“You’re about my size, I’d say.”
Axe made a muscle. “I’m bigger. But I’ve got what you need.”
While Ryker selected a few outfits, Axe pulled out a cigarette and lit it. He blew out a puff of smoke. “You trying to impress someone?”
“Nope, just want to keep the job,” Ryker grumbled. Of course, he’d want to look good for his hot, sexy boss, but he wasn’t going to get ribbed by Axe about that.
“Why won’t you tell me where you’re working? Are you afraid of scaring customers away?”
Axe was a persistent bastard and infinitely too interested in details. Hadn’t he ever heard of boundaries? But then, who else would have kept Ryker’s Harley safe while his own brothers were out for his blood?
“It’s a flower shop, okay?” Ryker felt he owed Axe as much. He threw the card on the dresser.
“Love Me Flowers.” Axe’s brows furrowed as he studied the professional portrait shot of Terri Martin, owner and sole proprietress of Love Me Flowers. “Tell you what, I’ll help you impress your boss and put in an order for the club tonight. I assume you want to impress her, don’t you?”
“Thanks, I just want to keep the job.” Ryker’s stomach soured, and he wanted to snatch the card from his buddy’s grubby hands. He hated that Axe’s eyes had gleamed lustfully at Terri’s business card. It wasn’t as if she were wearing Victoria’s Secret. “Don’t you have a hottie or two waiting in there?”
He hooked his chin toward the bedroom where he had no doubt Axe wasn’t taking a siesta, at least not the snoozing kind.
“You really want to work for the flower lady?” Axe’s smirk and chuckle were almost too much to take. “Big tough Marine like you? My buddy, Rex Carter, has a gig where he hires guys out for bachelor parties, dances, stuff like that. Heard he’s looking for biker impersonators. Pays well, too.”
“You mean an escort service?” Ryker’s antenna for bullshit raised an alert.
“Something like that, but any screwing is off contract.” Axe reached into his pocket and offered up a crumpled business card. “He was at Club Rachelle last night complaining about a group of romance writers reserving his entire tough-guy inventory for the next two weeks. Has a request for a birthday party for a thirty-year-old who can’t find herself a date.”
“Not interested.” Ryker reached for Terri’s card, but Axe yanked it back.
A teasing smile crossed Axe’s mug. “If my boss were the flower lady, I’d dog her, too.”
“I’m not dogging anyone.” The hairs on the back of Ryker’s neck bristled. Ever since he’d been charged with unlawful sexual intercourse, he’d been careful not to screw up again. One never knew if a woman would take back consent and haul him into court.
“That’s your problem,” Axe grinned knowingly as he dropped Terri’s card back onto the dresser along with the crumpled Bad Boys for Hire one. “Take whatever you need. I’ve got a warm kitty to get back to.”
After his buddy retired to his bedroom, Ryker quickly gathered the clothes and turned up the shower to cover the sounds that would soon come from the bedroom.
Right before leaving, he grabbed both business cards and shoved them into his pocket. Jobs were scarce, and he could always use extra cash, even if he had to stoop to dating an unattractive woman who had to hire out for a date.
Chapter Seven
Terri signed off on the delivery and ran her fingers through her hair. The workroom in back was infused with the sweetest perfumes—gardenias, lilies, carnations, and miles and miles of white roses. Except now came the hard work, that of weaving the flowers into attractive arrangements. The funeral business was booming, weddings not so much. It could be due to the aging population, or the harsh winter in the Bay Area, or maybe Love Me Flowers didn’t quite project the right kind of image for weddings due to the owner being stubbornly and unrelentingly single.
Something that wasn’t going to change anytime soon.
Terri grabbed bunches of flowers and arranged them in temporary vases inside the giant cooler. Nothing made her happier than to touch, feel, and smell the beauty and fragrance of fresh flowers. She loved the soft touch of the delicate petals, the subtle differences in scent, the texture of the leaves, and even the protectiveness of thorns. Arranging the beautiful blooms fed her sense of creativity and helped her forget about the birthday party looming in a week.
Her mother had already left a host of messages on her answering machine with names and phone numbers of men she should have coffee with—accountants, business managers, real estate agents—mostly divorced and ten years older than her, with an occasional widower thrown in.
Boring!
Admittedly, the lifestyle of a florist wasn’t exactly known for high adventure, intrigue, or suspense, but while her fingers tucked flower stems into bouquets, her imagination could soar on the back of a wild mustang, or roar over the asphalt on a powerful motorcycle, or even jump off a cliff on the wings of a hang glider.
Terri tucked a sprig of fern in between two gardenias, then reached for a clump of freesia. She had a few hours before her delivery to the funeral home and many arrangements to finish.
Why, oh why, had she gone to lunch with her Bumblebee friends when she knew she had such a tight deadline? Her assistant had the afternoon off for a pregnancy-related ultrasound, and she should have planned better—created all the bases for each arrangement before the delivery.
Terri glanced at the clock and forced herself not to think about the man she’d met at the restaurant. What if Sherelle was right and he was a criminal? How could she have let her stupid hormones cause her to give him not just twenty dollars, but her business card?
The man was obviously a no good hoodlum. He was probably sitting in an alleyway right at this moment drinking the whiskey he’d purchased with her hard-earned cash.
No sense kicking herself, although he had been way too stimulating. He wasn’t a pretty boy or underwear model, oh no, but a real man with all the rough edges. She couldn’t help noticing a knife scar over one eyebrow and a nose, just off-centered, that looked like it’d been broken a time or two.
His hands were large and rough, clean but not pampered, and he took care of grooming, despite his panhandling ways, with neat, short fingernails, gleaming white teeth, and just enough stubble on his face to be sexy.
Taking a calming breath, Terri headed back to the refrigerated cooler to gather the flowers she needed for her first arrangement.
The shop’s front door chimed as someone opened it.
“Be right with you,” she called out automatically, closing the glass door of the cooler.
Don’t think about him. It’s not him. Just a customer. She steeled herself with one eye on the clock. Ten minutes after two.
Her pulse leaped despite her admonitions as she peeked out from the curtains between the workroom and the showroom.
Ryker stood there wearing a pair of slacks and a white shirt, and he looked hotter than he had a right to be inside her tiny flower shop. If she hadn’t met him earlier out panhandling, she would have taken him for a customer about to surprise his girlfriend with a ring.
As if that would ever happen to plus-sized her.
Still. A man was a man, so Terri grabbed a brush and ran it through her hair, then rushed to the mirror over the work sink and checked her lipstick.
“Just a minute,” she yelled again, acting as if the person out there were any old customer, although she couldn’t hide the slight quaver of her voice. “You’re welcome to take a look around.”
Her fingers fumbling through her desk drawer, she located a spritz bottle of White Shoulders perfume. It was the scent her mother always wore, and with all the gardenias, lilies, jasmine and lilacs in the room, Ryker wouldn’t suspect her of putting it on for his benefit.
Which she wasn’t. He was only an employee. Right. She was the boss. He should be nervous. Not her. He needed her. She didn’t need him.
Yeah, right. She needed a pair of hands right
now to help her with the arrangements. A pair of hands that could be running up and down her back, cupping her bounteous breasts, slipping between her legs and holding her knees apart.
Get your act together, Terr.
After taking two deep breaths, Terri strode through the curtain to the front of her store, steeling her voice.
“Oh, it’s you. Glad you showed up. You shouldn’t have dressed up. Roll up your sleeves because we have a ton of work.”
“That’s what I’m here for, ma’am,” Ryker said. “Where do you want me to start?”
On the counter, behind the door, against the wall, on the floor, on my leather backed chair.
“Stop it. I mean it!” she admonished herself, before clapping her hand over her lips.
Shit. Had she said that out loud?
She had, hadn’t she? Because Ryker was looking at her sideways as if she were a lunatic aunt he’d been told to humor.
“What did you want me to stop?” His lips quirked into a lopsided grin. “Usually women beg me not to stop.”
Terri could feel her face flush with heat. Her tongue felt too large for her mouth because all she wanted to do was run it up and down his neck, tasting and teasing, then encircling her lips around his gorgeous, plumped up …
She closed her eyes sharply to stop the visualization and turned her back to him, leading the way to the workroom.
“I need you to cut the roses so there are about two inches of usable stem. I hope you don’t mind bleeding because your fingers are going to get stuck. You’re not allergic to flowers, are you?”
“Not at all, ma’am.”
The ma’am bit was getting annoying, but hey, annoying was good. Better to be annoyed than jump the man’s bones, especially since he seemed to have showered and freshened up, even shaved the bad boy stubble from his face—not that she would have minded a little beard burn between her legs.
Not again. Her mind was racing ahead of her body, or was her body the culprit? How was she supposed to function when every one of her nerve endings cried out to be touched, prodded, and overwhelmed by this prime male specimen? Being stuck in a cozy workroom with Mr. Sex on Steroids was going to be pure torture for the next few hours.
Is it? Her naughty mind begged to differ. Being stuck by him would be glorious heaven, wouldn’t it?
Shut up!
This time, Terri was sure she kept her thoughts inside herself. She went to her toolbox and extracted a pair of floral shears, then pointed to the bundle of white roses. “Start cutting.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Ryker drawled in a tantalizing voice that made her belly quiver.
“You ma’am me one more time, and I’m going to be doing some cutting.” Terri glared at him, but couldn’t help moving her gaze down below his belt where a much larger than two inch bulge lay waiting, coiled and ready to spring.
Ryker picked up a rose stem. “You sure you only want two inches with this? Ma’am?”
His smirk left no doubt he knew where she was looking.
Oh, what the hell? She hadn’t signed an employment contract with this wild man, and as far as she could say, he’d barged into her store and threatened her with aggressive panhandling.
Taking two steps, she grabbed his shirt and pulled. “I need a full seven. Eight if you’re packing.”
“Much obliged, ma’am.” With a satisfied smirk, he slanted his face and moved in.
She met his lips halfway, and he sucked the self-righteous protest of his continued use of ‘ma’am’ right out of her lungs.
Chapter Eight
If the hot, prickly woman in his clutches was expecting a sweet, choirboy kiss, or one of those mealy-mouthed tentative dork kisses, she didn’t show it. Ryker had to hand it to her for withstanding his aggressive attack.
And assault her, he did. His lips were demanding and forceful against her mouth as he angled her for deeper penetration. Her mouth was as lush as her body, plump, tender and enticing. He wasn’t sure he could ever get enough of it. She was like an oasis in the desert or comfort food after a tour of duty filled with canned food.
No shrinking lily, either. She gave as good as she got, as her tongue speared between his lips, fighting and jockeying, meeting him stroke for stroke.
He’d known as soon as he saw her that she’d be hungry, ruthless and ready to devour what she liked. Her kind took no prisoners and neither did she suffer fools.
Thankfully, he wasn’t a fool, and the way he figured it, he had nothing to lose.
Meanwhile, his body was heating up dangerously in the small workroom, and he couldn’t keep his hands from exploring all the luscious curves the she-devil possessed. The swell of her breasts had him almost on his knees worshipping her. The way she breathed, all hot and heavy, panting with feral need, pumped him with the urge to rip her clothes off and take her right over the counter strewn with roses.
He thrust his erection over her belly, letting her know the state she’d driven him to, and backed from the kiss to stare into her eyes.
“You okay?” The words growled from deep inside his throat. He wasn’t the verbal kind, the type who checked and asked every step of the way. But he was a Marine and he had to know his objective matched hers.
“Why wouldn’t I be?” She cast a guarded look at him. “It’s not every day I pick up a man and have my way with him in my workroom.”
“You think you’re having your way?” He threw his head back and gave her another thrust, not missing the flush warming its way to her cheeks. “I thought we were supposed to roll up our sleeves and get these damn arrangements done.”
As much as his body ignited on contact with her, he didn’t want to be responsible for her missing her deadlines and then turning around and blaming him.
“Oh, right.” She pursed her lips, as if she’d suddenly snapped out of whatever lust-filled fog she’d been in. “I’m paying you by the hour and you haven’t done a damn thing.”
“Pleasure before business, that’s my motto.” He ran his hand around her waist. “But you’re the boss. Let me know when we should take another break.”
“No more breaks until tonight’s deliveries are done,” she said, all the business back into her voice. Without meeting his eyes, she opened the plant cooler and removed buckets of roses. “After you cut the stems, I want you to follow these charts and stick the flowers into these foam circles. Then put together the easels while I print the ribbons for each order.”
For the next three hours, Ryker worked side by side with Terri, moving around the small workroom as if they were at home in their own kitchen. Terri had everything labeled, so all he had to do was take the design pattern, locate the correct flowers, greenery, or branch type, then cut to the right length, tall or short, and follow the chart.
Each time a customer came through the door, Terri would go to the front and chit chat with them, catch up on their families and events, and guide them into making the right purchase. She never pushed anyone to make a decision, and once or twice, when a customer left without buying, she simply wished them a good day, then came right back to the workroom to continue with the arrangements.
Around six o’clock, the delivery guy, Paul, showed up with his van. After helping her load the van, Ryker took a broom and swept the floor, then emptied the trash.
When he returned from the dumpster, Terri was straightening out the front of the shop. She locked the front door and turned off the “Open” sign.
A wicked smile curved her lips as she advanced on him. “Don’t worry. I’m not going to stiff you out of your pay.”
“I don’t mind you giving me a stiffy as long as I get what’s coming to me.” He, too, could switch on a dime from work to play.
She lifted her hands and swept her long blond hair into a twist, making her breasts jut underneath her body-hugging sweater. “You were here for four hours, so it’ll be forty dollars.”
“And the twenty you gave me earlier?”
“A sign on bonus.” She grabbed his hands,
slipping her fingers between his. “Now, how about a ride on that bike of yours?”
“Anything for you, ma’am.” He ducked just in time to avoid her playful swat.
Chapter Nine
This was crazy. Sheer lunacy. But oh, so exciting!
Terri held on tight to Ryker as she leaned with him, taking the curves like a professional motorcycle racer. Her heart was jumping out of her throat, and her arms were around Ryker’s waist like a vise, but she could barely contain the sparks of excitement from sizzling all over her body.
Being on the back of a bike, especially a roaring Harley, brought her back to the wild and free times before her father sold his motorcycle after a crash which left him a paraplegic. Terri wasn’t riding with him that fateful day, and even though her father had said she should get back on a bike again, her mother had been adamant that she do no such thing.
Sorry Mom. Not when I’m turning thirty in a week.
The ride with Ryker was so exhilarating, what with the deep rumble of the strong engine between her legs and the wind stinging her cheeks. The bike moved so fast that her hair flapped like a banner from under the skull cap helmet she had stored at the flower shop. While she hadn’t gone out of her way to meet men on bikes, if she happened to meet someone with a bike, she oftentimes asked him to take her on a short ride.
Usually, it was around the block and back, but Ryker simply took off after figuring out she knew how to be a passenger. At the speed he was taking the winding road, she could pretty much say he was showing off. Somehow, the thought made her heart flutter even faster.
The sun was setting as they approached the vista over the Crystal Springs Reservoir. The heavy rains that ended the recent California drought had replenished the water which glimmered so true blue it looked like an oil painting.
Ryker pulled into a small parking area overlooking the reservoir. Although Terri had driven over Highway 280 countless times and enjoyed the view up high, nothing could compare to being in such a beautifully scenic spot with a hunk of a man after a thrilling motorcycle ride.
Bad Boys for Hire: Ryker (Bad Boys for Hire #1) Page 3