Rev It Up (22 page)

And all she’d been able to think was,
I’m doomed
.

Here
I
am. Out with a handsome, stable, well-to-do man, and I can barely keep from falling face first into my Paella or else running over and jumping on the lap of the cad sitting at the bar.

There was obviously something really wrong with her.

Because even though she
knew
that a smart woman would look at Dr. Drummond and start salivating over what a fantastic catch he was, even though she
knew
he was exactly the type of man she should want, the exact opposite of her father and Jake, she couldn’t help but glance across the table at his handsome face, perfect teeth, polite conversation and think…

Borrrring.

Where was the drama? The passion? The fire? The romance?

It was at that point in her spinning thoughts when she’d inevitably glance over at Jake and come back to the whole
I’m doomed
thread. Because
there
was the drama and passion and fire and romance. Right there. Sitting at the bar in biker boots, another stupid Hawaiian shirt, and a pair of jeans that made the temperature in the restaurant jump ten degrees.

Every other man in the place was dressed in designer suits that probably cost more than one of her mortgage payments, and
still
Jake managed to outshine them.

How was that possible?

Or maybe it was just her. Maybe she had some sort of strange weakness when it came to the allure of a rough-and-ready alpha male, otherwise known primarily as Mr. Jerkwad. Maybe it was some deep-seated psychosis brought on by her father’s abandonment. Some sort of twisted, perverse Electra complex.

Yep. It’s official folks. I’m a total head case.

Because her big plan to prove to Jake that things were really,
truly
over between them by holding up another man as comparison—a smart, handsome, professional man whom he couldn’t hope to compete with—had blown up in her face like an overcooked microwave dinner.

Bam!

Doomed. That’s all there was to it.

She was
such
a fool…

“The hospital called Chris in,” she told Jake now, squirming against his embrace, but that only made him hold her tighter and her pulse, never steady around him, slammed into overdrive when her hardened nipples brushed his chest.

“Quite a guy you got there,” he said, a sardonic grin tipping his lips, his eyes flashing in the lights of the passing cars. The city was a cacophony of noises around them, but all she heard was his low, sexy voice. “Leaving you to finish dessert by yourself.”

“He had an emergency surgery, you big dolt!” she hissed, then realized she still might be able to salvage this evening and its initial intent. Ignoring the feel of him against her, so large and strong, she smiled and fluttered her lashes. “Oh, did I fail to mention Chris is a surgeon?”

A terribly boring surgeon who any sane girl with half a brain would kill to have.
Ugh!

“Yo, I don’t give a flying fuck if he’s the goddamned president of the United States,” he growled, pulling her closer until the heat from his big body surrounded her, inexplicably causing goose bumps to burst over her skin. “That doesn’t change the fact that you were bored to death.”

Had it been that obvious?

Yep, clearly it had been.
Dangit!

“Fine,” she conceded since there was no use in denying it. He’d see her lie for what it was. “I’ll give you that but—”

“So, if you did this just to make me jealous, sweetheart,” he leaned in close, his nose nearly touching hers, “it worked.”

“I didn’t do it make you jealous!” She jerked out of his embrace and immediately lamented the move when the cool wind whipped around her. “I did it to prove to you, once and for all, that what we had is over.”

“Yeah?” he asked, one brow raised sardonically. She was overcome with the urge to wipe the smirk from his face by smacking him upside the head with her handbag. “And how’d that work out?”

“Oh, what does it matter?” She wrapped her shawl tightly around her shoulders and took a step toward the curb and the waiting taxi. This night couldn’t end soon enough. “The date is over. I’m going home.”

“Not yet.” He grabbed her arm and started herding her down the sidewalk. Pedestrians instinctively gave way to him and female heads turned to watch him walk by.
Ugh!

“What do you mean?” she demanded, yanking on her arm, but he refused to release her.

“I mean, right now you’re coming with me.”

When they stopped beside his motorcycle, parked at an angle on the side of the street, she was finally able to wrench her arm from his grasp.

“I’m not riding that,” she declared, her tone leaving no room for argument. “For one thing, it’s forty-five degrees out here. And for another, I’m wearing a dress.”

By way of answer, he shrugged out of his thick motorcycle jacket and slung it around her shoulders. The heat from his body was caught in the leather along with his warm, clean, beachy smell.

God, help me.
Her entire body tightened in response.

“The skirt you can hike up until we get there,” he said, handing her the helmet he’d draped over a set of sparkling, chrome handlebars.

“I will not!” she huffed. “Even if it wouldn’t be nearly indecent, I can’t travel twenty blocks up to Lincoln Park. I’ll freeze to death before we get there.”

“We’re not going to Lincoln Park. We’re only going as far as Michigan Avenue.”

“Michigan Avenue? What’s on Michigan Avenue?” she asked, eyeing the smooth way he swung a leg over the menacing-looking bike. With its reptilian paint job, studded black leather detailing, chrome exhaust, and vicious, serpent-inspired rims, the motorcycle looked like something you’d see in a fantasy magazine, not something you’d actually
ride
.

“You’ll see,” he told her, scooting up on the seat to give her room.

As if she was really going to mount up behind him. The guy had a wild imagination; she’d give him that.

“I told you I’m not going.”

“You’ll go even if I have to pick you up and set you on the back of Viper myself.”

Viper? It had a name?

Of course it did. Men named
everything
.

“I’d like to see you try,” she crossed her arms. The move was a bit awkward given she was still holding his helmet. “I’m nearly six feet tall. I weigh a lot more than you think.”

A sudden gleam entered his eyes that had her catching her breath. “I didn’t seem to have any problem holding you up against that wall inside the Clover.” Oh my God! Why did he have to bring that up? Now, she fought the urge to cry. “I figure I’ll manage just fine now.” He turned his head to the side and lifted a brow. “Or do you need me to prove it?”

“This is ridiculous.” She shoved the helmet at him, blinking back sudden tears. “I’m hailing a cab and going home.”

“Get. On. The. Bike. Shell,” he grumbled, dipping his chin, glaring at her out from under his sandy brows.

“Get bent, Jake,” she choked, hoping he mistook her anguish for anger.

“Okay,” he sighed, swinging from the back of the bike. “You asked for it.”

He lifted her into his arms as if she weighed nothing.

“Hey!” she squawked, her tears vanishing as she smacked him repeatedly with her beaded clutch. “Put me down, you big jerk!”

Unfortunately, he did as she requested. Only when she landed, inexplicably she was astride the big motorcycle. Before she could hop off, he plopped the helmet on her head, swung onto the bike in front of her, and started it.

Viper came to life with a guttural roar and a chest-shaking vibration. And before she could squeak another word of protest, he gunned it.

***

They were being followed.

Sitting at a stoplight, Jake glanced into Viper’s rearview mirror at the leather-clad man on the motorcycle who was idling two measly cars behind them. The dude had shadowed their every move for the last two blocks, and Jake was going to make for damned sure that behavior ended.

Now.

A burst of welcome adrenaline burned through his veins as he glanced right and left, gauging the cross traffic.

“Hang on,” he gruffly commanded over his shoulder. As soon as he felt Shell’s arms tighten around his waist, he punched it.

Viper roared through the intersection, the cycle’s fat rear tire leaving acrid-smelling rubber in its wake along with the sounds of angry honking and Shell’s shrill squawk of surprise. Blazing down the street like a bat out of hell, he spied a dark alley and quickly hooked a right, darting inside.

“What in the world?” Shell demanded when he toed out Viper’s kickstand and swung off the bike. His boots were barely on the ground before he was bodily lifting her from motorcycle and carting her toward a rusted-out blue and white dumpster.

“We’ve got company,” he explained, dropping her to her feet on the dirty concrete behind the dumpster as he bent and retrieved the Kel-Tec from his ankle holster. Pressing it into her hand, he tried not to die a little bit at the spark of fear that instantly lighted her eyes when she pushed up the visor on his helmet.

God, I hate this…

This fucker, whoever he was, was a dead man. Because no one was allowed to scare Shell, threaten Shell, and live to tell about it. The mere thought spiked his adrenaline to the next level.

“Who—”

“Dunno. I can’t see anything under his helmet and visor. Do you know how to use this one? It’s a little different from the one you have at home,” he said, drawing her attention to the silver pistol in her hand.

“Y-yes,” she breathed, her chest rapidly rising and falling. “Frank makes sure I get to the gun range twice a month, and he’s tested me on multiple sidearms. This is a Kel-Tec, right?”

“Yeah,” he confirmed, checking his clip. “So if this asshole somehow gets the best of me—” Her eyes flew wide. “He won’t,” he assured her. “Remember how I told you I’d never let anything bad happen to you?” She nodded. “Well, I meant it. But if hell suddenly freezes over and the sky falls down and this guy somehow
does
happen to best me, you plug him with this. And don’t shoot him just once. I want you to unload the clip into him, you got that?”

She swallowed jerkily but nodded all the same.

And he couldn’t help himself.

He leaned in and smacked a quick, hard kiss on her fabulous lips before turning and hustling back to the alley’s entrance. Pressing his back against the brick building, he pulled the Glock from his waistband, chambered a round, and waited.

He didn’t have long to wait. The vibrating growl of a V-twin engine sounded out in the street, and a second later the front tire of a custom Harley rolled into the alley. Jake held his breath, focused everything on his next move, and felt his muscles bunch in hungry anticipation of action.

And then, like always, everything slowed.

A motorcycle boot appeared, followed by a jean-clad leg that led up to a thick, black motorcycle jacket. The sight of the black helmet was all Jake had been waiting on. It was his green light to
go!

He hooked an arm around the dude’s neck, instantly clothes-lining him and dragging him from the bike. The motorcycle, now absent a driver, rolled a few feet before teetering precariously and crashing to the alley floor with a loud
bang!

Smashing the cyclist’s back against the building, Jake shoved his forearm up under their would-be assailant’s chin and used his other hand to shove the barrel of his Glock straight into the guy’s gut.

“Who are you?” he demanded in a low roar, feeling for the second time in as many days the sharp teeth of the monster inside him. The thing was gnawing on his backbone, begging to be free.

The dude lifted his hands, and Jake told himself that if the asshole reached for anything other than his helmet, he was going to light him up with lead. As it was, his finger twitched on the trigger.

“Goddamn, man!” the guy said as he pushed off his helmet and let it fall to the ground with an echoing crack. “I…I just wanted to get a look at that paint job. It…it’s totally cherry and—”

“Sonofabitch!” Jake cursed. The kid, yes
kid
—if the fool was over twenty, Jake would eat his shorts—was nothing more than a motorcycle enthusiast. But just to make sure, Jake patted him down. Once he’d assure himself the guy wasn’t packing, he straightened and shoved his Glock back into his waistband.