The Devil and Ms. Moody (4 page)

He held out his hand.

After a lifetime’s prudence—and a moment’s indecision—she took it.

Once she’d gotten the hang of the curves, the remainder of the ride down the mountain was one of the most exhilarating experiences of Edwina’s twenty-six-year-old life. She’d never been a risk taker in the reckless sense, but there was nothing else to call jumping on a Harley-Davidson motorcycle with a stranger in black leather. It was a risk, and somehow that made every second of the ride more breathtaking. Adrenaline flowed in her veins.

She kept her head up and her eyes open this time. Her body absorbed the motorcycle’s grinding velocity and its reverberating power, loving the speed, though the fear never left her. And finally, high on the adrenaline, she pulled the rubber band off her ponytail and let her hair fly free the way his did.

Only his naked stomach remained a troublesome issue. She couldn’t get used to the way muscles rippled and flexed under her fingers when he moved. Even when he didn’t move! She certainly didn’t have the option of placing her hands higher, or lower.

“We’re ten minutes away,” he called back to her.

Ten minutes? Where had the time gone? Edwina felt a certain disappointment in knowing the ride was nearly over. But it was quickly replaced by a growing sense of purpose. She had a missing heir to find, and the man she was hanging onto might be able to help.
If
she could collect her wits and think of a way to pitch the idea to him.

When they rolled up to her hotel a few minutes later, she slid off the bike quickly before he could dismount.

“Thanks for the lift,” she said, smiling as she fingered the chrome on the handlebars. She’d always been abominably bad at flirting, but her femaleness was the only bargaining chip she thought he might respond to.

“No problem,” he said.

“And for showing me how to drive your bike.”

“No problem.”

She stopped fingering the handlebars and met his curious emerald gaze.

He leaned back casually, continuing to observe her as he propped his boot on the handlebars and flicked back his long black hair with a toss of his head.

Mr. Easy Rider, Edwina thought. Sexy. Cocky. A man with the kind of inborn arrogance that women loved. Probably had to beat them off with a stick.

“Will you come up to my room?” she asked.

“Your room?”

“Yes, I have a proposition to make you.”

“What’s your name?” she asked, stationing herself at a balcony window across the small hotel room from him.

“Is it relevant?” He shut the door behind him and leaned against the doorframe, looking indolent and intimidating all at once.

“The barmaid at Blackie’s called you Diablo.”

“I’ve been called that, I’ve been called worse.”

“Diablo, then ... I need your help.”

He dismissed her with his eyes and began a slow, deliberate inspection of the room, opening closets and drawers, checking out her bathroom. When he got to her opened suitcase at the foot of the bed, he sorted through it dispassionately and then stopped with a look of disbelief.

“Now what the hell is this?” He lifted a two-foot rubber rattlesnake by its tail and dangled it in the air.

Edwina managed a quick dismissive shrug. “Doesn’t everybody carry a rubber snake in their suitcase?”

He had just discovered her fallback plan. She’d learned through Chris Holt’s high school yearbooks that Holt had two quirks in high school—a fear of snakes and an avid interest in astronomy. She’d packed the rubber toy, thinking she might use it to flush Holt out if all else failed.

“This could get interesting,” he said, dropping the snake back into the suitcase. He resumed his sorting, and a moment later, with an intrigued glance at her, he hooked a pair of lacy white bikini panties on his index finger. Very skimpy panties. Not the sort of thing a woman with sensible shoes wore.

Edwina felt her stomach go tight. “Did you hear me?” she said. “I need your help!”

“I heard you.” He turned to her, his green eyes oddly luminous. “Do you know what
diablo
means?”

“
Devil
, I guess. In Spanish.”

He considered the panties dangling from his finger and then dropped them back in the bag. “And do you think the devil, Spanish or otherwise, makes a habit of helping uptight,
uptown
women?”

“He might,” she replied sharply, “if the woman had something he wanted.”

A faint smile flickered. “A bargain with the devil?”

“Help me find the man I’m looking for, and I’ll make it worth your while. I have money.” Edwina felt bubbles of hysteria building inside her. What money? She was so broke, they were about to repossess her house!

“What did he do to you, this Holt dude, run out on the wedding? Leave you pregnant?”

His eyes brushed her stomach, and Edwina wanted fervently to slap him. “It’s nothing like that,” she said, keeping her voice even. “This isn’t personal. It’s business.”

She met his stare and held it defiantly, fighting the urge to look away. She was angry at his cavalier treatment, and yet she had the oddest sensation of being drawn toward him, sucked into his energy field, even though she hadn’t moved or even breathed. “Will you help me? Yes or no?”

Edwina had no way of knowing that the man she was bargaining with had his own reasons for considering her proposition. Diablo turned and walked to the window, increasingly aware that Edwina Moody might be useful to him in a number of ways, including helping him gain entry into the Warlords. She didn’t look like a biker’s woman, but that could be remedied. What concerned him more was her inquisitiveness. He couldn’t take the chance that she might discover his own reasons for wanting to join the gang. Beyond that she could get them both crucified if she continued to blunder around openly, searching for lost bikers.

He turned back to her, wondering if she was worth the trouble. Her eyes were still sparkling with anger, but that wasn’t the emotion that was driving her, he realized. It was something else ... anticipation. Even desperation. Her hands were knotted against her stomach, and her lips were parted expectantly.

Interesting, he thought. Maybe she needed him even more than he needed her. If that was the case, there were ways to keep her in line. He didn’t particularly like the idea of frightening her, but he would if that was what it took.

“Maybe we can help each other,” he said.

“How?”

“If this Holt you’re looking for is a biker, he’ll turn up at one of the bars, or at the bikers’ rodeo in Holy Jim.”

“Rodeo? When is it?”

He shook his head. “Not by yourself. Princess. You wouldn’t last two minutes.”

“I can handle it.”

“Right. The way you handled Mad Dog.”

“Okay, then ... I’ll go with you.”

He smiled lazily. “Great minds.”

Edwina could hardly believe her good fortune. “You’d take me with you?” She unlocked her hands and started toward him. “Really?”

“Sure. There’s just one catch.”

She slowed up, suspicious of the smile she saw brewing in his eyes. Wicked, that smile. “What?”

“I need a woman.”

A slow headshake. “Ohhh, no.”

A slow nod. “ ’Fraid so.”

Edwina gauged her chances of talking him out of whatever he had in mind and decided the odds weren’t running in her favor.

“I like a good bargain as well as the next woman,” she said, backing toward the French window behind her, “but not when the sale merchandise is me.”

“You’ll like this,” he said, starting toward her.

She flipped the window’s lock and flung the panels open. “Don’t come any closer! If I scream, the whole damn town hears it.”

The lazy smile reappeared. “A screamer? I like that in a woman.”

“
Help! Fire!!”

Diablo caught Edwina in one fluid stride, dragged her back inside, and clamped a hand over her mouth. “You want to get us thrown out of here?”

She wriggled free of the hand that muzzled her. “No—just you! You rapist!”

He jerked her to him, flush against his powerful body. “Nobody’s going to rape anybody,” he said. “You want stud service, go get yourself a brainless hulk like Mad Dog. That’s not why I’m here.”

Edwina fought to catch her breath. “Then why
are
you here?”

“I need an old lady.” He released her and even took the time to straighten the collar of her blouse before she slapped his hand away.

“The Warlords have a run down to Rosarita Beach planned, and I want to ride with them. Their rules say no old lady, no ride.”

“Old
lady
? You want me to be your
old
lady?” She shuddered delicately, almost unaware that her eyes had drifted from his face to the hair that curled in the opening of his vest. She caught herself following the dark diamond as it traveled down his body, a sensual directional signal for points south.

“What does an old lady do exactly?” she asked, coloring as she turned away.

“She rides with her old man, cooks for him, sleeps with him.”

She turned back. “But you said—”

“I know what I said. In your case, we’ll go for two out of three. You handle the riding and the cooking, and we’ll fake the rest.”

“Fa—” She couldn’t get the word out. “Why don’t you just take me to the rodeo, and we can
forget
the rest?”

“You’re missing my point, Princess. I want to ride with the Warlords, and you’re my ticket in. You want Holt, and I’m the only safe way you’re going to find him.”

“But I can’t go to Rosarita Beach—wherever that is! I don’t have time! And what about the rodeo?”

“The rodeo’s on the way. If you find Holt there, you’re free to go.”

Edwina was instantly suspicious. He must want to get into the Warlords very badly if he was willing to use her as a decoy. “What’s so important about this Rosarita Beach run?”

“I’ve got my reasons, you’ve got yours.” He exhaled, as though questioning the wisdom of their bargain. “Let’s get a couple of things straight. You don’t ask me questions, I don’t touch your body, and we’re both happy.”

“I’d be free to pursue my investigation?”

“As long as the Warlords don’t catch on. I wouldn’t flash that picture again if I were you. And no obvious questions.”

Edwina turned to the window with a nervous sigh. Here we go again, she thought, the proverbial rock and a hard place. She’d been faced with several wrenching decisions in the last year, and she’d always chosen in favor of her family’s situation. However, this time her very life might be at stake. Certainly her virtue, such as it was.

“The Warlords hit the road tomorrow morning,” he said. “How about an answer?”

For all her ambivalence, there was only one answer. She massaged her taut neck muscles and turned to him slowly, aware more than ever of his advantages over her in size and physical strength. What did the Warlords call a man like him? A rogue biker? It seemed inconceivable to her that she was about to entrust herself to such a man, perhaps in ways that she couldn’t even imagine.

“Looks like you’ve got yourself an old lady,” she said.

She wasn’t sure what reaction she expected from him, but it wasn’t the skeptical once-over he gave her. He took in her blouse, slacks, even her penny loafers, with a slightly pained expression.

“The outfit’s got to go,” he said.

She glanced down at herself. “What’s wrong with my outfit?”

“Nothing, if you’re a meter maid.”

“Is that necessary?” Edwina jerked a wad of her own clothing from Diablo’s hand, threw it back in the suitcase, and slammed the suitcase lid, nearly catching his fingers.

“If you want to ride with the Warlords, it is.” He flipped the lid open again and resumed rifling through her things. “There’s got to be something in here that’s female and sexy.”

He pulled out a white-cotton top and smiled. “This might work. And these.” He tossed her the top and a pair of jeans. “Cut off the legs.”

Edwina caught the clothing. “Hey! These are new jeans!”

“Yeah, that’s a problem, but we’ll make do.” He looked her up and down, exhaled, and raked a hand through his long hair. “It’s going to take some imagination, turning you into a hot number. Make those cutoffs short.”

Moments later, Edwina emerged from the bathroom in jeans she’d altered jaggedly with her manicure scissors. The T-top was actually a ribbed cotton undershirt that was much too thin and snug for her liking. Diablo didn’t seem to like it either.

“Lose the bra,” he said.

Edwina’s hands flew to her chest. “I can’t do that!”

“The bra goes. Or you do.”

“You’re perverse!”

“Have it your way,” he said, starting for the door.

“All
right
!”

Edwina hated him at that moment. However, when she emerged from the bathroom for the second time, it was sans bra. She blushed wildly at the way he looked her over, lingering on her unfettered breasts before he nodded approval. She felt naked, absolutely naked with her bosom straining against the skimpy stretch fabric and her legs hanging out of the cropped jeans.

Displaying herself so blatantly was akin to torture for a woman who didn’t remove her towel until she was safely inside the shower stall with the door shut. And that was in her own bathroom! Now, in this strange hotel room, a continent away from her ruffled-chintz bedroom in Connecticut, she was exquisitely aware of her flesh heating under a stranger’s scrutiny, her nipples tightening.

“Being ashamed of your own body,” he said, fastening his emerald eyes on her as he hooked his thumbs in his pockets. “That’s perverse.”

“I’m not asha—” She sighed, knowing it was no use. There was a difference between taking pride in one’s body and the exhibitionism he was demanding of her, but she had no idea how to explain that to him. Anyway, she probably was a little uncomfortable with her body. So what?

“Get your things together, and let’s go,” he said.

“Tonight?”

“Tonight. The Warlords should be setting up camp by now.”

“Camp? We’re going to be camping? Outdoors?”

His quick grin had a raffish quality to it that might have been charming under other circumstances. “It’s no fun camping indoors,” he said. “Come on.”