Ocean. He paused to admire the beauty. Although he lived in the Boston’s Back Bay neighborhood back home, he didn’t have such a good view of the ocean. Behind the condo, several miles away, the forest reared up into the mountains. He heaved in a deep breath of air, inhaling the barely discernible scent of roses on someone’s patio. Birds trilled their night song, and crickets chirped in the arroyo below the condos.
The sound of the motorcycle was getting louder. He gritted his teeth, unwilling for the silence to be broken by such a harsh noise. How he hated the disturbance, which reminded him of his youth and his inability to fight against the violent gangs that terrorized his neighborhood. Charlie had sought justice for their crimes since becoming a lawyer. He owed his mother that much.
Now he saw the rider and shiny black metal hurtling down the two-lane street where the condos were situated. Throwing on his jacket, he hurried down the stairs to the first floor with bated breath. The bike stopped outside, its engine idling. The almost angry blare of a horn assaulted his ears.
“What the hell?” he muttered, his heart jumping into his throat. Maybe the previous condo lessee had hung out with a biker, and the person didn’t yet know he’d moved on.
Fully intending to give the motorcyclist a piece of his mind, Charlie threw open the door and strode out onto the sidewalk. The sun was low in his eyes and prevented him from seeing who was planted on the seat. Unafraid of confrontations, he kept marching down the walkway. The cement felt hard and unaccommodating under his wingtips. In no uncertain terms, he’d urge the guy to quickly move on or he’d call the cops.
Still shading his eyes against the sun’s glare, he came level with the earsplitting racket. His mouth fell open in utter astonishment. The rider was the woman who’d stolen his parking space earlier that morning. Crap, but somehow she’d found out where he lived.
He almost barked out, “What do you want?” but she lifted her visor up and he saw her face with her dancing blue eyes, pert nose and glossy, parted lips. He forgot everything but that kissable mouth and imagined thrusting his tongue between the silky skin, tracing his knuckles down her cheek in a lazy line, unzipping her jacket, and watching as her breasts spilled out while her nipples hardened right in front of his eyes. He’d take her, his cock sliding into her warm wetness as she wrapped her questing arms around his neck and begged for more.
The fantasy abruptly ended when she cleared her throat. How could he have lost his senses so quickly in her presence?
A rose blush tinted her cheeks. She unbuckled the helmet’s strap, lifted the whole thing from her head and shook out her hair which flew gently in silky tendrils before they landed on her leather-clad shoulders. The black was accentuated by her blonde hair, and Charlie thought about dark satin sheets and her limbs spread out awaiting his touch.
Once more, he shook himself. What was it about Roxie that turned on his hormones big time?
He barely caught the helmet she threw in his direction. Still, it landed against his chest with a thud.
“You sure you don’t want to change into something more comfortable?” she asked in the musical voice with which he had become so familiar. She gave him a playful, full-toothed smile.
He didn’t immediately answer. He should have known. Biker chicks weren’t his type. His record for striking out grew by one.
“I am comfortable,” he managed, pulling himself together. He hadn’t expected Roxie to show up in a biker’s outfit. She seemed more genteel than that. His mind kept searching for the missing piece of the puzzle. What was wrong with his picture of beautiful Roxie on a fiendish motorcycle? Somehow, the two didn’t add up.
She leaned forward on the bike. “You look uptight, Charlie.” She unzipped her jacket the tiniest fraction of an inch. “Do you think this is a bad
The sound of the motorcycle was getting louder. He gritted his teeth, unwilling for the silence to be broken by such a harsh noise. How he hated the disturbance, which reminded him of his youth and his inability to fight against the violent gangs that terrorized his neighborhood. Charlie had sought justice for their crimes since becoming a lawyer. He owed his mother that much.
Now he saw the rider and shiny black metal hurtling down the two-lane street where the condos were situated. Throwing on his jacket, he hurried down the stairs to the first floor with bated breath. The bike stopped outside, its engine idling. The almost angry blare of a horn assaulted his ears.
“What the hell?” he muttered, his heart jumping into his throat. Maybe the previous condo lessee had hung out with a biker, and the person didn’t yet know he’d moved on.
Fully intending to give the motorcyclist a piece of his mind, Charlie threw open the door and strode out onto the sidewalk. The sun was low in his eyes and prevented him from seeing who was planted on the seat. Unafraid of confrontations, he kept marching down the walkway. The cement felt hard and unaccommodating under his wingtips. In no uncertain terms, he’d urge the guy to quickly move on or he’d call the cops.
Still shading his eyes against the sun’s glare, he came level with the earsplitting racket. His mouth fell open in utter astonishment. The rider was the woman who’d stolen his parking space earlier that morning. Crap, but somehow she’d found out where he lived.
He almost barked out, “What do you want?” but she lifted her visor up and he saw her face with her dancing blue eyes, pert nose and glossy, parted lips. He forgot everything but that kissable mouth and imagined thrusting his tongue between the silky skin, tracing his knuckles down her cheek in a lazy line, unzipping her jacket, and watching as her breasts spilled out while her nipples hardened right in front of his eyes. He’d take her, his cock sliding into her warm wetness as she wrapped her questing arms around his neck and begged for more.
The fantasy abruptly ended when she cleared her throat. How could he have lost his senses so quickly in her presence?
A rose blush tinted her cheeks. She unbuckled the helmet’s strap, lifted the whole thing from her head and shook out her hair which flew gently in silky tendrils before they landed on her leather-clad shoulders. The black was accentuated by her blonde hair, and Charlie thought about dark satin sheets and her limbs spread out awaiting his touch.
Once more, he shook himself. What was it about Roxie that turned on his hormones big time?
He barely caught the helmet she threw in his direction. Still, it landed against his chest with a thud.
“You sure you don’t want to change into something more comfortable?” she asked in the musical voice with which he had become so familiar. She gave him a playful, full-toothed smile.
He didn’t immediately answer. He should have known. Biker chicks weren’t his type. His record for striking out grew by one.
“I am comfortable,” he managed, pulling himself together. He hadn’t expected Roxie to show up in a biker’s outfit. She seemed more genteel than that. His mind kept searching for the missing piece of the puzzle. What was wrong with his picture of beautiful Roxie on a fiendish motorcycle? Somehow, the two didn’t add up.
She leaned forward on the bike. “You look uptight, Charlie.” She unzipped her jacket the tiniest fraction of an inch. “Do you think this is a bad
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