Page 5 of Café Diablo

“Um—” I hold my free hand up and not sure where to put it. “What exactly am I supposed to hold onto?”

“Me, you idiot,” Olivia hisses. “You had no problem groping me for the key a minute ago, but suddenly, now you’re a gentleman?” She grabs my free hand and slaps it down on her abdomen. “Grow a pair already!”

She lets go and grabs the other handlebar, tilting the scooter up and kicking away the stand that holds it upright. She revs the gas, bending herself forward and getting into position to launch us into traffic. The move curls her body and effectively brushes her breasts against my knuckles. I try to adjust my fingers lower, but there’s a sudden jolt and we’re whizzing out into the street!

I clutch her stomach desperately, and my face falls into her neck as I hold on for dear life! She laughs wildly, amused by my shock as a spatter of hot grease kicks off the wheels and splashes all over my suit pants. I hiss and clutch her harder, my whole forearm wrapped around her mid-section and tucked under her breasts.

I can try to be a gentleman, but frankly it’s impossible, because she’s driving like a maniac! My face burrows into her bare shoulder—bare because she isn’t wearing much. Couldn’t the woman have put on a coat to cover up that spaghetti-strap blouse? Nope. Instead, the silky fabric clings to her tits the same desperate way my fingers mold to her skin. And to my annoyance she smells like orange blossoms and jasmine, or maybe that’s the humid Hawaiian air as she zips down the street, weaving us past cars and heading toward the beach. She drives faster than I think this tiny scooter is supposed to go, twisting around each corner like an arrow shooting toward the ocean.

My thighs squeeze as she deliberately barrels us through a giant puddle of leftover rainwater, spraying us in its baptism. Olivia hoots, squeezing my hand against the handlebar as the blast of spray shoots through us and sizzles against our hot skin. Her breastbone heaves as it’s covered in tiny dots of spritz.

“You’re insane!” I hiss into her ear, her wild hair flapping against my cheek.

“Oh, Edwin,” she teases. “This is me being tame. You have no idea!”

She splashes through several more puddles from this afternoon’s rain to make her point, and now I understand why Connor kept warning me to change my suit. This woman is certifiably insane.

After zig-zagging us down several more streets, the Waikiki Bay and The Atlantis Resort come into view—of which Flambé is the rooftop restaurant—its blue up-lighting turning everything turquoise neon. Olivia finally slows down, turning us toward the employee parking lot, and the decrease in speed causes my stomach to finally remove itself from my throat.

Only, she adjusts her hips in the process, dragging her ass against my groin and waking up my cock. This woman is a pain in the butt; however, that doesn’t change biology from noticing how enticing her backside is as it rolls over my pants.

“That’s really not—” I hiss in her ear, grabbing her hip with my free hand and forcing her to stop moving. “That’s not going to help me be on time for this party.”

Olivia looks back at me, realizing what she’s done, her face wind-swept and flushed. A hitch of a smile hooks her lip as she eyes me, not because she did it on purpose, but because she’s flattered I’ve had such a reaction to her. She revs the engine, as if she needs to taunt me, and speeds us into the employee parking lot, screeching around a corner and pulling us up next to the side entrance.

Suddenly, she brings the entire scooter to a halting stop—us included—and my whole body lurches against her as the inertia of flying forward is counteracted. We both gasp for breath, just sitting there on the Vespa for a moment, panting. My mouth is inches from her neck, my hand still on her stomach, her ass snug against where I’ve started to thicken. My body is waaaaay too excited about a girl who’s first handcuffed me, then taken me for my own personal death ride.

After several moments of silence with my body humming, Olivia nudges her shoulders back against me and untangles herself from my hunched position of clinging for my life. She rights the kickstand of the scooter and turns the engine off, stepping to the side and off the Vespa. She turns back to me, our wrists still connected by the handcuffs, and I have to admit, she looked amazing when I first saw her standing outside my office, but now—she’s a fucking vision.

The wind is strong and the waves crash on the beach behind her. Her black hair has turned wild, whipping around her flushed shoulders and neck. Those freckles from before are more prominent, inching over her skin with the heave of her breath as if the blood pumping from that ride has heightened them.

The fabric of her shirt ripples in the flap of the wind, caressing her perky tits, and showing off the shape of her hard nipples when the wind flits over them. She hasn’t righted her pencil skirt yet, which is still bunched at the top of her legs, and she looks so fucking beautiful it’s almost painful. Her ruby mouth hangs slightly open from panting and as her eyes catch mine—a flash of heat sparks between us. It’s only for the barest of seconds, before she pushes her skirt down and rakes her free fingers through her hair to right its disheveled presence.

But right now, more than anything, the one thing I want for my birthday is to stand up and kiss this strange and crazy woman.

3

Olivia

My new life’s purpose is to drive Edwin Voss crazy.

Get under his skin.

Burrow.

And make him frown like there’s no tomorrow.

Connor said his brother had a stick up his butt—and wooooo! He wasn’t kidding. I thought handcuffs were going to be a joke, but now I see they were an absolute necessity. You could put a lump of coal in that man’s ass and I swear you’d have a diamond by morning.

He’s going to be waaaaaay too much fun to play with.

Happy birthday, Edwin Voss! Your gift is going to be sweet lil’ ol’ me making your life one-hundred-percent awesome. You can thank me in the morning!

Case in point, I think I just blew his mind simply by driving my moped at eighty miles an hour and splashing him in every available puddle in Waikiki. He’s clearlynotone of those men who gets a hard on for motorcycles and monster trucks and yachts and anything that drives faster than ten miles an hour or might get his blood pumping.

Edwin sits on the edge of my scooter, looking at me completely dazed with his hair twisted every direction from the wind. It’s blond and curling at his ears, like he needs a haircut but has been pouring over lawyer-things for too many days and hours that he’s been too preoccupied to notice. Ididinterrupt him at almost nine PM still workingon his birthday, after all!

Textbook work-a-holic.

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