Page 6 of Straight to Me

I see flames.

He grabs my shoulders and glares at me with his cigarette hanging from his lips. His touch produces such intense heat on my skin that it makes me lose my breath. I look into each of his eyes, blinking fast to pull myself out from a state of shock.

The confidence I suddenly gain may be from the alcohol in my system, but even though he’s glaring with bloodied hands tight on my shoulders, I trust he won’t hurt me.

“What the fuck are you playing at?”

His voice is raised as his warm breath hits my face. I frown, wondering what he’s talking about. “Look, that prick deserved the beating. He obviously upset you for you to push him like you did. But you’ve been drinking all night, which is more than you can handle… falling over my guy, hitting your head on your way to the toiletsandnow you’re walking around with no fucking shoes on.” He’s not shouting, but it’s close, “why?”

Okay. Sure. Let me just process all of that. How would he know how much drink I can handle? I didn’t fall over anyone, I was bumped, and he saidallnight? How long was he watching me? Was he concerned or just some sort of creep?

“I knew the bearded giant was your friend.” Let’s call it better inebriated judgement to say that rather than attempt to call him out for being a stalker.

He frowns, wrinkling his roguishly handsome features. “Giant?”

“The giant who bumped me to my arse. And I didn’t hurt my head, it was nothing,” I scoff, crossing my arms.

“You kept rubbing your head after coming out of the ladies',” he fires back, not so shouty this time.

“I was rubbing my temples because I was pissed off. Someone I didn’t want to see was outside with my friend.”

Lines crease between his eyes as he lowers his hands. “The chap you dodged when he tried to touch you?”

My god, he is a creep. Hehasbeen watching me all night.

I rub my temples again, not believing that we’re having this conversation. I don’t feel like justifying any of my actions to him. But not wanting him to get the wrong impression, and certainly not wanting him to assume I haveanythingto do with that prick, Mitch, I open my mouth to speak.

He cuts me off before I can utter a single word. “Look, I’ve somewhere I need to be. How are you getting home? Wherever home is.”

“Taxi,” I say a little short in response to his rudeness. Without the heat of his hands on my shoulders the cold creeps over me, so I rub my arms to keep warm.

“You’re not,” he says and I raise my eyebrows questioningly. “You can’t go back over there.” He points towards the people now helping the man I’d pushed. “Everyone will blame you for the fight you started.”

I pinch my lips together, hoping I can stop the verbal diarrhoea from spewing out. “The fightIstarted?”Nope, can’t stop it. But I’ve started now so I’ll say my piece before I leave. “I didn’t start shit! I only wanted to go to the loo. But ‘your guy’,” I use my hands to air quote him, “knocked me to the floor. It’s notmyfault you chose to help me up and keep tabs on me all night.”

His eyes scan over me and his forehead wrinkles again. I continue, “And why have you been watching me anyway? I just tried to enjoy a night out with my friend, who left me so she could party with a complete wanker of man I can’t stand! I did hit my head, because I was drunk and flustered. But I don’t need you reminding me of that. Some arsehole then—insulted me—all because I didn’t give him the time. And to top this whole disaster of a night off, YOU,” I point my finger at him, “YOU, Mr V, P, came out of nowhere and beat the shit out of that guy, told me you watched me all night like a creep and told me Ican’tget a taxi home?”

My cheeks puff out and I instantly start screaming at myself internally.

For fuck’s sake Madison, just stand the fuck down!

I hold my breath as he towers over me and lower my head, feeling my cheeks burn. We’re toe to toe, his feet covered in sensible black boots, mine bare, dirty and dotted with specks of blood.

I suddenly feel like the silly little bitch I’ve been called tonight.

I feel his warm breath bear down on me. It comes in short sharp bursts this time. He must really want to cut my head off. I try not to think about whether he has ever done that to someone.

“I should punish you for speaking to me that way,” he whispers against my neck. A quiet moan leaves my lips, my body betraying me and not registering the severity of my situation. He’s right though. A lone woman talking to a one percenter vice president of an outlaw motorcycle club the way I just did was dangerous.

I’m a goner.

He closes the already limited space between us and without a word, lifts me with ease making me let loose a breath. He turns and plonks me on the back of his bike. My legs part and the uselessly short dress rises to expose my knickers. He notices, eyes tracing over the lace. His cheeks flush crimson.

Unable to take my eyes from him, I’m not really sure who the hell I am in this moment. I’m exposed, just sat watching him watching me.

My breasts heave up and down as my heart tries to physically give itself over to him. I should swing my leg over and jump down from the seat. I should. But I don’t. In a moment of madness, I instead put my hands behind me and arch my back, pushing my breasts further towards him.

A slight breeze passes and I feel my long hair sway against my back. He swallows loud enough for me to hear and I mentally applaud myself for eliciting this small mark of vulnerability from him. I feel strangely powerful. I’ve never felt this sexy my whole adult life, and it’s thanks to him. This mysterious outlaw.

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