Page 14 of Wicked Duty
“Look, Marlow?—”
“No.” She gives the can a menacing shake while backing away. “No deal.”
“It’s getting dark.” I fish my keys from my pocket. “Come on. I’m escorting you home.”
“Like hell you are.” Lucy continues retreating without checking for obstacles behind her.
The second her ass connects with the seat of my vintage Triumph Speed Twin, she shrieks. Flails. If she falls, she’ll bring my baby down with her.
Christ, she’s hopeless.
In one swift motion, I clamp my fingers around her bicep and pull her toward me and away from the motorcycle. “Careful.”
She catches her breath for a second before attempting to tug free of my grasp. “Where the hell did that come from?”
“My garage.”
Her eyebrows shoot up. “It’s yours?”
“Yeah.” I throw a leg over the bike and slide the key into the ignition. “It’s also your ride home. Get on.”
Lucy releases a horrified laugh. “I’m not going anywhere on that pile of junk.”
My forehead furrows. Did she just call my fully restored 1938 Triumph motorcycle with a revolutionary parallel-twin engine apile of junk?
Stuck-up little shit.
I rip my phone from my pocket, toggle to my contacts, and flip my wrist back so Lucy can get a front-row seat. Her eyes widen when she sees that I’ve got her sister’s phone number at the ready.
“Get on.Now.” My voice drops low when my patience wears out. “You don’t want me to ask you again.”
“Or what?” Her confidence audibly wavers.
“I’ll call your big sister, tell her a man dragged you into an alley, and when I tried to help, you wouldn’t let me.”
She recoils. “That’s a lie!”
“A lie that’ll have Maya boarding the next plane home from Italy.” I stare her down, noting the emotions that flit over her features. “Is that what you want?”
“What are we, five?” She heaves a sigh of defeat. “Don’t call Maya. I’ll get on.”
I slide the phone into my pocket. “Here.” From the mounted storage compartment on my bike, I grab an open-face helmet and toss it to her. She almost drops her pepper spray. “You’ll be riding up front.”
“What?”
“In case you get any ideas about running off into traffic.”
She clamps her mouth shut when I reach for my phone again. Without another word, she shoves the spray in her bag, puts the helmet on, and throws a long leg over the seat in front of me.
“Grab the bars.”
Immediately, I discover the flaw in my plan. Lucy riding in front means she can’t get away, yes. But this position also requires me to fold my entire body around her.
Fuck me.
With a vengeance, I shove my flip-up helmet over my head and settle into the seat behind her. My bike roars to life as I place my grip on the handles outside hers. Our fingers press together.
The curve of her back against my chest is incredibly distracting. She must agree, because she tries to lean away as I ease us into traffic but only manages to wiggle her ass closer to the line of my cock. Which is way worse.
