hair, tossing it in defiance. Jack stopped suddenly and
stared down at her, his expression more serious than she'd seen all evening. He was too close for her to think straight; the man
emitted some sort of strange energy field—some kind of chemical, maybe? The perfume counter had reported mixed sales on
the new scent that contained animal pheromones. Perhaps they should have tapped Jack Stillman instead of wrestling muskrats
for the stuff.
A noisy knot of diners walked by them, breaking the spell, thank goodness. Alex was then beset with a spasm of shivers in
the cool night air, although she conceded that Jack's oversize fingers fastening the chin strap of her helmet probably contributed
to the gooseflesh. He slipped off his leather jacket and settled it over her shoulders. The silky lining of the heavy coat still
resonated with his body heat, giving her insight as to how it might feel to be enveloped in his arms. Alex tried to drive the
ludicrous thought from her mind, but his nearness set her reason on tilt, and set her skin on fire.
"Ready?"
She realized that he'd already climbed onto the machine, released the kickstand, and was waiting for her to join him.
Alex swallowed. "What do I do?"
"Left foot on this footpeg, swing right foot over the seat, then get a hand hold."
She managed all of it rather shakily, except for the hand hold. "What do I hang on to?" she asked, nearly panicked when he
started the bike engine.
"Me," he tossed over this shoulder, then gunned forward, forcing her to fling her arms around his waist. "Try to enjoy it."
She tried, but she didn't. The bite of the chilly fall wind nipped at her exposed neck and hands. Traffic sounds rang in her
ears. She buried her face between his shoulder blades, and the beating of his heart made her feel mortal and small—if they
crashed, they'd be killed for sure. And she hadn't planned to die hanging on to a man she didn't even like.
But gradually, she did relax, and finally opened her eyes. Her senses were heightened, her pulse elevated, her awareness of
the man she clung to, keen. The fuzzy warmth of security seeped into her chest—Jack wouldn't allow anything to happen to her.
The vibration of the motorcycle combined with being jammed up against his body lent a heaviness to the juncture of her thighs,
shocking her, but rendering her powerless to resist the sexual energy of the man and the machine. When he wheeled into her
driveway and cut the engine, she was too weak to climb off without his support.
"I'll walk you up," he said gruffly, looking around the dimly lit parking lot.
She didn't protest because he seemed to have acquired a black mood since they'd left the restaurant, and appeared anxious to
be rid of her. He probably thought that she was an inconvenience, or that she was a wimp about riding the bike, or that she was
keeping him from a rendezvous with that redheaded tart he'd been laughing with at the bar when she arrived. Regardless, she
matched his stiff gait and maintained silence until they reached her apartment door. Jack took her keys and unlocked the
deadbolt, then gave her an awkward smile as he handed them back to her.
"Thanks for agreeing to meet with me," he said curtly. "I hope this project turns out to be productive for both of us."
Alex looked up, and swallowed hard. The man was gorgeous, for sure, his dark eyes nearly black in the filtered light of the
hallway, his short hair appealingly rumpled from his helmet, his cheeks ruddy from the cool wind. She shrugged out of his
jacket and handed it to him, self-consciously smoothing her own disheveled hair. "Thanks for the ride home. And I, too, hope
this project is productive for both of us."
He didn't move, and neither did she, afraid she would sway into the sexual pull emanating from him. Something was
happening here, and although she couldn't put a finger on it, her body seemed to know. His Adam's apple moved. His mouth
twitched, as if he were about to
stared down at her, his expression more serious than she'd seen all evening. He was too close for her to think straight; the man
emitted some sort of strange energy field—some kind of chemical, maybe? The perfume counter had reported mixed sales on
the new scent that contained animal pheromones. Perhaps they should have tapped Jack Stillman instead of wrestling muskrats
for the stuff.
A noisy knot of diners walked by them, breaking the spell, thank goodness. Alex was then beset with a spasm of shivers in
the cool night air, although she conceded that Jack's oversize fingers fastening the chin strap of her helmet probably contributed
to the gooseflesh. He slipped off his leather jacket and settled it over her shoulders. The silky lining of the heavy coat still
resonated with his body heat, giving her insight as to how it might feel to be enveloped in his arms. Alex tried to drive the
ludicrous thought from her mind, but his nearness set her reason on tilt, and set her skin on fire.
"Ready?"
She realized that he'd already climbed onto the machine, released the kickstand, and was waiting for her to join him.
Alex swallowed. "What do I do?"
"Left foot on this footpeg, swing right foot over the seat, then get a hand hold."
She managed all of it rather shakily, except for the hand hold. "What do I hang on to?" she asked, nearly panicked when he
started the bike engine.
"Me," he tossed over this shoulder, then gunned forward, forcing her to fling her arms around his waist. "Try to enjoy it."
She tried, but she didn't. The bite of the chilly fall wind nipped at her exposed neck and hands. Traffic sounds rang in her
ears. She buried her face between his shoulder blades, and the beating of his heart made her feel mortal and small—if they
crashed, they'd be killed for sure. And she hadn't planned to die hanging on to a man she didn't even like.
But gradually, she did relax, and finally opened her eyes. Her senses were heightened, her pulse elevated, her awareness of
the man she clung to, keen. The fuzzy warmth of security seeped into her chest—Jack wouldn't allow anything to happen to her.
The vibration of the motorcycle combined with being jammed up against his body lent a heaviness to the juncture of her thighs,
shocking her, but rendering her powerless to resist the sexual energy of the man and the machine. When he wheeled into her
driveway and cut the engine, she was too weak to climb off without his support.
"I'll walk you up," he said gruffly, looking around the dimly lit parking lot.
She didn't protest because he seemed to have acquired a black mood since they'd left the restaurant, and appeared anxious to
be rid of her. He probably thought that she was an inconvenience, or that she was a wimp about riding the bike, or that she was
keeping him from a rendezvous with that redheaded tart he'd been laughing with at the bar when she arrived. Regardless, she
matched his stiff gait and maintained silence until they reached her apartment door. Jack took her keys and unlocked the
deadbolt, then gave her an awkward smile as he handed them back to her.
"Thanks for agreeing to meet with me," he said curtly. "I hope this project turns out to be productive for both of us."
Alex looked up, and swallowed hard. The man was gorgeous, for sure, his dark eyes nearly black in the filtered light of the
hallway, his short hair appealingly rumpled from his helmet, his cheeks ruddy from the cool wind. She shrugged out of his
jacket and handed it to him, self-consciously smoothing her own disheveled hair. "Thanks for the ride home. And I, too, hope
this project is productive for both of us."
He didn't move, and neither did she, afraid she would sway into the sexual pull emanating from him. Something was
happening here, and although she couldn't put a finger on it, her body seemed to know. His Adam's apple moved. His mouth
twitched, as if he were about to
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