The Biker's Wench (2 page)

Monica froze when someone rapped on her door. She'd seen the two big men go after Braden - had he somehow slipped past them and back into the ranch? He wouldn't know her room number though. That meant it had to either be Mavis from the saloon or that biker - Harley. A thrill ran under her skin as she remembered his warm, solid touch and that earthy, all male scent that had enveloped her as he pulled her close. Now that was a man a girl could fall hard for, if she was looking.

Which she wasn't, of course.
She tossed the last few items of clothing into her bag, trying to ignore the fact that he was probably standing outside her door at that moment, looking all rough-and-tumble sexy in biker gear. It probably wasn't the real him anyway. That was the whole point of Fantasy Ranch. She wondered what he was like when he wasn't working. He'd said he was the owner, and an image of him in a suit and tie popped into her head as she zipped her bag closed. No doubt about it, she thought, grinning. That man would look hot no matter what he was wearing. It had clearly been too long since she'd gotten laid.
"Monica - it's Harley. I know you're in there, I can hear you moving around. Open the door. I've got a proposition for you."
She paused, her hand on the doorknob. It didn't matter what he had in mind. Now that Braden had found her it was only a matter of time before her father knew where she was, and either sent reinforcements or came to get her himself. She had to leave, tonight if possible, and get as far away as she could before morning. The one thing she didn't have was transportation, and maybe if she explained Harley could arrange for her to get a lift into town. Bad as it was having to ask, she hadn't been around long enough to make any friends, and he seemed to be in a helpful mood. She took a breath, let it out slowly, and steeled herself against the desire already building deep within as she opened the door.
There was no way to prepare for how the sight of him under the fluorescent hall lights did funny things to her stomach. This time she could see the way his jeans fit like a second skin, the planes of his muscles under the tight black t-shirt that peeked out from his worn leather jacket, and the piercing blue eyes that pinned her in place under his stare. She'd been wrong. No way in hell would this man ever wear a suit.
"Can I come in?" That low, raw voice sent shivers up her spin as she stepped back, gesturing for him to enter. She tried to remember what it was she wanted to say, but her mind was curiously blank. Her body was humming though, a low throb of need that radiated out from her core and made her want to tear off her clothes and offer him anything he wanted.
Instead she sat in a chair across from where he'd settled on the couch, and mentally chastised herself for not staying focused. "Thanks for helping me out back there - I appreciate it. But I really do have to get going," she said, thankful that her voice sounded mostly normal. "Braden, the man you kicked out - he'll be back for me, probably with my father's men. They're mad because I won't play their little business merger game, and I'm sorry I got you involved. If you could just have someone give me a ride--"
Harley held up one hand. "Whoa there, slow down. It's Monica, right?"
"Monica Burns," she replied, dropping her gaze to stare at his black leather boots. "Though I suppose I'll have to change that too. It's the only thing I haven't left behind yet."
"Your choice," he said, bringing her attention back to his face. She could see him thinking, assessing as he looked at her, it was an unsettling feeling. "But if we're gonna get hitched, might be more convincing if we have the same last name."

The silence stretched thick between them as the clock on the wall faithfully ticked off the seconds. Monica tried to comprehend what he'd just said, but she couldn't have heard him correctly. He did not just tell her they were getting married. He didn't look stupid. She narrowed her eyes, searching his face for any sign of mirth and finding none.

It was way past time for her to go. She swallowed hard. "I think I heard you wrong. I'm sure I did. But I really do have to go, so if you could just..." she stood, picking her duffel up off the floor and tossing it over her shoulder as she turned to reach for the door. But instead of cool metal, her fingers closed around hot, leathery skin, and she jumped back as if burned. "What the hell?"

Harley was standing in front of the door, blocking her path. "Just hear me out," he said, crossing his arms over that broad chest. His spicy-sweet scent was hypnotizing at this range and she stepped back, trying to regain some semblance of free thought that didn't involve jumping his bones. Why was he so irresistible? She dropped down to sit on the bed, trying to decide if maybe it wasn't worth a quick roll in the covers to get him out of her system before she moved on. Glancing up, she noticed those incredible lips were moving again, and tried to tune in.

"--so I figure if we get married, those women will stop trying to sue me for everything I'm worth, and your dad and his pansy-ass hotshot there won't be able to do anything to you. We stay married for a year, then part amicably."

He paused, uncrossing his arms to push his thumbs into the front pocket of his jeans, leaving his fingers to frame the prominent bulge in front. Well-endowed might be an understatement in this case. Monica tore her gaze away, forcing herself to look back up as the heat rose in her cheeks. Surely he hadn't missed the direction her thoughts were wandering. Most men would be flattered.

"So if I've got this straight, you think that since my father wants to force me to marry his guy, I'll jump at the chance to get them both off my back by marrying some guy I just met instead." She shook her head, curling her hands into the bedspread to keep them from forming fists. "I'm not stupid, and I don't want to marry anyone. What's in it for you?" He opened his mouth, but she held up one finger. "Aside from side stepping annoying palimony suits from your groupies, I mean. Maybe you should just try keeping it in your pants for awhile. Easier than marrying me, and women are less likely to sue if you're not screwing them over."

Her pulse raced as he pushed off the wall and stalked over to stand in front of her. Perhaps that last comment hadn't been such a good idea. Unfortunately now his waist and everything just below - was right at eye level. She licked her lips and scooted farther back on the bed to look up at him, her stomach fluttering. He braced a hand on either side of her, his face stopping just inches from hers as his heat surrounded her. He glanced at her mouth and for a moment she thought those gorgeous full lips would settle over hers. Then his eyes were on hers again and she nearly gasped at the anger and frustration they held.

"I plan to do just that. Which is exactly why this marriage will work for both of us, and why you need to stop looking at me like that." He pushed back, standing to pace in front of the bed as she willed her heart to slow down. Leave it to a guy to make no sense at all.

She shook her head. "I'm confused - how is getting married going to help you not get laid? Unless..." She paused, his meaning becoming clear. "Oh. You want a marriage but no sex." She considered that for a moment while he sank down into the chair by the door. She frowned. "Why would you do that? Are you gay?"

"No." He rubbed his neck with one hand, his gaze on the floor. "Some news rag got a hold of my financial statements last year and published them in an article calling me the most eligible rich guy in the area - all bullshit. But now because of that article, women throw themselves at me all the time trying to get my money. The last one's husband actually told her to seduce me and then claimed I forced her. My life's been hell since that article and the lawyers say it will help if I get married." He exhaled a long, slow, resigned breath. "All I need from you is just to pretend like you're madly in love with me so other women know I'm off limits." He looked up, tilting his head thoughtfully. "I'll pay you. I'll still help you get your old man and that other dude off your back, but I'll pay you to be legally married to me for one year. My secretary says she might as well be my wife, and she gets forty thousand a year - is that enough?"

Monica's eyes grew wide at the sum. "You want to pay me forty thousand dollars. For a marriage with no sex. And you'll help me deal with my family issues." She rubbed her face with her hands and sighed, a sound of disbelief and resignation. Harley sat forward, resting his elbows on his knees. He was confused at her hesitation. She had a big problem, and he could solve it. He'd never understand why women made everything so complicated.

"Just think of it as a promotion," he said, grinning as he looked pointedly at the costume she still wore. "You're already an employee here. Instead of being a saloon girl, you can consider yourself my personal wench for the next year."

He watched as her face turned bright red. She stood and slung her bag over her slender shoulder with so much force it nearly spun her around. "I am no one's wench," she said, her voice shaking. "And the whole point of my being here was to avoid getting married, so the fact that you would even ask..." She stomped over to the door and twisted the knob, nearly bashing his head with her bag as she flung the door open. "You men are all alike, you know that? A woman should have a choice in these things, and I'll be damned if I'm going to marry you or anyone else. And you can take your money and burn it for all I care. I'm outta here." She stepped into the hall and slammed the door shut behind her. Harley winced.

"That could have gone better," he mused as he got to his feet. He made sure the lock still worked, then secured the door behind him as he jogged down the hall. It probably wasn't a good idea to follow her, but something told him this wasn't over yet. At the very least she still needed a ride into town. Maybe a little wind in her hair would calm her down.
Not that she isn’t stunning when she’s all riled up
. He spotted her walking under a street light half way to the front gate. Those big brown eyes flashed fire when she was mad, and her skin flushed such a pretty pink hue. He wondered if she’d look that way underneath him in bed, not that he would ever find out.

He stopped long enough to make sure there was a spare helmet on his bike, and straddled the big machine, firing up the engine with a roar. Unless he had completely misread Monica Burns, she wouldn't be able to resist a ride on nearly eight hundred pounds of chrome and steel. The woman was all fire and heat, and his crotch tightened at the thought of her taking him out for a ride. Probably just as well she'd turned him down. He wasn't at all sure he'd be able to keep his hands off her if they were together night and day.

He pulled up ahead of her as she walked, shutting the bike down so she could hear him. "At least let me give you a ride into town." He held out the spare helmet, watching the emotions play across her face as she considered his offer. She was still upset, but he saw her take in the lines of the bike, her eyes following the ice blue flames along the side, the shiny chrome fenders, and finally back up over the black leather seat. His cock twitched at her open admiration. There wasn’t anything as sexy as a chick ogling his bike. Unless she was ogling him, of course, like she had back in her room. It had been all he could do to keep from taking her right then and there. "Come on, Monica. I won't bite." He winked, pleased at the way her breath hitched a little at his words. She moved forward, slowly to take the helmet.

"What about my bag?" Her voice was husky and seductive; though he was sure she hadn't intended it to be. Ignoring the instinct to toss her over his shoulder and carry her back to his place, he took the bag from her and strapped it onto the carry rack, then swung his leg over again. She pulled the helmet over her head, struggling a little to get it situated, then walked over to swing up behind him.

"Ever ridden before?" he asked, feeling her hands just barely touch his sides. She held herself rigid as he kicked up the stand, and he anticipated how it would feel when she was pressed fully against him.

"No."
He chuckled, reaching back to pull her arms tighter around him. He could feel her trembling as she settled tighter against him, still stiff as a board. "Hang on, honey. You're

gonna love this." He turned the key and she automatically locked her arms fully around him, her breasts pressing into his back and her legs snug around him. God she felt good. He drove out onto the highway and opened up the throttle, speeding down the open road. It wasn't long before she melted against him, her body moving in perfect time with his as they turned a wide corner and crested a small hill. The lights of Reno twinkled brightly in the distance, and he eased back on the throttle as they passed a cop car sitting in the barrow pit. A quarter mile down the road, red and blue lights were flashing behind them.

Monica reluctantly loosened her grip as Harley pushed his helmet off, peeling her body away from his back, trying to ignore the keen sense of loss that followed. She'd never dreamed that riding a motorcycle could be so exhilarating, so...sensual. Even now her core was still fitted tightly to his backside, her thighs wrapped tightly around his, and when she moved to slide back, his hand locked down on her leg, firmly but gently holding her in place.

"Just sit tight. This shouldn't take long." His grip turned to a caress, sending tingling electrical pulses up her leg to her hips as a uniformed officer approached from the side.
"Evening, Harley. Nice night for a ride."
Harley gave a curt nod. "Sure is. Something wrong, Kurt? I'm pretty sure I wasn't speeding."
"No, no you weren't." He shined his flashlight up to peer at Monica's helmet. She turned away from the brightness. "Ma'am, I'll need to you to take that off, please."
She struggled to get free, finally finding the right angle to pull the molded headgear off. Holding it awkwardly under one arm, she brushed her tangled hair out of her face, holding up a hand to shield her eyes from the light.
"That's her!"
She whipped her head around at Braden's voice, instinctively holding tighter to Harley as she watched her nemesis run over from the police car. He stopped by the officer, panting at the effort of running ten whole feet. What had Harley called him? Pansy-ass. Right. She worked to keep a smile off her face as a warm hand squeezed her thigh.
"This guy says you kidnapped his fiancée," Kurt said, tilting his head at Harley. "I thought you were gonna stay away from the ladies for awhile after that last rape charge."
Between her legs, Monica could feel his hips and legs stiffen up. "Jury found me innocent, you know that. Monica's with me of her own free will, isn't that right?"
"Yes." She swallowed, fear coursing under her skin. She'd never meant for anyone to get hurt, and now this man was being forced back into a nightmare because of her. She had to make sure he didn't pay for her decisions. "Braden's been stalking me. He's the one you should be questioning. He followed me all the way from Chicago."
The officer glanced at Braden, then back to Monica. "That doesn't explain why your father filed a missing persons report two months ago. He's been looking for you for awhile now. Most people don't just run off like that unless something's wrong."
"I--" Monica started to tell the story, then remembered the last time she'd told the authorities anything. Her father had retaliated by insisting she wasn't in her right mind and that she needed psychiatric help. It had taken a lot of talking and a midnight bus ticket to get out of that mess. Harley's fingers rubbed her leg, returning her to the present.
"She came out to meet me," he said, deliberately reaching back to lace his fingers with hers. The contact was soothing, and she hung on, listening to his mellow voice as he continued. "We met over the internet, and fell in love. I asked her to marry me tonight." He glanced back over his shoulder, his warm eyes locking with hers in a silent plea. "Tell them your answer, honey."
She hesitated. He was giving her a choice. Either take his deal, or take her chances with the police. As far as she could tell, there wasn't really a third option available, and she started trembling, knowing she was trapped either way. He squeezed her hand tight and released it, along with his gaze as he faced Kurt again. He took a breath, as if he were about to speak.
"Yes," she blurted out, her voice ringing louder than she'd intended. "I mean, yes, we're getting married." Heat suffused through her as Harley's hand caressed her thigh, and she was sure her face was beet red. Braden kicked a rock hard, sending it flying out into the desert.
"I don't believe it. You're lying," he yelled, pointing his finger at Harley. "You put her up to this, you bastard. Arrest him, officer. She belongs to me."
"I don't belong to anyone," Monica said, irked at the implication. "I'm marrying Harley because we're in love. That's all you need to know." She flinched as Harley reached down and grabbed one foot, pulling it up over his lap. He twisted and grasped her waist, then swung her around before she could protest so she was straddling his legs, tight against his arousal. He guided her arms up around his neck, and she hung on, if for no other reason than she felt like she'd fall over backwards at any second.
He stared into her eyes, his lips curved into a wicked grin. "She belongs
with
me," he growled, the sexy timbre sending a flood of moisture between her legs as he covered her mouth in a searing kiss.