The biker is not happy to see me. Not that I expected him to be. From the irritated expression on his handsome face, I’ve arrived too early in the morning and interrupted his shower.

His jet-black hair is a damp, tousled mess and his blue eyes are sleepy and a little bloodshot. He’s bare-chested, wearing nothing but a thin white towel that doesn’t leave much to the imagination. The towel is tied around his waist on one side and hangs barely below his balls.

Could it be any shorter? Or the fabric more transparent now that it’s wet?

His legs stretching below the towel are strong and muscular. The palms of my hands itch to reach down and caress his thigh. To feel the steel muscle underneath the pads of my fingers. Or trail my fingernails up his inner leg.

For a long moment, I’m at a loss for words. Not a typical scenario for me.

“What are you doing here?” he asks again.

“I’m sorry,” I finally stammer. “Did I wake you up? I mean interrupt your shower?” I’m tongue-tied and screwing up my words.

“What the fuck does it look like, lady?” he growls. “And how did you find me so fast? I haven’t even had a cup of coffee and here you are banging on my damn door first thing in the morning. Don’t you sleep?”

“It’s eleven o’clock,” I say. “Not that early. Almost noon.”

Why am I explaining myself to him?

He rubs his eyes with his fingers and leans against the door. The towel inches lower on his waist. He knows it and does nothing. Any second and the tiny piece of cloth is going to drop right down on the doormat. I’m halfway hoping it does.

It’s taking everything I have in me not to stare at the v-line of muscles from his abs going down under the towel. I’ve heard my girlfriends talk about those particular set of muscles. I’ve never understood the fascination before.

I certainly do now.

I can’t help wondering about the heat of his still damp skin and how those muscles would feel underneath my tongue. I would start at his ribs and run my tongue down the length of one side and then up the other. I would work slowly and wait until he begged me before I slid my tongue underneath the towel.

“Maybe for you,” he says.

I’ve lost my train of thought and glance back up at his face. “Maybe for me what?” I ask, distracted by the magnificent maleness standing in front of me.

He frowns and crosses his muscular, tattooed arms. Now that he’s shirtless, I can see the rest of the lion tattoo that I caught a glimpse of yesterday. The eyes of the lion are cool and blue. They remind me of his. I wonder if that was the intention. The lion tattoo will be forever branded into my brain.

“Maybe not early for you,” he says. “What did you do, lady? Stay up all night researching me on the Internet? How the fuck did you find my house? It couldn’t have been easy since I’m way off the main road.”

I wonder what I should tell him. The truth is I don’t know much. Not nearly enough. Only that his name is Toby and that he rides with a motorcycle club called the Steel Infidels. Other than that, I don’t know one thing about him or the other guys. It took me all night to find out that tiny piece of information, and only because I had the station’s video tape of the live broadcast.

Unfortunately, now the Associated Press has the tape too and television stations have been showing it all across the world. The other reporters are nipping at my heels on the story, and I’m only minutes ahead of them. Probably not even that now.

Back at the television station, my unpaid college intern is working as hard as she can to find out more. I’m not hopeful she’ll dig up anything. She only works mornings and considering she’s unpaid, it’s not as if I can crack a whip and force her to work overtime.

If I’m lucky enough to get the jump on this story, it will be because of what I can dig up in person, not from searching through the same information on the Internet as everyone else.

“I didn’t stay up the entire night,” I explain. “I slept three hours and I had help from others at the TV station. You weren’t too difficult to find. The Steel Infidel patches on your buddy’s leather jacket gave you away.”

He raises his eyebrows and gives me a dubious look. “And why would you want to find me?”

To find out why he ran instead of taking the credit for being a hero.

To finally have a chance to crack a big story of my own.

I don’t say any of that.

Instead, I give him my most sincere smile. As a reporter, I have various practiced expressions for all occasions. This one is to reassure him that I’m genuine. To make him feel comfortable and at ease with me. It usually works well, especially with men.

“What you did yesterday was amazing,” I say. “And heroic. Not only did you save other people’s lives by your actions, you also saved mine. I drove up here this morning because I wanted to personally thank you. That’s all.”

I’m expecting him to duck his head, break eye contact, be bashful and say something along the lines of “golly geez, it was nothing. I’m just a good old country boy who loves America.”

Or some other line of crap.

Instead he grabs the back of my neck and slams me against him in one quick, sudden movement. I yelp in surprise while my hands splay across his bare chest muscles for support. The heat from his skin still warm from the shower quickly seeps through my thin blouse. My nipples harden at the close contact.

He smells delicious and intoxicating.

Clean like soap instead of heavy cologne that masks a man’s own masculine smell.

My head swims.

“Okay, so thank me,” he says. His perfect lips twist into a smile. “Now that you’re here.”

His head looms lower, and he covers my lips in a kiss with such force and passion that I don’t have a chance to protest.

Even if I wanted to.

Nothing prepares me for the blast of electricity ripping through me the moment our lips met. I’m too stunned to react. Instead I part my lips and he presses me impossibly tighter against him, robbing me of breath.

Gathering me closer still, he wraps a thick strand of my long hair around his hand like a cage fighter to hold me captive. My breasts strain and tingle against him. With a growl, he deepens the kiss and practically lifts me off my feet as his other hand closes around my hip. Backing me up against the side of the door, he begins to kiss me roughly, hungrily, with one hand moving up to cup my aching breast.

I couldn’t fight him if I tried.

He’s a tightly coiled lion whose wild energy has been unleashed.

The power of Toby is not something to tangle with lightly.

I should remember this and take caution.

For a brief moment, I close my eyes and allow myself to lean into him.

Just for a second.

A big mistake.

He feels me giving in and he grips me tighter.

“Wait!” I say breathlessly, reluctantly forcing myself to break the kiss. “Stop it! Let me go!”

I push against his upper arms. His hands tighten to cup my ass, holding me tight against his masculine hardness.

“Maybe if you sound like you really mean it,” he says thickly. “But you don’t. In fact, I think you’re enjoying this as much as I am.”

He leans down to kiss me again and I turn my face away. He chuckles and presses his lips to my neck instead, kissing and nibbling the soft skin wickedly. I shiver and he laughs knowingly.

Damn! The man knows exactly what he’s doing to me.

This is going to spiral out of control quickly if I can’t stop it. I place my palms against his chest to shove him away again and discover his heart is hammering as erratically as mine. I’m not the only one deeply affected by our kiss.

“What do you think you’re doing?” I ask, my voice quivering.

He lifts his head and stares straight into my eyes. “A better question is what the hell do you think you’re doing coming to my house uninvited and knocking on my door?” he replies. “For your information, I’m getting my thank you. You could have just sent a card, you know. Saved yourself a long car trip.”

“A card?” I echo. “Who sends cards these days? Considering you saved my life, a drugstore card would have seemed inadequate.”

“My thoughts exactly,” he says with a devilish smile. “Since you mentioned it first, maybe I want more than a kiss for my thank you. Maybe I deserve more than a kiss. I believe I do. What is your life worth to you? It must be worth something good. Did you know we’re miles from the nearest neighbors?”

“No, I didn’t notice on my drive here. Why?”

“Just thought you should know there’s absolutely nothing, or no one, to stop me from dragging you inside the house right now and throwing you across my bed.” His blue eyes glitter dangerously. “Hell, we might not even make it to the bed. It’s all the way down at the end of the long hallway. The sofa is closer. So is the kitchen table. I kind of like the idea of bending you over and sliding your tight little black skirt up around your waist.”

He tugs my head back by the hair he has wrapped around his hand. Leaning closer, he whispers in my ear. “I could even make you scream my name. Do you know my name, Maggie?”

Is he joking? Would he really drag me inside against my will? I search for any sign on his face that says he’s teasing me. His eyes are guarded, giving nothing away. The long, solid cock pressed against me through the towel tells me there’s a chance he might be serious.

Now I’m worried.

What do I know about this man?

Not one thing.

He’s right. I had no business showing up at his house. Not a single person knows where I am. He could be a murderer or even a serial killer. He could drag me inside his house and do all kinds of unspeakable things to me, and no one would hear me yell.

Or scream his name.

I refuse to let myself think about that.

He loosens his grip with one arm and reaches down behind me to slide his hand under my skirt. His large palm cups my ass cheek and squeezes the flesh. One finger slides closer to my crotch. Unconsciously, I shift slightly to give him better access.

Oh yeah, he’s dead serious.

I’m soaking my panties and detest myself for it. What am I doing? This is completely unprofessional and totally out of character for me.

I push against his chest again, harder this time, and it’s like moving against a concrete wall. I bet he played a linebacker in football. He doesn’t budge.

“You wouldn’t dare!” I sputter in indignation.

“Lady, you have no idea what I would dare to do,” he says, his voice cold. “No idea at all. It would be a good idea to remember that in the future and don’t tempt me. Because once I get started, I’m a freight train and hard to stop. And don’t lie to me either. I don’t appreciate it.”

He’s screwing with me and enjoying every minute of it. He abruptly turns me loose and steps back, tugging the end of the towel tighter.

The chill of the February wind hits me with a blast. I already miss the heat of his big arms and warm chest. A part of me wishes he would wrap me back up again so I could snuggle into his delicious-smelling neck.

“Tell me why you’re really here,” he says. “And don’t give me some bullshit answer again.”

“As I said before, to thank you for saving my life.”

“Is that a fact?” he says sarcastically. “Or were you hoping I would invite you in for a cup of coffee and answer a boatload of questions? The only reason you drove all the way up here is to interview me. So don’t give me that horseshit about wanting to thank me and all that jazz. I know what you’re up to, sweetheart. And I’m not talking. Not to you or anyone else you send my way.”

“That’s not why I’m here,” I argue quietly.

My words sound flat, even to me.

“Right,” he says. “And I don’t have a hard-on the size of my forearm now either.”

I swallow and will myself not to peek down at the towel since I know that’s what he wants.

Do not look.

Instead I force myself to stare directly into his eyes framed by long dark eyelashes. Hmmm…probably another mistake. A woman could get lost in his eyes and never want to leave. I raise my eyebrows at him.

“The size of your forearm? Don’t you think that’s a little bit of an exaggeration? Even for a guy as big as you, that would be pushing it. Usually men that exaggerate penis size are trying to hide behind their own insecurities.”

“Could be,” he says. He rubs his two-day-old beard thoughtfully. “I know a way to settle it for sure. Why don’t you feel under the towel and see if I’m as big a liar as you are? Or at least take a little peek? Come on. What’s the harm? I know you want to. It’s taking everything you have in you not to look down.”

Is he really suggesting that I reach a hand under his towel to feel the size of his dick? How did this conversation deteriorate to this point so quickly? I’ve never had a man talk to me this way before.

So aggressively sexual and dominant.

From the moment his mouth touched mine, he gave me no doubt who was in charge here.

Then again, most of the men in my life were private school boys who were more intimidated by me than I was of them.

Toby is not a man to be intimidated by anyone - man or woman.

He’s amused by my confusion. When he reaches out for my wrist, I jerk it away just in time. He laughs out loud when I childishly tuck my hand behind my back where he can’t reach it. The lines around his eyes crinkle disarmingly when he smiles. Lines from years of working outside in the sun. Not from lying around a swimming pool as a lifeguard or on a sunny beach.

This is all a big joke to him. He’s toying with me. I’m frustrated now in more ways than one. I don’t have time for this nonsense and am getting nowhere fast.

“You need to leave now, little Miss Maggie,” he says. “You came to say ‘thank you’ and I most graciously accepted. Now unless you want to give me something else, and I sincerely hope you do, it’s time for you to go. Sorry you drove so far for so little.”

“I’m not giving you anything else,” I say defiantly, as if that was ever in question.

“Didn’t think so,” he says with a long sigh. He straightens up from where he’s been leaning against the doorframe. “What a disappointment this morning is turning out to be.”

Without another word, he turns around to go back inside. The towel slips loose and falls to the ground. My mouth drops open when he gives me a quick glimpse of his gorgeous bare ass before stepping back inside the house and slamming the door shut behind him.

Wait! Come back! I almost yell after him.

What just happened?

I’m not used to having people simply walk away and dismiss me. In fact, I refuse to let a man treat me this way. I raise my hand to knock on the door again when I hear the deadbolt turn in the door to lock it.

Is he watching me through the peephole?

He is.

I can feel his eyes on me with every pore in my body. I know he’s standing there, silently watching me from the other side with a big grin on his face.

Fine.

Two can play this game.

“You can’t get rid of me that easily,” I say through the door. “I’ll be back.”

And next time, I won’t leave until I get answers. He’s hiding something. I’m sure of it, and I’m going to find out what that something is. As I walk away, I hear his deep rumble of laughter through the door.