stare. The man to his left was Quinton Ford, one of the Wolf Posse’s higher-ups. Ty sat right beside the gang’s right-hand man.
How cozy, she thought.
He rose to his feet in an easy glide, his movements as relaxed as his expression. But his eyes glittered a warning that belied the ready smile. “What can I do for you?”
“I’ve got bike trouble. The owner of the diner said you were the man to see and he told me that I would find you here.” She extended her hand. “I’m Beth.”
He looked at her hand as if inspecting it and then his gaze flicked to her left hand. Was he searching for a ring on that all-important finger? Or the indentation and lighter skin that showed there had been one there recently? She wasn’t sure, but there was a hesitation before his palm slid along hers in a sensual glide that made her skin pucker all over. His hand was clean, calloused. His nails showed the stain of stubborn motor oil. He gripped her hand and did not shake so much as stroke, his thumb caressing the sensitive skin on the back of her hand. Her heartbeat kicked up a notch and her lungs suddenly demanded more oxygen.
“Nice to meet you, Beth.”
She drew back her hand, but it continued to tingle as if she’d just touched an electrified livestock fence.
“If you need a bike fixed,” said Quinton Ford, interrupting, “you should ask Chino.” He thumbed at the mountainous man sitting with the leader of the Wolf Posse.
“That so?” said Beth. “Why’s that?”
“It’s his specialty. Ty’s is cars.”
“A motor is a motor,” said Beth. “And I don’t think that Nathan would steer me wrong. What do you say, Ty?”
His smile relayed anticipation and mischief. “Let’s have a look.”
The whole point of coming here was to have everyone on his home turf see her leave with Ty and make the obvious conclusions. Her story to her supervisor, Luke Forrest, about getting a read on Ty was nonsense. She didn’t need a read. All she ever wanted or needed to know about Ty Redhorse she’d found in his FBI file. What she desired was traction, an inescapable hook to get him on board, because he’d already turned down the Bureau’s offer presented by his tribe.
If tomorrow morning, he discovered that he’d been seen leaving the roadside bar with an FBI field agent? Well, that was the sort of thing he might be inclined to want to keep to himself.
But Chino was on his way over. “I’ll fix your bike,” he said.
Beth had not anticipated a war over her sled. She definitely didn’t want this mountainous wall of muscle to help her.
Ty stepped to intercept Chino Aria. “Lady asked for me.”
“Because she doesn’t know me,” he said.
“And you’re working,” Ty reminded him.
Chino’s expression went blank for a moment as his eyes lifted toward the ceiling. Then he glanced back at his boss, Faras Pike, who motioned to his muscle with two fingers.
“Master’s calling,” said Ty, just having to get a dig in, it seemed.
Not smart, thought Beth. If she wasn’t undercover, she’d already have her hand on the grip of her pistol.
Chino shot Ty a glare that should have given him pause. Instead, it gave rise to a cocksure crooked smile that Beth admitted made her lips curl upward, as well. There was something satisfying about seeing the big man forced into retreat.
Chino pointed at Ty as if his finger was a gun. “Later,” he said, and pulled the imaginary trigger.
Ty said nothing but scratched beside his mouth with his middle finger. Chino frowned and gave Ty one last angry look before he stalked away.
Ty motioned to the door. “Shall we?”
Beth swung her hips for all she was worth as she sauntered toward the exit. Just before leaving she grabbed Ty by the front of his black T-shirt and tugged. The kiss came naturally.
That surprised her. She’d thought it would feel forced. Unfortunately, they fit together all too well. Ty’s mouth was hungry. His hands moved down her arms to capture her waist and tug. She did not resist, falling against him as he deepened the kiss.
She barely registered the hoots and banging from the customers, who all had ringside seats, as she’d intended. Beth closed her eyes and savored the velvety contact of his mouth and the sandy stubble of his cheek. She hadn’t been really kissed in so long she had forgotten what it felt like.
As his tongue slid along hers and her body began to tingle in all the right places, she realized that she’d never been kissed like this. The warning bells sounded too late. She’d made a mistake, a costly one, because her body did not understand that this was work.
Beth broke away and saw that she’d wiped the crooked smile off Ty’s face. He was now looking at her with a mixture of anticipation and healthy wariness. All large predators had that instinct—the ability to judge if he was facing an opportunity or a threat.
Ty reached past her and pushed open the door. The roar of the customers mixed with shouts of encouragement.
Someone shouted after them. “Fix that bike, Ty!”
Beth turned but not before she saw Ty wave to the crowd like the victor of some sporting competition. Beth smiled. He thought he’d won, but she believed that, in the interrogation room of his tribe’s police station, when she flashed her badge, he might see things differently.
Outside, the world was dark except for the single spotlight fixed above the bar, illuminating the rutted dirt parking area before the roadhouse. In the windows, the neon glow of beer advertising sent beams of bright color reflecting off the windshields of dusty pickup trucks.
“I’m this way,” she said, leading him to the darkest portion of the lot.
Ty dragged her between two trucks and kissed her again. This time she did not kiss him for show. Oh, no, this time she let herself enjoy each nerve-tingling second. But when his hand moved from her lower back to her backside, she stepped away.
“The bike?” she reminded him.
“Yeah, but I’m figuring that if I fix it, you might use it to get away.”
She smiled at him. He really was a handsome man. Such a shame he’d chosen so poorly in life. Those dark eyes gleamed with the promise of pleasure, and his mouth turned up in a way that offered a challenge she was tempted to accept. It was a winning combination. Especially when coupled with the hard jawline, straight nose and dark, slashing eyebrows. His hair was a windblown mess, as if he didn’t care how it looked or, perhaps, understood that his mop of hair begged a woman to comb her fingers through the tangles. She indulged herself in the impulse as her eyes feasted on the quintessential bad boy.
The tribe should make warning posters about this one. Still, she was tempted. So tempted to see what he
