id="ua0fc5401-abbf-5f4a-9f85-f33d734246b6">
Three
Denise stepped onto the porch, pulling the front door closed behind her. She twisted the knob, making sure the lock had set, then started down the pansy-lined walk to the street.
In the hazy, yellowish glow of a streetlight, Mike sat, straddling the biggest motorcycle she had ever seen. Painted bloodred and black, it would have looked intimidating had it been parked and silent. As it was, its engine rumbled like a growl coming from the chest of some jungle beast waiting to pounce.
The word intimidating didn’t even come close to describing it.
Mike pulled his shining black helmet off and set it on the seat in front of him and Denise took a moment to study him. Dressed entirely in black, he looked even more like a pirate than he had the night before. And was, if possible, even more dangerously attractive.
His hair was pulled back into a ponytail at the base of his neck and, she noted nervously, he had shaved for the occasion. When he turned to look at her, his pale green eyes widened in appreciation, then narrowed thoughtfully.
“It looks great,” he admitted. “But it’s not what you usually wear on a bike.”
“I didn’t expect to be riding a bike,” she said, although why she hadn’t considered it, she didn’t know. “We could take my car,” she suggested.
“No, thanks. I don’t do cars.” He reached behind him to the tall bar rising up at the end of the narrow seat. Quickly, he undid the elastic ropes, freeing a silver-and-black helmet, then turned around to hand it to her. “Here. You have to wear this.”
“Mike, I...” Sighing, she pushed the helmet back at him. So much for her spectacular dress. “I’ll go change.”
“No time,” he said. “We’re going to be late as it is.”
“I can’t ride that...” she waved one hand at the motorcycle, then at her dress “...in this.”
His lips twitched in what might have been a smile if given half a chance. But it was gone in the blink of an eye.
“It’ll be all right,” he said. “Just stuff the skirt between your legs and mine. Keep it out of the spokes.”
This was a first. She had never had a man tell her to stuff her skirt between her legs before. Lovely.
“Can’t you just give me three minutes to change?” she asked.
He snorted a muffled laugh. “There isn’t a female alive who can change clothes in three minutes, honey. And like I said, we’re already late.”
His expression told her there was no sense debating the issue a minute longer.
“For heaven’s sake,” she muttered and threw one last, longing glance at her condo, behind her.
“Come on, honey,” he told her and pulled his own helmet on. “Just swing one of those gorgeous legs over the saddle and plop down.”
Gorgeous?
He released the kickstand and stood up, balancing the bike between his thighs. His hands twisted the grips on the handlebars and the powerful engine grumbled in response.
She couldn’t help wondering what her neighbors were thinking at that moment. She could almost feel their interested gazes peering at her from behind the draperies. Well, what did she expect, going to dinner with a man who looked like he’d be back later that night to burgle houses?
He revved the engine again to get her attention.
Then something else occurred to her.
“Hey,” Denise shouted over the rumbling engine, “wait a minute.”
He looked up at her. “What?”
“Where’s my stuff?” She wasn’t about to go through with this little deal of theirs if he hadn’t brought her things with him.
Mike scowled, reached back and patted a dark red compartment hanging off the left rear fender. “It’s all there,” he assured her. “Now, get on.”
Gamely, Denise balanced on her right foot and swung her left leg across the motorcycle. Scooting around until she was comfortable, she braced the toes of her Ferragamo pumps on the foot pedals provided and bunched her skirt into the V between her legs. Muttering under her breath, she pulled the helmet on, winced at just how heavy it felt, then secured the chin strap. She didn’t even want to think about what her hair was going to look like later.
Then Mike sat down in front of her, easing her thighs farther apart with his black-denim-covered behind. She stuffed her skirt between them, hoping the pooled fabric would dull the heat arcing between their bodies.
The engine beneath her shuddered and throbbed, and something deep in her core began to shake in response.
“Hang on to my waist,” he said over his shoulder.
She nodded before realizing he wasn’t looking at her. Rather than try to talk over the noise of the engine though, Denise wound her arms around his waist, pressing herself close to his back.
He tossed a glance at her, then reached around and snapped her visor down. “You ready?” he shouted.
She nodded again, but as they pulled away from the curb, she told herself she wasn’t ready.
Not for him.
When he shut down the engine, the silence was soul shattering.
Denise climbed off the motorcycle and staggered unsteadily for a moment Her legs felt as if they were still shuddering in time with the engine of the beast that had brought her here. Undoing the strap, she pulled her helmet off and handed it to Mike. Her head felt twenty pounds lighter as she fluffed her hair, hoping to revive it.
She shivered as a sharp, cold ocean wind swept across Pacific Coast Highway and swirled around her like icy fingers tugging at her. The hum of traffic on the busy highway faded away as she studied the restaurant Mike had chosen.
She’d seen it before, of course. No one living in Sunrise Beach could have overlooked it. Denise had even heard that the city fathers were talking about making it an official landmark.
It looked as though it had been standing in the same spot for a hundred years. The wooden walls looked shaky, the hot pink neon sign across the door, a couple of spots either dimmed with age or broken, spelled out, O’D ul s. Five or six pickup trucks were parked in the gravel lot, but there were more than twenty motorcycles huddled in a tight group near the front of the building.
As she watched, Mike pushed his own bike into their midst.
She had managed to avoid entering O’Doul’s Tavern and Restaurant all of her life. Even though she had been tempted to go inside once or twice since turning twenty-one eight years ago, the thought of her father finding out she’d been there had been enough to dissuade her of the notion.
“Ridiculous,” she muttered, “a grown woman afraid to stand up
