Page 30 of Hard as Stone
His laugh is low and rich. “Trust me, trouble. I’m not a nice boy.”
“No?” I press closer, enjoying the way his breath catches. “Prove it.”
The way he turns to look at me makes my insides ache. “Careful what you wish for, little girl.”
The endearment should annoy me, but something about the growl in his voice just makes me want to push harder. “I’m not scared of you, Road Captain.”
His answering chuckle vibrates through me. “No. And that’s what makes you dangerous.”
He helps me off the bike, his hands lingering on my hips longer than necessary. Reaching into his saddlebag, he pulls out a black silk tie.
“Need help with that?” I offer, taking it from his hands before he can answer.
His eyes darken as I step closer, draping the tie around his neck. “Didn’t figure you for the type who knows how to tie these things.”
“I’m full of surprises.” I focus on looping the silk, trying to ignore how intimate this feels. How my knuckles brush against his throat with each movement, how his breath fans warm across my face.
“That you are, trouble.” His voice has gone rough, his hands settling on my waist as I work. “That you are.”
The tie is probably the worst knot ever attempted, but Axel doesn’t seem to care. His eyes are fixed on my face, intense enough to make my fingers fumble.
“There.” I smooth the silk down his chest, letting my touch linger. “Very fancy.”
His fingers flex on my waist. “We don’t have to go in. Could just ride back down the mountain, find somewhere more private...”
The temptation in his voice makes me shiver. “You owe me a steak.”
“I do.” He brushes his lips across mine, feather-light. “And I always pay my debts.”
“Even to troublemakers?”
“Especially to troublemakers.” He pulls back with visible reluctance. “Come on. Let’s get you fed before I forget why I’m trying out this gentleman schtick.”
I laugh, shrugging out of his cut. “Here. Can’t exactly walk in wearing this.”
But Axel’s hands stop me. “Keep it on another minute,” he says, his voice low and possessive. His eyes roam over me appreciatively. “I like seeing you in my leather, and I hate it when you take it off.”
A shiver runs through me at the heat in his gaze. “Careful, Road Captain. A girl could get used to belonging.”
“That’s the idea, sweetheart.” He leans in and presses a soft kiss to my forehead before helping me out of the cut, carefully foldingand storing it in one of his saddlebags. The loss of his leather leaves me feeling oddly vulnerable, but then his hand settles on my lower back as he guides me toward the entrance, and that simple touch is enough to make my skin tingle.
“Ready?” he asks, pausing at the heavy wooden doors.
I smooth down my dress, suddenly aware of my ridiculous ‘ruby’ boots and lack of fancy jewelry. “As I’ll ever be.”
Inside, La Bella Vita is all soft lighting and crisp white tablecloths—worlds away from the comfortable worn wood and neon beer signs of Devil’s. A chandelier drips crystal teardrops overhead, and somewhere a violin plays from hidden speakers instead of Merle Haggard blaring from a jukebox. It’s exactly the kind of place that should make a girl in her only dress and diamante work boots feel out of place.
But with Axel’s hand on my back, I can’t bring myself to care about the sideways glances from other diners. Let them stare. Let them whisper about the biker and his date. Their opinion means nothing compared to the way Axel looks at me like I’m the only person in the room.
“Reservation for Thorn,” he tells the hostess, whose professional smile only falters slightly at the tattoos on his hands and neck, and at the sight of my boots. I click my heels together and they quickly look up.
“Of course, sir. Right this way.”
She leads us to a table tucked into a quiet corner with a spectacular view of the valley below. Axel pulls out my chair, and the simple gesture makes my heart do stupid things in my chest.
“Your server will be right with you,” the hostess says, passing us leather-bound menus before making a quick escape.
“You weren’t kidding when you said you’d take me somewhere that didn’t use plastic cups,” I say, tapping my nails against the glassware and hearing the obvious ring of crystal. “Fancy shmancy.”
