Riding Dirty (9 page)

He must have been able to read the desire in her eyes, because he gripped her upper arms and leaned closer. Before he touched his mouth to hers, she braced her palms on his chest and turned her head to the side.

“No,” she said, breaking free from his grasp. Pulse racing, she pointed at the chair. “Go over there.”

He flinched at the order, reluctant to comply. After a short hesitation, he strode away from her and sat back down with the same surly expression he’d worn earlier. The same insouciant sprawl. Only now he had a huge erection.

She forced herself not to examine his body with hungry interest. Good thing she hadn’t invited him to jackhammer her against the wall. That equipment wasn’t quickie material. She approached her desk and poured two cups of water with shaking hands, spilling some. Bringing the cups, she returned to her seat.

He downed his in three gulps. “I need a refill to pour on my dick.”

She wasn’t going to look down again. After taking a few sips from her cup, she said, “This is a problem.”

“I know how to solve it.”

“Your desire for me is a distraction. It’s another way for you to avoid working on your emotional issues.”

“Fuck,” he said, scrubbing his hand down his face.

“I don’t know if I can continue to be your psychologist.”

This was sobering news. His demeanor changed from aggressively sexual to contrite. “I don’t want another psychologist.”

“It’s not your call to make.”

“You don’t have to be afraid of me. I won’t hurt you.”

“That’s not it, Cole. The attraction isn’t one-sided. There are ethical considerations.”

“Well, consider this. I refuse to go to another shrink.”

“You don’t have a choice.”

“Sure I do. I’ll tell Vargas to fuck off and take my chances in Chino.”

She doubted Cole would do that, considering the recent assassination attempt, but Damon might not be able to find a replacement psychologist. The fewer people who knew about Cole’s informant status, the better. Cole’s connection with Mia was a double-edged sword. He was making progress despite her dubious guidance. Parting ways at this point could hurt his chances of staying out of prison.

As he’d said, the stakes were high.

She’d thrown ethics out the window when she’d set her plan into motion. It wasn’t Cole’s fault that he’d responded to her manipulations with enthusiasm. Refusing to treat him now didn’t seem fair.

She also had selfish reasons to continue their sessions. She felt alive in his presence, all of her senses awake and her nerves vibrating. It had been so long since she’d cared about anything, wanted anything.

She couldn’t have vengeance, but maybe she could have
this
.

“Our time isn’t up,” she said, referring to the clock on her phone. “But let’s end here and discuss options on Thursday, after we’ve...cooled down.”

He nodded his agreement, but he didn’t appear pleased. “Any homework?”

“I’d planned to ask you about your relationships with women. How they’ve shaped your life, and why you feel protective of them.”

“I’ll give it some thought.”

She didn’t rise from her seat to escort him to the door, or tell him to take care. She just watched with a thrumming heart while he exited the room, wondering if they’d ever see each other again. The past few weeks had been an emotional roller coaster. She hadn’t realized how obsessed she’d become with getting even. She might go home, call Damon, and spill the whole story to him. Or she might go home and cry.

There was no positive outcome to the situation, no satisfying long-term solution. She could tell Damon that she was having anxiety attacks with Cole. It was true. Or she could go on as if nothing untoward had happened, and risk another incident. Their chemistry was combustible. How could she keep her distance from him?

She left a note on the desk about the broken air conditioner, claiming she’d found it like that, and grabbed her purse from the drawer on her way out. Halfway across the parking lot, she reached for her keys and came up empty. Her stomach dropped as she remembered that she’d locked them in her car. On purpose.

“Shit,” she muttered under her breath, wavering on the hot asphalt. She’d sabotaged herself, as well as the air conditioner. After tempting Cole with her peekaboo bra and dewy cleavage, she’d planned to act the damsel in distress.

She glanced around the deserted parking lot warily. She had an extra set of keys at home in Cathedral City. She’d have to call a cab or take the casino shuttle. Damon would probably give her a ride, but she didn’t want to see him in her current state of dishabille.

Hitching her purse strap on her shoulder, she hurried toward the sidewalk like a thief leaving the scene of the crime. There was a bus stop a few blocks away. She could rally there and figure out what to do.

When she reached the bus bench, she sat down and searched for cab services on her phone. She hadn’t taken a cab since her bachelorette party.

What a wild evening that had been. They’d seen a burlesque performance and gone club-hopping in downtown LA. At the end of the night they’d piled into the cab, four in the back and Mia in the passenger seat. She’d been tipsy, maybe even drunk. The cabbie kept insisting that she was sitting on his cell phone. He’d reached under her for it several times. She hadn’t realized what he was doing—trying to cop a feel—until the ride was almost over.

And she’d said nothing.

The memory made a lump of sorrow and resentment rise to her throat. For all the unspoken grievances. Those everyday violations that women accepted in silence. The lost opportunities to protest, gone forever. Remembering her friends, whom she hadn’t been able to speak to in years, deepened her despair.

Tears gathered in her eyes and slid down her cheeks, splashing the surface of her phone. She put it away, deciding to wait for the bus to come. And then she heard the sound of a motorcycle rounding the corner.

Cole.

CHAPTER SEVEN

M
IA WIPED THE
tears from her face, her pulse skyrocketing.

He slowed to a stop in front of the bus bench, resting the soles of his boots against the blacktop. He was wearing an army-style motorcycle helmet and his vest, but his arms were bare. Dark sunglasses covered his eyes. “What happened?”

“I locked my keys in my car.”

Shifting his weight, he looked over his shoulder. The office building wasn’t visible from this side of the street. “Are you waiting for the bus?”

“Yes.”

“It left five minutes ago.”

Mia followed his nod to a blue sign right next to the bench. It had a bus logo and a schedule of departure times printed underneath. Sure enough, this bus line ran hourly, and she’d just missed the last one.

“Hop on,” he said. “I’ll take you for a ride.”

“That’s not a good idea.”

He tilted his head to the side. “You look like you’re having a bad day. Let’s combine your bad day and my bad idea, and be bad together.”

She stared at his motorcycle, her heart thumping like a jackrabbit inside her chest. No professional, well-adjusted psychologist would jump on a bike with her client, a criminal informant she was wildly attracted to.

No professional, well-adjusted psychologist would plan to seduce him, either.

She examined her alternatives, all bleak. She could sit here on the bench for an hour, fighting tears. Call a cab and wallow in missed opportunities. Continue to be passive and powerless, one day bleeding into the next.

“I’m wearing a skirt,” she heard herself say.

He flashed a grin, killing the engine. After engaging the kickstand, he climbed off and lifted the seat. There was a compartment underneath with a pair of jeans rolled up inside. “Your shoes are okay,” he said, glancing at her stylish high-heeled ankle boots. He tossed her the jeans. “Put these on.”

“Whose are they?”

“Mine.”

She slipped on the jeans under her skirt, trying not to expose her lacy panties.

“No stockings today?”

“No stockings.”

“Damn.”

Feeling clumsy, she unzipped her skirt and took it off, stashing the garment in her purse. His jeans were too big. When she stood, she had to hold the waistband to prevent them from falling down her hips.

“Here,” he said, giving her a strip of Teflon tape.

She laced the ribbon-like material through the belt loops and tied a knot. Then he removed his helmet, revealing his short, damp hair. The sight struck her as intensely erotic. She wanted to be responsible for working him up into a sweat.

“Do you have any sunglasses?” he asked.

“No.” She kept them in her car.

He stuffed her purse in the compartment and found a pair of dusty goggles. As soon as she donned the eyewear, he placed the helmet on her head and adjusted the chin strap. Goggles and chin straps weren’t sexy, but his hands were. She shivered when his careful, calloused fingertips grazed the side of her throat. “Keep your head tucked behind my back or you might get bugs in your face. Or pebbles, which sting like a bitch. You don’t want marks on that pretty skin.”

She moistened her lips. “Got it.”

“I’d offer you my cut, but it’s against the rules.”

“Members only?”

“Members only,” he said with a smile.

She shrugged into her suit jacket, smiling back at him. He had a killer smile. “How many women have you given rides to?”

“On this bike? None.”

“And on other bikes?”

“Enough to know what I’m doing.”

“This is my first time.”

“I’ll be gentle,” he said, still smiling. “The main thing you need to remember is that it’s okay to say stop. I once had a girl freak out and jump off. She almost broke her ankle. So if you get scared, tell me and I’ll slow down. If you want me to stop, I’ll stop.”

Forget the bike; she wanted to ride
him
.

Incapable of words, she just nodded.

He straddled the seat again. “Put your hand on my shoulder and get on just like I did. Throw your leg over. Watch out for the muffler.”

She followed those instructions, settling in behind him. It was a very snug fit. Her breasts pressed against his back and her thighs cradled his. She slipped her arms around his middle. His belly was hard and flat beneath the cotton T-shirt. Her crotch made happy acquaintance with the firm seat. Very happy. Unh.

“Feet on the footrests. Don’t move them or you can get burned.”

She squeezed his waist in acknowledgment. His flesh had no give. Oh my.

He started the engine, raising his voice. “Hold on tight, and lean how I lean. If I go right, you go, too. Nice and steady. I’ll take it slow.”

They took off, and she clung to him for dear life. The vibrations were a low thrum between her legs, pleasant but not so arousing that she was in danger of embarrassing herself. Although her hips were tilted forward, with the seat pressed against her clit, the sensation wasn’t localized enough to get her off.

He drove down the backstreets of Indio, fast enough to thrill her, but he wasn’t reckless. Wind whipped through the ends of her hair and an unfamiliar lightness spread through her body, making her laugh out loud. She flattened her cheek against his Dirty Eleven patch, hugging him hard. His stomach muscles bunched beneath her fingertips. He smelled delicious, like warm leather and clean sweat. She wanted to ride forever.

When he finally stopped, she lifted her head to look around. They were at a taco shop on the outskirts of town, next to Cahuilla Lake. The nearby county park had RV facilities and a small campground. In the off-season, on a Tuesday, the area was deserted.

He parked behind the restaurant, instructing Mia to dismount first. Then he put down the kickstand and removed his sunglasses.

She took off the helmet and goggles with glee. She felt the strain in her cheek muscles and realized she’d been smiling the whole time. Her face wasn’t used to it.

“What do you think?” he asked.

“I loved it.”

Pleasure lit his eyes, striking across his handsome features. This was important to him. Everything to him, maybe. It was freedom and escape, if only for a short time. With her cradled against him, it was intimate, too. All of the things he’d wished for.

“Most women do,” he said, pragmatic. As if he’d learned to have low expectations.

“That’s not why I loved it.”

“No?”

“It is kind of...stimulating,” she admitted, “but I felt something else. Weightless. Like I didn’t have a care in the world.”

He hooked the goggles and helmet on the side mirror and climbed off, satisfaction radiating from him. It radiated from her, as well. She imagined him lifting her into his arms and whirling her around,
Sound of Music
style. Only this was a gravel lot in a dusty desert town, not a grassy mountain in the French Alps. And she was no nun.

“Are you hungry?” he asked, lifting his chin toward the restaurant. It appeared to be a typical hole-in-the-wall taco stand. There was a set of colorful picnic tables under a shaded canopy out front. “Let’s eat.”

Mia nodded her agreement and followed him to the order window. She studied the menu, which was painted on the stucco. Cole seemed amused, as if he thought she was too fancy for this place.

“
Tiene jamaica
?” she asked the woman at the counter.

When the woman said yes, Mia asked for a small drink and a chicken taco.

Cole arched a brow at her smooth Spanish. He ordered a carne asada burrito and a soda, paying for their meal with cash. After they got their drinks, he sat down with her at a green table. “Are you Mexican?”

“On my mom’s side.”

“I know some Spanish.”

“Do you?”

“Your name means ‘mine.’”

Yes, it did. And hearing him say the word in a possessive tone made her flush with heat. She took off her jacket, aware of his gaze on her half-buttoned blouse. The air was cooler now, caressing her bare skin.

“Tell me about your husband.”

Throat dry, she tasted her jamaica. It was a fruity red tea, tart like cranberry juice. “What about him?”

“How long has he been dead?”

“I can’t answer that.”