I have the feeling this little brunette could wrap me right around her finger, but at the moment I don’t care. All I can think about are her legs wrapped around my hips.

She’s got all kind of things riled up inside me. Maybe it’s because my protective instincts were triggered when I saw her struggling in that asshole’s clutches. Right now I’m hanging on her every movement, not caring that I have work to do and an MC to run.

I want to swing her out of her seat, throw her up on the counter and bury my face under her short skirt. Fuck.

I run my hand through my hair and try to remember what we’re talking about. Something about football. Ironic, since you’re supposed to think about sports to try to keep from getting too excited too fast. It’s not working. Not at all.

She’s laughing, and the soft, throaty sound of it makes my balls ache.

“So you’ll be my escort?” she asks.

Escort? Dinner party? I’m trying to picture the scene, but I can’t focus much past the image I have of burying my tongue inside her.

“I’m not the dinner party type,” I say.

“You’d be perfect,” she says, looking between my eyes and my mouth. She wants it, too — all the stuff I want to do to her. I can tell. But she’s not some random horny chick looking to sample the biker lifestyle — she’s different.

I still can’t imagine myself at a dinner party, but what the hell. It’s only one night, and if it gets me a shot at her wild side, it’ll be worth it. “I’ll take your word for it.”

I touch her then, just two fingers brushing against the hand wrapped around her glass. Her skin is soft, and I want to know what it feels like to have her delicate fingers wrapped around my cock.

Her eyes are fixed on our hands. She draws in a breath that pushes her chest out, threatening to make me rock hard. “I’ll meet you here tomorrow, at eight?” she says.

I’m supposed to be working tomorrow night, but a man’s got priorities. Jake can cover; he’ll have to. I nod once. “Yeah.”

As if her business is settled, Tara slides off the stool and collects her bag. I have the sudden, irrational urge to keep her here. Keep her with me.

“What do you do?” Between her dress and her talk of dinner parties, I figure she’s got some kind of fancy office job.

“Risk assessment. Or that’s what I’ll be doing eventually, anyway.”

I cock my head. “Not threat assessment.”

She grins at me. “No, I don’t have that type of training. Financial risk. I have a degree in finance, and I’m working and taking part-time classes toward my MBA.”

Just as I thought. What a woman like her is doing in a biker bar, I don’t understand, but damned if I care.

“I’d better get going,” she says.

“I’ll walk you out.” I’m sure Mike and Buddy are long gone, but the thought of anyone even looking at her funny has me primed to punch something.

I escort her out with a hand on the small of her back, the heat of her skin burning through the fabric of her little red dress. Reaching past her to open the door, I catch the faint scent of her hair — something floral, or maybe fruity — and I picture myself pulling her closer, tangling handfuls of her shiny locks.

As we cross the parking lot she digs her keys out of her purse and I notice pepper spray on her keychain. My fist balls involuntarily at the thought of her being afraid, of needing to clutch something for self-defense.

I support women’s safety, like any decent man does, but I’ve never been the overprotective type. Something about Tara, though, has me ready to defend her from anything.

When we arrive at a white SUV, she opens the door, sets her purse inside, and turns to me. It’s a cool night and the skin on her bare arms prickles with goosebumps. I step in close and take her arms in my palms, stroking up and down to warm her.

She not only warms up, but melts under my touch. I lean in slowly, and when she doesn’t resist, I press my lips to hers. I use restraint. I want to ravish her — devour her — but instead I kiss her gently. Her lips are unbelievably soft.

“We just met,” she says breathily when we part.

“What can I say? I’m a free spirit.” Her lips curve into a smile as I go in for more. I wrap an arm around her and pull her into me, her breasts pressing into my chest.

I can’t stay gentle for long. Parting her lips with mine, I find her tongue. Her mouth tastes good, and I immediately need to taste more of her. So much for taking it slow.

The kiss deepens until I break free, push her hair back, and bury my nose in her neck, inhaling deeply before sampling her skin. It’s salty and sweet — my favorite combination.

Her breath hitches when I nip at the delicate skin above her collarbone. I suck a small section of her flesh into my mouth, rake my teeth over it, then soothe it with my tongue.

“Oh, fuck,” Tara moans softly. I wouldn’t have pegged her as having a dirty mouth. Her choice of words makes my cock kick up. Filthy words from her sweet lips are a definite aphrodisiac, and I vow to do whatever I can to get her cursing some more.