Erin McCarthy: It’s About Time

Trish laughed, not a girlish giggle or an obnoxious snort but a beautiful, rich sound, her teeth gleaming in the dark room, her hair framing a heart-shaped face. “You like reading fantasy novels, have a lizard and a Harley, are in touch with your emotions, and have a sense of humor, too. Very interesting.”

Not really, but his heart started a goddamn tap dance in his chest. She looked delicious standing there, rolling her ankles off her shoes, smelling like warm flesh and a subtle layer of sweet perfume.

“Keys, Trish.”

“I’ll drive the Harley and you can ride on the back.”

Clearly she thought he was shit-faced enough to agree to that, but there was no way in hell, drunk or sober, he was going to agree to let a woman drive his chopper.

No way.

Trish knew Caleb was nervous, given that gasping, choking sound he was making in the back of his throat, but she was confident as she straddled the motorcycle.

“You sure you know how to drive this?”

“I told you, I passed the test and everything. I’m a fully licensed motorcycle driver.” That had been in her early twenties when she had been in a retro-seventies phase, wearing mirrored sunglasses and listening to CDs by angry women. But she was sure she could handle the thing. And as an added bonus she wouldn’t need to use her Thighmaster the next day after squeezing her legs around the wide bike.

“We’re only going two blocks to my place. It will be fine.” If she could just find the ignition.

“Your place? What are we going to do when we get to your place? Call me a cab? I know I’m not drunk, and I’m missing the logic in your cunning plan.”

When Caleb shifted, the whole bike tilted. He towered behind her, six-foot-four or so and about two hundred and forty pounds of muscle. If she were faint of heart, it could very well be intimidating. But Trish had been subjected to curse-laden tirades from psychotic criminals and had even had a rapist spit on her after his conviction. No, fear was not the reaction Caleb was wresting from her.

More like screaming desire.

Somehow over the past few hours, he’d morphed into just about the sexiest man she’d had the horny pleasure to meet.

“No, we’re not calling a cab, because then you’ll be stuck without your bike. We’ll leave my car here, drive the bike to my place, you’ll spend the night, then in the morning you can drive us back here on the bike to get my car.” Trish was glad he was behind her as she delivered this little speech.

She honestly wasn’t implying anything sexual, but if he expressed an interest, she wasn’t at all sure she would say no.

“Spend the night? With you?”

Since she hadn’t started the engine yet-an impossibility, since she couldn’t figure out where to put the key-the summer air was still and quiet around them. He had spoken in a low, rough voice that sent shivers racing across her shoulders.

“Well, notwith me. You can crash on my couch.”

“I don’t think this is such a good idea.”

She chanced a glance over her shoulder. He looked…alarmed. Like she might lure him to her couch and have her wicked way with him. It was an embarrassing reminder that he hadn’t slept with a woman in two years and that he was used to his ex-wife, who surely never would have straddled a motorcycle in a short black dress.

For a minute, she’d allowed herself to get carried away, which was so not her. Never once had a guy swept her off her feet. Most couldn’t even get her big toe to lift. And she sure in the hell wasn’t going to do the sweeping herself.

“Oh, come on. I’ve adopted you, remember? If you go home, I’ll just spend the whole night worried that you’re dead in a ditch, and then tomorrow I’ll have bags under my eyes for my friend Kindra’s bridal shower.”

And shewould worry about him. He had compelled her, intrigued her, from the first moment they had locked eyes, and she couldn’t just walk away from him without knowing he was safe and sober. Besides, it didn’t seem right to send him home alone tonight, when his whole family was off celebrating with his ex. Trish knew what it was like to be alone, and sometimes it just wasn’t all that much fun.

“Is it safe to leave my Harley at your place overnight?”

“I rent the second and third floor of a house and it has a garage.”

“Alright then.” He leaned over and whispered in her ear, making her shiver when his hot breath touched her cool cheek. “I’m trusting you with my life and a really expensive piece of metal. Are you sure you can handle it?”

Trish turned her head so that her lips were an inch or two away from his chin. She couldn’t see his eyes but she could feel him everywhere, surrounding her with his powerful, masculine body, coarse caramel whiskers dusting below his lips. “I can handle it.”

“I thought so.” Then he moved out of her personal space, and Trish was disappointed.

But he came right back and shoved a helmet onto her head, jerking her forward with the force, and sending her hair straight down over her eyes. Her ears bent painfully in half.

“Caleb!” She parted her bangs to either side of her eyes so she could see, and lifted the helmet to adjust it.

“Keep it on,” he ordered. “If we wreck, I’ll probably land on you. At least this way I won’t squash your head. And the key goes in there.” He pointed to the ignition.

No wonder she hadn’t been able to find it-it was in a stupid spot, nowhere near the handlebars. “Of course it does.” She started the bike with a loud roar. “And I’m not going to wreck,” she yelled over her shoulder indignantly, but she kept the helmet on.

Caleb’s hands went around her waist.

Then lower, to her thighs.

Controlling the rumbling bike meant her skirt had inched up.

So that his rough hands were on her bare skin.

And by the time they crossed West 117 thand turned onto her side street, his hands had somehow traveled under her bunched skirt, a healthy distance above her knee.

She concentrated on driving. Not on the way her legs were vibrating wildly from the engine of the bike. Not on that delightful little jolt of awareness that was rolling through her body. Or that things had suddenly gotten warm, and maybe even a little damp, not so very far from where he was touching.

Then his hands slid higher. Resting on the outside of her thighs, thumbs dangerously close to her black seamless panties.

Trish nearly took out the telephone pole turning into her drive. That would have been ironic. But did he know what he was doing? Or was he so immune to her sex appeal he could pat her crotch like he might the head of a nice, friendly Lab?

Maybe he was falling asleep.

Because men always fondle women’s thighs when they’re dozing off.

Crap.

This whole idea of having him over to her place obviously fell under the heading of extremely bad judgment.

“You know,” she said, as she turned the motorcycle off in front of her garage. “You probably don’t realize it, but you have your hand up my dress.”

“Do I?” he said in a voice that left no doubt he knew exactly what he was doing.

Thank God.

“Sorry. Your driving scared me, so I just grabbed and held on.”

“Uh-huh. Okay. Well, we’ve stopped, so you can let go now. I need to open the garage.”

The retreat of those big hands was gratifyingly slow.

Caleb stayed on the bike while she bent a little, twisted the door handle, and lifted the garage door up. Before she could say anything, he had pulled the bike inside with a roar of the engine and a squeal of the brakes, and was standing up. Way, way up.

Dang, he was gorgeous, in a really cute, big sort of way. And he was walking toward her, sticking his bike keys back into his pocket. Trish still had her hands up in the air, holding on to the garage door, ready to pull it back down once he was out.