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She squealed prettily as he set her on the seat, her short black skirt sliding up her thighs. She widened her legs to push it higher and the sight of her black heels rested against his motorcycle had the blood rushing to his ears.
“You can rest those heels here, Sugar,” he said, cupping her calves in his hands. He rested one on the frame of the bike and the other on the top split of the exhaust pipe.
“I’ve always had a thing for motorcycles,” she murmured appreciatively. But while her hands stroked the seat and the smooth gas tank, her eyes were all over him.
“Just motorcycles?” he asked, moving into the V between her legs. He widened his stance so his jeans brushed her legs.
Her eyebrow arched, and she licked her lips.
“Maybe men who ride motorcycles, too. Maybe bad boys who look like they belong to a club,” she said.
Fuck, he loved her velvety, teasing voice. She was danger in the best way.
It was hard to look away from her eyes, the dark swoop of eyeliner enhancing their green glow. But he saw a delicate swirl of ink just peeping out of the low neck of her dress, and he wondered what it was.
“What’s this?” he asked, lifting his hand to trace a rough, blunt finger on the graceful line. Her skin was warm.
She tipped her head away and tugged her top aside, exposing the full tattoo.
The first thing he noticed was the strange raised hump of the bone, followed by the white scar of stitches. Sitting at the top, where the stitches ended, was an inked spool of thread. The thread criss-crossed the scar, ending in a wide swirl at the base of it—the part he’d glimpsed. The thread curved back up to a deadly looking needle that was poised near the middle of the scar.
“That looks like a story that needs to be told,” he murmured, running his finger from the bottom inked thread and along the unnatural ridge.
“It’s quite a story, but not for tonight,” she agreed, then tugged the top right off her shoulder. “There are other things I have in mind.”
“Other things,” he echoed, then realized she wasn’t hopping off the bike but settling more on it. “You mean other things… right here?”
“Yeah.”
“In the alley. In front of anyone who might walk by,” he murmured, looking behind him.
The parlor wasn’t in an especially busy part of Seattle, but it was Friday night and where there were tattoo shops, there were usually bars.
“So? Not up to performing when people are around?” she taunted in her sexy voice.
“Easy for you to say. You’re on the receiving end.”
“I don’t have to be,” she said, then her lips rounded into the hottest pout he’d ever seen. “I’ve been told I’m pretty good at giving.”
“I’ve been told the same,” he murmured, setting his hands on her thighs, half on and half off her skirt.
“Oh, yeah?” she asked, but he could see the scorn in her eyes.
That didn’t bother him. All women doubted until he had his mouth on them.
“Yeah,” he said.
He reached to the rear of the bike where he’d stored his chaps. He popped closure open and hauled one out, laying it on the ground.
“You’re not kidding,” she said, suddenly looking uncertain as he kneeled on the leather.
His back went rigid.
He should have figured someone who looked like her would be all talk.
“Hey, if you can’t handle me, that’s fine,” he said, ready to stand and walk away. He hated teases. But though he was fine with just walking away, something about her made him want to push. Made him want to coax her into changing her mind.
Her expression changed from uncertain to… anticipatory disbelief, was the best way he could describe it. And the anticipation part punched his heart into a faster beat.
