing for a life raft. Throwing herself against his muscled back, she wrapped her arms around him and closed her eyes.

“That’s right,” he said, laughing.

He spiked the accelerator, and they shot off down the road.

I don’t like this
, she thought.

He responded as though he’d read her mind. “Relax. It sneaks up on you.”

The curves were the worst part. Every survival instinct Edwina possessed told her to veer away from the arc of the bike, away from its squealing tilt and torque.

“Lean into the curves!” he shouted as they swooped down the narrow mountain road. “Let them take you.”

“Let them
what
?” Jagged cliffs and scrubby pine trees flew by Edwina in a blur. “I can’t lean!” she screamed back. “I’m paralyzed!”

“Hang on!” He negotiated a sharp S-curve expertly, slowing on the stretches, accelerating to take the curves. Edwina buried her head in the back of his vest and let out the wretched moan of a cornered animal.

Moments later she felt the bike slowing, coming to a stop, but she couldn’t unlock her frozen limbs from their viselike hold on his body. “Are we there?” she whispered.

“We’re never going to get there unless you loosen up a little,” he said, traces of amusement in his voice. “You can let go of me now.”

Edwina was stuck to him like a taffy wrapper, her heart still pounding in her throat, her hands clutching at his half-naked body. Frantic sensory signals from her brain told her that her fingers were not only digging at the granite muscles of his stomach but were tangled wantonly in his body hair.

I don’t like this either
, she thought. The task of peeling her moist body from his torso took all of her attention, but she managed three words. “You stopped. Why?”

“You need some coaching,” he said, swinging off the bike and turning to help her.

She took his hand and landed on both feet with a bad case of rubber legs. It was all she could do not to drop to her knees and kiss the earth. Speed and fast curves had always terrified her. She’d never enjoyed carnival rides as a kid.

“You okay?” he asked, steadying her.

“Give me a minute ...”

Diablo was surprised at the shimmer of fear in her eyes when she finally looked up at him. He released her hand, an odd smile burning in his throat as he quelled an impulse to touch her ashen face and reassure her. She was really frightened of the bike.

“Hey, take it easy,” he said, laughing softly. “Nobody’s going to get hurt.” He would have to watch himself with this one, he realized. There was a trap full of vulnerability hidden under her “purposeful” nature. A careless man could wander right into it and never find his way out.

Diablo allowed himself a moment to contemplate the pleasure of getting ensnared before he put the thought out of his head. He had a plan to put into action once he gained entry into the Warlords, a very dicey plan, and its success depended on the club members believing that he was one of them. Macho bikers did
not
wet-nurse frightened women.

However, he thought, contemplating her huge amber eyes, it was possible that
this
frightened woman might prove useful. He combed his hair back and glanced up at the blazing August sun before reconsidering her. “You could have dumped us both,” he said brusquely.

“Sorry, I’m not used to switchback turns at warp speed.” Edwina tried to inject a little sarcasm into the comment, but she was too shaken up to be anything but sincere under the circumstances. She was also confused. This biker person could be rude, he could be domineering beyond belief, but for a second there, she thought she’d detected a gentle quality in his voice. She must have been hallucinating. Terror could do that to a person.

“A motorcycle can smell fear,” he said, patting the bike’s tank as though it were a restless, snorting horse. “You’ve got to let it know who’s boss, know what I mean?”

No, Edwina didn’t know what he meant. She didn’t have a clue about how to handle a several-hundred-pound motorcycle. Nor did she want a clue, and she told him so. None of that infallible logic seemed to impress him, however. Within just moments, he had her back on the bike and sitting in the driver’s seat.

“I can’t drive this thing!” she said as he got on behind her.

“Sure you can. Once you’ve got the feel of it, you’ll be dangerous.” His voice was soft and raspy in her ear, his arms an enveloping presence as he leaned forward to place her hands on the rubber grips. Even if Edwina could have driven the thing under normal circumstances, she couldn’t possibly do it with him bending over her, breathing down her neck. She could feel him everywhere, down to the base of her spine. She could feel his powerful inner thighs hugging her hips!

“Give me a break!” she pleaded.

“The lady wants a break?”

Breathing laughter, he obliged her. He removed his hands and placed them on her waist. It was a simple movement that nearly took her breath away as she glanced down at the hands that spanned her midriff. Either she was awfully small or he was awfully large. His long tanned fingers all but met in the middle.

“Let’s go,” he said, directing Edwina’s attention back to the task at hand.

She scanned the bike’s bewildering equipment. “What do I do first?”

“Twist the ignition key, then disengage the clutch. When you’ve done that, open the throttle a quarter to give her some gas and shift into low gear. The last thing you do is open the clutch. Gently—very gently.”

She craned around to look at him. “Huh?”

It wasn’t like riding a bicycle, Edwina discovered. The throttle was on her right-hand grip, the clutch was her left, and the gearshift was the pedal beneath her left foot. Not exactly driver-friendly, she decided, struggling to master the essentials as he went over them with her several times.

“If I haven’t got it yet,” she said finally, “I never will.”

“Let’s give it a try.”

She took a deep breath and twisted the ignition. The beast shivered, rumbling to life. Vibrations rippled through her like tiny tremors after an earthquake. It was frightening—the power. But tantalizing too. She depressed the clutch, gave it some throttle just as he’d told her, and once she had the bike in low gear, she opened the clutch.


Gently
,” he said.

The bike snorted, jerking forcibly. Startled, Edwina released the clutch altogether, and the huge machine burst forward like a launched rocket. Her fierce grip on the handlebars kept her astride, but her passenger wasn’t so lucky. The surge nearly jolted him off the back end. Uttering a choice word, he caught her by the waist and righted himself, much as she had earlier. He dragged his boots along on the ground, steadying the beast as it shuddered and died.

She sneaked a glance at him. “It works better when you hang on,” she said.

“Watch that sweet mouth, Princess.”

Edwina soon realized it would take more than one session to teach a massive motorcycle who was boss, but once she had the machine powered up and going, it was more or less smooth sailing.

“I’m pretty good, aren’t I?” she called out to him a short time later as they buzzed down the road.

“You’re okay,” he said.

She pulled the bike to a stop and cut the engine. Swinging around to smile into his dazzling green eyes, she was thrilled when he smiled back. “I’m damn good,” she said.

His eyes went breathtakingly sexy then. Dark lashes lowered, accenting the electric green of his irises. Anticipation swept Edwina, leaving her light-headed in its wake. His mouth parted, and she thought he was going to kiss her. Instead, he slid off the bike and stood in front of her, hooking his thumbs into his jeans. “Now can we trade places and get where we’re going?” he asked.

“Okay ...”

“Trust me?”

His husky question nearly gave her a case of the shivering fits. Its meaning seemed to take on scope as he stared down at her. His sexy, shuttered expression could have implied anything, everything, so much more than a motorcycle ride. Trust him? What was she trusting him with when she got on the back of his bike? Her body? Life and limb? Somehow it felt as though the very things she held most precious were at stake.

BOOK: The Devil and Ms. Moody
13.93Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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