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Motorcycle Man

By:Kristen Ashley

ross the number pad and I texted back, Not nuts. I need a paycheck.

Five seconds later, Lanie texted, What if you see him?

I was prepared for that and I’d spent a lot of time preparing for seeing Tack again. Indeed, I’d spent all night doing it considering I had all of two hours of sleep.

If I see him, I see him, I texted back. I’m embracing my inner slut.

To this, I received, You don’t have an inner slut!!! You’re Tyra Masters. Tyra Masters is NOT a slut!!!

She is now, I replied, adding, or she was Saturday night.

No more flying solo, Lanie texted in return then right on its heels came, Any and all future social events you attend, I’m your wingman.

I smiled at my phone, heard a door slam and my head came up. Then my lungs seized.

Shit! There was Tack standing outside the door to the Club’s Compound. He was wearing faded jeans, motorcycle boots and a skintight white t-shirt. Even from a distance I could see his hair was a sexy, messy bedhead. And I knew why since he was currently making out with a tall, thin, dark-haired woman and when I say making out, I mean making out. They were going at it, her hands at his fantastic ass, his hands at hers.

God, I’d been in his bed Saturday night and he had a new woman in his bed last night, Sunday. And he hadn’t walked me to the door and made out with me to say good-bye. Hell, he hadn’t even said good-bye.

Damn.

I closed my eyes tight and swallowed and when I did, it hurt… a lot.

Okay, maybe I couldn’t do this.

I opened my eyes and pinned them to the phone, my thumb flying over the number pad.

He just walked out of the Compound, I told Lanie.

Two seconds later, I received, OMG!!!!

He’s making out with a brunette, I informed her.

OMG!! OMG!!! OMG!!!! Get out of there! Lanie texted back.

I heard an engine cough to life and lifted my head to see the brunette in the beat up pickup. My eyes slid to Tack to see his on me. My gaze shot back to the truck to see the brunette was waving at Tack but he was done with her. I knew this because she was waving at him but when I looked back to him he was not paying a bit of attention to her and was walking my way.

I looked back down at my phone and typed in, She’s taking off. He’s coming to me.

I sent my message and stared at the phone, not lifting my head and trying hard not to bite my lip or, say, have an embarrassment-induced seizure.

“Red,” I heard when my phone beeped in my hand and luckily I didn’t have to lift my head immediately because I was reading Lanie’s latest message.

Escape, Tyra, go, go, go!!!!

“Red,” I heard from closer and I finally lifted my head to see that Tack was three of the eight steps up and climbing toward me.

He looked good. Everything about him looked good. The way his clothes fit. The way his hair looked like he’d just got out of bed and run his fingers through it. The way those lines radiated out the sides of his eyes. The way his body moved.

Nope, I couldn’t be a slut. I should have listened to Lanie.

“Hey,” I forced out.

My skin started burning and I was pretty sure it was pink top-to-toe as his eyes slid the length of me. When he made it to the top of the steps, he looked down at me and he didn’t look happy.

“What’re you doin’ here?” he asked.

I stared at him, surprised. I mean, I’d told him on Saturday night I was his new office manager.

Didn’t I?

So I said, “I work here.”

“You what?”

“I work here.”

His eyes did a top-to-toe again then he repeated after me, “You work here.”

“Yes, Eloise hired me. I’m taking over for her. I’m your new office manager.”

He stared down at me and he didn’t look any less unhappy. In fact, he looked unhappier.

Then he stated, “You’re shittin’ me.”

I fought against biting my lip again, succeeded and shook my head.

Apparently, Tack wasn’t a big fan of working alongside women he’d loved and left. Or, in my case, loved and then kicked out of his bed.

I found this interesting, not in a good way but it was interesting nonetheless.

Then Tack announced, “You don’t work here anymore.”

I blinked up at him as my hand automatically reached out and grasped the railing beside me.

“What?” I whispered.

“Babe, not good,” he growled. “What the fuck were you thinkin’?”

“About what?” I asked.

He leaned in and it hit my fogged, stunned, fired before I even started brain that he was even unhappier than before and I had to admit, it was a little scary.

“I do not work with bitches who’ve had my dick in their mouth,” he declared and that was when my skin stopped burning and felt like it was combusting.

“But,” I started when I could speak again, “I thought I told you I was your new office manager.”

“You did not,” he returned.

“I’m pretty sure I did,” I told him.

“You didn’t,” he replied.

“No, I think I did.”

He leaned even closer to me and growled, “Red. You. Did. Not.”

“Okay,” I whispered because he was now definitely scaring me but also because I actually wasn’t pretty sure I did, I was just kind of sure I did.

“I do not fuck anyone who’s got my signature on their paycheck,” he again made his opinion perfectly clear and my mind raced to find a solution to this new dilemma at the same time it struggled with fighting back the urge to run as fast as I could to my car and peel right the heck out of Ride Custom Cars and Bikes forecourt and get as far away from this freaking scary guy as I could.

I mean, what was I thinking? I thought he was beautiful. Perfect. My motorcycle dream man.

Boy was I wrong. Very, very wrong. He wasn’t. He was a rough and ready motorcycle man, the president of a motorcycle club and he was downright frightening.

With effort, I pulled myself together.

Then I told him, “Okay, that works for me. Minor blip. We forget it happened and since it’s never going to happen again, we move on from this and you don’t have to break your no sleeping with employees rule in order to, um… employ me.”

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