All Through the Night

by Mixed authors

  Oh, to hell with being rational. Being insanely stupid looked like a lot more fun. He pulled on his helmet and headed out the door.

  This, too, shall pass, Annie told herself over and over, clutching the steering wheel in a death grip. The rain had been innocuous at first, pattering down gently, but now it was a deafening roar. Violent gusts of wind buffeted the pickup, shoving her around the road, often into the lane of oncoming traffic. Mildred’s bald tires slipped and slid, making the truck fishtail madly, and lightning stabbed down in wild, unnerving bursts. Maybe she was racing toward some freak tornado that would pick her and the truck up and deposit them miles away, in twisted, unrecognizable chunks.

  Chill out, she reminded herself, swallowing down her fear. Panic is not an option.

  But each time she assured herself that this had to be the grand finale, that it couldn’t possibly get any worse… it did. Maybe there was no end to how bad things could really get. If only she’d pulled off at the last exit. She could’ve been flirting with the Motorcycle Man right now over pie and coffee. As dangerous forces of nature went, he was definitely the lesser of the two evils, and a hell of a lot more attractive.

  The rain was so blinding that she almost didn’t see the exit. She had to lunge for it at the last minute, and the rapid swerve sent her into a long, heart-stopping slide. Once she finally got a grip on the road, she drove very, very slowly, hands trembling, toward the nearest diner. She was pathetically grateful for the coffee, chili and saltines the waitress brought her. She hunched over the steaming bowl, listening to sappy Christmas music, but she couldn’t seem to stop shivering.

  She was just starting to settle down when the string of bells over the door tinkled delicately. She heard the tread of heavy boots, and a fresh surge of adrenaline jolted through her body. She swiveled her head, and her stomach flip-flopped.

  It was the Motorcycle Man, his shiny black helmet tucked under his arm, beaming at her.

  He was huge. Much bigger than he’d seemed on the bike, now that those long, muscular legs were unfolded. The restaurant seemed small and shabby, dwarfed by his presence.

  He was gorgeous. Breathtaking. And drenched. He squelched as he walked toward her. A puddle formed around his boots when he stopped by her table. The waitress was giving him a dirty look, which he ignored.

  “Were you out in the rain?” she asked, instantly wanting to kick herself. What a stupid question. The answer was so obvious.

  A triumphant grin blazed across his lean face. “Hah! I finally got you to talk to me.”

  “Don’t let it go to your head,” Annie snapped. She tried to drag her eyes away from him, but she was riveted by his intense black eyes, sparkling with intelligence. His eyebrows made a bold, slashing line across his broad forehead. His midnight-black hair was long and glossy, pulled into a ponytail. He was clean-shaven, a hint of shadow across his strong jaw. The fascination on his face made a bubble of flattered pleasure pop up to the surface of her consciousness. She actually felt… pretty, under his intense scrutiny. Prettier than she’d felt in a long, lonely time. The sensation was like a subtle caress. She began to blush.

  “Why didn’t you wait for the rain to stop?” she asked.

  He shrugged. “I’ve been out looking for you,” he said simply. “I had to make sure you were OK.”

  She narrowed her eyes in swift suspicion. “Let me get this straight,” she said slowly. “You were warm and dry, and eating your lurch, and the storm hit, and you went out in it? To look for me?”

  “Yeah, I know. It was crazy,” he admitted, wringing water out of his ponytail. His dark eyes danced with silent laughter. “But a guy’s gotta do what a guy’s gotta do.”

  It had been so long since anyone had worried about her that it actually took away her breath for a second. Probably it was just a slick line, she reminded herself. My, what big ears you have, Grandmother. Toughen up, little girl. Still, a reluctant smile tugged her mouth. “I’m fine, as you can see,” she murmured.

  “Can I sit down?”

  “No,” she said quickly.

  He shifted his helmet to the other arm, undaunted. His eyes swept over her appreciatively, and a ticklish, fluttery feeling raced madly across the surface of her skin. “What’s your name?” he asked.

  She hesitated, as if giving him her name would give him some obscure power over her, a hook into her private self. She decided to give him a fake name. Jill, or Monica, or Brooke. She looked into his intense dark eyes, opened her mouth and said, “Annie.”

  “Annie.” He said her name tenderly, savoring it. “Just Annie?”

  She gulped. “Just Annie.”

  He nodded. “OK, just Annie, I’m just Jacob. It’s a pleasure to meet you at last. You’ve led me on a merry chase.”

  “You haven’t caught me,” she reminded him tartly. She took a sip of her coffee and stared up over the rim of the cup, her mind spinning with confused excitement. Six foot two and over two hundred pounds of lean, rock-solid masculinity standing there, water streaming off his body, taking up all the air in the room. He was almost too much for a girl to take. But then again, she was tougher than she looked.

  “Can I please, please sit down?” His voice was warm and coaxing.

  “No,” she repeated.

  The silence between them lengthened and grew heavy, charging itself with sultry, quivering heat. She licked her lips nervously, helpless to look away. She was locked in a clinch of breathless silence with him. The feeling was shockingly intimate.

  His broad, sensual mouth curved knowingly, as if he knew just why she was shifting restlessly on the plastic booth. He knew that a hot, secret little ache of yearning was blossoming deep inside her body, and he was doing it to her deliberately, with his dark, laughing eyes, with his magnetic smile, with his raw male energy. God. This guy was more than just trouble. He was sexual dynamite.

  Annie’s breath stuttered in and out of her lungs. She forced herself to stop wiggling, and gave him a “don’t-mess-with-me” stare, perfected on the tough streets of New York. “Look, Jacob. Whatever you want from me, you’re not going to get, so don’t waste your time.”

  His eyes gleamed with wry amusement. “Cruel Annie,” he murmured. “Go ahead. Dash my hopes. Blow me off. I don’t care. I’m still glad you’re OK.”

  Her fingers tightened convulsively on the handle of her cup. It wobbled, and coffee slopped out onto her T-shirt. “I appreciate your concern,” she snapped, dabbing at the stain with her napkin.

  “I saw your tires,” he commented. “You’re lucky to be alive.”

  “My tires are none of your business,” Annie said tightly. She tucked the extra saltines into her purse and slid out of the booth. She’d be lucky if she managed to pay for the gas to get her all the way to St. Honore, let alone buy new tires. “Thanks for sharing your opinion.”

  She shoved past him, and instantly realized that it was a mistake to have touched him, even slightly. Just brushing against his solid frame made her shiver with intimate awareness. He radiated warmth and power as he followed her stubbornly to the cash register.

  “It’s not an opinion, Annie,” he persisted. “It’s dangerous.”

  She ignored him. “A bowl of chili and coffee,” she told the cashier.

  He handed the cashier a twenty. “The lady’s lunch is on me.”

  “No, it’s not,” she hissed. She tried to push down his proffered arm, but it was like swatting an oak branch. She held out her ten to the girl behind the register. The girl’s pale blue eyes darted from one to the other of them, bewildered.

  Jacob pushed down her arm, handed the girl his twenty. “I insist.” His voice was gentle but implacable.

  Annie fled the restaurant while the cashier was making change. The rain had stopped, and she splashed heedlessly through the puddles in the parking lot, obscurely panicked. He’d gone out in the rain to look for her, he was so glad she was OK, he’d fussed over her tires, he’d paid for her lunch, blah blah blah. The ploy was so tra
nsparent, but so damned seductive, it was embarrassing. Even though she didn’t need any rescuing. Even though she knew exactly what he wanted from her in exchange. Men were so predictable.

  What was unpredictable was her fluttering belly, her hot face, her scattered wits. She was raw, trembling, acutely aware of the quiet power that filled and defined the space around him, of the streamlined grace of his body and his thousand-watt grin. She cursed to herself as she fumbled for her keys. She had to rely on herself, and herself alone. She always had, ever since she was a kid. It was the one thing in her life that never changed, and she only came to grief when she let herself forget it. Fortunately, the world never let her forget it for very long.

  Jacob’s shadow blocked the window, knocking on the rain-spotted glass. She shoved the key into the ignition, hands shaking. He kept knocking, gentle but insistent. She rolled the window down a bare two inches, and he leaned close, taking everything in with one sweep of his keen dark eyes. She was suddenly embarrassed by her truck’s dilapidated state. For her own limp, travel-worn appearance.

  “Annie, listen.” His voice had a hint of uncertainty for the first time. “If you really, truly want me to stop playing this game with you, I’ll leave you be. Just say the word.”

  She wrenched her eyes away and stared out the windshield. Tell him, her sensible self urged. He’ll believe you if you say it now. You’ve got enough to worry about. Tell him to get lost.

  She looked up, opened her mouth to say it—and the challenge in his eyes robbed her of breath. She could read sensual invitation on his face as clearly as if he’d spoken aloud. It was a disorienting perception, as if the world had suddenly rent itself apart and revealed itself to be a dull, flat backdrop of painted canvas; and behind it, the glowing colors of the real horizon beckoned and allured.

  Her heart seemed to stop for a long, breathless instant. She couldn’t back down now. She was too intrigued. Be-sides, maybe she could teach him a thing or two, and wipe that smug, knowing look right off his gorgeous face. She’d never been able to resist a challenge in her life. It was one of her crowning defects.

  Besides, all those miles of highway ahead would be such a dreary prospect without the Motorcycle Man’s enlivening presence.

  Oh, God. She was going to do it. She actually was. Her heart galloped madly in her chest as she turned the key in the ignition. She shot him a sidelong, provocative glance, let it melt into a tempting smile, and softened her voice to a husky contralto. “Figure it out for yourself, Jacob,” she said, putting the truck in gear. She lurched forward, peeking into her rearview mirror.

  A grin of delight had lit up his face like a torch, and she couldn’t help smiling back, even though he was out of range and couldn’t see her. She pulled out of the parking lot, beaming at the waterlogged landscape until her out-of-shape smile muscles ached in protest.

  Annie had been so wound up all afternoon, she’d exhausted herself to calmness by the time she set up camp that evening. She made use of the campground shower, and then stood in front of the mirror for a long time, toothbrush in hand, studying her face. Trying to imagine how an outsider would see it. How Jacob might have seen it.

  It was too pale. In the harsh, fluorescent light, her face seemed tinged with blue. Her eyes were OK, big and gray, with a ring of indigo around the iris. Long lashes, dark at the root, gold at the tip. Thick dark eyebrows that needed some tweezing. Her lower lip was plumper than she would like. It gave her a sulky look, which she usually tried to offset by smiling a lot, though lately she hadn’t had the energy. She looked tired. Washed out and wary. Not surprising, for a woman who was on the run from her wrecked life, it was depressing. She squeezed toothpaste onto the brush, telling herself to stop being foolish.

  She was not hoping he would show up, she told herself as she fixed her dinner—freeze-dried chicken and rice soup—and opened a can of sliced peaches. Probably he’d lost interest. The gritty reality of Annie Simon, close up and personal, had popped the bubble of his road-sex fantasy. She didn’t look like much of a prize in her jeans and shrunken T-shirt. Just a normal girl, with circles under her eyes, in need of a laundromat. She hadn’t had either the time or the presence of mind to pack many clothes on that crazy morning when she’d seized her chance to finally get away from Philip. Just what she’d been able to shove into her backpack with trembling hands: some jeans, T-shirts, underwear. None of her nice, pretty stuff. And she hadn’t worn makeup since the good old days back at Macy’s, before Philip ruined that for her, too.

  No, she’d seen the last of the sexy, mysterious Motorcycle Man. He was off in search of a perkier, livelier playmate. She visualized her much-loved and forever lost wardrobe with a sharp pang of regret. If she’d had her usual bag of tricks to work with, the story would have gone very differently. For Jacob she would definitely have opted for her scoop-neck pearl pink angora sweater, the cloud-soft kind that made men long to stroke it. She would have paired it with her wine-red silk wrap skirt, and her spike-heel lace-up boots. Beneath it all, her apricot stretch lace teddy, of course. A dab of cover-up under her eyes, a smidge of brown liner and mascara, a slick of pink gloss on her lips. Her sexy calla lily earrings, for luck. A dab of styling gel and a few minutes with a blow dryer, and voila, she could have made him follow her to the ends of the earth. Men were so fickle. But it was probably just as well. She fished out a peach slice with a wistful sigh.

  Suddenly the little hairs on the back of her neck prickled to attention with a long, delicious shiver. She scanned the forest around her, forcing herself not to leap to her feet.

  “Hello, Annie,” he said softly. He was a long, dense shadow at the edge of the flickering light of her campfire.

  She nodded politely. “Hello, Jacob.” She managed to sound cool, even though her heart was thudding. “I thought I’d lost you.”

  His teeth flashed white in the gloom. “Not a chance.”

  She tugged her short T-shirt down over her belly, wishing it didn’t have a coffee stain. “Want some peaches?” She held out the can.

  He remained motionless, barely visible under the trees. “No, thanks. I’m fine,” he said politely. “I ate earlier.”

  She gave him a crooked, nervous little smile. “Why are you lurking out there in the dark? Are you trying to freak me out?”

  “On the contrary, I’m trying not to. I won’t come any closer unless you invite me.”

  She laughed, surprised at his unexpected gallantry. “You’ve been following me ever since Charlottesville. I didn’t invite you to do that.”

  “Philadelphia,” he said simply.

  Her jaw dropped. “Philadelphia?”

  “You just didn’t notice me until Charlottesville. Besides, I couldn’t help myself. Your beauty is an irresistible lure. You’re like one of those sirens in the old stories, enticing love-struck mariners to their doom.”

  A terribly teenaged-sounding giggle burst out of her, and the peach chunk slipped off her fork and plopped into the syrup with a splash. “I’ve never lured anybody to his doom,” she told him, dabbing at the splotch of syrup that had joined forces with the coffee stain on her shirt. “Still, it was a nice thing to say. Go ahead, Jacob, pull up a stump. Make yourself comfortable.”

  He glided silently closer, and she noticed that his hair was wet, combed smoothly back from his face. “Did you just take a shower?”

  “Yeah, I washed up a bit,” he said.

  “Bet you thought you were going to get lucky, didn’t you?”

  He shrugged, and sank into a comfortable crouch across the fire from her. “A guy can hope.”

  She blushed, and stared fixedly into the fire.

  “Your hair’s wet, too,” he observed in a soft voice.

  “Yeah, well, don’t flatter yourself,” she snapped. “Some of us bathe for reasons other than intent to seduce.” He laughed, unabashed, and her blush deepened. “Where did you first see me?” she demanded.

  “At a restaurant off of I-95, right after Philadelphia
,” he told her.

  “Philadelphia. That’s wild,” she murmured, trying vainly to subdue the foolish, flattered smile that kept taking control of her face.

  “Yeah, I know,” he agreed. “I was intrigued. A gorgeous, mysterious woman, traveling all alone, from who knows what to who knows where. I just got on my bike and followed you without thinking. Annie, the honey-blonde road siren. I’m hopelessly caught in your silken net. You’ve been dragging me in your wake across five states.”

  She covered her hot cheeks with her hands, loving the way his smile creased his lean face with sensual, deeply carved laugh lines. “I cannot believe I didn’t notice you,” she murmured.

  He shrugged, studying her with intense curiosity. “You looked pretty distracted at the time,” he said quietly.

  “Yeah. I must have been.” She had gone through Philadelphia on the first dazed, delirious day of her journey. She wouldn’t have noticed if an eighteen-wheeler had driven over her.

  “Where are you headed, if you don’t mind me asking?” he asked.

  She hesitated. She hadn’t told anyone about her destination. She hadn’t decided if it would be good luck or bad, but when she looked into his keen, dark eyes, she felt a surge of energy that could only be lucky. “I’m going to the Black Cat Casino in St. Honore, Louisiana,” she said.

  He looked thoughtful. “May I ask why?”

  She put a possessive hand on the purse that sat beside her. “I have a stash of silver dollars. The last of the money I won there five years ago. That money helped me start a new life.” Her voice shook, and faltered. “Now I need to start a new life all over again. I hope… that they’ll help me a second time.”

  He prodded at the embers. “I wish you luck,” he said in a careful, measured voice. “What’s plan B?”

  “None of your goddamn business,” she flared, stung.

  They were silent for a moment. “Don’t be mad, Annie,” he said gently. “Starting a new life is a hell of a lot to ask of a slot machine.”