her abdomen in response. “Stop it,” she muttered. “He’s just a man.” And, her mind quietly jabbed, the Statue of Liberty is a cute little knick-knack.
“Oh, for heaven’s sake!” She admonished herself as she started across the parking lot. She didn’t have all day. Her first meeting of the morning started in less than forty minutes. Her father, as president of the firm, would be there and he wasn’t the kind of man to accept excuses for tardiness.
Denise groaned. Just thinking about having to face her irate father this early in the morning was enough to churn up the acid in her stomach. Rummaging in her purse, she yanked out a small roll of colored tablets and popped two of them into her mouth.
As she chewed, she told herself that she didn’t have much choice in this. She had to see Mike again. “Of course,” she said under her breath, “if I hadn’t let him bully me into running for cover last night, this wouldn’t be happening.”
But she had allowed it. Not until she was halfway home had she remembered that she’d left behind Patrick’s spare key and the files she had needed. She had also forgotten about the things she’d thrown out of her purse in her wild search for pepper spray.
“Pepper spray, self-defense classes,” she grumbled in disgust. “A fat lot of good they did me.”
Too late to worry about that, though. She stopped in front of the sparkling clean glass door and took a deep, calming breath. Then she pushed the door open and stepped into another world. A world where she obviously didn’t belong.
The showroom was immense.
Her gaze flew about the room, trying to take it all in at once. Blond pine paneling covered the long wall behind the room-length counter. On the side wall, glass-fronted shelves displayed everything from helmets to gauntlet-style black gloves to black leather pants and boots. The opposite wall appeared to have been designated an art gallery. Against the soft, cream paint were bright splashes of colored signs, proclaiming the name, Harley-Davidson. Beneath those signs, stood racks of clothing. T-shirts, jackets, chaps, even ladies’ nightgowns, all with the same Harley-Davidson logo.
But the most impressive display were the motorcycles themselves. Gleaming wood floors mirrored the chrome surfaces of the almost elegant-looking machines parked atop it. Sunshine filtered through the front and side windows, sparkling off the metal, glinting against the shining paint jobs.
Denise shook her head, dazzled, in spite of herself. Somehow, she had expected a find a dirty, oil-encrusted garage where beer-swilling mechanics scratched their potbellies and traded dirty jokes.
A long, low whistle caught her attention and her head snapped around.
“How did you slip in here, honey? Are you lost?”
The big man in worn jeans and a flannel shirt scratched at his full beard and grinned at her.
She tugged at the front of her sea green blazer and tightened her grip on her purse. All right, so maybe she did look out of place. She glanced around the room again, noting the sprinkling of customers for the first time.
Only a handful of people were in the store and none of them were in a green silk business suit. Except of course, Denise. And, they were all staring at her as though she’d just been beamed down from the planet Stuffy.
Apparently, she thought, as the people went back to what they had been doing when she entered, jeans and black leather were the preferred costume of motorcycle enthusiasts Even for the women, she told herself as she spotted the only other female in the room.
A pang of envy rattled around inside her as she noted the tall blond woman’s long, straight hair and skintight jeans. Without benefit of a shirt, her black leather vest looked provocative. Dismally, Denise acknowledged that even were she to wear the same outfit, the results would be very different. A quick glance down at her own, less than impressive bustline confirmed the thought.
“Looking for a bike, lady?”
She turned toward the first man again. “No.” She cleared her throat and told herself to remember why she was there. It didn’t matter if she would look terrible in a leather vest, since she had no plans to acquire one. “Actually, I’m looking for Mike Ryan.”
He nodded, then said wistfully, “Too bad.” Jerking his head toward the door behind the counter, he added, “Mike’s in the service bay. He’ll be back in a minute.”
“Thank you.”
A moment later, that door opened and Mike stepped into the room. Denise’s stomach jumped. She ignored it and walked toward him.
“Nice wheels,” the bearded man said.
She stopped and looked at him. “What?”
“Your legs, Denise,” Mike spoke up and shot a telling look at the other man. “He said you have nice legs.”
“Oh.” Flustered a bit, she nodded and said, “Thank you very much.”
Hell, Mike thought, what did he care if Tom Jenkins looked at her legs or not? He ignored the skitter in his gut, slapped both hands down on the countertop and leaned forward as Denise came closer.
Dammit, he’d been hoping that he had imagined most of the instant attraction he had felt for her the night before. His gaze raked over her quickly, thoroughly, as she marched determinedly across his shop.
Just his luck, he thought. Even in a boxy, green suit jacket and too long skirt, she did things to him he would have thought impossible at this time yesterday. From the sound system overhead came the muted strains of the Eagles. But over that familiar music, came the sharp click of her high heels against the floorboards. They seemed to be tapping out a rhythm that screamed silently in his head, “Take her, she’s yours. Take her, she’s yours.”
His body tightened and he gritted his teeth in an effort to ignore the voices and concentrate on the woman. Even though he’d been expecting to see her again, he hadn’t expected to feel such a rush of pleasure.
It’s nothing, he told himself. At least nothing more than a very healthy response to a pretty woman. It had been a long time since he’d confused hormones with something deeper.
“Morning,” he said as she came to a stop opposite him.
“Good morning ”
He watched her nervous fingers playing with the strap of her bag. Good. That gave him the upper hand in whatever was going to be between them. And he knew already that there would definitely be something.
“What can I do for you, Denise?” he asked, despite the fact that he knew damned well why she was there.
She inhaled sharply, glanced to either side of her to make sure no one was near, then said, “When I left Patrick’s office last night, I forgot to take the spare key with me.”
“And the files you needed,” he added.
“Yes...”
“Oh, and all that junk from your purse.”
She frowned. “That, too.”
“I know.” He smiled at her and saw temper flare in her eyes before she battled
