Meet Your Mate (A Good Riders Romance Book 1) (8 page)

Putting his hand on her wrist, he
stroked his thumb across her pulse. When her lips turned up in a small smile of
awareness, he pointed her toward the bar and mimed eating and drinking.

Annabel looked askance at the
dilapidated exterior of a honky-tonk the club frequented called The
Hoghouse
. Clearly, it didn’t meet her prissy-girl
standards, even though her prissy-girl standards had tumbled a notch or two in
the last half hour.

With a hand on her shoulder, he
motioned for her to wait while he went inside to do the glad-handing bit he’d
missed out on earlier. There, the other Hog-lovers bought smokes or Cokes and
waited in line to get the next card for their poker hand. Each rider hoped to
have the winning combination at the end of the run. But Max’s thoughts kept
returning to Annabel getting herself off on his bike.

“Thanks again for coming today,”
Dick
Ubecki
, the club president, said to him. “We
always get a good turnout when the fellas know you’re coming along, and this
one’s for a good cause.”

“Happy to help out, Judge,” Max
said. “How many riders do we have?”

“A couple hundred.”

Max nodded. That many entry fees
would make a hefty donation to the Feed-a-Child Foundation. “It’s a great day
for a ride.”

“Any day’s a great day for a ride.”
Bruce Townsend joined them with a root beer in hand. “Especially if you’re a
Good Rider.”

Max and Dick slapped palms with
Bruce, a tubby physician who looked more like the Pillsbury Doughboy’s version
of Ozzie Osborne than a respected member of the AMA.

“What is it with you doctors and
Harleys, Bruno?” Dick asked. “There are probably more of you here than there
are at the hospital.”

Bruce shrugged. “Riding’s a hell of
a stress-reliever.”

“And you guys are about the only
ones who can afford the price of an upscale bike these days,” Dick cracked.

“Looks like you judges do all
right,” Bruce said. “When did you trade up for that V-Rod?”

“Last month. You should feel the
way she handles—slicker than a swimsuit model’s well-oiled skin.”

Max tuned out the conversation,
checking to see if the line at the bar had cleared out enough for him to get
his poker card. He didn’t like leaving Annabel alone for long in the middle of
this group of mostly horny, middle-aged wannabe players.

Tim Addams, Max’s financial
advisor, crossed the room and clapped him on the shoulder. Tim handed over a
white envelope with a card inside. “Picked this up for you.”

Damn, he’d forgotten Tim would be
here. He wasn’t a wannabe player. He was the Ultimate Player. Max had known him
to sample more women in a week than most men had meals. That was a good week, even
for Tim, but still.

Now more eager than ever to get
back to Annabel, Max stuck the envelope into his back pocket and headed for the
door. “Thanks. Maybe I’ll get lucky today.” From this angle, he watched Annabel
bend toward the rearview mirror while she pulled a comb through honey-colored
curls.

“Looks like you already have.” Tim
nodded toward Annabel and the excellent view of her truly gorgeous ass. “Who’s
the lady? She looks more like my type than yours.”

Max frowned and considered his
friend. He was a good guy to have on hand at the poker table, to make the
rounds with on the golf course, or in the clubs on a night out. Tim looked like
an overgrown choirboy with the muscular build of Beckham and the personality of
a snake charmer. For some reason, that combination appealed to a lot of women
who ended up either sleeping with Tim or investing great sums of money with
him. Or both.

Max invested great sums of money
with him, too, but only because the snake charmer was a financial genius. And
normally, Max didn’t care how many women Tim screwed. There were more than
enough women out there to go around. But Max balked at the idea of Tim turning
his dubious charms Annabel’s way. The guy did have an eye for selecting quality
women. Max would give him that. “How can you tell from here?”

“She doesn’t have on Spandex or
glitter.”

Max smirked. He knew something Tim
didn’t. She’d worn red lace the night before, and if there was a God, she’d
have on something equally sexy today. “Maybe she does underneath.”

“I don’t think so.” Tim shook his
head, not buying the bluff. “So why’s she with you?”

“I dared her to come.”

Tim laughed and nudged Max with his
elbow. “Introduce me and I’ll take her off your hands.”

Max shrugged off the suggestion.
“She’s no trouble.”
Not at the moment anyway.
“Maybe later. We’re about
ready to head out.” He left Tim to rejoin Annabel, watching as she flipped her
gleaming hair off her shoulder with a beguiling head toss. “How’re you doing?”

She flashed a dazzling smile. The
sun bounced off the various shades of blonde in her hair, begging him to run
his fingers through it. Pretty. And more intriguing still, sexy. He tried to
remember if he’d ever seen it unleashed before. Not that he could recall. The
effect made her look younger, more approachable. Of course, the recent orgasm
could have brought on that look, too.

Annabel cupped her ear and
hollered, “What?”

Damn, he’d forgotten her temporary
hearing loss. Leaning closer, he repeated the question, getting a heady whiff
of lemony shampoo as he did so.

“Brushing out my hair,” she said,
loud enough for people across the river to hear.

“Not ‘
what
are you doing’.”
He pushed a lock of silky hair behind her ear. “
How?
”

“‘Now’ what?”

“Never mind.” Chuckling, he reached
into his pocket to pull out the earplugs again. “Ready for these?”

She nodded as she smoothed her hair
back with her hands and tried to slip an elastic band around it.

He took her hand in his, plucked
the elastic from her fingers, and placed the earplugs in her palm. “Trade you.”

“Hey, I need that.”

He shook his head. “I like it
down.” She couldn’t hear him, but flushed, and he imagined she got the gist.
She smiled, nodded, and slipped the earplugs in. He could do with a whole lot
more of this agreeable attitude than the contrary approach she usually took.

And this time, she hopped into
place behind him like a pro. With a hand signal from Dick, the two-hundred
engines revved into life. Annabel’s thighs aligned with Max’s and her arms
circled him as they led the herd of riders onto the road.

She felt more relaxed against him
than she had at first, but then, so would a goalpost. She also seemed to get
the hang of leaning with the bike instead of away from it, and her feet quit
stomping on her imaginary brakes. Of course, his jacket might have her
fingerprints imprinted on it for life, but he could live with that.

This next section of smooth road
probably wouldn’t escalate into the kind of release she’d already experienced,
but he’d just as soon she didn’t loosen up too much. A lot of daylight
stretched ahead of them. If she managed to stick it out, he wanted to keep her
close and slightly jazzed. A tandem ride on a bike provided the perfect
opportunity for Annabel to become acquainted with the feel of his body against
hers.

For a couple of disappointing
minutes back at her house, he’d thought he’d end up leaving her behind. But
aside from managing to get herself off and being a little shell-shocked, so
far, she’d hung in there.

Her legs tightened around him again
as they reached a small suspension bridge. He and Dick had led the group all
the way across before he realized the cell phone in his shirt pocket vibrated.
With one hand, he pulled it out and checked the number.

Mercer.

He’d have to find a way to ditch
Annabel for a bit and contact the snitch at the next stop.

“We’ll be here for a half an hour.”
Max enunciated the words carefully after Annabel removed her earplugs. “What
would you like for lunch?”

And even though she could now make
out some, if not all, of the conversation around her, she appreciated having a
good reason to focus on his mouth.

He steered her toward a picnic
table on the patio of yet another sketchy dive, the Blue Moon Saloon. She’d
never realized there were so many out-of-the-way spots in the midst of
Southwest Ohio tailor-made for eating, drinking and getting into who knew how
many kinds of trouble. She definitely needed to get out more. Not to these
kinds of places, necessarily, but at least to expand her horizons. Or ask Max
to expand them for her.

Without his hand to keep her
grounded, the phantom vibration of the bike rattled her body like a
mini-earthquake. Exhaling a small sigh, Annabel sank onto the solid support of
a wooden bench.

“
Cae
—
Cae
—” She stopped to clear the pound of road grit from her
throat before choking out her request. “Caesar salad with grilled chicken and
iced tea.”

Max rolled his eyes. “You don’t
want salad. This is the Blue Moon,
darlin
’. They’re
famous for barbecue, barbecue, or barbecue. Those are the choices.” He’d ticked
all three of them off on his fingers. “They might have potato salad or
coleslaw, but trust me, Caesar salad is not on the menu.”

“Do they have barbecue chicken?”

“Mouth-watering.” His smile matched
the description.

“Great, I’ll take mine plain,
please.”

“Without sauce?” he asked, clearly
aghast. “That’s about as exciting as having sex without a partner.” Shaking his
head, he went off to get their meals.

After her amazing experience on the
back of his bike, she might have disputed that comment. She clapped a hand over
her mouth to keep a surprised spurt of laughter from escaping.

Although she hadn’t been with
anyone since Carl, her dear but unexciting husband had been polite and methodical
in bed, sad to say. Since his death, she’d kept a vibrator hidden on the top
shelf of her closet behind a box of old photographs. It seemed like a Barbie
toy compared to the adult-sized pulsation created by the machine of steel she’d
been riding this morning.
So size does matter.

Max couldn’t really know what had
happened to her back there on that bumpy stretch of road, could he? She’d done
her best to contain her reaction by squeezing her thighs tightly, pressing her
forehead into his back and clenching her hands in front of him—against his rock
hard abs, actually. But he did have that reputation for reading women, so maybe
he’d noticed the subtle signs.

While she waited for his return,
she concentrated on relaxing her sore and tense muscles. It would take more
than the half-hour allotted for lunch for her thighs to relax. Even though she
was almost a puddle in some areas, other body parts were still clenched tighter
than a corset.

A little embarrassed over her
earlier
response
, Annabel was grateful that they’d been following a road
that had more potholes than pavement for most of the morning. Whatever the road
lacked in smoothness, its route alongside the Ohio River more than made up for
in scenic beauty.

From her perch on the bench,
Annabel noticed that the Blue Moon’s patio overlooked the river’s swelling
banks. A large limb bobbed in and out of the water. A flock of geese honked
overhead. A canopy of branches blocked the sun with a haze of bright green
leaves bursting to life. The idyllic setting couldn’t keep her thoughts from
drifting to the puzzling white envelopes she’d seen members of the group
surreptitiously peeking into before pocketing.

What did they contain? Something as
harmless as the location of the next stop or something dangerous like one of
the new synthetic drugs she’d heard was spreading through Cincinnati like an
epidemic? She’d ask Max about the envelopes at the first opportunity. But if
they contained something top-secret or illegal would he tell her the truth?

Keeping an eye on the driftwood’s
progress, she became aware of two guys talking on the other side of the plank
fence behind her.

“I checked with my dealer
yesterday, and he can’t keep up with my demands anymore. Have you had any
trouble, Bruno?” a rumbling baritone asked.

“Not since I switched suppliers,” a
tenor responded. “Who’ve you been using?”

“Royce out of Tallahassee.”

“Yeah, I heard some untimely press
about illegal aliens brought them some unwanted attention from several federal
agencies. It slowed down their operation so much that distribution isn’t making
it much north of Tennessee.”

“I don’t want trouble with the
Feds,” Baritone grumbled. “I don’t need those snoops poking around more than
they do already.”

“Who does?” Tenor asked. “Call me
later, and I’ll hook you up with my supplier. He might be able to get his hands
on what you need.”

“At what price? And how soon?”

“It’ll be expensive, but it beats
not being able to meet the demand.”