TRACKING TRISHA - A Black Hounds Motorcycle Club Romance (The Fox and the Hounds Book #1) (10 page)

It was never a good idea to keep a girl waiting. Dante’s mother had told him it was one thing for a woman to keep her man marinating in worry and frustration. It was a cardinal sin for man to keep his girl waiting.

Nevertheless, the biker was worried as he parked in front of Foxtail farms. He worried the woman would get cold feet. Hell, she could even terminate their deal and go to the media. It could potentially bring him down and the entire business along with him.

Most of all, Dante feared he would never see Trisha Kaplan again.

Suddenly, the door of house opened and he sighed in relief. The woman closed the door and began descending the patio like a newborn. High heels must have been uncharted territory for her.

She looked so lovely amongst the moonlight greenery of the farm. Trisha didn’t have the pouty looks of the supermodels he had briefly dated. She didn’t have the confidence of swagger of the biker women he had met. However, there was a sensitivity and intelligence in her eyes that he had rarely seen before.

Trisha found her footing and strode confidently across the dirt pavement. The woman wore both an alertness in her eyes and a mischievousness in her heart-rending smile. She was a fox reincarnated as a woman.

Dante leaned back against his motorcycle. “You sure took your time. I can’t complain seeing the results.”

The biker eyed his date. He had to admit Lucia had gone to town to the farm girl. The low cut and tight fabric accentuated her curves. He didn’t know how his sister acquired three form-fitting dresses in such a short time but Lucia worked in mysterious ways.

Nevertheless, Trisha wore her new clothing well. The difference between the farm girl and the debutante was like the transformation of Cinderella. He just had to make sure this charade didn’t fall apart like Cinderella’s did at midnight.

“And I’m enjoying what I’m seeing,” Trisha grinned, eyeing the biker from head to toe. “Although, I expected a full limousine service. Can’t the Black Hounds break the budget for a poor old farm girl like?”

“No, we always had more money than sense,” Dante laughed. “I talked with marketing and they think it’s better if I arrive on one of our own vehicles to the car show. I can’t complain if it gives me a chance to ride a motorcycle for work.”

“I also expected a dinner jacket and some slacks,” she replied. “Is this what the Black Hounds consider to be business casual?”

The biker wore a dress shirt that clung tightly to his physique. An expensive pair of cufflinks, handpicked by Lucia no less, lined the sleeves of his shirt. He had gone as far as to drape himself with enough cologne to remove the gasoline fragrance that always followed him. However, that was were any semblance of professional attire ended.

The man wore dark jeans that could be mistaken for slacks at a glance. A thick leather jacket finished the look. The Black Hounds logo was absent from the jacket. Nevertheless, he looked like a biker through and through.

Dante was experienced enough to know when a woman was mentally undressing him. He had taken extra care to look appealing to his date. His appearance was that of a confident and powerful man. The biker wanted her to be comfortable at the car show.

“I’m still the bad boy,” he smirked, holding her hand by its relatively dainty wrist. She was so warm like the feel of a warm leather seat. He wanted to kiss her but that could wait until the cameras were up. “I have to play this part for the car show. It’s important for me not to dress up too much for an event like this. Besides, you haven’t made me an honest citizen just yet.”

Trisha frowned at that statement. Her dainty nose seemed to shrink and her eyes lost a bit of their fire. Dante didn’t know what he had said that could upset her. He combed over the words he had just said.

Then it hit him.

The woman was a romantic at heart. He had just shattered this illusion by speaking about their arrangement. The biker made a mental note. More than anything else, Trisha would have an easier time playing her part if she wasn’t constantly reminded that their relationship was a sham.

Dante moved in to cup her face with his hands. A thumb brushed her cheek and pushed away a stray strand of hair. He leaned in and kissed her on the cheek. Her skin was paradoxically hot and cold. When he broke the kiss, he pressed his cheek against the area he had just kissed. He felt her slow breathing before breaking away.

Failing to hide a smile, Trisha blinked at the gesture. “What was that for?”

“Practice makes perfect,” he whispered. Dante wondered if she knew what he was thinking. The woman’s salt of the earth appearance belied her intelligence. He wasn’t sure if her deductive skills would be a burden or an asset in the coming weeks. “We might have to do this a lot.”

“At the car show?”

He brushed his nose against her neck. “As long as we’re together.”

Looking unconvinced, Trisha pursed her lips. Dante knew it would be difficult for her make her love feel genuine. It took a special part of herself to make it feel real. Perhaps, it would take time for her to become more comfortable.

The farm girl turned her attention to his motorcycle. “So we’re taking that on the highway? What’s the safety record on this thing?”

“You’re looking at some who was one of the best riders in his club,” he replied. “Now, I’m the safest rider in the company. My days of going over on a sixty highway are over. And I’ll have you know that we’ve won several vehicle safety awards for our models for the last three years.”

Trisha folded her arms. “At least with a car I can see my head crash against the windows.”

“Here, wear this helmet,” he replied, handing her a motorcycle helmet. The biker put on his own helmet. “I’m as good as finding the right helmet size as my sister is finding the right dress size.”

“It must be genetic,” she giggled, trying up her hair first. The woman scanned the baubles that lined the helmet. “‘Banana Bounty?’ ‘Golden Harvest?’ ‘Bonobo’s choice?’ What’s with the banana stickers?”

“An old Alastair superstition,” Dante answered, mounting the motorcycle. It was a tradition to put fruit stickers on helmets to ensure a safe ride. The Alastair family had been doing it for years. The day his father and Uncle Cass got ambushed was the day they wore fresh helmets. “Now, hop on board.”

He felt the woman secure her hands above his waist. It must not have been her first time riding of the backseat of a motorcycle. “Dante, please drive safely.”

“Don’t worry,” the biker chuckled. “Keeping you in one piece is part of the arrangement.”

As Dante revved up the engine, he felt Trisha’s heart race with it. It rose again once he started to actually drive. The woman’s heart thundered once he entered the highway.

The noise of the engine and the muffling of their helmets didn’t allow the two to have an audible conversation. Nevertheless, Trisha’s tight grip on his body was all Dante needed to know. The girl needed a demonstration.

With casual ease, Dante weaved in between larger vehicles. He snakes his away around tractor trailers. It was a fraction of the skill he processed. Nevertheless, the farm girl seemed both impressed and pacified by his driving prowess.

Soon, her heartbeat was steady as his own.

“You certainly know how to arrive I style, Mr. Alastair,” the older man laughed, leading the fake-real couple into the car show. “Are you afraid the valet driver will run off with your motorcycle?”

“Oh, he can keep it,” Dante replied, gripping Trisha tightly around the waist. “I got plenty of rides in my garage. I just don’t want anyone to run off with my lovely date.”

“I don’t believe we’ve met,” the man said, offering Trisha a handshake. “Dante here likes fast rides and faster woman. The moment he gets tired of one, he gets another. Are you sure you can keep up with him?”

“A pleasure to meet you,” the farm girl said nervously. She wasn’t interested in learning Dante’s entire dating history. “I’m Trisha Kaplan. And you must be-”

“James T. Bigelow,” he stated proudly as if she were to recognize the name. “I run this show. In fact, I run every trade event worth a damn in this fine state. But this is what I’m most proud of.”

The man gestured to a lavish show floor displaying all manner of vehicles. Europeans showcased exotic brands of supercars. A NASCAR champion and an engineer talked about a new type of engine. Beautiful women with breasts the size of canned hams posed with sports cars. There were even tractors from a brand Trisha recognized.

The people looked even more interesting. They were rich and well-to-do as the munched on some free shrimp cocktail. The people staffing the booths looked out of place next to such finery. She even recognized some celebrities from Hollywood. However, they were closely guarded by bodyguards and public relations.

Trisha nodded. “That’s good to know…”

The man smirked. “Don’t let Dante promise you the world one night and leave you the next!”

“Oh, my Playboy days are long gone, Mr. Bigelow,” the biker turned CEO replied, holding Trisha’s hand in his own. “I think I’ve found someone who can make me happy and set me on the right path.”

“Well, I hope the right path makes both of us a lot of money,” he laughed, cackling like a hyena. Some of the other people attending the event turned and stared. Trisha felt like she had been caught with an embarrassing relative at a crowded theme park. “I got some meetings to take care. I’ll make sure to drop by the Black Hounds booth, especially now that your uncle is there.”

The biker’s eyes widened at shock at the revelation. It took every bit of willpower for Dante to shake the man’s his hand. “Thanks again for hosting us, Mr. Bigelow.”

Trisha forced herself to smile as well. “It was a pleasure, Mr. Bigelow.”

“Your uncle is here?” Trisha probed, sharing his expression of disbelief. “You never said anything about that.”

“That was not part of the plan,” Dante replied, cursing under his breath. “He was supposed to lie low while we did our work. We have to get to the Black Hounds booth right away.”

Trisha followed Dante through the crowds. Looking around, she saw that the other guests were watching them. Unused to the attention, Trisha turned to Dante. “That Mr. Bigelow is quite a character…”

“He comes with the territory,” the man sighed. “Five years ago, I would’ve told him to fuck off so I could enjoy the vehicles at the show. Now, I’m negotiating booth space with him.”

The farm girl placed her hands to her side. “Look at you, acting all grown up and negotiating deals.”

Before Dante could retort, they were interrupted by sight of Uncle Cass regaling a crowd at the Black Hounds exhibition. The aging man wore a suit as he stood at the forefront booth. He looked like a preacher saying his sermon to his congregation.

“I didn’t just find God when I paid penance for my crimes,” he said to the gaggle of reporters. Trisha was reminded of the televangelists she saw on television. “I found my true purpose. It was to help the Black Hound motorcycle company.”

A reporter probed his sincerity. “Do you believe you can make amends for your crimes?”