Born to Be Wild (22 page)

His gaze
lingered on her lips, then her breasts. His knuckles skimmed lightly over her skin until he grasped the catch on the jacket’s
zipper. She ceased to breathe. Her fingers trembled at her sides and her mouth quivered, part apprehension, part need, wondering if he planned to take what he wanted, hoping he wouldn’t just walk away.

Slowly he drew the zipper up till the lacy black bra disappeared from view. Then he wove his fingers through hers and tugged her toward the door.

“What are you doing?”

“Taking you out on the town.”

She’d never known a man whose moods changed so drastically and so rapidly. “Isn’t this all rather sudden?”

“I like spur-of-the-moment things.”

“But I’m not dressed to go anywhere.”

He spun her around and looked her up and down. Flames nearly leaped from his eyes as he peeled the zipper back down an inch. “You’ll blend in perfectly where I’m going to take you.”

“Please don’t tell me we’re going to go visit Jazz on one of her favorite street corners.”

“Nope, somewhere even better.”

“Couldn’t you at least give me a hint?” she asked, her stilettos slipping and sliding on the marble floor as she tried to keep up with his rapid pace.

In spite of his hurry, she couldn’t miss the grin tilting his lips when he swung his leg over his motorcycle. “You really want to know?” h
e asked.

She climbed on behind him, trying to tug her skirt down, but when that didn’t work, s
he snuggled up close, latched onto his waist, and whispered “Yes,” against his ear.

“My
real
hangout.”

He gunned the engine and blazed out of the driveway.

All sorts of sordid visions flashed through Lauren’s mind, and she couldn’t help but wonder what kind of mess she’d gotten herself into this time.

Tattoo Annie’s Saloon sat on a lonely stretch of road on the outskirts of West Palm Beach, where the roar of several dozen motorcycle engines and the hoots and hollers of leather-clad bikers wouldn’t bring out the cops late on a Saturday night. Hell, Tattoo Annie’s wasn’t the kind of place that would bring Max out, either. His usual hangout was the pool in his backyard or sitting in front of the television losing one video game after another to his kids.

But he wanted to see Lauren with her hair down. Tattoo Annie’s was the perfect place for that.

Bear had told him he’d be here tonight, showing the Scout off to a bunch of guys he went to the Sturgis Rally with every year, so he knew there’d
be at least one familiar face in the crowd. Bear hadn’t exaggerated by using the term
showing off,
either. The big guy and Max’s prized ’29 Indian were the center of attention inside Tattoo Annie’s. The classic bike, with Bear sitting like a king on the leather seat Max had hand-rubbed again and again to make it soft, sat in the middle of the peanut shell-covered dance floor with at least two dozen gawkers listening to him tell how he came to be in possession of the thing. His story was a bald-faced lie about winning it and a whole lot more in a game of strip poker with a chick from Miami.

“That’s not the truth,” Lauren said, outraged by the tale.

“Bear likes to embellish his stories. Sort of like a fisherman talking about the size of his prize catch,” Max said, pulling her away from that crowd, which only flowed into another. With an arm grasped tightly about her waist, he headed for the bar, trying to talk over the clamor. “No one ever believes the tale, but they listen to every detail, making sure they get the facts straight so they can one-up the guy the next time around.”

“I see. Sort of like if I told you I’d spent a week sunning on the sand in Monte Carlo, you’d follow up by saying that you spent a week by the palace pool, and that the prince of Monaco served you his special lemonade?”

“That was last year.” Max grinned and drew her even closer. “I’m thinking of inviting the prince to stay with me this time around.”

Lauren smiled, the red and yellow neon lights
twinkling in her already sparkling eyes. “I’m sure you’d be terribly bored. The prince is a lovely man, so are his children,” she said, “but, honestly Max, Monte Carlo and the palace can’t compare with Tattoo Annie’s.”

“You really like it, huh?”

“It’s... different. Do you come here often?”

“Once or twice a year, maybe less.”

“But I thought you said this is your hangout.”

“If I’d taken you to the place I normally hang out, we’d be saddled with two kids for the rest of the evening.”

“You’re not telling me you’re a homebody, are you?”

“If you’d asked me that a few years ago I would have laughed. Now, I figure it’s not such a bad thing to be.”

He ordered a couple of draft beers when they were able to push their way through to the bar, then led her to a just emptying booth.

Taking a swallow of beer, he watched Lauren over the top of the frosty mug, thinking he’d never seen anyone so pretty. The room was warm with the press of people and pulsing neon lights, and he was taken completely by surprise when she
fanned her face with one hand and touched her icy mug to her chest, as if that would cool her down. Neither action seemed like something Miss Palm Beach would do, but neither did going to a biker bar.

What other surprises lay in store? he wondered. Every moment with Lauren he seemed to find out something new, something that made him care for her and want her even more.

She took a sip of beer and licked a speck of
foam from her upper lip after setting the mug back on the table. “It’s been a long time since I’ve had a beer,” she said, “it’s been even longer since I’ve been in a place like this.”

“I thought this would have been a first for you.”

“It’s a second. I was in finishing school the first time.”

“Not part of the curriculum, was it?”

“Goodness no. Betsy Endicott and I sneaked away from school one night and ended up in this terribly sleazy place. Poor Betsy. She was worried sick because we were under age, and she spent the longest time trying to drag me away, but I was having far too much fun. I didn’t know, of course, that I was drinking strawberry daiquiris instead of fruit punch, and I surely didn’t know that drinking three of those things in less than an hour would make me horribly uninhibited.”

Max folded his forearms on the table and watched the animation in her face. “What did you do?”

“A partial striptease, I’m afraid.”

“Would you do that for me if I ordered you a strawberry daiquiri?”

“I’m not seventeen any longer and definitely not as gullible as I was back then.”

“Then how can I entice you to strip for me?”

“Order me another beer, keep on smiling at me the way you’ve been doing, and who knows what will happen.”

Max fetched another round from the bar, more
than glad to oblige, grabbed a bowl of peanuts, and sat down for more Laurenesque chatter.

“Want to tell me why you did only a partial strip?” he asked, watching her again press the icy mug to her chest. His eyes were drawn to her breasts, to the silkiness of her skin, the tantalizing black lace of her bra, and he wanted to strip her
all by himself. But, hell, she wanted to go slow, and he was bound and determined to give her anything she wanted, operating in the hope that someday she’d give him everything he wanted in return.

“It’s warm in here,” she said, “just like it was that night.”

“Want to go outside?”

“No, I like the music. The beer’s delicious. The company’s the best I’ve had in a long time.” She took another long sip, watching him over the top of her mug. “I was having a good time that night, too, dancing with anyone and everyone, and before I knew it, I was up on a table, unbuttoning my blouse because it was far too hot, and doing some kind of dance that I definitely didn’t learn in Mrs. Stravinski’s ballroom dance class. The men were watching me, lights were flashing, and my head started spinning. Before I got to the last button, I threw up.” She giggled. “
You would have thought I was firing an Uzi around the place the way everyone started to scream.”

Max couldn’t stop his laughter. “You didn’t throw up on people, did you?”

“There were a lot of gawkers egging me on in that striptease and, I’m sorry, but I was only sev
enteen, they’d gotten me drunk, and they deserved everything I hit them with.” She took a long sip of cold beer and rested her arms on the table, leaning close, her pretty face only inches from his. “I can still hear the men yelling at me, and if poor Betsy hadn’t dragged me out right then and there, I’m sure I would have been lynched. I don’t remember how she got me back to school and I don’t remember going to bed, but I do remember my rude awakening.”

“What happened?” he asked, as she picked a peanut from the bowl, cracked the shell, and popped one of the nuts into her mouth.

“The headmistress flashed the front page of the local newspaper in my face and started to shout things about me ruining the school’s reputation. My poor mother was beside herself when the tabloids ran their own version of the story, saying they couldn’t print the X-rated photographs. My father, who I ended up staying with for a few weeks after I was kicked out of school, made me shovel horse manure as punishment.” She popped the other nut between her teeth and slowly licked her lips, a gesture that kept Max’s eyes riveted on her mouth. “I haven’t been in a sleazy bar or had another daiquiri since.”

“Did you ever go back to finishing school?”

“A different one, I’m afraid. I wanted to run away from that one, too.” She took another sip of beer and leaned forward. “May I make a suggestion?”

“Shoot.”

“Don’t ever send Jamie to finishing school or Ryan to a military academy. They’re terribly boring and, really, Max, children need their parents raising them, not the butler, even if he is one of the loveliest people on earth, not a nanny, and not total strangers.”

Max shelled another peanut and held the nuts against her lips, definitely liking the feel of her mouth closing over his fingers and licking off the salt. He wondered if she had any idea what she was doing to him, wondered how he was going to keep his sanity when she was the most innocently erotic woman he’d ever encountered.

For days he’d wanted Lauren, in his arms, in his bed, but tonight he realized he might want even more from her.

“Do you want children?” The way the question slipped casually from his mouth surprised him. It seemed to surprise Lauren, too.

She lifted the beer and drank slowly, watching him. If she was trying to figure out why he’d asked the question, she probably wouldn’t find the answer in his eyes, because he wasn’t too sure himself.

“I’ve always wanted children,” she said softly. “Lots of them. But I don’t have the foggiest idea how to take care of a child, and how could I possibly be a good parent when I haven’t had the best role models?”

“Instinct, I imagine. My dad disappeared when I was eight and my mom dumped me on one of her many boyfriends when I was ten. I didn’t have good role models either, until Philippe took me in.”

“But you’re a good dad.”

He shrugged. “I wing it every day. Sometimes I make mistakes, sometimes I do things right. I haven’t found a book yet that answers all the questions, so I do the best I can.”

Sliding out of the booth, he took her beer from her hands, because she’d already had too many, and pulled her out to the dance floor and into his arms. “You’ll be a good mother when the time comes,” he whispered against her ear, and let the subject drift away as Steppenwolf took them on a
“Magic Carpet Ride.”

Her skin was warm and damp, and God, he liked the feel of her cheek against his as they moved to the beat, their hips, their thighs, her soft breasts and his chest melding together and swaying with the pounding tune. Her fingers twisted in his hair, and his found their way under her leather jacket to the curve of her waist, the swell of her hips.

“Don’t ever dance naked for anyone but me,” he said, caught up in their sensual dance, thoughts of her long-ago escapade recurring in his mind.

“I don’t think I’ll be dancing naked for anyone.”

“Why?”