There goes the element of surprise.
Or maybe not. He used the last name ‘Temple’.
When this is over, I need to hug Daddy for getting me this fake driver’s license.
“Fine.” I look around, then I remember where I’m still sitting and jerk back into the bike handles to put some distance between us.
“Welcome to your new place for the next while.”
Mr. Sexy Pants plucks me off the bike, and when I turn around, I get my first good look at the place. “Where are we?”
“My clubhouse.”
The building is a large, old, two-story log cabin styled structure. It’s packed with people standing around outside. Loud country music blares through speakers, and noise is coming from everywhere. Every guy is holding either a cigarette, a beer bottle, or some woman’s ass. Women in hooker couture are walking around like queens while men are playing cards, shooting darts, admiring guns, or working on their motorcycles. Every guy has a weapon bulging from somewhere on his body, and some have rifles hanging across their backs. It’s like I stumbled onto the set of a very seedy motorcycle club movie. And it doesn’t account for what or who is inside the huge, rustic, log building that stretches out into the desert.
No, this isnotgoing to be anything like staying at the Four Seasons.
“This place is…big,” I say, searching for something nice to way as I straightening my knee-length red dress. I paid good money for this and now it’s trashed. A bunch of wrinkles and creases mar the delicate silk after that bike ride. “Do I get to know your name? And can I have my purse too, please.”
My eyes skirt over the large, well-lit parking lot, A few interested parties are staring us. Well, they’re staring at me. I avoid their gazes by glancing up at the sky. There sure are a lot of stars out tonight, and if I never believed in a higher power before now, I might be inclined to start now so I can pray for a miracle. Lord only knows why this stranger decided to become my captor. My new focus is to figure out how to escape from this fresh hell of hooligans.
He clears his throat and brings me out of my escape-planning daze with a subtle tap on my shoulder. I glance over at him. He’s leaning against a split rail fence with his arms crossed, head slightly cocked as if studying me too.
“It’s Silas.”
He takes a step forward, offering a handshake. I blink, staring at each thick, hard muscle from his forearms to his biceps and shoulders. I remind myself that he might say he’s my rescuer, but can still be the devil in disguise. Everything inside me tells me not to shake this man’s hand, but if I’m to survive this, I need to resort to a bit of chameleon-styled acting to live another day. Giving myself a mental shake, I extend my hand for a supposedly friendly shake.
The second my fingers brush his hand, the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. Heat creeps into my cheeks. I have to swallow to keep myself from drowning in his gaze again. Maybe the flash of desire has more to do with the effect of the dart’s contents on my nervous system than the way he stares at me, like he wants to eat me whole.
“Sabrina.”
“I knew that already, but thanks for the reminder.”
His hot fingers continue to hold on, so I take a step closer. If he finds me attractive or sexy or wants to keep me in his bed for a night, it could be the easiest leverage to get the hell away from this place.
Fuck and run.
Yes, I can manage that with this hot biker.
I layer on the charm. “You don’t look like someone who has to remember a woman’s name that often. I figured I’d help you out.”
“Feistyandsmart. I like it.” He flashes me a grin that makes a shiver lick down my spine until my toes curl in my high heels. A shot of warmth pulses in my lower belly.
This can be the easiest escape ever.
I might like it.
“Mmmm,” I hum without realizing, then I give him a frown.
Christ. I can’t believe I have to make an effortnotto be so into him.
Should I be this polite with someone who may have drugged me less than two hours ago? He denied having anything to do with it. Still, that doesn’t mean he’s not guilty as sin. The thought makes me pull away. It could be my imagination, but he clings to my fingers a few seconds too long. His brow furrows, flexing his hand and returning it to his side. Whatever I feel, it might be mutual. Something has happened on both sides of that handshake that neither of us anticipated. I’m not the only one caught off-guard.
“Can I have my purse now, please?” I ask. Being civil never hurt anyone.
“Sure.”
He takes several steps towards the back of his bike, opens a compartment hidden beneath the seat, at which point, I see my clutch on top of a black briefcase. Oh, so this is the briefcase-full-of-cash guy who was shouting out on the other side of my condo unit wall. He snatches up my black beaded clutch purse. The tiny thing looks oddly strange in his huge hand. A second after I register the sight of him with my things, he wastes no time, opening the small purse to check the contents.
