Ride Steady (Chaos #3)(159)

If you told me a year ago I’d go out to a fancy dinner in a clingy dress and high-heeled strappy sandals, doing this with a biker on his bike, I would have asked to check your temperature.

But the meal was delicious. The company way better. Joker and I had finally gotten our fancy dinner date at The Broker. Fat shrimp. Juicy steak. Delicious wine (for me; Joker drank beer).

Just me and Joker.

Travis was coming home tomorrow.

So life was good.

And now, for some reason, instead of taking us home after dinner, we were at Ride.

Not at the Chaos Compound; he’d parked outside the steps to the office of the garage.

There were tall overhead lights illuminating the space, and I watched Joker as he got off his bike.

“What are we doing here, sweetie?” I asked when he turned to me.

“Build’s done,” he stated, reaching out to grab my hand. “The guy who commissioned it is comin’ tomorrow to pick it up. Want you to see it before he does.”

I smiled up at him big and bright because I wanted that too.

He walked me up the steps and let my hand go to unlock the door. He went in, flipping on the light as he did, and I followed.

He closed the door behind me, and I thought it was strange that he locked it but I didn’t ask after it as he grabbed my hand again and moved me to the other door that led to the garage.

We went through and I stood at the landing on top of the stairs. Joker hit switches and the overhead lights blinked on, filling the space with brightness.

The car, canary yellow with a plethora of sleek, fantastic swirling, curving, spiking red stripes leading from the wheel wells all the way down the sides, was shining on the floor.

“Oh my gosh!” I cried, hurrying to the stairs and down them, my eyes to the car. “It’s unbelievable.”

It was. Low to the ground. Amazing curves. A narrow slit for a windshield.

Road cool but so hot!

I rushed to it on my heels and took it in from a closer perspective.

It was even better.

“I’m scared to touch it,” I breathed.

“Not even my best and she acts like I painted the Mona Lisa,” Joker muttered from close behind me.

I whirled and looked up at him. “You can be humble because you should be humble. That doesn’t mean it isn’t unbelievable.”

He grinned down at me.

I loved that grin.

I loved that man.

“Thank you for showing me,” I said.

His hands came to my hips and he immediately started walking, shuffling me backward, murmuring, “You’re welcome, Butterfly.”

Since we were moving, I was going backward and doing it in heels, I lifted my hands to steady myself by curling my fingers on his shoulders.

He shifted slightly but kept moving me back.

“Uh…” I started, trailed off and was about to begin again when the backs of my legs hit car.

That was when I knew what he was up to.

And liked what he was up to.

“Joker,” I whispered.

He moved his hands from my hips, back to cup my behind.

Automatically, my fingers dug into the leather at his shoulders as I arched into him.

“You gonna wanna see all my builds when they’re done?” he asked quietly.

“Please,” I answered breathily.

“Then, baby, you gotta know, I show ’em to you, you give back by taking my f*cking on the hood.”

“Oh,” I whispered, answering that demand by gliding my hands to hold tight at the side of his neck.

“We got a deal?”

“I’ve never… I… oh!” I ended on a cry as his hands slid down, fingers curling into the hem of my skirt and yanking it up.

“We got a deal?” he repeated and glided his hands in my panties to cup my bottom, skin against skin.

“Deal,” I panted.

He grinned, slanted his head and kissed me.

I slid my hands up into his hair and kissed him back.

He pushed my panties down until they fell to the floor of the garage. Then he grasped me where my thighs met my booty and lifted me up.

I felt the cold steel of the car on my behind.

I whimpered into his mouth as he bent over me, pushing me back, and I could feel the rough fabric of his jeans as I spread my legs to accommodate his hips.

“Like this dress,” he murmured against my lips, trailing his hand inside my dress up my side, up and up.

“I’m glad,” I whispered, moving my hands to his cut and shoving it over his shoulders.

His mouth went to my neck as his hands left me so I could shove his jacket down his arms.

I heard it slide to the ground as I went for his neck.

“We won’t scratch it?” I asked, dipping my hands down and pulling his shirt (not a tee, a nice one for our fancy date, though he still wore his cut because he always wore his cut) from his jeans.

“We scratch it, I’ll buff it,” he answered then slid his tongue up my neck to my ear as he glided his hand over my ribs to my breast.

“Okay,” I murmured as I reached inside his shirt, trailing up the hot skin of his back then changed directions and dug my fingertips into the waistband of his jeans.

He pressed his hips between my legs.

I nipped his jaw.

His mouth went from my ear to my lips and he kissed me.