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Chapter One
Tank
Call me old-fashioned, but when a lady is in trouble, I will always lend a helping hand. That’s how I found myself pulling over for a curvy little beauty and her broken down, battered red pickup truck.
The pale yellow sundress she wore swirled and fluttered around her thighs, tugged tight against her hips by the wind. Holding her floppy straw hat in place with one hand, she stretched her other arm out, phone nestled in her palm, searching for cell service.
On long stretches of highway this deep into Southern California, it was easy to lose reception for hours. And she had a long walk ahead of her in those strappy sandals before she found the nearest town. Maybe another twenty-five, thirty miles or so.
I steered my motorcycle toward the shoulder of the road, coasting to a stop behind her pickup. At the sound of my approaching bike, the woman glanced back at me. She brushed a dark brown curl away from the corner of her mouth and lowered her phone. Now that I was closer, I could see she was younger than I’d originally thought – maybe twenty-four at the most. That would put her nearly twenty years younger than me and if that was the case, I really had to cool my jets here and behave myself.
Even after I cut the engine, I remained on my bike, palms flat against my thighs to show I meant no harm. I was wearing my leather jacket with the Alpha Rider wolf patch over my heart. The fact that I belonged to an MC made some people uneasy. I didn’t want to spook her and start off on the wrong foot so after removing my helmet, I raised a hand in greeting.
“Having car trouble?” I called.
“Flat tire,” she replied. “Nothing I can’t handle.” She gestured to her phone. “Tried to call my parents to let them know I’d be late for family dinner but couldn’t get any service.”
I dismounted my bike, setting my helmet on my seat and taking a few steps closer. After serving ten years as a Marine, and now serving as the Vice President of the Alpha Riders MC, I wasn’t a man people overlooked. I was the big, scary, tattooed guy on a motorcycle that people avoided.
But this fresh-faced, twenty-something beauty didn’t seem jumpy or skittish about my presence. And I couldn’t help noticing that she’d mentioned her parents, rather than a boyfriend or husband which most women used in order to throw a strange man off her scent when he wouldn’t take no for an answer.
“You can’t change a flat tire in that dress,” I said.
The corner of her mouth quirked up – part smile, part challenge.
“I’ve changed a tire in nothing but a bikini and boots before. A dress won’t make a damn bit of difference.”
I hummed a laugh. “Sounds like you’ve got one hell of a story up your sleeve.”
She smiled, full and bright this time. “Boy, do I ever. And I’d bet you like to hear every word of it, too.”
I propped my hand on the side of her truck bed, leaning against it. By this time, we were facing each other. I could see the freckles scattered across her nose and smell the faint sweetness of her perfume.
“Even better,” I said. “I’d like to see you recreate it.”
I guess I wasn’t going to be on my best behavior after all.
Her eyebrows flickered upward in appreciation. So she hadn’t expected that answer and I’d surprised her. Good.
“That was a once-in-a-lifetime occurrence,” she said. “You had to be there if you wanted to appreciate the view.”
This time, it was my turn for my eyebrows to shoot up in surprise.
“You’re not shy, are you?”
She laughed and shook her head.
“Not even a little.”
I held out my hand. “Name’s Tank.”
“Jules.” Her grip was firm but gentle, her skin soft against my calloused fingertips as I shook her hand. She gestured behind me toward my motorcycle. “That’s a nice bike you have there.”
“Didn’t take you for a motorcycle enthusiast,” I replied.
“Because of the sundress? Or the bikini and boots?”
Damn. This woman kept me on my toes and I loved every second of it.
