Page 7 of Accidentally Kidnapping the Biker

All I’m missing is my date.

I’ve been on the run all day but now that the property transfer battle is resolved, the girls and I spent the day celebrating. We’d cracked a bottle of bubbly under the new spa sign, taken the obligatory selfies, and wandered around the campground crowing to each other about how lucky we were and how well we were going to do. The real work starts tomorrow. Tonight is for celebrating.

I don’t know why I’m surprised, but when a loud rumble stops outside my house, I race to the window. Then I slap my head in annoyance. Of course, Wylie rode his motorcycle.

I meet him at the door, despite how eager that makes me look. My headache is long gone, and I want a chance to see if it was a fog of savior-itis and adrenaline that made Wylie look so good yesterday.

He dismounts his bike. His denim hugs his ass like it’s being held there by invisible hands, and I’m a little jealous of them. Heunzips his leather jacket to reveal a forest green shirt, open at the neck. Wylie runs his hand through his chestnut brown hair, and it immediately falls into place. I wonder if I can make it stay messed up.

Then he’s on my front step, and I move aside to let him in. “Smells great, sweetheart.”

“Thanks. It’ll be ready in about twenty minutes.”

“The food too,” he adds.

My last worries about how tonight will end evaporate. It’s nice that he recognizes the effort. I’m in ballet flats in deference to being inside; high heels would be too much. I’m wearing a wine-colored wrap dress that covers a lot more than it looks like. It accentuates my curves and brings out the brown flecks in my amber eyes. It took me half an hour to get my curls to fall properly. Fighting with them is never my favorite thing to do, but since I’m dressing to impress, I’m going all out.

“I dropped the van off at the Lonesome Garage. They’re giving me the friends and family discount,” Wylie says after he opts for a beer.

I grab my wineglass. “You mean givingmethe discount?”

“No. I’m not charging a woman who was running for her life for repairs.” I open my mouth to protest because I can pay my own debts, but Wylie stares me down. “Just no. This supper is your repayment.”

I’m not thrilled but I can live with it. Wylie got shot at too. If he wants to pursue another form of payment from somebody else for his inconvenience, like, oh, the shooter, he’s a big boy. “Then I hope you’re ready for a spectacular meal.”

Wylie asks me how I’m enjoying living in small-town North Dakota, and he seems surprised to hear it’s not my first time living without a fast-food chain down the street. Having lived in both a small town and in Washington, D.C., I know for certain that I prefer the former. Wylie shares that he, on the otherhand, grew up in Seattle, and he’s still mourning the absence of twenty-four-hour food delivery services.

“You have a hell of a cook at the bar and grill,” I say. Options in Lonesome are limited, but the choices the town does have are excellent.

“We got lucky with Ricky and Lucy. They run the kitchen like they’re still in the navy. Fortunately, they cook better than they used to.”

“Did you bring them in? Were they friends of yours?”

“I’m army, sweetheart. They were in the navy. But they don’t do anything like this.” He indicates his mostly clean plate.

I have a handful of recipes that are company-worthy. The stuffed pork tenderloin is number three. I like to leave room for improvement if my date is properly appreciative. Depending on how the rest of the night goes, Wylie might skip number two and move directly to number one next time.

Supper is good. Dessert is better. We’re back in the living room and I feel Wylie’s eyes on me. “What now?” he asks.

“Well, I’m hoping you sit beside me and ask if you can kiss me, so I can kiss you back and invite you back to my bedroom,” I say. Pussyfooting around has its place, but this isn’t it.

He’s beside me before I can blink. “You look gorgeous,” he says.

I swing my leg over his tremendous thighs and straddle his lap. “Thank you. How can I ever repay you for letting me kidnap you and saving my life?”

“You can say “Yes, sir” when I tell you to come.”

I shake my head. “Nah, “Sir” isn’t my thing. But I might call you “God” if you’re as good as you think you are.”

“Challenge accepted.”

He stands, taking me with him, and walks down the hall carrying me with my legs wrapped around his waist. His hair is as soft as it looks; I run my fingers through it, and it feels likestrands of silk. Wylie’s lips are hot against mine and it takes me all of ten seconds to realize that this man knows how to lay a kiss on a woman that causes her panties to spontaneously combust.

He stops at the foot of the bed. It’s a simple matter of three buttons for my dress to fall open. I shrug once and let it slither off my shoulders to the floor. Wylie reaches over his head, grabs his shirt collar, and pulls it off without wasting time with any buttons. God damn, the promise of him did not lie. I picture my arms wrapped around his chest when I’m on the back of his bike.

But the image doesn’t last long. He slips his thumbs into the sides of my damp panties and begins pushing them down my hips. He moves closer and crouches as he leaves a trail of kisses along my collar bone, between my breasts and down my belly. “You won’t be needing these any time soon,” he growls.

I’m unsnapping my bra hooks as he says that, and when he pulls back, cold air rushes against my skin. Fortunately, it’s not for long as he only steps away long enough to unbuckle his belt. I reach forward to help, but he gently pushes my hands away. He backs me up until my legs hit the mattress. In the second that it takes me to place my hands and pull myself onto my bed, his jeans vanish.

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