Shayla had never understood adrenaline junkies. When she was eighteen, a friend from high school begged her to go bungee jumping with him, and she had agreed even though the thought made her feel ill. Everyone she knew who had done it claimed that it was worth all the fear, and that the rush they got on that long plummet was better than anything a person could experience with two feet firmly planted on the ground.
Shayla was no coward, so she went along.
The bridge that spanned the gulley was made of corrugated steel, and seemed quite sturdy. Walking out on it, though, Shayla had never felt more unsafe. She knew it was all in her head; that she was more likely to die on the drive home than while bungee jumping, but her mind’s logical processes seemed to have taken a vacation. She had walked forward with shaky legs, trying to keep her eyes on the little diving platform ahead and not on the sound of rushing water below.
Jackson had thought her quite brave for wanting to go first. Even braver for wanting to dive backward. In truth, Shayla had been doing everything in her power to get the dive over with as soon as possible, and she didn’t want to see where she was headed while she did it.
Standing on the ledge, with the wind prickling at her clammy skin, Shayla had said a silent farewell to the world. It was dramatic, sure, but with the way her pulse was pounding in her throat, all her instincts were telling her she’d never survive the fall.
Then, with her eyes screwed closed, she’d pushed off and careened toward the river.
It was the same feeling as a long drop on a roller coaster, but it didn’t end. She opened her mouth but there was no air to scream. They had told her not to hang on to the foam thing that covered the attachment to the rope, but her arms flung up and held onto it tightly, willing it to stay her movement.
And then the rope had snapped taut, and the relief that welled inside of Shayla was the sweetest thing she’d ever felt. But it was short lived, because as soon as she stopped going down, she began to fly back up. While that sensation wasn’t as unpleasant as the fall had been, she knew that she’d have to go back down soon enough. And the dread was worse this time than it had been before she jumped in the first place, because she’d never factored in this part of the experience before. She hadn’t prepared herself for this loop of falling and soaring, and she didn’t know when it would end.
When she had finally finished bouncing, she swung lazily over the rushing river below as someone pulled her back up to the bridge. The instructor, a new age hippie with a crooked grin, had said, “See, not so bad huh?”
Shayla had merely glared at him.
That experience had shaped Shayla’s thrill seeking capacity ever since. She had kept to herself, never looking for more of an adrenaline rush than a good lead for a story or a designer sales event at her favorite store. Because it had been so bad. And she hadn’t felt, afterward, that bungee jumping had been worth it. It had left her shaken, upset, and frankly a little bit nauseous. Her time would have been better spent studying or writing.
She understood the romance of getting to experience plunging to one’s death without actually dying, but screw that.
So with that experience hanging over her, Shayla felt a certain trepidation as she approached a motorcycle with a giant of a man whose dark eyes were filled with even darker desires. Statistically, it was riskier than a bungee jump. Emotionally, it was more nerve wracking than her stumbling approach to the diving platform. But somehow, despite all that, walking beside Luke lit a fire inside of Shayla.
She was terrified, and she loved it.
What kinds of things could happen now that she’d left the station? What kinds of things could happen to her specifically? Luke looked like trouble, smelled like sin, and made her feel like her world was about to light on fire. And Shayla drank it up like a glass of water in a searing desert.
The night was cool, but not cold. Shayla’s blazer and jeans provided more than adequate protection from the chill. The summer sky was awash with stars, and a breeze from the ocean dipped through Shayla’s blonde tresses and waved them behind her. She crossed her arms over her chest, not from the cold, but to hide the way her adrenaline spiked hands trembled.
“Ever been on a bike before?” Luke asked, his voice light.
She shook her head. “Not really.”
He grinned at her. “Not really?”
“Not unless you count one without a motor.”
Luke laughed. “I don’t. No.” He pointed to where a black and chrome chopper stood a few feet away. “Want me to be gentle for your first time?”
Shayla had to bite back a gasp. The thought went through her again: What the hell was she doing?
But she knew exactly what she was doing. There had always been a thrill seeker tucked away inside of her; it was just that the thrills she sought couldn’t be found at the end of a bungee cord. She craved something darker. And, arguably, more dangerous.
“Give me all you’ve got.”
She watched his face for a reaction, and Luke didn’t disappoint. His devilish grin grew, and his eyes filled with promise. She knew, right then, that he’d be giving her everything he had and more. It was only a matter of whether she’d be brave enough to take it.
Luke walked up to the bike and grabbed the helmet from the handlebar, thrusting it toward her. “Safety first.”
Shayla grabbed it from him, it's cool surface heaven against her fingers. Everywhere on her body was hot. She couldn’t wait to have the wind rushing past her. She couldn’t wait to have her arms around Luke.
“The important thing is to hold onto me real tight,” Luke said, flashing his teeth. “And just trust that I’ve got you.”
Shayla nodded. Trust. That was an interesting concept. Could she trust him? She wanted to. Mostly because her body was begging her mind to do whatever it took to allow her this glorious, sensual freefall.
Luke swung his leg over the seat and patted the space behind him. Shayla followed suit, sliding up until her thighs cradled his. He smelled like leather and smoke, and she leaned against him and wrapped her arms around.
A loud roaring echoed through the night air, but it wasn’t from Luke’s bike. Shayla craned her head over Luke’s massive shoulder to see that two guys on bikes were approaching, though they stopped before they entered the parking lot of the station. They just stared at Luke, their faces hard and angry. Who were they? And what the hell did they want?
Shayla opened her mouth to ask Luke if he knew them, when she saw that one of his hands had slipped into his jacket pocket. Did he have a knife or something in there? Her pulse pounded. A gun? Whatever it was, the other bikers revved up their engines and took off back down the road, leaving a cloud of dust swirling through the darkness.
“What was that about?”
Luke shrugged. “Tough guys trying to be tough.” He pulled his hand out and started the ignition on his bike. Shayla gripped him harder, and his chest rumbled with a low chuckle.
She found it hard to believe that the whole confrontation she just witnessed was simply a matter of “tough guys trying to be tough.” There was no show in it. No peacock feathers. Their presence had seemed, to her at least, to be more of a wordless threat than a display of dominance.
The first creeping of doubt began to trickle into Shayla. Perhaps not doubt about whether Luke was a good, safe guy. It was more doubt about the simplicity of perceiving him that way. There was a lot under the surface of Luke that she clearly didn’t understand, which wasn’t necessarily a problem in itself.
Who didn’t have skeletons in their closet? But, a guy who rode a bike and had tattoos like Luke’s might have more than his share. She was already walking a tightrope even getting on his bike. How would she feel about her adrenaline high when the stakes rose?
The bike roared, gliding forward through the parking lot. Shayla’s arms tightened even further now that they were moving, and she resisted the urge to close her eyes and shove her face in the back of Luke’s jacket.
She could do this. This wasn’t all that scary.
But it was a bit scary. Every time they turned, she felt their bodies angle down toward the ground. It told her instincts that she was near death and pain, and a wave of panic rose in her gut. But, once she got past that—or rather, overlooked it—Shayla enjoyed the rest of the ride.
It was like she was an animal, a monster, roaring down the streets at impossible speeds, experiencing the scents and sights of the world without the barrier of a windshield. Though the turns were scary, each one came with its own little dose of euphoria. It kept her alert and wide eyed, because even just holding on to Luke was a conscious process that she couldn’t afford to overlook. She was aware.
She could see why people loved it, and the vibrating seat wasn’t exactly strumming the wrong chord with her either. She could also see why motorcycle deaths were so gruesome. She was acutely aware, every second, that one wrong move from Luke could be their last. It would only take a moment for them to be wiped of the face of the earth. Or smeared across it.
Luke stopped at a diner on the outskirts of town. She hadn’t expected him to go to McDonalds or anything, but part of her had expected he’d choose some place a little bit less...family friendly.
A bell above the door jingled as they walked in, but there was nobody around to hear it. It didn’t appear so, anyway. But, sure enough, a call from the kitchen a moment later informed them to seat themselves, and that someone would be right with them.
The booths were green and white, with colorful menus perched on them. Shayla glanced around, unable to choose from so many options. That had always been a crux of hers. She could easily figure out her top choice between two or three options, but she couldn’t even pick a favorite color because there were too many.
“Where should we sit?” she asked, leaving it up to Luke.
He shrugged and walked over to the table in the far corner. He slid off his coat and chucked it into the corner of the booth. “Here good with you?”
Shayla nodded, sliding into the opposite side. She pulled off her blazer and set it aside as Luke had done his jacket. Beneath, they were both wearing t-shirts. Shayla smiled.
“So,” she said. “Tell me about Trojans MC.”
Luke shrugged. “Not much to say. I started the club after high school. We’ve got a decent number of members now.” He grinned. “And we ride motorcycles.”
Shayla rolled her eyes, but smiled nonetheless. “And the club name—does it have anything to do with the tattoo on your arm there?” She pointed to the Greek script she’d been admiring earlier.
Luke glanced down at his bicep, then back up at her. “It’s from The Iliad.” He reached over and traced the lines, reading out, “Let me not then die ingloriously and without a struggle, but let me first do some great thing that shall be told among men hereafter.”
“That’s beautiful.”
Luke dropped his arm and picked up a menu. Before he could respond, though, their waitress arrived. She was a thin woman in her early-thirties, with a beautiful if forced smile. She didn’t even spare a glance to Shayla, focusing all her attention on Luke.
Shayla couldn’t really blame her.
“My name is Shelly. I’ll be your server this evening. Can I get you something to drink?” She batted her eyelashes. “Maybe something a little more refreshing than water?”
What, did she think she could get him tipsy and he’d forget that he was on a date with another woman? Wait...was he on a date? Were they on a date? Or was it considered something else? A date normally ended with a goodnight kiss and the promise of a phone call. Shayla doubted that this would end with anything other than a couple hickeys and—hopefully—a mind-blowing orgasm.
“I’ll have a Coke, please,” Luke said, the picture of gentlemanly charm. To his credit, he didn’t return the flirty smile or the lusty gaze.
“I’ll have the same.”
The waitress looked at Shayla as if she was just noticing her there. “Of course.”
She trotted off, swaying her hips, which did look quite sensational underneath the tight fitting skirt. Shayla had the feeling that Shelly was a much better match for Luke. She looked like a girl who knew the score, and with the stab of jealousy that gutted Shayla, she was beginning to think that she herself did not know the score.
If she did, she’d feel a sense of pride in knowing that she was going to take Luke home. Or that he was going to take her home. And she wouldn’t really care about what he did with the rest of his time. But a sense of insecurity began to creep up in Shayla as it became more and more apparent that Luke was not just a beard and muscles. He had a beautiful line of classical poetry tattooed on his arm. He rescued kittens. He brought books places and read them.
Anyway, she chose not to worry about it. She was still feeling a little bit heady from the ride over, and knew that her mind was probably just trying to psych her out of having a good time. Brains were petty like that.
“So what do you do when you’re not rescuing kittens in distress?”
Luke smirked. “I rescue the odd damsel tied to the train tracks as well.”
“Quite the do-gooder.” Shayla raised an eyebrow.
“I have to do some good to make up for the amount of bad I do.”
His voice was like velvet, but the meaning was anything but soft. A shiver went through Shayla.
“What else do you do besides get bossed around at your job?” Luke asked.
“That’s basically it.” Shayla frowned. “Today was the first day that I got to do any actual news. Mostly I just grab coffee and run errands.”
The waitress came back with their drinks, bending over an unnecessary amount to slide the dewy glasses onto the table. Luke kept his eyes on Shayla the whole time, much to Shelly’s chagrin.
“Have you guys thought about food?”
Shayla had not, but she asked for a burger and fries. It was always the safest bet. Luke did the same, and gave a half-second smile to the waitress before turning back to Shayla. Shelly sauntered off again, but neither of them looked this time.
“She likes you,” Shayla commented, taking a sip of her Coke. “Sure you don’t want to be having dinner with her instead?”
It was small of her, but Shayla needed a little encouragement.
“Of course not,” Luke replied. He cocked an eyebrow at her and the corner of his mouth twitched. “If I was out with her, I’d have to pay.”
Shayla nearly snorted her drink out of her nose, managing to hold back her laugh long enough to swallow it. She hadn’t expected Luke to be so full of wit. It probably wasn’t fair of her to think so, but she had expected more of a tough guy “meat and potatoes” kind of thing. Like maybe just staring at her over dinner and eye-fucking her until they finally broke and had each other on the table.
Shelly would have loved that.
But, while Luke’s stares were certainly smoldering, they were far from eye-fucking. And she definitely wanted to get in his pants, but she also wanted to get in his head. The reporter in her was already spinning story angles, wondering what made him tick. Why did he start a motorcycle club? Had he gone to college? What was his childhood like? Why The Iliad?
But the woman in Shayla knew better than to ask any of those questions. Because as soon as she did, what they were doing became more than just a lusty connection and some sex. She’d known that was all it would be as soon as he’d asked her—well, more demanded—to take him to dinner. She couldn’t just change up the game because she started feeling curious.
“Were you sad to see the kitten go?” she asked. “What was his name? Bubbles?”
Luke grimaced. “His name was Achilles, not Bubbles.” He took a drink of his Coke, his Adam’s apple bobbing on his throat. Shayla had to drag her eyes away from the muscular expanse of his neck and shoulders. “And yeah, I guess I’m a little sad to see him go. The little thing had fight, but he was also a lazy piece of shit. I found it all very endearing.”
“Are you actually going to visit?”
“Depends.” He grinned. “Would you follow me with a camera if I did?”
Shayla mulled that over. Would she want to pitch and likely shoot a follow up story to tonight’s? “Absolutely not.”
“Why not? I bet your boss would love that.”
Shayla wrinkled her nose. “Amy is not my boss. She’s the show’s producer, and she ranks higher than me, but being my boss would imply that she’s responsible for my job satisfaction. And let’s face it, she only barely knows my name.”
“That’s a shame.” He leaned back against his seat, the vinyl squeaking against his bulk. “You and I could make a great team.”
Shayla snorted. “The kind of team that does fluff pieces about lost kittens? I don’t think so.”
“I’m sure we have more to offer the world than heartwarming, albeit banal, stories of unconventional heroism.” He leaned forward. “I can think of a few things right now that I’d like to do with you.”
Heat flashed across Shayla’s face. “Oh yeah?”
He curved his lips and nodded, his gaze steely yet hot.
“Well, then,” Shayla said. “I think maybe after this we should go get something a little stronger to drink than Coca-Cola.”
“Wasn’t it you who was complaining about how late it was already? Too late for dinner, as I remember.”
“Too late for dinner, but never too late for a drink.” She gulped. “I think I’m going to need one.”