Page 9 of Coveted By Cupid

CHAPTER THREE

CUPID

That little shit!

She’s got some brass ovaries, I’ll give her that much. Most grown men wouldn’t dare touch another man’s bike, especially mine.

Here, Miss five-foot-nothing flips my kill switch, stalling my bike on the road like a brat testing her luck. She’s playing a dangerous game, and she probably doesn’t realize it.

Dark thoughts circle around my head of all the devious ways I can make her pay for her misbehavior, most involving her splayed beneath me while I delay her gratification. If I have it my way, and woo her right, she’ll beg me so sweetly by the time I’m through with her.

We’re going to have so much fun, Psyche.

I start my engine, taking off after her once more. She’s gained some ground, but I’ll catch up to her. There’s no way I’m going to let this woman slip away, not when I finally found her.

Most women don’t grab my attention. They either see me as a man to play out all their dark fantasies with, or they take one look at me, sense danger, and run the other way.

Never has a woman flirted with me one second only to straight-up rebuke me the next when I come on to her—until now. I’d say this little baddie is playing hard to get, but she’s intentionally doing everything in her power to shake me off. I can’t make sense of it, and my interest is piqued.

Most guys don’t like being toyed with, cutting their losses as soon as a woman pulls a one-eighty in the personality department. But me? Not going to lie. I’m digging the whiplash effect. It’s keeping me guessing what her motive might be.

Lucky for me, I enjoy solving mysteries, and this woman is all mystery.

Am I being irrational for getting it in my head that me and this young woman have a connection worth exploring?

Probably.

Do I give a rat’s ass about what’s rational?

Hell, no.

I’m thirty-three years old. I’ve gotten around, sampling my fair share of what’s available to me. When you’ve had everything and nothing feels good enough to pursue more than one-night stands or occasional hookups, you notice when one woman stands out among the rest.

And this woman—wow. She has stolen my attention. Her looks may have captured me, but her wild, bratty nature has me locked in.

I need to know who she is, in more ways than one.

On a deeper level, I can’t help but feel as if my bow has finally struck a match for me. For years, I’ve waited for my other half to make herself known to me, quietly hoping I’d be as lucky as my brothers I helped set up with their ole ladies, yet slowly resigning to the possibility I may not find her. The moment this woman caught my eye, I instinctively took my shot. It’s like there’s now a string connecting me to her, and I’m quickly trying to reel her in before my chance at a happily ever after slips away.

Ignoring all traffic laws, I crank the throttle and chase after my obsession.

My mystery girl weaves through the city, a poor attempt to lose me. It’s kind of cute how she thinks she can throw me so easily. Her naivety will be to my advantage.

When she takes the on-ramp for Interstate 25 heading out of Loveland, I follow. The open highway will give us more room to play our game of tag, making riding safer for both of us.

As fun as it has been to pursue her through Loveland, I don’t like how reckless she’s been on her bike. If something were to happen to her on the road… I shudder.

A nagging voice in the back of my head reminds me the only reason the woman is driving recklessly is because I’m chasing her. It is all my fault.

Once I catch her, I’ll need to earn her trust, letting her know I’ll never harm her. The only time she’ll run from me in the future is when her brattiness deserves a paddling.

It’s peculiar how attached I’ve grown to this woman when I hardly know anything about her. The little I know about her will help me identify her if, on the off chance, she gets away.

What I know about my little speed demon is that her name is Vanessa. At least that’s what I recall Buck calling her when they said their goodbyes in his garage. The irony of her name and what it represents isn’t lost on me. If anything, it’s fucking fate placing my other half right in my lap like, “Here you go. She’s yours. Enjoy!”

I certainly plan on it, as long as I can catch her.

She rides like a maniac, maybe even has a speeding ticket on her record—a record would definitely help me track her down. And if everything else is a dead end, I’ve got her license plate number locked away in my head. A call to my informant at the police station in Loveland would get me the answers I need real quick.