Total pages in book: 115
Estimated words: 105813 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 529(@200wpm)___ 423(@250wpm)___ 353(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 105813 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 529(@200wpm)___ 423(@250wpm)___ 353(@300wpm)
I shivered at the demand in his deep, electronic voice. “You first.”
As a hunted man, he had a lot more riding on the safety of incognito than I did. If he was willing to trust me with his identity—a big desperate if here—I’d return the favor. He didn’t know where I lived and probably wouldn’t recognize my face.
But what if he did recognize me? Seeing how he avoided the media and how my family owned the largest multimedia conglomerate in the world…yeah, those technicalities wouldn’t win me a hard ride on his cock.
He released my chin strap, and for a dizzying second, I thought he would reach for his helmet. But his head jerked toward the street, and his back straightened. In the span of several heartbeats, the warning chirp of a police siren pierced the quiet.
Fuck my life. I clutched the grips, ready to jet, but he grabbed my thigh and squeezed. He stared straight ahead—at the tree line?—the heat from his hand seeping through two layers of leather. What were we waiting for?
When he let go of my leg, he rattled off detailed directions, which streets to take, which ones to avoid, an ass-backward way to return to the interstate. “Do not deviate. Do not slow.” He smacked the back of my helmet. “Go.”
“What about you?” Jesus, did I sound desperate or what?
“Right behind you.” Promise silkened his tone.
I took off, veering between two squad cars, and followed his directions. His headlights bobbed in my side mirrors, but after several blocks, he fell behind. My heart thudded dully in my chest, disappointment creeping around my throat. He stayed with me until the freeway, but after a few miles, I lost him to the flow of traffic.
The achy weight of rejection sank in my stomach. I didn’t want to acknowledge it. Just because I couldn’t see him, didn’t mean he’d slipped away.
Patrol cars filled the freeway, zipping by in both directions, sirens blaring. Dammit, I’d forgotten to put my license plate back on. I hunched my shoulders and maintained the speed limit.
With every mile I put behind me, I glanced less and less at the side mirrors. The hard knot in my gut told me he wasn’t back there and hadn’t been for a while.
It was better this way. I could go home, hide in my room, and figure out how I was going to explain the cuts on my neck to Collin. I needed to confront the could’ve’s and would’ve’s surrounding the attack in the alley. I needed to face the possibility that tonight was my last race.
But not because Evader had spanked me and issued that order.
A wave of heat tingled through my thighs. Okay, that was totally why.
I inhaled deeply. I was not going to go home and obsess about him. He’d asked me what I wanted, and I would’ve said him. But for one night? What about tomorrow? And the night after that?
A twinge pinched my chest. What I wanted I couldn’t have. The wife of a well-known commentator shacking up with a well-known felon? That had scandal written all over it.
Fifteen minutes and several laps around Trump Tower later, I was certain he hadn’t followed me. I swiped my security badge at the garage entrance and parked in my designated spot two floors down.
Shuffling toward the elevator, I removed my gloves, tucked them in my pockets, and reached for the buckle on my chin strap.
A hum vibrated the air, growing closer, louder. Reverberations crackled over the concrete and shook my legs. I knew that sound, could feel its familiar growl liquefy every cell in my body.
The world slowed down as the glossy black fairings of a S1000RR emerged at the top of the ramp and stopped. Engine idling, my pulse skipping, his black boot lowered to the ground.
Crouched low, shoulders forward, he rolled gloved hands on the grips. An electric charge gathered around him, galvanizing with expectation, as his dark helmet locked in my direction.
My breaths rushed out, thrilled and delirious. He’d followed me.
I stopped breathing. Oh fuck, he’d followed me.
How? Shit, how had he raised the secured garage door? A shiver tore up my spine. Now he knew where I lived.
Oh God, what have I done?
8
Kaci
The rev of his motorcycle split the air, the throaty growl rendering me immobile. Its echo ripped through the cavernous space of the garage, muddling the indecision gripping my muscles. The thrilling prospect of him being here tingled my face even as fear thundered through my veins.
Run? Wise choice. He didn’t know my identity, didn’t know which floor I lived on. About a dozen running steps and I could slip into the elevator before he made it down the ramp.
But my boots stuck to the concrete as the glare of his helmet bore into me, drowning me in his intention to chase. I stood in the cross-hairs, grateful to be standing really, considering how badly my legs trembled.