Bikers and Pearls (7 page)

“I’m afraid one of your switches is bad.” Patting the car on the roof, he said, “This
thing isn’t going anywhere tonight until this baby’s replaced.” He held the mechanical
part in front of his angular face and sized it up.

“So what am I supposed to do?” she asked.

“Get on the back of my bike, and we’ll run by the garage where I work and pick up
a new one.”

Whoa, right now.
He didn’t have a clue. Something gripped her chest as tightly as an old lady holding
on to her Sunday hat in a hurricane. Instantly, memories of that night came flooding
back. She’d had a front-seat view. And from that front seat, she had jumped when she’d
heard the
thump
—like dead meat hitting the glass. She shook her head of the twinkling pains that
shot through it. The rest was too difficult to recall.

She inhaled deeply, raggedly. “No. I can’t get on your bike,” she said, but her voice
cracked as she struggled to hold it steady.

“Calm down,” Bull said. He looked around. “It’s just that this parking lot is really
dark, and I don’t want to leave you alone here.”

Closing her eyes again, she took a deep breath. She didn’t really have a choice. She
didn’t think that she could get on that metal monster even if she tried. There was
way too much trauma associated with the whole idea.

“Please,” she said. “Couldn’t you get the thing and bring it back here? I’ll be fine
here.” Part of her felt like she was wrong. This wasn’t the safest place to be and
she knew it.

Bull looked around and shook his head. With reluctance in his voice, he said, “Okay.
But raise your window and keep your doors locked—no matter what. You got your cell
phone?” His voice was protecting and authoritative.

She raised the phone. She couldn’t possibly tell him that her phone was dead. Everything
inside her went into survival mode. This was what she needed to do to get home. And
who was to say that a smidgen of the battery wouldn’t return?

He let out a deep breath and mounted his Harley. “I’ll be back as quickly as I can,”
he said. “Remember. Keep those doors locked.”

She nodded. She wavered between wanting to tell him to be careful and wanting to tell
him to hurry. Instead, she simply kept quiet—like a coward.

When he cranked the machine, the reverberation of the motor rumbled her heart. Something
was happening to her and it involved a Harley and a ruggedly handsome man with a ponytail.
She realized she was all out of sorts as she watched him pull away.

She had to reconcile her new emotions and her attraction to him with what she knew
about risky behavior.
Remember the accident. Remember what the drunken Rebels did that night
.
And beyond
. That was the only way. She couldn’t let Bull get close to her.

In a moment she was small again. In that front seat—without her daddy—with her eyes
closed. Rocking to and fro, clutching something to her chest. She heard the Rebel
Angels kicking her father’s breath from him.

She was snapped out of her recollection by a
bump
on her roof. She leaned forward. Probably a pinecone from the huge tree beside her.
She was on edge about being in the dark lot alone, so she grabbed one of the fliers
beside her and started making notes on it for the fundraiser. They needed to make
tickets and get some kind of refreshment stand set up. She had some experience working
with the Humanity Project, so she jotted down a few ideas while she waited. Then she
heard a different noise and looked up.

Pulling up beside her was a red BMW 700 series. Good thing it wasn’t one of those
camouflage-painted pickup trucks with a gun rack hanging in the rear. Immediately
she breathed a sigh of relief.

The passenger on the rear driver’s side got out first. She didn’t hesitate to roll
down her window. Thank goodness the car’s battery was still okay.

“Need some help, lady?” the man in a blue Polo sweater asked as he leaned against
her car. He made a slow motion with his hand at the Beamer for the others to get out.
Two other men—probably in their early twenties—exited their car.

All dressed in pressed khakis like they were heading to a golf tournament or a church
social, they sauntered over to her dead vehicle. The driver, who had yellow-blond
hair, leaned into her window. “Why don’t you get out so we can get a better look?”

“Well, actually, you don’t need to look at the engine. We know what it is. But thank
you for asking anyway,” she said.

They all laughed. It was a laugh that made her uncomfortable. One of the boys stumbled,
then held on to her car to steady himself.

She raised her window, but left a crack at the top.

“Why don’t you get out anyway?” the driver asked with a sinister smile. Similar grins
were on the other men’s faces. Then he pulled at the handle on her door, became frustrated,
and hit the roof of her car with his hand. “Open it,” he said, giving her a serious
stare.

April’s heart dropped. These were not harmless good ole boys or Southern gentlemen,
looking to help someone out. They were creeps or worse.

She wanted Bull right then more than she had ever wanted anything in her entire life.

She knew she was in big trouble. Her hands shook as she felt about for the switch
to try to finish raising the car’s window. Where was it? Where was it?

And her phone was dead. She picked it up anyway to show the jerks that she had a cell.
They wouldn’t know it was useless.

The blond guy reached inside through the opening, and in a menacing voice, said, “Nice
hair, lady.”

“Stop it!” She jerked out of his way and threw the phone at him, but it only hit the
window and broke into pieces. Tears welled in her eyes, but she was determined not
to show the thugs she was scared.
Where is Bull?

Blue sweater guy went to the passenger side of the car, and the other two covered
her escape at her door. The sound of her heart hammered in her ears.
Where is Bull?

Then the ringleader struggled to reach through the small opening in the window, unlocked
the door, and opened it. She kicked at him with her red heels and tried to push herself
into the passenger seat to get away.

“Stop it!” she yelled.
Where is Bull?

The man who was having trouble walking reached in, grabbed her arm, and yanked her
out the car. He almost fell as he took a step toward her, pressing her against the
car with his body.

She stomped his foot with her heel and tried to wrench herself away from him.

“Dammit! That hurt.” He leaned his head so close to her neck that she felt his hot
breath warm the spot right under her ear. He adjusted his body even tighter against
hers. “Mmmmm,” he said as he aligned his lips to hers. She turned her face away from
his breath—the same kind of breath she’d smelled on those men the night of the accident.

The third guy said, “Hey, Brock, that’s enough. Let’s go.”

Brock laughed.

She tried to bring her knee up between his legs, but he blocked it. She opened her
mouth to scream, but nothing came out.

“Now, you’re in big trouble,” he said.

She twisted and struggled to break his grip. Oh, God!
Where is Bull?

Chapter Four

As soon as Bull rounded the corner, he saw April—pinned against her car by some creep
in a sissy sweater.

Anger rose up in him, and he gritted his teeth. When the scumbag saw Bull getting
closer, he let her go. Bull pulled his Harley up way too close to the dude and turned
it off. It was going to take everything he had to control the rage that was pulsating
through his body. But he could do it. He wasn’t the young, unbridled man he was when
he was with the Angels.

“What can I help you gentlemen with?” asked Bull in his best menacingly low, gravelly
voice. He dismounted his bike like he had serious business to take care of. He turned
his fists into weapons—just in case.

“Sir, we simply stopped to see if the lady needed any help,” said the fair-haired
guy.

He drew in a slow, deep, even breath. “I have that covered, boys. Why don’t you all
just climb back into that little toy of yours and go get yourselves a glass of milk
or something?” Bull stood with his legs spread in a stance that said,
This is my territory and I’m not moving
.

“Yes, sir. We’re leaving now, sir.” The young man motioned for his cronies to come
along. In moments they were gone. Bull closed his eyes for the briefest of moments
and pushed away the shudder of the thought that April could have been harmed.

Bull turned and reached for April’s shoulders. He bent his knees slightly until his
gaze was level with hers. “You okay?”

She didn’t answer.

But he knew. No, she wasn’t. She was shaking, and she couldn’t speak. He pulled her
close to him. She was shivering. He shouldn’t like the feel of her against him so
much right now.

“It’s okay. They’re gone. You’re safe,” he said. He meant it. She was safe. He wasn’t
going to let anyone harm her. Certainly not a bunch of preppy goons. He’d seen their
type before. All “sir” this and “ma’am” that. He knew what was behind their squeaky-clean
façades. And it wasn’t Sunday-school-lesson materials.

No. They weren’t about to harm the lovely young woman in his arms, even though he
couldn’t quite figure her out himself—with all her contradictory qualities. Frightened
to death and still wanting to help Patch’s grandson. She may have been a bit of a
pretentious Southern belle, but he wasn’t going to let anyone hurt her.

It took a while for her shaking to stop. How scared she must have been. How scared
must she be to allow him to hold her to calm her down. He shook his head when he thought
what might have happened if he hadn’t arrived when he did.

He pushed her away from him and looked into her brown eyes. He brushed her sandy hair
out of her face. “Everything’s fine. Those guys won’t be coming back.” He glanced
over her face, wishing he could find some kind of words to comfort her. “You want
to sit in the car now while I install that switch?”

She nodded, still unable to speak. He took off his jacket, wrapped it around her shoulders,
and helped her into her vehicle. Knowing how she probably felt about the whole motorcycle
scene, he was a bit surprised that she accepted his leather bomber so readily.

He retrieved a flashlight, the switch, and the tools he needed from the saddlebag
on his bike and started working under the hood.

Those creeps had shaken April up big-time—traumatized her almost.

“Crank her up,” he said, leaning his head from under the hood. The engine purred.
He gathered his tools.

Maybe what she needed was a little education and exposure to the rest of the world
to teach her how to deal with goons like those guys. Yep. That was what she needed,
to become better able to deal with the likes of those society snakes.

Bull knew that was going to be a nearly impossible job, though. How could he show
her anything if she hung out in la-ti-da coffee shops, sipping lattes in pearls when
he hung out in garages, fixing Harleys in greasy T-shirts and jeans? The only thing
tying them together was their desire to help Ben, but she could bolt from the rally
at any minute and could always help another group like he knew she wanted to.

He’d first seen that desire in her eyes last night. He didn’t know anything about
her past, but he knew his, and he knew it had been nothing like April’s. But despite
their differences and their pasts, Bull was determined to be her teacher.

…

When April heard, “Crank her up,” she snapped out of her daze. Her hands had stopped
shaking, but her insides continued to quiver. The night had been a nightmare. And
here she was. Out in the middle of the old, burned-out section of town in the dark
with a man who was almost a stranger to her. A stranger that had just saved her from
who knows what, but still a stranger. Where were all of the protections she’d developed
over the years to keep herself safe? Her risk-management skills? Back at the office,
obviously.

Bull walked to her window. She was looking up at the hard angle of his jaw, but something
in his eyes looked soft and tender. “I’m going to follow you home to make sure this
thing works properly,” he said.

She nodded. There was no way she was going to turn down his help. Those thugs could
be around any corner. And they had looked so, so
ordinary
.

She drove home. At every corner, she heard Bull’s bike bellow as it followed. Her
insides churned. The noise was that of a motorcycle and all those old feelings about
bikes were stirring in her, yet the sound strangely comforted her, as well. Because
Bull was there. She didn’t even have to look in her rearview mirror to check. She
heard him. And the sound made her feel safe.

As she drove, her faculties began returning fully and she realized that she hadn’t
thanked him for his help. She shuddered to think what would have happened if he hadn’t
come when he did. She couldn’t wait to get home. To say good-bye to him. To thank
him. To put this night behind her.

She pulled into her parking spot, but he stayed back and watched. If she ran to him,
he might get the wrong idea, but that was what she wanted to do—to go to him. When
he didn’t get off his bike, she waved and entered her building.

Great. She’d forgotten to turn up the heat. Inside her condo was cold.
Cold
. She looked down. She was still wearing his jacket, and it was frigid outside. He
must be freezing. Guilt gripped her stomach. He was heading home in the biting cold
with nothing on his back but a thin shirt. The thought of it made her shiver.

She wrapped the jacket even tighter around her shoulders and latched every one of
the locks. Tonight, she had been stupid.
Stupid. Stupid. Stupid
.

After taking off Bull’s jacket and hanging it over a chair in her bedroom, she turned
the thermostat up and checked all the locks on the windows before going to bed. The
run-in with those guys had started her thinking. Maybe tomorrow she’d look into one
of those alarm systems.

Those well-dressed young men with their…corrupt intentions. Their privileged attitudes.
And that acrid breath. She flipped over and over, from one side to the other. Fear
shuddered through her body every five minutes or so. Until she had an idea. She got
up, walked over to the chair, grabbed Bull’s jacket from the back, and climbed into
bed once again.

She pulled the leather to her face and took in the scent. The dark spices lingered.
She held the jacket close like a security blanket. It held warmth and safety in its
arms, and in moments she was asleep.

The next morning, she woke early and felt that she’d had one of the best night’s sleeps
of her life in spite of her evening of terror. After having showered and dressed,
she started out the front door and then stopped. She went back in and got the leather
coat from the chair and put it to her face again. Somehow, she was going to have to
get this to Bull. She couldn’t have him riding all over town without it.

When she’d settled in at the office, she thumbed through the folders on her desk.
If she worked all day and stayed late, she doubted she would finish everything. Good.
Then she wouldn’t have a moment to think about what had happened last night.
That
was going to take some time to sort through. The strange, comforting feelings she’d
had about Bull. Her carelessness with her safety in that dark parking lot with those
clean-cut posers. It would all have to be analyzed, categorized, and resolved. Later.

Her break came at 10:00 a.m., and she quickly ran to her car to get one of the fliers
from her front seat. She still needed to make a few more copies, and she wasn’t about
to go back to that library after what had happened there. When the coast was clear,
she placed it in the machine and started it.

“Oh, there you are,” said Mandy. “Did you hear about Immette? I think she’s going
to the head office. She’s cute enough, don’t you know?”

“I heard something about a promotion,” April said. “She’s worked really hard this
year.”

“Yeah, but who knows what she did to get it,” Mandy said. “Looks like she—”

“Mandy, I need to talk to you about some claims you filed last week. Could you gather
those together for me so that we can talk after my break?” Maybe that would get rid
of her.

“Yeah, sure. I came to get one of my originals I left in the copier.” She giraffed
her head around April.

“I didn’t see anything when I came in here,” April said.

“What’s that?” Mandy pulled one of the bike-rally fliers from the small stack. She
wriggled up her face as she read it. “Does this have anything to do with that motorcycle
dude who came in here yesterday?”

“Kind of. I’m sort of helping out with this fundraiser thing for Ben Evans. You know.
He’s the little boy from the Humanity Project with leukemia,” April said.

“But motorcycles, April?” she asked with a twisted look of disgust etched across her
face. “You see the latest premium increases for them sent from headquarters?”

April reached out and took the piece of paper from the woman. It would only be a matter
of minutes before the news was all over the office. Contorted and exaggerated, thanks
to Mandy.

“Look, Mandy.” She held the flier in the air. “I’m not going to ride a motorcycle
or anything.” She paused. “This is for Ben.”

“Oh,” Mandy said quickly, like she knew she was being played.

“And I’m going to pay for the copies,” April said.

She worked through the rest of the morning. Every once in a while she glanced into
her drawer to look at the artwork and graphics on the fliers she had copied. They
reminded her of the warmth and safety she had felt last night with Bull’s leather
jacket.

She had to get it back to him. Maybe she’d call him later. After work.

It was almost lunchtime, and she needed to talk to her boss about the copy-room incident
with Mandy—no sense in letting him think April was stealing from the company. She
stepped across the hall to the only walled-in office in the building and stood in
the doorway. “Charles, I made some fliers this morning for a charity fundraiser, and
I want to pay for using the copy machine,” she said.

“I had already heard about the fliers, but no problem. You worked through your lunch
hour yesterday, so let’s call it even. ’Kay?” Charles said.

That was kind of a jerky thing to say. No. A
real
jerky thing to say because she always put in tons of overtime. A few fliers could
never make up for her time.

“You seeing that motorcycle-gang-member guy?” he asked. “Mandy said he used to belong
to—”

“Mandy says a lot of things and asks a lot of things that are inappropriate in an
office.” She paused, hoping he’d get her insinuation about his own inappropriate question.
“But, no. Of course not. It’s a charity thing, like I said.”

The tinkling of the bell above the front door sounded in the distance. She turned
and gaped. Bull was striding through the row of desks. The light slicked across his
untamed hair. He flashed his sexy, crooked smile at a couple of the secretaries. They
were probably melting all over the floor by now. She wondered what it would be like
to be with him.

Though she could never be, the possibility moved something deep inside her hips.

He was wearing a pair of fitted jeans, a white shirt, and a leather vest. A white
shirt hadn’t ever looked so sexy. It was thin and moved against his body as he strode.
She couldn’t help but stare at the creases his jeans made every time he took a step.
She had to stop thinking like this. And staring at him like he was lunch.

“Excuse me,” she said to her obnoxious boss, and took a few steps away from his door.
Now she had to deal with another problem. A good-looking leather problem that everybody
in the office was either talking about or drooling over right now.

“Hungry?” Bull asked. Now that crooked smile was hers.

“What?” She stood gazing into his eyes and saw flashes of depth that she wanted to
probe.

She caught a whiff of the scent she had gone to sleep with last night. Mmmmm. She
thought about what would it be like to fall asleep cuddled around the actual source
of that tantalizing fragrance.

“Wanna grab a bite to eat?” he asked. “You know. A restaurant. Food. Iced tea. This
is your lunch hour, isn’t it?”

Her mind raced for something to say, but all that came out was, “I have your jacket.”

“I know. You can give it to me later. I have some things I’d like to talk to you about.
Some rally ideas.”

“It’s in my car.” That was stupid, but what could she say to get her stare off the
hunky man? He was stirring those fireflies in her tummy again.

“I don’t need my jacket right now. It’s beautiful outside. Get your things and let’s
go.”

She was all discombobulated. He was asking too much from her. She crossed her arms.
“I need to tell you this right now. I’m terrified of motorcycles. I won’t ride on
one,” she said with finality. “Ever.”