Manhandling

by Karen Anders

  Laurel gasped. “Mr. Hayes, don’t you dare. Let me do it…and all I’ll expect in return is an invitation to one of your wonderful lasagna dinners. My mouth’s already watering.”

  “Sounds like I’m getting the better part of the bargain.” He gave her a sly look. “I’ll make you a deal. You finish your project first, and then you can do my stairs.”

  Laurel thought for a moment as if it was a weighty decision. When Mr. Hayes gave her a goofy look, she smiled and laughed. She reached out her hand and shook his. “Deal.”

  She practically skipped into the garage. There was a lot to look forward to. The lip chair, the chance to go to the lumber yard to purchase more wood, and Mac. Exciting, glorious, gorgeous blue-eyed Mac. Her whole body just tingled thinking about their next encounter.

  HE WAS STILL saying “great” to himself as he walked into the henna shop Tyler referred him to. Mac had gone home first, showered and shaved, sort of. He’d left a little bit of stubble on his face. He figured he needed all the help he could get. The other thing he’d done was to let his hair go free form. It was a mane of hair that he tempered with product and a comb, but left to its own devices it was a crazy shaggy, curly monster. In the shop there was a heady mix of eucalyptus and henna and other exotic scents he couldn’t pinpoint. He walked up to the woman standing behind the cash register.

  Mac was wearing the biker leathers over tight jeans, the boots, a white T-shirt and the jacket. It had surprised him that when he’d gone to the store to buy the tight shirt, the female sales clerk had tucked her number just behind the buckle of the belted leathers. She’d given him a flirtatious smile, too.

  Flabbergasted, he’d gone to his bike at the curb and had to dodge two gorgeous women checking out his bike, then him. Now this woman’s eyes were glazing over. Geez, didn’t any of them see him?

  Why was he complaining? It was what he wanted Laurel to do when she saw him.

  The woman at the cash register addressed him before he could speak. “Hi there. What can I do for you?”

  “My brother sent me. Tyler Hayes.”

  “Right. He said you wanted a couple of tattoos. Do you know what you want?”

  “No, uh, not really.”

  “Why don’t you come over here and pick out something?”

  He went around to the back and looked through the designs. What would a wild, impulse control, chick magnet pick?

  “How about this crouching panther?”

  “Where do you want it on your body?” She looked pointedly at his butt. Mac blushed. He was sure a chick magnet did not blush. He turned away. “Uh, back of my left shoulder.”

  “Okay.”

  He could hear the disappointment in her voice. Was his butt that good? Sexy even?

  He was so pathetic.

  “What else?”

  “This barbed wire around my left bicep.” He endured two hours of having the tattoo artist use every trick in the book to get his interest. But he only had interest in one woman. Laurel. He was doing all this crap for her and her alone.

  Once he was free to go and had paid for the tattoos, he tried to decide his next move. He should call Laurel and ask her to go out with him.

  Scratch that.

  He should do something impulsive. He needed to ride over to her place. Problem. He didn’t know where she lived. Wait. He was being extremely dumb today. Maybe it was the spell Laurel had cast over him. Duh. He could look her up with his pocket PC. That task accomplished, he jumped on the gleaming Ducati and roared away from the curb. When he reached her brownstone, he brought the bike to a stop.

  He let his breath out slowly. He was so damned nervous. He was usually calm, cool and under control. When he’d interviewed at Malone Financial Services, he’d negotiated his salary with all the aplomb of a man who had ice water in his veins.

  He went up to knock on her door, but an SUV pulled up just as he raised his hand.

  Laurel got out and his heart stopped in his chest. She was so beautiful in the waning light. Her dark hair shone, pulled up in a haphazard ponytail. She hadn’t noticed him yet, but went around to the back of the SUV and opened the hatch.

  She was intent on something in the back. He walked down the stairs and came up to her.

  “Laurel.”

  She jerked and her head hit the top of the vehicle. Smooth, jerk wad, he thought to himself as she focused wide, excited eyes on him.

  “Hey, babe.” He wrapped his arm around her waist and brought her close and tight against his body. His mouth clamped onto hers before she could say a word in greeting or protest.

  She clasped her hands around his biceps for balance. A murmur broke against his lips.

  He continued the kiss, sliding his arm to the small of her back, sending his hand over her beautiful ass. It hadn’t been his intent to kiss her. The impulse sneaked up on him, but it was perfect. Inspired.

  The scent of her rose up around him. It was clean and spicy and sweet. Intensely female. An unexpected twist that no article could prepare him for. He inhaled her essence like a man who’d been trapped underwater and had finally reached air.

  Her scent mingled with her taste, just as silky sweet, and a wealth of unbelievable sensations, the yielding tenderness of her lips, the satiny wisps of hair at the nape of her neck, her baby-smooth skin. She swamped his senses.

  She shuddered in his arms like a leaf caught in a gentle breeze. Everything faded away but the real weight of her against him and the frantic desire to entice her to go deeper with him in a soul-searing kiss.

  When they parted, they were both panting for breath. He looked down into her wide dark eyes.

  She licked her lips. “Mac? What, what are you…”

  His mouth ached to feel hers again and he changed the angle of the kiss going for devastating and dazzling. He pulled her body flush against his, cupping the hot skin at the back of her neck. She gasped against his mouth. When he finally let her go, he was trembling more than she.

  She inhaled raggedly as he stepped back and sent her a wicked, sinful gin. “Outstanding, babe.” He cupped her cheek and smoothed his thumb over the softness. “I’m glad you gave me your number.”

  “Me, too. I don’t think any man has ever blown me away like that.”

  “I do what pleases me and you please me,” he stated matter-of-factly. It was his mantra.

  “I do?” she asked on a sigh, looking up into his face. He couldn’t get enough of staring into those eyes.

  “Absolutely.” He turned his attention to the back of her SUV. “What were you trying to get…” his words trailed off as he saw the bright end of a chair. “Damn,” he said softly as he pulled the piece toward him. “A chair shaped like lips. This is amazing.”

  Laurel put her hand on his arm, her warmth touching him through the leather.

  “You like it?”

  “It’s original. Where did you get it?”

  “A…small town outside of New York.”

  “It’s really different.” There was also a side table with an inlaid top of many-colored wooden pieces. “I’d like to know where. There’s a perfect place for it at my…er, friend’s.” He caught himself just in time. He had a sophisticated, upscale loft that screamed professional, not wild streak, impulsive, chick magnet. But he could see this chair sitting in his living room making a statement. The table, too. “Maybe someday you can take me out there. This table is inspired.”

  “So why are you here?” she asked as he pulled the chair out of the back of the SUV. Laurel grabbed the table and they carried the pieces toward her brownstone.

  “You’re coming with me…for dinner,” he said in a commanding voice. Sounded impulsive enough.

  “It’s pretty short notice.”

  “Spontaneity is my middle name.”

  She stuck the key in the lock and turned to look at him and laughed. “Right. Who needs uptight and serious? We need fun. Where are you taking me?”

  “I don’t know yet. I’ll surprise you.” He hefted
the chair through the door. “Where do you want this?”

  “You can set it right there against that wall. I’ll take it upstairs later.”

  He set it down.

  “I just need to shower.”

  “I brought something for you to wear.”

  She turned to him, her face alight. “You did. Let me see.”

  “I’ll go get it.”

  He went to his bike and picked up the package, the contents of which he’d spent a lot of time picking out for her.

  He brought it into the house and handed it to her.

  She took it and beamed at him. “Make yourself at home. I won’t be long.”

  She raced upstairs. Mac checked his appearance in the hall mirror before walking into her living room. It was an elegant room with elaborate, white crown molding. The furniture looked handcrafted and shone with a luster of being highly polished and lovingly cared for. The hardwood floor was covered by a thick throw rug in rust, green and gold. Above a rust-colored couch was a stunning oil painting of the Green Mountains in the fall. The trees a beautiful accent to the colors in the room.

  It looked like Vermont. He’d been skiing there at Smugglers’ Notch and Killington. Both resorts were spectacular.

  He heard the shower go on upstairs and he tried not to think about Laurel naked.

  True to her word she took only twenty minutes. When he heard her coming down the stairs, he stood in anticipation.

  She entered the room. The black leather pants that he’d bought her fit perfectly. But his eyes were drawn to her breasts, beautifully displayed and creamy against red lace revealed by the open white cotton blouse tightly buttoned just under her cleavage. He’d scoped out the store until he’d found someone that looked to be her build and asked her her size. The woman had taken one look at him and volunteered to try on the pants. Afterwards, she asked him out. He explained he was buying a gift for his girlfriend. She’d told him if he ever dropped his girlfriend to give her a call.

  “You look…great.”

  She’d pulled her hair into a tight ponytail on top of her head. She was stunning.

  “Thanks. I forgot to tell you how sexy you look. You look wonderful in leather, just as I imagined.”

  His brother had been right. She’d checked him out, thoroughly.

  Mac shifted, not used to all this female attention. He said, “Is that a painting of Vermont?”

  “Yes, I bought it there last year. Have you been?”

  “We’ve been there skiing.”

  “You ski?”

  “Sure. Why?”

  “You don’t look the type.”

  Damn, already he’d slipped up and he’d only been with her for a few minutes. Then he remembered his half-brother Tyler barreling down the mountain on a snowboard. His brother insisted that chicks dig it because it was so daredevil. “Actually, I used a snowboard,” he bluffed, walking toward her.

  “A snowboard? That takes some skill.” She preceded him into the foyer, opened a closet door and grabbed a cropped red leather jacket to wear.

  He breathed a sigh of relief at having restored his image. He grabbed her hand and led her out of the house. At the bike, she stopped.

  “Wow, this is way cool. Way, way cool.”

  He handed her a helmet and she put it on. He put on his and straddled the bike. She climbed on behind him and he gunned the engine just for effect before he moved away from the curb.

  The Ducati handled like a dream. He’d ridden heavier bikes and was pleased to find this one easy to maneuver with a rider on the back.

  When he came across the Wolf Pack Road House, he made a quick turn and parked the bike with the other motorcycles clogging the lot. Rowdy music blared out of the bar.

  When they walked toward the place, Laurel touched his arm. “This looks kinda rough.”

  “It’s okay. No problem,” he said trying to act like he thought a bad boy would. No fear of dark and scary places, no fear of taking a sweet, beautiful woman into one of them. He could protect her.

  Once inside he realized that he was totally out of his element. It was so crowded that they pressed up against people as they moved toward the bar. He spied small round pub tables and booths in a couple of rooms, but they were full of talking, laughing people. When he reached the bar, he brought to mind the article. Walk the talk it imparted as advice. The difference between a bad boy and a nice guy is that when a nice guy goes to a bar, he’ll let the lady order first and then say, I’ll have the same. A bad boy knows how to be a gentleman and also lets the lady order first, but when it’s his turn he orders something strong and takes it in one gulp. That’ll impress a woman every time. “What would you like?” he yelled at Laurel over the blare of the music.

  “A beer is fine,” she yelled back.

  The bartender came up to them and he ordered Laurel’s beer and then said, “Bourbon, straight up.”

  The longer he was in this place the more uncomfortable he felt. The bartender set the beer and the glass of bourbon on the bar. Mac picked up the glass and threw back the contents in one gulp. The liquid burned all the way down. He coughed and Laurel placed her hand on his shoulder.

  “Are you all right?”

  “Went down the wrong hole,” he wheezed back. Smooth, he thought to himself.

  To keep up appearances, he pretended to enjoy the strong taste of the alcohol as it brought tears to his eyes, pretended to enjoy the blaring music that made it impossible to talk, and pretended he was having the time of his life.

  He ordered food for them from the menu and indicated to the bartender that they would go sit.

  He hated this place and he hated the way some of the men were looking at Laurel. In her red leather jacket, she stood out like a beacon. “Why don’t we find a table,” he hollered over the music and she nodded.

  They made their way to the back, and Mac snagged a table as a couple left. He helped Laurel off with her jacket, trying to be nonchalant about all the stares directed her way.

  Thankfully, the music ended and the band announced they were taking a break. The noise level in the roadhouse evened out.

  She reached out and snagged the hand he’d injured in the bike shop. “How’re the knuckles?”

  “Okay. It was just a scrape.”

  She turned his hand over. Looking down at his palm, she traced the base of his fingers and frowned. “Do you like being a mechanic?”

  Mac didn’t really know what he should say. He enjoyed working on the bikes, but it was the manipulation of money and the stock market that he loved best. He felt he should stick as close to the truth as possible. “I enjoy it.”

  Her eyes went to his. “What is it about fixing bikes that you like?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Skill. Specifically skill with one’s hands. I was wondering if that’s what you like about it. Using your hands.”

  He was getting distracted by the way she was running her fingertips over his skin. “I like to use my hands, Laurel,” he replied. He could imagine how it would feel to move his hands over her body, over those luscious breasts.

  She met his eyes, and he saw she hadn’t missed his meaning.

  “You have very few calluses. Do you use a pumice stone?”

  A pumice stone? What the hell was a pumice stone? “Ah, yeah. Works like a charm.”

  He cupped her hand in his and ran his thumb over her palm noticing slight nicks and calluses along her fingers.”

  “What is it that you do, Laurel?”

  “I’m a senior analyst, a fancy name for an accountant. Maybe you’ve heard of the firm? Waterford Scott? One of the big five.”

  Waterford Scott was one of the firm’s clients. He remembered seeing a statement for them. “No.” He lied. He didn’t expect that a man like Mac would know anything about the corporate world at all. “So, how does a woman who works at a desk all day get cuts on her palms?”

  Her reaction was instantaneous. She withdrew a hand and wrapped it around the bottl
e of beer, then took a sip. She shook her head sharply. “No way. I don’t know you well enough to divulge my secrets.”

  “Sounds personal,” he said gently, trying to ease her anxiety in talking about something that was important to her.

  “It is.” Her lips pursed in agitation, and her demeanor was defensive enough that he fully expected her to tell him to go to hell, that it was none of his business what secrets she harbored, but beyond her tough act there was a hint of vulnerability in her gaze. It squeezed his heart.

  His attention was immediately piqued. He’d thought he had Laurel pegged. Hmmm. The hardworking good girl had facets. The unexpected discovery was like finding a diamond in the rough. The waitress came and dropped off their meals.

  Wanting to forge a connection with Laurel, he smiled, reaching out his hand. “I’m not going to make you share.”

  She didn’t hesitate to respond to him, and the trusting gesture gave him an odd jolt of guilt. This ruse didn’t entitle him to her trust, but he wanted it anyway.

  As he began to take Laurel’s hand again, meaty fingers reached out and closed over her wrist.

  Shocked, they both looked up to see a burly, denim-clad man with a goatee standing there staring at Laurel.

  “Let’s dance,” he growled as the band started up again.

  When Laurel looked at the intruder, the cretin spoke again. “Don’t let this joker stop you. Come on.”

  And with that, he shifted his hand onto Laurel’s arm and brought her up. Mac stood. Laurel tried to free her hand from the man’s grasp, but he wouldn’t let go.

  It happened so fast that Mac didn’t have a minute to respond. He’d opened his mouth to protest, to tell the guy to back off, the burly guy shifted and coldcocked Mac right in the face. The blow rocked him back on his heels and he grabbed the table for support. Mac felt the warm trickle of blood from his nose and the metallic taste of it oozed from a cut cheek.

  The man laughed and sputtered, “Who are you trying to be, Midnight Rider? Ha!”

  The cretin tightened his hands around Laurel and the situation looked like it was drastically getting out of Mac’s control. There were so many people in the bar that the bouncers up front didn’t even know that he’d been punched.