Slow Heat (44 page)

Zoey got sick every time her father brought it up. Not to mention, he hadn’t stepped foot inside a church her entire life. Well he might have once they moved to Zounds, but then it was only to inform the poor priests that he now owned their church and all tithings would now go to him. Which was fitting. Her father did think he was God.

She walked with her head high down the street, knowing anyone who noticed her hated her instantly for being Cortez’s daughter. She wanted to scream to everyone who looked away when they saw her that she hated him, too.

Especially now. Her father would not shut up about how once she married Hector their marriage would merge two of the largest families and make all of them incredibly rich and unbelievably powerful. He would then pat her on the shoulder and remind her that she would be secure for life. As if she cared a bit for any of his bloodstained money or manipulative power.

Zoey knew what her father did. She knew he was sucking this town dry. And that was simply because it entertained him. Emilio Cortez moved to Zounds ten years ago because it was directly in between San Francisco and Seattle, two cities he held onto by the balls, as he would put it. Zounds was the perfect place for him to hide from all of the criminal activity he oversaw in both of the large cities.

When she reached the other end of downtown, Zoey turned toward the library where she’d parked her car. Zounds wasn’t big enough for her to entertain herself that well. But since her father ruled over her as cruelly as he did the town, his staff, and the many other employees underneath him, Zoey wasn’t allowed to leave town. She seriously jonesed for a large shopping mall or a movie theater that showed more than two movies at any given time. Or a classy restaurant with a classy man at her side.

Images of the man on the motorcycle, the Harley Davidson, popped into her mind. He had looked tall, which meant he probably wouldn’t look twice at someone as short as her. She’d reached five feet and two inches by the eighth grade and had never grown another inch. Even in her three-inch heels that clicked against the paved sidewalk, Zoey barely hit five feet and five inches.

The man on the Harley had to be at least six feet tall. He’d ridden around the courtyard in front of the bookstore long enough for Zoey to get a pretty good look at him. His helmet had covered his face, but she had almost hyperventilated over all of that packed muscle under his T-shirt. He might have been riding for a while because his shirt clung to him, as did his faded jeans.

She slowed when she reached the library, which was on the opposite side of the street. Zoey didn’t cross the street though, but stared straight ahead. The bed and breakfast was on the corner in one of the town’s historical Victorian homes. A blond man relaxed on the front steps that led up to the wide, long front porch. Zoey came to a complete stop when she was sure he was looking right at her.

The man was too far away to see the color of his eyes but they were light. And they pierced right through her. Zoey wasn’t sure she could have moved if she’d tried. At the moment though, she wasn’t thinking about walking. She was trying to remember how to breathe.

He was gorgeous, absolutely sinfully perfect. Her mouth went dry staring at him. Her heart began pounding too hard in her chest. She felt her breasts swell and her nipples harden. They pressed against her low-cut silk bra and itched painfully. It was all she could do not to twist, or fidget, anything to relieve the sudden pressure that built inside her until it sank deep between her legs.

Suddenly the man stood. It was a lazy movement, and Zoey caught herself tilting her head and admiring his lethal body as he pushed away from the steps and straightened. He tugged on his T-shirt, making it stretch over too many rippling muscles. Then he was walking toward her.

Zoey suddenly came to her senses. She couldn’t be talking to some stranger passing through town. There were eyes everywhere. She knew this to be true. If she even had a polite conversation with this man, her father would hear about it. If not tonight, soon. He would chastise her, lock her in her room, or force one of his thugs to escort her around town until she remembered how to behave as a Cortez should.

“How’s it going?” he asked before he reached her.

Why did he have to speak to her? Her pride and self-esteem had been thrashed by this town as long as she’d lived here. Damn her father! She wouldn’t be rude.

“Fine,” she said, glancing at him, and then caught herself staring at a rippling six-pack as it pressed against his shirt.

Polite or not, she wouldn’t stand and gawk and pray he continued to speak to her. She turned to cross the street. He held out his hand and for a moment it looked like he would grab her arm.

“Don’t walk away now.” He didn’t touch her but simply raised his hand to detain her, then dropped it to his side. “You noticed me staring at you and I couldn’t help seeing that you were staring back at me.”

“Of course I was,” she said curtly, and didn’t look up so he wouldn’t see her burning cheeks. “You were looking right at me and I thought maybe I knew you.”

She again tried crossing the street. This time Zoey walked into a rock-hard muscular arm. She looked at the taut, well-formed muscles in his forearm and bicep as she took a step backward, and almost began drooling. Zoey bet every inch of him was packed as hard as steel. Every inch of him.

“My name is Ben,” he said hurriedly. “Don’t run off. I don’t know anyone here.”

A thought hit her and she almost choked from the truth that might be in it.

“Why are you here?” she demanded, facing him and this time looking up at him. “Why do you want to talk to me?”

If he even indirectly mentioned her father, she was bolting across the street. It would be just her luck for the sexiest man alive to be talking to her because she was Emilio Cortez’s daughter.

“Looking for work.” His light blue eyes were clear and alert as he stared down at her.

“What kind of work?” Zoey asked, not yet convinced that he wasn’t here because her father had brought him here. Or worse yet, because he was after her father.

“I can do anything, pretty much. But hunting, trapping,” he told her, his eyes lowering and taking in her body as he spoke. They were back on her face when he finished. “I’m at home doing those sorts of things. But like I said, any kind of work as long as it pays a fair wage.”

“Good luck with your job hunting,” she said, smiling. Zoey didn’t want to tell him that finding a job in Zounds would be hard as hell to do, unless the job was with her father.

“I was sitting on those porch steps thinking about wandering around, getting a feel of the town. It would be perfect if someone who lived here gave me a tour.”

“It’s just about dark,” she pointed out. “You wouldn’t get a good view of the town.”

Ben was by far the best-looking man she’d ever laid eyes on. There wasn’t a man in Zounds, single or otherwise, who compared to him. Zoey hastily pointed out to herself that he probably would have asked anyone who came along to give him advice on the town. If they talked to him as she had, he might have asked for a tour. He was a man, just like her father’s thugs, his accountants, his business partners, and gave her an appraising once-over like all the rest. None of the men on her dad’s payroll looked like this, though.

“You’re right, of course,” he said.

For a moment she thought he’d responded to her thoughts, which was ridiculous.

“How about a ride?” he asked.

“A ride?” Zoey looked up at him, and a slow, lazy smile appeared on his lips. She wasn’t convinced yet that Ben wasn’t on her father’s payroll, or trying to be. But wouldn’t it be scandalously wonderful to spend time with someone who had absolutely no ties, voluntary or otherwise, to her dad?

“Stay right here,” he ordered, pointing at her before turning and jogging back toward the bed and breakfast.

Every inch of her demanded she march across the street to the library and get in her car. She might have actually done that, but she was mesmerized staring after Ben as he jogged away from her. He didn’t look like any jogger she’d ever seen. His legs were thick with muscles that pressed against his blue jeans. And his ass, holy crap! Buns of steel was just too cliché—an overused expression. There wasn’t anything cliché about his ass.

For the most part guys’ asses had never been her favorite part of the male anatomy. Zoey would have to say a hard cock was her favorite part of a man’s body. But while dressed, and if she hadn’t had the pleasure of seeing that guy’s dick, she definitely wouldn’t think of his ass as being the part of him she would drool over. If asked, Zoey would have to say the chest appealed to her the most. If a guy had a broad, muscular chest, it caught her eye every time.

She continued staring, lost in the perfect formation of his body. Ben didn’t really jog, she decided. He ran slowly, like a dangerous beast, content with his surroundings already, and satisfied that anything in his way would move so he could reach his destination. That level of raw, carnal confidence appealed to her as much as his perfect body did.

“Shit!” she hissed.

When he disappeared from sight, Zoey scowled at the sidewalk, trying to shake sense back into her head. No way would she be allured by a man she didn’t know. And in spite of physical perfection and an incredible awareness of self-confidence, she didn’t know anything about this man. Her attention shot to the bed and breakfast when the sound of a motorcycle starting up grabbed her attention. She couldn’t go riding with Ben on a motorcycle. Why hadn’t she been thinking? When he said a ride, of course he had meant on a bike. She’d seen him on it earlier.

The thought of being on that large, rumbling bike that she’d seen Ben on when she’d been at the bookstore immediately had her trembling with need. Not just wet between her legs. And not just feeling her breasts swell as lust created a feverish desire inside her. But a full-blown tsunami-strength wave of passion that ripped her entire body open.

Ben revved his bike and she swore she felt the vibration in the sidewalk as it seared up her body. There was no way she could do this. Even if she wanted to, and God, she wanted to, taking off with a strange man on his motorcycle was absolutely insane. Beyond the obvious, her father would have her head if she were seen in the company of another man when she was supposedly engaged.

Zoey darted across the street. Her car was one of only a few left in the library parking lot. She slowed when she neared it, but her timing was off. Ben entered the parking lot and slowed his bike, then came to a stop in front of Zoey.

“Get on,” he instructed.

“I don’t think so.” She shook her head. “I don’t think this is a good idea.”

“I do.” He did sound sure of himself. “I only have one problem.”

“What’s that?”

“I don’t know your name.”

“Zoey Cortez.” Zoey watched for his reaction.

“Well, Miss Cortez,” Ben began and pushed down the kickstand to the large, rumbling bike and climbed off it.

Zoey was entranced by his long, powerful-looking legs. There were roped muscles pressing against his blue jeans and they flexed in his thighs and just above his knees as he agilely slipped off the bike and faced her. She bet if he weren’t wearing his jeans, his legs would be covered with a thin spread of hair. A man as rough and tough-looking as Ben probably would have a scar, or two. Her gaze raised slightly when she tried picturing his flat stomach. But she didn’t look that high up his body. Her view got locked on the slight bulge in his pants.

Before she let her mind wander down dangerous territory, Ben grabbed her by the waist and lifted her into the air.

“Oh God!” Zoey cried out, immediately clutching his tan arms.

“Spread your legs,” Ben instructed, his voice soft and so calm-sounding.

“What?” she gasped. It was more like a yelp—a very unladylike yelp.

Ben didn’t ask but gripped her under her arms.

“Wait! Oh my God!” Zoey would have screamed. It was right there in her throat ready to come out. But instead she clipped out an, “Oh!” when he placed her on the back half of the long, wide leather seat on his motorcycle.

Instantly, she felt the vibration of the motor between her legs. Then Ben raised his leg and straddled his bike once again. He situated himself in front of her, which basically meant her crotch was pressed against his ass and her inner thighs rubbed against his outer thighs.

“Put this on,” he instructed, handing her a black helmet.

Zoey took the helmet. She slipped it over her head just as he pulled the bike around and left the parking lot.

“This is kidnapping,” she yelled over the loud motor.

“Oh?” Ben slowed instantly and began crawling down Summer Street, the main street running downtown. “Want me to go back?”

Zoey wanted to bury her head in his back. It wouldn’t do any good. Most shoppers had headed home for the evening. But the slower he drove, the easier it was for anyone to glance up, check out the new guy in town, and wonder what the hell Zoey Cortez was doing on the back of his bike. Her father might very well already be getting a call.

There was a mixed blessing in that. He would be pissed, beyond livid. And there wouldn’t be a damn thing he could do about it. At the same time, his temper was nothing to take lightly. He’d never physically hit her. It wouldn’t do to bruise her body. But her father had many other ways to make her feel just as beaten.

“No,” she yelled over his shoulder, which she was able to do only because her part of the seat was noticeably higher than his. “Just keep in mind everyone knows me in this town and you just paraded us through downtown. So don’t even think…”

His laughter cut her off. “You’re in the most trustworthy hands in the state of California.”

She prayed he was right. For once, she would take a walk on the wild side, or make that a ride on the wild side. She was doing something because she wanted to do it. It was daring, spontaneous, and dangerous. And she prayed she wasn’t making the worst decision of her life.