Motorcycle Man (Dream Man #4)(4)

“I do not f**k anyone who’s got my signature on their paycheck,” he again made his opinion perfectly clear and my mind raced to find a solution to this new dilemma at the same time it struggled with fighting back the urge to run as fast as I could to my car and peel right the heck out of Ride Custom Cars and Bikes forecourt and get as far away from this freaking scary guy as I could.

I mean, what was I thinking? I thought he was beautiful. Perfect. My motorcycle dream man.

Boy was I wrong. Very, very wrong. He wasn’t. He was a rough and ready motorcycle man, the president of a motorcycle club and he was downright frightening.

With effort, I pulled myself together.

Then I told him, “Okay, that works for me. Minor blip. We forget it happened and since it’s never going to happen again, we move on from this and you don’t have to break your no sleeping with employees rule in order to, um… employ me.”

“We forget it happened?” he asked, looking even angrier.

“Uh… yeah,” I answered.

“The rule’s broken, babe, no unbreaking it,” he returned.

“It’s not broken,” I told him.

“Red, it’s broken.”

“It isn’t.”

“It is.”

“It isn’t,” I stated and he opened his mouth to speak again, his face hard, his eyes flashing and I quickly went on to explain my reasoning. “See, you said you don’t sleep with anyone who’s got your signature on their paycheck. Eloise hired me but I hadn’t actually started. So, I didn’t have your signature on my paycheck because I’d only had the job offer. I wasn’t actually doing the job. I walk in that door,” I pointed to the office door, “that’s when I’m your employee and since we’re not, erm… you know… and won’t again, then, technically, you didn’t break your rule and, um… won’t.”

“I know what you taste like,” he informed me of something I already knew.

This was an odd and slightly rude thing to share so I had no response.

“And what you sound like when you come,” he continued being rude.

This was not getting better and I clenched my teeth to stop myself biting my lip.

“And how f**kin’ greedy you are,” he went on. “Babe, you think you’re around I’m not gonna want seconds, you’re f**kin’ crazy.”

I blinked.

Then I asked quietly, “What?”

“Darlin’, you’re the greediest piece of ass I’ve had in my bed in a long f**kin’ time. I got a taste for greedy, you think I’m not gonna take it?”

Now he was definitely being rude.

“I’m not greedy,” I whispered.

He leaned back. “Jesus, you f**kin’ are. So f**kin’ hungry, you nearly wore me out. And, darlin’, that’s sayin’ something.”

This was already not fun and it was getting less fun by the second.

“Can we not talk about this?” I requested.

“Yeah, absolutely, we can not talk about this. That works for me. It also works for me you showed since you didn’t leave your number before you took off on Saturday. So give me your number, get your ass in your car and I’ll call you when I got a taste for you.”

Oh my God. Did he just say that?

I felt the blood stop rushing through my veins as my entire body solidified.

“Did you just say that?” I asked when I got my lips moving again.

“Red, give me your number, get your ass in your car and I’ll call you when it’s time for us to play again.”

He did. He did just say that because he’d also just mostly repeated it.

I clenched my teeth again but this time for a different reason.

Then I asked, “Do you know my name?”

“What?” he asked back.

“My name,” I stated. “I told you my name Saturday night and I know I did so don’t tell me I didn’t.” And I did. I absolutely, totally told him my name. In fact, I’d done it at least three times when he kept calling me “Red”.

“You’re shittin’ me,” he said again.

“Stop saying I’m shitting you. I’m not. What’s my name?” I demanded to know.

“Babe, who cares? We don’t need names,” was his unbelievable answer.

“Ohmigod,” I whispered. “You’re a jerk.”

“Red –”

“Totally a jerk.” I kept whispering and he crossed his arms on his chest.

“Two choices, Red, give me your number, get your ass in your car, get outta here and wait for my call or just get your ass in your car and get outta here. You got five seconds.”

“I’m not getting in my car,” I told him. “I’m waiting for Eloise to come and show me the ropes then I’m going to work.”

“You are not gonna work here,” he returned.

“I am,” I shot back.

“No, you aren’t.”

“I am.”

“Babe, not gonna say it again, you aren’t.”

That was when I lost it and I didn’t know why. I wasn’t the type to lose it. You didn’t lose it when you planned every second of your life. Caution and losing it did not go together.