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“No! You can’t!” I looked up at a very worried and very ruggedly handsome face. “How’d you get here so fast?”
“Shit,” he grumbled and with impressive speed jogged down the ravine and knelt down beside me. “Are you okay? Fuck, Vivi. Talk to me. Did you hit your head?” His hands felt nice even though his touch was medical not intimate.
“I’m talking. I had my helmet on. I’m okay, just banged up.” His big strong hands were warm against my skin, roaming to check my head, my neck, my ribs. “Quit trying to cop a feel.”
His lips smirked at me, but his eyes glared. “I’m just making sure you don’t have any broken bones.”
“I don’t.” I smacked his hands away because they felt too good and because when Jag was being all sweet and concerned and shit, he reminded me of the boy I loved until he left me. “Did you call the tow truck?”
“I did but your bike is thrashed.”
Typical guy. “Yeah, I know.” He gave me an odd look, probably expecting an explanation but I just stared at him. To be stubborn sure, but he was nice to look at. Very nice.
“Let me help you,” he said. But instead of waiting for me to agree, he scooped me in his arms like I weighed nothing, and I weighed a lot more than nothing. I was five-seven with more ass and tits than I needed, so again, I weighed a lot more than nothing. But the way he carried me up the ravine without breaking a sweat or heaving for air turned me on. Or maybe it was just him. Jag. He smelled like a man. A real man who got his hands dirty and had dirt streaked on his face.
“You smell good.”
He smirked. “You definitely hit your head if you’re giving me a compliment.”
I frowned. “I said you were beautiful.”
Jag let out a snort. “Only because you wanted my dick.”
That made me grin. “It worked. But you are. Beautiful, I mean.” Shit, I did hit my head. And it hurt like a mother fucker.
By the time we got to the road the tow truck had arrived.
“You can ride with me,” he said. He led me to his bike and set me down on a nearby boulder before going to talk to the tow truck guy like I was some little lady who needed to be handled.
“Don’t try to manage me, Jeremiah!” He didn’t respond, and I sat there for what felt like forever and then finally, we were moving. “I could have taken care of that myself.”
“You’re welcome, Vivi,” he called over his shoulder. “Stubborn ass woman.”
Stubborn was a word I’d heard a lot, but most people weren’t as polite as Jag and preferred the word bitch. “I’ll be right back,” I told him when we got to the towing company.
“I don’t think so.” He grabbed my arm. “You may be capable and stubborn and probably deadly, but right now you may be in shock and also have a concussion. I’ll stay close.”
“But I’ll—”
“Handle it,” he finished with a patient smile. “Got it.”
Ugh, why did he have to be devilishly hot but sweet as pie? I couldn’t let those girlhood dreams bubble up just because he was being nice. I still didn’t know the new Jag. “Good.”
At the counter, the guy who’d towed my bike leaned close trying to get a good look at my tits. I didn’t care, as long as he didn’t touch. “Not much I can do tonight but write up a ticket for the tow.”
I nodded and stuck my chest out a little more. “That’s fine, it’s just … do you have any loaner cars here?” His gaze slid down and then with some effort, back up to my face.
“We do but we only issue ’em between eight and seven.” The guy, Dennis his coveralls said, seemed genuinely beat up about it. Probably hoping I’d blow him to get an eighties Corvette or something. “But you can look around a minute and if you find one you like I’ll make sure they hold it for ya.”
“Really?” I leaned forward with a grateful smile as he nodded, his gaze no longer even preten
ding my face held any interest. “Thank you so much, Dennis. I’ll be right back okay?” He nodded, licking his lips and probably doing God only knows what to me in his mind.
“Yeah, sure thing sweetheart.”
I rolled my eyes because old guys like that just couldn’t help themselves. He could jerk off in the shower to my tits while his wife read the latest tie-me-up-and-fuck-me-hard romance novels in the bedroom. It was the least I could do for the institution of marriage.
The loaner lot wasn’t all that big with maybe twenty cars. Most were mid to high range sedans that probably belonged to people with families. And then I saw it, there in the back, the perfect car. An older model Crown Vic, desperately in need of service but still active. It would throw them off my scent and maybe land them in a fuck ton of trouble.
