Where I Need To Be

by Jamie Hollins

  “Give me a minute. I’ll go clean up,” James said as he flipped open a lockbox behind the front desk and stashed her keys inside.

  He walked out of the front office into the large garage area and stopped to wash his hands in a utility sink before disappearing through a door in the corner. A light flashed on once he was inside, and Megan could see it was a small office.

  Folding her hands over her purse in front of her, she wandered into the large workroom. With the garage doors down, the smell of oil and chemicals was pungent and tickled her nose. She had to admit that for a garage, the place was fairly clean. Maybe tidy was a better word.

  Cars occupied each garage space. Some of them had their hoods open, some looked as if they’d just been parked there for the night. Numerous toolboxes and chests lined the walls. All looked organized and clean. Large pieces of equipment hung from the ceiling with cords and ropes hanging down to the floor. She didn’t know much about tools or cars, but she could tell James took care of his shop.

  A noise brought her attention to the little office, where James had just disappeared. With her new position further inside the garage, she could partially see into the small room.

  What she saw caused her mouth to go dry. She’d looked just in time to see him shrug out of his work shirt.

  To say James Foley was hot was a gross and almost insulting understatement.

  The sinewy muscles of his shoulders and back flexed under his smooth skin as he threw his grease-stained shirt farther into the room. His broad, toned shoulders narrowed down to a firm, delicious waistline. He pushed his arms through the sleeves of a T-shirt, and before he pulled it over his head, Megan saw the outline of a dark tattoo that peeked over his shoulder from his chest.

  Megan bit the inside of her cheek as she considered the raw power that must be coiled in that body of his. It was something she’d not had the fortune to experience before. Niall had been in shape, but nothing like the type of physique she’d just seen in the small office.

  Thinking about James’s smooth skin and mouth-watering muscles was doing weird things to her lower stomach. She had the urge to cross her legs just so she could stop the flutter that seemed to be traveling south in her body. She wasn’t sure she’d ever had this strong of a reaction to a man before.

  Feeling guilty about having such an intimate response to one of her student’s fathers, she turned on her heel and hurried back into the front office. As she sat in one of the hard, black chairs, the throb between her legs pulsed in time with her heartbeat.

  This dinner suddenly became the worst idea she’d ever had. What had possessed her to accept his invitation? This wasn’t a date, but it was bordering on inappropriate behavior. She was his son’s teacher, for Christ’s sake.

  Just then, James sauntered into the office wearing a black Guns N’ Roses T-shirt and faded blue jeans.

  “All set?” he asked.

  Megan stood slowly. An apology for changing her mind was on the tip of her tongue when he smiled at her. It wasn’t a smile to be polite or cordial. It was an honest-to-God genuine smile that made him look ten years younger.

  And it was mesmerizing.

  One side of his mouth pulled a little higher than the other in a lopsided grin. But it was what it did to his eyes that made her forget what she’d been about to say. If she wasn’t careful, she’d lose herself in them.

  His dark eyes actually twinkled. Not with mischief. Not with lust. But with an easy excitement that told her she’d be the dumbest woman in Chicago—maybe the whole country—for not having dinner with this man tonight.

  She cleared her throat. “All set. Let’s go.” She hoped the smile she gave him wasn’t as wobbly as she felt.

  James opened the door for her and then he locked up behind her. He tilted his head toward the side of the building and she followed, not bothering to stop her wandering eyes as she watched the way his ass moved in his jeans. He oozed sex appeal, and for the first time in her life, she reveled in the act of checking out a man.

  In fact, she was so busy checking out James’s ass that she didn’t realize he’d stopped her beside a menacing black motorcycle. He opened up a saddlebag and pulled out a glossy black half helmet and handed it to her.

  “We’re taking this?” she gaped.

  “Yep.” He grabbed her purse and stowed it in the saddlebag before slamming it shut.

  “But how am I supposed to ride on that in this skirt?”

  She was beginning to panic a little at the thought of tearing her poor Stella McCartney pencil skirt. Not to mention holding on to James’s tempting body as they rode through the streets of Chicago.

  He turned back to look down at the skirt in question and smirked. “Looks like you’ll have to hike it up a bit.”

  He didn’t wait for a response from her. He swung his leg over his bike and turned the engine on. The loud, angry roar echoed off the surrounding buildings.

  He kicked back the kickstand and stood the bike up. Leaning forward over the glossy black gas tank, he finally turned to where Megan stood frozen on the sidewalk.

  “Hop on, sweetheart.”

  She blinked. This was actually happening.

  Ignoring the inappropriate endearment, she fumbled with her helmet until she had it on her head and strapped tightly. Taking the sides of her skirt, she quickly but carefully inched the material up her thighs. Thank God for the slit in the back, or this stunt wouldn’t be possible at all.

  She placed one Manolo-clad foot on the footrest that James had snapped down for her. Keeping one hand on her skirt, she gripped his nearest shoulder and hoisted herself up before swinging her leg over the bike to the other footrest. She plopped down on the tiny seat with a graceless thump, feeling the impact vibrate up her spine from her tailbone.

  James stood in front of her, allowing her a second to get comfortable, which was absolutely impossible on a seat the size of a shoe box with zero padding.

  “You okay?” he yelled back to her over his shoulder.

  “I think so,” she replied, hoping he heard her over the roar of the engine. She scooted back on the seat as far as she could to give him room to sit down.

  He looked down at her lap, and she could tell he was trying not to laugh. “I mean this in the most gentlemanly way possible, but you’re gonna have to open up your legs some more so I can sit back on the seat.”

  Megan hoped he couldn’t tell that her cheeks were now stained the same cherry red as her sweater. She did as she was told, and James managed to sit between her obscenely and inappropriately spread legs. His jeans felt rough against the insides of her thighs, and when he finally leaned back to a natural sitting position, her breasts touched the thin material of his T-shirt.

  He looked down at both sides, checking to see that her feet were firmly on the footrests. She was showing more leg than a Rockette at Christmastime.

  James revved the engine a couple times before they slowly inched off the sidewalk and to a stop at the traffic signal. She still felt her face burning with embarrassment as the unseasonably warm November air hit her cheeks.

  When their light turned green, the bike’s acceleration was abrupt, causing her to tighten her arms around his hard midsection. She didn’t need to look in the side mirror to know that he was smiling. Again.

  ###

  Megan had clung to him with a death grip for the first few blocks as they headed north toward Wicker Park. Every time they switched lanes, she’d tighten her grip to where it was almost painful. But James could tell she was adjusting because ever so slightly her grip loosened and her knees stopped squeezing into his hip bones.

  The stars and planets and whatever else was floating around up there in the universe must be aligned. On a whim James had checked the weather app on his phone when he’d walked into his office that afternoon at lunchtime. They were having mild temperatures for early November, but more important, the radar had been clear of precipitation.

  He’d pulled the cover off his Victory Hammer,
which had been parked in a corner of the auto shop all summer long, and ridden it to grab something to eat. He’d bought the sleek, black vixen a few years earlier when he saw her sitting in a showroom. She had batted her long sultry lashes at him, and that was all it took to fork over his credit card. Every time he rode her he felt like a motherfucking king.

  But not even revving her engines and pulling away from the dealership when he first bought her compared to how he felt now with a smoking-hot woman on the back, her arms wrapped tightly around his waist.

  He’d given her Cade’s helmet and was relieved to see it fit her. She’d tightened the chin strap so much the black nylon would probably leave a mark on her skin.

  His kid looked cute in his black helmet and black leather jacket James had bought him for Christmas last year for when they went riding. But cute wasn’t the word he’d use to describe how Megan McKenna looked with her skintight skirt hiked up her thighs and her long, sexy legs perched on the footrests.

  He really needed to stop thinking about her legs because there wasn’t enough room on this bike for Megan, James, and his growing erection.

  He brought the bike to a stop at a red light and felt her arm release from his waist as she wiggled on the seat behind him. He was just about to look back to see how she was doing when two rumbling Harleys pulled into the left turn lane beside them.

  The burly men on the motorcycles both tilted their chins up at James in the standard biker greeting. It took him a second, but he recognized the guy closest to them from the bike shop where he had his Victory serviced.

  “Hey, how’s it going?” the guy’s deep baritone boomed over their engines.

  “Good,” James replied. “Where you heading?”

  “The Atrium.”

  The Atrium was a dingy dive bar slash underground concert hall. James had been there a handful of times over the years. It was usually a rough crowd, but if the event was worth it, he’d brave the drunks and go.

  “What’s going on over there tonight?” he asked.

  “Torrid,” the biker said with a smile.

  “No shit?”

  James was surprised he hadn’t heard about it before now. Torrid was a local rock band who’d hit it big several years ago. They still came back to the area on occasion to play impromptu shows at smaller venues. Apparently tonight at the Atrium was one of those events.

  The light was about to change, and all three bikers revved their engines. The nearest guy tilted his chin at James in farewell before glancing at Megan on the seat behind him.

  James watched the other man’s eyes lazily travel lower, probably tracing the shape of her leg to the tip of her high heel. James had no reason to feel possessive of her. She wasn’t his. But he couldn’t help but narrow his eyes and clench his jaw in the burly man’s direction for leering.

  The biker met James’s piercing gaze and a slow grin spread over his grizzled face. “Shit, brother.”

  Megan probably had no idea what the guy was talking about, but James knew he meant it as a compliment.

  The two bikers got their left-turning light and they sped off, leaving James and Megan sitting at the intersection. He turned his head to where he could see her in his periphery.

  “You okay?” he yelled.

  She leaned forward and shouted, “I’m fine!”

  He could hear the smile in her voice. Hear the excitement in her words as she tightened her arms around his waist in preparation for their light to turn.

  James had to admit that it felt good having her there. He had the feeling that Megan wasn’t accustomed to the simple brand of excitement that riding on the back of a bike could bring. He was glad that he got to be the one to share it with her.

  Just as he was turning his head back to the front, he caught sight of their reflection in the windows of the building next to them. Megan’s creamy, toned legs stood out in contrast to the shiny black bike with its matte black pipes.

  His breath hitched when he caught sight of the lacy tops of her thigh-highs held tight by a black garter belt. No wonder that asshole had been smiling as if he’d discovered a secret.

  Except those sexy black garters weren’t a secret any longer, and they made him wonder what else she was hiding under that skirt.

  Chapter 9

  Megan took a sip of her beer before sitting back in her chair with a contented sigh. The pizza place was packed. He must have known someone there, because as soon as they came in, they were quickly escorted around the waiting crowd to a table in the back corner.

  She wasn’t sure if it was the motorcycle ride or the company, but she couldn’t remember smiling so much in one night. Or feeling this carefree. Or just enjoying herself in general.

  As she looked around the busy, loud restaurant, something odd struck her. “Do you know that I probably haven’t eaten pizza at a pizza place since I was in undergrad at Northwestern?”

  James, who was finishing the last slice of pizza, raised his brows. “You’re kidding?”

  She shook her head. “Nope. I’d forgotten how good it is.” She put one hand over her stomach, which felt like it was going to split the zipper of her skirt.

  “You must have liked it,” he replied as he wiped his mouth with his napkin. “You ate half the pizza.”

  “I did not!” She gawked at him but immediately felt foolish when she saw his teasing smile.

  She wasn’t used to being teased. When Niall would say something about what she ate or wore or said, it was usually something critical.

  Don’t tell me you’re going to wear that dress to the fundraiser gala?

  Megan, is that your third canapé?

  I can’t believe you told Senator Price you’re registered as an independent.

  Megan shifted in her seat and reached for her glass, thinking for the hundredth time that she was blind and dumb for staying married to that asshole for so long.

  She glanced across the two-top table to see that James was still watching her. His smile had slipped to more like a concerned grimace. Was she really that transparent? Did the bad memories of her past show like a scrolling LED sign?

  “It gets easier, you know,” he said.

  “What does?”

  “Being divorced.”

  As he took another sip of his beer, Megan tried to swallow the giant lump in her throat. She didn’t know how to respond to that. She wasn’t sure she felt comfortable having a conversation about her divorce with a man she’d only recently gotten to know. But before she could say anything, he continued.

  “I’m not asking for details. I hate talking about my divorce, so the last thing I wanted to do was bring yours up. But a shadow chased the glow from your eyes a minute ago, and I’m all too familiar with how that shadow works. You hear something, see something, hell, you even smell something and it takes your mind back.” He shook his head. “I just wanted you to know it won’t always be like that.”

  Even his surprisingly poetic words couldn’t take the sting out of the truth. Raising her eyes from her glass, she was relieved to see no judgement in his gaze. There was no pity there either. Just understanding.

  “Thanks,” she whispered. “That’s something to look forward to.”

  He nodded, draining the last of his beer. He placed his empty glass on the table and leaned forward. “But honestly…” He leveled his serious eyes on her, making dread coil in her chest in anticipation of what he’d say next. “You did eat half the pizza. And I gotta say, I’m impressed.”

  She couldn’t help it, she let her head fall back and laughed at the ceiling. When she locked eyes with him again, he was grinning.

  His smile had been doing funny things to her all evening.

  Sitting across from him for the last hour and a half, she learned quite a few things about James Foley. At first glance, a stranger might take one look at him and think him a serious, closed-off man. But Megan was pleasantly surprised that wasn’t the case. He might look gruff, but he was extremely easy to talk to, and he listened e
qually well.

  The entire time they’d shared their meal, they hadn’t fallen into any of those uneasy silences. He was friendly and kind to the servers and scored huge points with Megan when he chewed with his mouth closed and didn’t talk with his mouth full. Niall had a nasty habit of talking while eating. Probably because he loved to hear the sound of his own voice.

  James and Megan talked about their jobs and their families. She learned that he was only five years older than she was, and that he’d bought his auto garage from his father when he was nineteen. He loved sports, especially football, and he spent most of his free time with his son.

  She told him about her family in Boston. About how her parents had emigrated from Ireland. How she had grown up with her older cousin, Ewan, and younger brother, Sean. She told him that in her down time she liked to read, mostly urban fantasy or historical romances, and that she loved to cook.

  Even though they’d spent the whole evening getting to know each other, it was never lost on Megan how attractive he was. He had a quiet confidence about him that she was starting to find entirely too alluring.

  His stubble was a little too long to be called stubble but not long enough to be called a beard. His nose was broad and straight, and his tousled hair was the color of espresso with just a few hints of gray in his sideburns.

  She liked the way the outside corners of his eyes crinkled when he smiled. And she really liked the way his full lips pulled into a grin when he asked her to call him James instead of Mr. Foley.

  But what captivated Megan the most were his eyes. If she looked close enough, his deep brown eyes gave away all his emotions. And tonight she could tell he was happy.

  She could also sense he was interested in every word that came out of her mouth. At first it was a little unsettling because that was something she wasn’t used to. It seemed like he really enjoyed being in her company, which immediately made her think he had to have some ulterior motive.