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I pushed off without warning and pedaled hard. I held on tightly to the handlebars and felt a sharp high as the breeze sifted through my hair. Overconfident, I failed to balance and I fell on my side the first ten seconds then cradled my arm that was full of embedded rocks.
“Shit,” I heard behind me. “I told you I would hold on.” I turned to admit defeat, but Laz simply wiped the dust off of me and picked up the bike. “Get back on.”
“No,” I said quickly. My arm was burning, and I was sure I was bleeding.
“Hmph,” he said defiantly. “Didn’t picture you as a chicken shit. It’s a scratch, Red. You want to ride a bike, here’s your chance.” I didn’t need to look at him to see he was disappointed. I was crushed. Taking a deep breath, I made my decision and reseated on the bike.
I didn’t wait for Laz to react and took off again on my own, but before I could get my first push out, Laz stopped me by gripping the bars and the back of my seat.
“Hardheaded or stupid, you can’t be both,” he snapped. “Hardheaded will get you your way sometimes, but stupid will get you hurt. Which one are you?”
Without hesitation, I answered. “Hardheaded.” Smiling into the darkness, I pushed hard on the pedal, ripping myself from his grip. That time I made it almost thirty seconds before falling, but when I got back up, I made it to the end of the road. I didn’t need to see Laz’s face or even hear his congratulations to know somewhere at the opposite of the dark road he was smiling.
Jumping in my seat at the horn incessantly sounding behind me, I turned onto the highway as the car blew past me, still blaring their horn with a friendly one-finger salute. I shook thoughts away of anything Lazarus, but not before I noted that I was no longer just dreaming about him. He was in my thoughts again, invading my days. I turned the radio up and stopped at the next light, adjusting the rearview toward me, expecting to see the bleach covered eleven year old with bright, frizzy red hair. The woman in front of me was perfectly put together, her now dark auburn hair sleekly knotted at the top of her head, perfectly applied lipstick, and aviator shades covered any telltale sign of her age.
I’m not there and he’s not here.
Irony struck then as a biker crossed the walk in front of me. Deciding I needed a drink as the sun faded, I turned into my condo, prepared to dine seaside and quench my thirst. Walking into my home, I set my alarm and, out of new habit, watched as it remained armed. Two steps into my living room, I froze as the hair on the back of my neck stood at attention. It was too late for me to get out of the condo. I lunged for my curio cabinet, taking out my .38mm. It wasn’t my gun of choice, but it would do in a pinch. I crept toward my bedroom, my cellphone in hand as I surveyed the house. If someone was waiting for me, they were awar
e I was here. Creeping closer toward my bedroom, I stopped at the sound of water falling.
The shower.
It was probably a distraction. Turning quickly into my bedroom, prepared to shoot and ask questions later, I saw it was clear and nearly jumped out of my skin when I heard the voice.
“If you are going to use the .38 on me, you might want to make sure your aim isn’t off. Bullet wounds just anger me. It would be wise to believe you like me angry.”
I noted the suitcase next to my nightstand and sighed in relief as I let the gun trail to my hip then turned to see the source of the noise, gloriously naked through the shower glass. Putting the gun on the counter, I crossed my arms.
“You will not figure it out, so do not try,” he mused, his beautiful ass on full display as he soaped his hands and I fumed over his security breach. “Though I must tell you, it took me some time to get through this new one,” he murmured, crossing his hands over his chest to his thick arms to rinse the soap away. The man was huge and on full display. I could see every indention, every perfect, God-given carving on the surface of him. I was entranced at the hard muscles of his back, his full rounded tight ass, thick thighs and the deep crease of his muscled calves. “Have you been well?” He turned to me with a dazzling white smile, the water running through his dark hair and outlining his exotic features so beautifully I had to fight to keep my wits about me.
“Last time I spoke, I scared you away. You sure you won’t take offense to anything I say?” I smarted, giving him attitude. An attitude I swore I would try to keep in check the next time one or both of us was naked and in close proximity.
Fear was something I held onto dearly to protect and remind myself that I was still alive, and yet even with a second security breach, it struck me I wasn’t afraid of him.
“You should be afraid,” he said smoothly as I let my eyes wander to where his hands roamed.
“Get out of my head, Jesus,” I pleaded, throwing my shades on the counter. I waited patiently for him to speak as he turned off the water and stepped out of the shower, the scent of his soap and steam wafting through the air. Sex clenching, he moved past me to grab a towel, and I moved aside.
My mouth refused to keep its words. “Clearly you enjoy seeing me irritated.”
“Women always play—” he furrowed his brows, thinking of the right word “—dumb to what they agree to with a cock buried deep inside of them,” he mused, wiping his chest then starting on his legs.
“I know nothing about you.” Digging in, I stood my ground. “I’m fine with your damn rules, but this is an invasion of privacy.”
“You have three more guns in the house,” he said without hesitation. “I am a man who has to be aware of his surroundings. That is not something I am willing to stay curious about.”
“Ask,” I hissed as he pushed past me, wrapping the towel around his waist.
“It is not that simple, Taylor.” He lifted his suitcase from the floor and opened it, pulling on jeans and a T-shirt. He looked up at me. “Your dress will do.”
Raising my brow, I turned my head in a come again gesture. Daniello nodded toward me. “Your clothes…they will do.”
“Oh, thank you,” I said, using my southern accent heavily as I placed my hand on my chest.
He put his hands on his hips to mock me. It looked ridiculous, and I couldn’t help the small laugh that escaped me. He smiled and took my breath. “I’m guessing bitchy doesn’t look good on me, either.” I narrowed my eyes as his smile deepened. “I could still grab that gun and piss you off,” I mused, unable to stop the grin that crept across my face.
“You could, but would you not rather find out what I have planned for you tonight?” His accent was so thick, his voice deep. This strange, beautiful, foreign man was tickling my senses, dizzying me and making my heart beat a little faster. So, without hesitation, I answered, “Yes.”
