Motorcycle Man (Dream Man #4)(118)

His head jerked to the side. “Babe, seriously?”

Truth be told, that was a stupid question. He’d been working on that car for ages. When he decided to give it to me, I didn’t know. I just knew it wasn’t this morning.

I looked down at the car.

Seriously, it was kickass.

So who cared when he decided to give it to me?

“Just gave you a car, Red, you got nothin’ for me?” Tack asked and my eyes went back to all that was him. Kane “Tack” Allen standing in faded jeans, a tight white tee, tats visible, hair messy, goatee overlong, stubble on his cheeks he didn’t bother shaving that morning, lines radiating out the sides of his eyes, eyes that were so blue they could be used on a color wheel.

God, he was beautiful.

Every way he could be.

“Yes,” I replied. “I have something for you.”

Then I turned and in my tight skirt, on my high-heeled pumps I walked back to my office. Once there, I dropped the keys to my new car on my desk, closed the blinds and locked the front door. As I was locking the front door, Tack came through the door to the garage. Once he was through, he put his hands to his hips. I moved to him, my eyes never leaving his, his chin dipping down so his wouldn’t leave mine. I got close, reached beyond him and locked that too. Then I snapped the blinds on that door closed.

Then I turned and walked to my desk. I stopped there, turned toward him and, lifting my gaze to his, I shimmied my skirt up my hips.

I watched Tack’s eyes drop to my h*ps and flare.

Then I shoved my thumbs into the sides of my panties and shimmied them down until gravity took over and they fell to my ankles.

I had just stepped out of them when my back was to the desk, Tack’s h*ps were between my legs, his torso was pressed to mine and his tongue was in my mouth.

Halfway through, Tack grunted against my lips, “Told you you were wild.”

To which I gasped against his, “Shut up, handsome, and f**k me.”

“Thought that was what I was doin’,” he remarked and he was not wrong.

My fingers slid up in his hair and I breathed, “Harder.”

“Wild,” he muttered.

Whatever.

He gave it to me harder that was all I cared about.

I didn’t know if the noise in the garage drowned us out.

I did know it got heated and the phone crashed to the floor and broke.

And I also knew I didn’t care about either.

* * * * *

After Tack f**ked me on my desk, I took my new baby out for a test drive.

When I drove back into Ride, I saw Tack walking out of one of the bays.

After I parked and walked to him, I put my hands to his chest, leaned into him and got up on my toes.

In position, I smiled huge and whispered, “You’re right, honey, wild and sweet, she purrs like a kitten and snarls like a bitch.”

“I take it you like her.”

One of my hands slid up into the back of his hair and I didn’t answer with words.

But I did use my mouth when I answered.

* * * * *

Two hours later, Dog pushed out of the chair opposite my desk and headed to the door, saying, “Catch ya, later.”

“Later, Dog,” I called.

“Later, brother,” Hop, lounging on my couch, said.

Dog walked out.

Dog and Hop had been in my office the last half hour, shooting the shit.

Now only Hop was in my office and I wasn’t sure how I felt about this. It had been a while since all that happened went down but I’d never been alone with him so I could deal when I was around him. Now I was alone with him.

“Cherry,” he called.

“Unh-hunh?” I asked my computer screen, my back to him.

“Babe, can you look at me?”

This was voiced soft and it was a little surprising. Hop wasn’t a soft kind of guy. He could have a laugh, he could tease but there was an edge to him the other guys didn’t have. Or, I should say, they all had edges. It was just that Hop’s was edgier.

And, on a biker, that was saying something.

Him voicing this request softly was also a little worrying.

Still, I did as he asked and when I swiveled my chair his way, I found he was no longer lounging, back to my couch. He was sitting, elbows to his knees, leaned toward me.

Oh boy.

Hop had black hair and a black mustache that ran along his upper lip, thick down the sides of his mouth and grew thicker and a bit long at the sides of his chin. He worked what would likely look ridiculous on anyone else because he had full lips, a strong jaw, fantastic cheekbones and great gray eyes that had lines radiating out of the sides of them like Tack’s.

Oh, and he was a biker and that was the biker mustache to end all biker mustaches.

“What’s up?” I asked.

“Shoulda never left you at the mercy of BeeBee.”

I knew this was what this was about.

“Hop –”

“My defense, gorgeous, didn’t think the bitch was that stupid. Maybe dumb enough to mouth off to one of the other old ladies. Tack’s woman? That’s a whole new brand of stupid.”

I couldn’t argue that.

“We don’t have to talk about this,” I told him.

“I left you out there, pissed Tack off and he got in my face about it.”