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The bikers in front of the bar went quiet, turning their heads to stare at us. Lionel marched toward me and grabbed my arm.
“And now you’re causing a scene,” he hissed. “Stop acting like a child. You’re making me look bad.”
My hand itched to slap him. Heat flushed up my neck, but I couldn’t tell if I was mortified or angry. Probably both.
“Is there a problem here?”
My gaze flicked past Lionel’s shoulder. One of the biker’s had approached, standing a few feet away. Two of his buddies lingered by their bikes, clearly paying attention to the situation.
He was a full head taller than me, with a set of broad shoulders, tight black jeans, heavy boots, and piercing gray eyes. The sleeves of his cream-colored Henley were pulled up to expose his forearms, corded with muscle. On the inside of his right forearm, a tattoo peeked out, depicting a bird in mid-flight over an open highway.
In the blink of an eye, Lionel’s scowl turned into a charming smile. I’d seen that smile before but only when other people were around—when he was trying to impress someone, or close a business deal. It was completely, 100% fake.
“Just a little lovers’ spat. Nothing serious.”
His bruising grip on my arm said otherwise. Lionel had never raised a hand to hurt me and he never would. As a model, my body was too exposed on a regular basis for that. If someone saw a mark on me, he would fall under suspicion as my boyfriend.
On top of that, my body was my greatest asset. And money spoke to Lionel more than anything else. So, he wouldn’t damage me like that.
But he would certainly go on a tirade later about how I needed to be a better girlfriend in the future, how I needed to stop embarrassing him in front of other people.
The biker’s gaze shifted toward me. A heartbeat of uncomfortable silence followed. Was he waiting for me to say something?
I could have said,everything is fine,and the situation would be over.
I could have said,he’s right, it’s nothing serious,and the biker would walk away, leaving me stuck, facing the prospect of a boring night with boring Lionel and boring sex.
Instead, I twisted out of Lionel’s grip, ignoring his seething glare. I marched up to the biker and hooked my arm through the crook of his elbow, looking up at him with the biggest doe-eyed, pleading expression I could manage.
“Kiss me.”
The biker’s eyebrows rose an inch with surprise. Otherwise, he kept his expression carefully controlled. To further convince him, I slid my hands inside his leather vest. My palms roamed the broad, firm width of his torso, mapping every inch of rigid muscle I felt beneath the well-worn fabric of his shirt.
I could practicallyfeelLionel’s indignation behind me. In the back of my mind, a small voice whispered,your mother will be furious with you.
I didn’t care.
The biker held my gaze. He cupped my chin in his hand, brushing his thumb over my lower lip.
“Kiss me,” I whispered again.
The words scorched my tongue with desire this time. I wanted it—I wantedhim. This total stranger. I didn’t even know his name but there was a fierce, magnetic pull toward him I’d never felt with anyone else before. He was gorgeous. Forbidden. My mother would never let a good girl like me anywhere near a bad boy like him.
Finally, the biker dipped his head and his lips met mine. As he pressed my mouth open, the slow, sensual glide of his tongue made me moan. My knees turned watery. I curled my fingers into his biceps, holding on for dear life.
For the second time in only a few minutes, I struggled to catch my breath, but I wasn’t suffocating. I never wanted to come up for air—I could drown in this kiss and die a happy girl. I whimpered at the taste of him and the lingering burn of alcohol on his lips. Every nerve in my body felt like it had been hit by a lightning bolt—buzzing with electricity, alive, sizzling.
When the biker broke the kiss, the world seemed to tilt under my feet and Iswayed.
“Whoa,” I rasped.
He caught my elbow with a steadying grip, his fingertips feather-light and gentle. I couldn’t help noticing how different his touch was compared to Lionel’s. Lionel treated me like a wayward possession he had to keep in line. This biker touched me like I was precious.
“He’s gone.”
Blinking, I glanced up, pulled out of my reverie.
“The guy you wanted to ditch,” the biker clarified, tilting his chin. “He left.”
