Page 25 of American Hellhound
The biker, the Lean Dog who’d told her his name was Ghost – she’d never felt anything like the frisson of energy he inspired in the pit of her stomach. He was tall and broad-shouldered, narrow-hipped and sharp-featured. The sunlight turned glossy and slick in his short, dark, curly hair. He needed to shave, and the pushed-up sleeves of his shirt revealed tan, muscled, tattooed forearms. He looked dangerous enough already – miles from the cotillion boys, and a good bit older, too – and then there was the Lean Dogs cut. The symbol that incited fear and censure in Knoxville. Half the men in the city wanted to have the lot of them imprisoned. And the other half wanted tobeone of them. There were rebels, there were bad boys, and then there wereLean Dogs.
If anyone was going to buy underage girls beer and think nothing of it, it was a one-percenter. She still couldn’t believe her boldness, the way she’d been able to keep her voice from shaking.
Right now, with the rough concrete wall biting into her shoulders through the jacket, she couldn’t believe the anger in his gaze. Nor the way he stepped in close and loomed over her. She tried and failed to suppress a shiver.
Just before Rachel took off, she said, “You’re crazy for messing with a Dog,” and apparently she’d been right.
Right now, Maggie felt very crazy, and very small, and very-very stupid.
“M-my name?” she stammered, trying to shrink back another inch. There was nowhere to go. She had a feeling he’d make a grab for her if she tried to duck to the side.
He grinned, all teeth, and it wasn’t friendly. Up close, his eyes were coffee and coal; little lines branched back from the corners, the effects of sun and wind against his face when he rode. He smelled like sweat, and cigarettes, and something she couldn’t place that left her short of breath.
“Yeah,” he said, chuckling. “Your name.”
Her mother would keel over dead if she knew she gave her name to a man like this. Maybe that was why she said, “Maggie,” and kicked her chin up so she could meet his dark gaze.
“Maggie.” The way he said her name conjured images of all things chocolatey, velvety, sugary. Not just her name, but something dark, and sweet, and hot. Like she was something hewanted.
She shivered again, a hard shudder that gripped tight at the back of her neck. She had to wet her lips before she could speak. His eyes followed the movement of her tongue. “Yeah. Maggie.”
The moment spun out, the afternoon stalled around them. The traffic on the street, the beer abandoned a few steps away, Rachel, her promise to be home for dinner – all of it fell away, and it was just her, and this man named Ghost, and her pounding heart.
“Alright, Maggie,” he said, voice low and rough. He braced a hand on the wall beside her. The other one, to her shock, landed on her hip. He grinned when he felt her jump. “Here’s the thing. It was real damn stupid of you to ask me to buy you beer.”
She couldn’t let him see that she was afraid; she was too ashamed to. “Why?” she asked. “Are you an undercover cop or something?”
He snorted, and it stirred her hair against the sides of her face. “Nah, sweetheart. Way worse than that. Didn’t your mama ever tell you not to try and pet stray dogs?”
“My mama tells me lots of things, so many I tune her out most of the time. And I wasn’t trying to pet you, if you’ll recall. I just wanted some beer.”
He smiled again, and this time there was a spark of real amusement in his eyes. “Yeah, and I got your beer. But for what? Twelve bucks? You thought that was enough?”
She bristled, lifting away from the wall, which – bad idea – brought them even closer together. She wasn’t going to back off, though. “It took you less than five minutes. It wasn’t a job worth more than twelve dollars.”
He clucked. “Nah, see, that I don’t agree with.”
She sighed, fear and frustration mounting in equal parts. “That’s all the money I’m carrying. And no, I don’t have an ATM card.”
“Hmm. That’s too bad.” He made a considering face.
“You can keep the beer if you want. Just…”
His eyes snapped back to hers. “Just what?”
Maybe if she’d paid more attention to Rachel, she’d know how to flirt her way out of this. As it was, her only weapons were stubbornness, firmness…and her last resort. A request. “Just let me go,” she said with a defeated exhale. “Please. I’m sorry I bothered you.”
“One thing first,” he said. Then he ducked his head and kissed her.
It was her first kiss. It was herfirst kiss, and it was with an angry outlaw who smelled like smoke.
But…oh…
His mouth was hot, his tongue slick when it pressed for entry between her lips.
This wasn’t the tentative peck of a boy her own age. This was a full-on assault. And she was blindsided by the sensations, by the way he just took what he wanted; helpless to resist, she opened her mouth and let him in. AndGod. His tongue slid against hers. He nipped at the soft flesh of her lower lip. She felt the scrape of his stubble, the rough catch in his breath. His hand slipped up beneath the hem of her shirt and pressed boldly across her stomach, the calluses on his fingers rough against her skin.
It went on and on, drugging and deep. And then he pulled back, breathing hard through his mouth. Maggie was dizzy and lightheaded, her heart caught somewhere high in her throat.
