by Stacey Keith
Brandon reached into one of the saddlebags on his Harley and pulled out a shiny black helmet. He didn’t seem at all surprised that she’d come.
“With Doak being your dad and all, I figure you’ve been on a bike before,” he told her, “but have you been on a Harley?”
She didn’t want to admit the truth. Brandon already had too many advantages over her. “You have buddy pegs,” she said. “It can’t be that difficult.”
He grinned, all dazzling white teeth, his hands slack on the handlebars. Oh, you’re just loving this, aren’t you? she thought.
April took the helmet, fastened it under her chin and then she slid in behind him. The very act of keeping her thighs open and molding her body to his seemed like the darkest part of sin. Electric shocks flew across the surface of her skin where it made contact with his warm, muscular back. The insides of her thighs tingled. The tips of her breasts ached.
But it was the smell of his leather jacket, the heat of his body, his intoxicating maleness that made her bite down fiercely on her impulse to run.
After she locked the heels of her boots on the buddy pegs and her arms around his flat hard stomach, Brandon took off. Accompanied by the feral growl of the open throttle, she, April Lynn Roby, officially looked and sounded like a badass. But she still felt as though she were moving through a dream—a dream where someone who resembled her exactly had this gorgeous man pressed up against her tender parts.
The roar of the wind, the thunder of the bike, the sharp blue of the skies, all of it combined to drown out the noise in her head. For the first time, she was free. Not just the lack of inhibitions a couple of beers might have given her, but complete immersion in the moment. Instead of watching the world flash by through the windshield of a car, she was experiencing every bit of that world, right as it happened.
I will always remember this. April held the thought close as she held Brandon closer. No matter what it cost her in the end, there would always be this ride. This bike. This man. This wild, joyful awakening. This sun. This road. This moment.
They passed only a few cars on the two-lane country highway to the motocross course. With a helmet on, April realized that no one knew who she was. Even Mrs. Woburn, the cashier from Strom Mart, who scowled disapprovingly at them from behind the wheel of her car, didn’t know who she was.
Brandon’s entire body radiated the power and mastery he had with the Harley. His dark hair streamed behind him, brushing against the windscreen of April’s helmet, as he guided her through the thick yellow syrup of the Texas afternoon. April yearned to take the helmet off so she could press her cheek against the wall of his back. She knew those thoughts were dangerous, but was too delirious to care.
From the moment she first saw Brandon stripped to the waist and working on that bike, she’d wanted this. She’d wanted him. And now that she had shucked off all her good girl costume, at least for this afternoon, April wondered how she would ever put it on again.
She never wanted this to end.
If only Brandon would keep driving forever, to where the lines of the road converged on a glittering horizon. They could head west, slicing across red-canyon desert roads that ribboned through Arizona. They could stop at lonely highway motels with sand-bleached signs and make love until dawn.
April closed her eyes, pretending she was already there, and that Brandon was showing her things, doing things, she had only started dreaming about after she met him. She could admit that now. She could admit anything.
He drove into a clearing in the woods. Cars were parked everywhere, some with trailers that had the names of popular soft drinks or auto parts manufacturers on them. April heard the brraaap of dirt bikes in the distance, practicing on the outdoor course. Her dad had taken her to a few of these motocross competitions, but she had no idea what to expect from this one.
Brandon cruised up and down the rows before stopping in front of a shabby old horse trailer that didn’t have any fancy painting on it. Matthew stood next to the trailer wearing a lot of mismatched gear and carrying a scuffed helmet. A big muscle-y tank of a man with long gray hair in a ponytail—Long Jon?—gave her a wide grin.
“You’re here,” Long Jon said. “Damn, girl, it’s a pleasure to meet you.”
It took April a second to recover from the ride. Even when Brandon cut the engine and climbed off the bike, her whole body kept vibrating. She unfastened her helmet and then set it on the seat in front of her. Brandon’s eyes had a glint of admiration in their depths, which must have meant she’d passed some kind of secret test.
“Thanks for coming out to watch me, Miss April,” Matthew said.
April blinked in surprise. Well, this was a different kid from the one she remembered that first day she met him. He looked shy, nervous, hopeful, but not like he wished she were a million miles away from here.
“I can’t wait to watch you race, Matt,” April said. “I’m really excited.”
While Brandon and Matthew unloaded the dirt bike off the trailer, April extracted herself from the Harley. It wasn’t easy since the bike was big and she was small. She darted a look around to see if there was anyone here who knew her and might rat her out, but this was a different crowd from the one she was used to. More flannel shirts, less shaving.
Long Jon gave her a knowing chuckle. “First time on a Harley?”
“It’s pretty obvious, isn’t it?”
“Crazy about it, though, aren’t you? I recognize the look.”
April glanced over at Brandon. Just moments ago, she’d had her breasts crushed against his back. “Yeah, you might say I’m crazy.”
“We’ll get along fine then.” That seemed to settle something for Long Jon. Maybe he’d worried that she was the type of woman who gave herself airs or who spent an entire ride bitching. It made her wonder what Brandon had said about her—if he’d said anything at all. Long Jon would have seen a million women come and go in Brandon’s life. She was just another one.
Remembering that brought a burn of shame to her cheeks.
They walked the dirt bike over to a holding pen full of dads and bikes and boys. Brandon explained to her that this was a preseason event. The real action started in late May. April listened with a sense of genuine curiosity. She liked walking across the rusty pine needles with Brandon, Matthew and Long Jon, even though she felt as though she’d brought the wrong hormones to this gun fight.
Her world used to have magical unicorns in it—not anymore, thank goodness. This one was all muddy tires, flop sweat and one-upmanship.
It made April wish Matthew had fancy new gear, too, instead of a jacket patched with electrician’s tape.
How unfair, she thought, as she looked around at the other kids with their brand-name helmets and two-hundred-dollar shoes. Now she really wanted Matthew to win—just to rub their noses in it.
“Okay, listen,” Brandon told Matthew as he fastened his dinged-up helmet and straddled the bike. “Make sure the fuel switch is on. You don’t want the bike stalling in the first lap. And don’t be afraid to scrub the jumps. Less time in the air means faster time on the ground.”
Matthew nodded, but April could tell he was nervous, poor kid. Her heart reached out to him. According to her dad, motocross was the second most physically demanding sport in the world, right after soccer. A dangerous one, too—broken bones, torn ligaments. She waited next to Long Jon and watched.
“All those turns are going to be rutted out,” Brandon continued, “so remember to power through. Once that gate drops, the first one in the corner gets the holeshot.”
“What’s a holeshot?” she whispered to Long Jon.
“The fastest one out of the gate usually gets the best position on the track,” Long Jon whispered back. “Watch him. He’s got this.”
It touched her how good Brandon was with his brother, all man-to-man, no trace of condescension. He may not have
been terrific at getting Matthew to school, but when it came to motorcycles, Brandon was clearly in his element.
A court of law would never see it that way, though. The only thing a judge would look at was number of absences on a school attendance roll. It worried her. The only reason Matthew was going to school right now was because she was keeping her foot on his neck.
Well, this kid deserved success so her foot would just have to stay there.
Brandon watched Matthew roll up to the starting gate and then he walked over to where April was standing with Long Jon. The air smelled of race fuel and pine sap. They had at least four hours until sunset, but shadows were just starting to lengthen across the churned-up dirt. Further up the fenced-in pastureland, people milled around, waiting for the race to begin.
“Who’s ready for beer?” Long Jon said, rubbing his hands together. “April, would you care for a frosty libation?”
She grinned up at him. “April probably shouldn’t have libations.”
“No better reason.” Brandon gazed down at her with the corners of his mouth twitching, the way a cat might look at a mouse. “Get her a big one.”
After Long Jon hightailed it to the beer stand, April found her nervous excitement returning. Something high voltage occurred when she and Brandon were alone. She could feel his hands on her body, everywhere, even when they weren’t. The surge of heat that swirled around inside of her made her forget things. Important things. Like how stupid she was to even be there.
But as she took in those green eyes with their thick dark lashes and the smile that only faintly touched the corners of his chiseled mouth, she felt as though she were dreaming all over again. Her mind pulled her in one direction, her body in the other. And somewhere along that tension wire was a reminder that she could never trust him not to break her heart.
Only a fool would have come here today. And April hated being a fool.
“You’re wondering how I got you out here,” he said. “You’re also worried how much trouble you’re in.”
How did he know that? She stuffed her hands in her pockets and turned toward the spectator area, guessing that was where they were headed anyway. The smell of popcorn, hot dogs and beer drifted over from the food stands. Brightly colored racing pennants snapped in the breeze.
But she didn’t deny it. How could she?
“There’s this thing bikers like to say,” Brandon told her. “‘If you don’t ride in the rain, you don’t ride’.”
“I don’t get it.”
“It means if you want the thrill, you have to risk getting…wet.”
Her eyes flew to meet his. Was he messing with her? He was hard to read sometimes. Brandon seemed to have two expressions: one that was intense and predatory, and one that searched for the April who lived behind her eyes. The April she tried to hide.
He might have had that searching expression now.
“You really love your brother,” she said, purposely changing the subject. “It’s very sweet.”
Brandon shrugged. If April didn’t know better, she would have thought being scrutinized made him uncomfortable, too. “His dad, Monroe, was a mean drunk,” Brandon said. “When he got liquored up, he’d beat anyone within three feet of him. Not me so much. I was thirteen by the time Monroe came along and knew how to fight back. But Matt and our mom…he’d lay into them when I wasn’t there. I grew up having to protect everybody.”
“Weren’t you afraid?” It was the wrong question to ask someone like Brandon, but she asked it anyway, hoping he might tell her.
“Fuck, yeah, I was afraid. Even when I got older, I was afraid. Monroe grew up on the Atchafalaya swamp in backwoods Louisiana with three older brothers. He knew a thing or two about beating the shit out of people. By the time I was old enough to shake loose of social services, I took off. If I’d stuck around, I probably would have killed the sonofabitch.”
“But you knew Matthew was still there,” April said. “You knew he was—”
“I did know. But it wasn’t enough to make me go back.” Brandon crossed his arms and gazed down at her moodily. “I’m telling you this for one reason. Do you know what it is?”
She shook her head. Her heart kicked hard but she tried blanking out her expression so he wouldn’t see how eager she was to know.
“I want you to see the hard, ugly truth about who and what I am,” Brandon said. “And I’m actually going to lay it all out there for you, too. No bullshit. No games.”
“But look at you and your brother now,” she said hotly. “I see how you are with him. I see how he looks up to you.”
“He’s just a kid who doesn’t know any better. But you aren’t. If we’re going to dance this dance, Princess, you need to know exactly who you’re dealing with.”
Time seemed to speed up and slow down at the same time when she looked at him. They stood off to the side, away from the crowd, sheltered from the afternoon sun by a grove of pines. She knew what he was telling her. With a young man’s selfishness, he’d gone off and left his mother and his brother to deal with an abusive drunk.
But he was different now, even if he couldn’t see it. He’d rented a house. He was making an effort. He helped his brother to excel in the things they liked doing together. April didn’t believe that Brandon was still the same person he had been ten years ago.
“I won’t lie to you,” Brandon said with a seriousness she’d never seen in him before. “But I don’t want you lying to me, and I sure as hell don’t want you lying to yourself.”
“I thought all you did was lie to women,” she said. It was a dig, but they were being open with each other, right? Why not say what she thought?
There was dark heat in Brandon’s eyes, something edgy and alpha and irrevocably male. “It’s not me you have to worry about. I said I wouldn’t lie to you and I won’t. But if this thing goes south on us? It’s not going to be because I lied to you. It’s going to be because you didn’t want to see the truth.”
Chapter 13
There were a lot of firsts.
The one that gut-punched Brandon the hardest was knowing how much he enjoyed being around April. As in, they weren’t having sex—yet—but he still liked having her with him.
That had never happened before. It had always been less talking, more taking your clothes off. You got in, you got out, you got gone.
The other first was trusting her not to turn psycho. Trusting any woman. That was tougher to figure out. He’d learned a long time ago that life was a fight for survival. You couldn’t depend on anyone. His mother, for instance. She’d never done a fucking thing for him and Matt.
But he couldn’t keep his eyes off April. That bothered him. Even now as she leaned her elbows on the security fence and watched the riders, he kept glancing at her, fascinated by the way her pale blond hair spilled over her shoulders. Maybe it was because she was so totally honest and had nothing to hide, she didn’t even wear makeup. She was one of those rare women—what did Long Jon call them?—soap-and-water beauties. Only in April’s case, she had no idea she was beautiful.
Brandon understood the type of woman who employed her beauty like a weapon. Who used it for power. But April never had that defiant gleam in her eyes, the one demanding that every man adore her.
Soap-and-water beauties. Long Jon always had a bit of the poet in him, Brandon thought in amusement. Hell, he was getting just as bad, thinking about this shit. It was like living out song lyrics.
Right now, he had a race to win, even if it was just the preseason. Brandon braced his elbows on the fence next to April. The smell of motorcycle fuel was almost better than the smell of sex. As crazy as it seemed, a feeling of deep contentment washed over him. His brother was racing, his best friend was buying the beer and his instincts about April weren’t telling him to run like hell.
A man couldn’t ask for much more than that.
“The beer line was one giant suck fest,” Long Jon said as he walked up with three foamy cups in his hands. “Fucking prices, too. They really bend you over in a place like this.” He darted his eyes toward April. “Beg pardon. I got a rough way of speaking sometimes.”
“I’m tougher than I look,” April told him, accepting her beer. “I’ve been told way worse right to my face.”
By my own brother, Brandon remembered with mild pride. Matt had come a long way from the scared, skinny kid he’d been three years ago.
April examined the contents of her plastic cup. “That’s a lot of beer. Someone’s going to have to finish this for me.”
“I had a buddy once who fixed himself up a motorcycle helmet,” Long Jon said. “Had a special hose on it that fed the beer straight to his mouth. Coulda made a fortune if he’d lived long enough to see it through.”
“What happened to him?” April asked, plainly horrified. Since Long Jon stood on the other side of her, Brandon could stare at her as much as he liked. And boy, did he like. What was it about a girl in jeans that made it impossible to keep your eyes off her ass?
“He got drunker’n usual one day and ate the asphalt,” Long Jon said. “Probably because of the hat.”
April turned to Brandon. “Have you ever wiped out?”
“If you rip her up and ride like there’s no tomorrow, there usually won’t be,” Brandon said. “But yeah, I’ve had a time or two when I did a little pavement surfing.”
“He’s still so pretty though, ain’t he?” Long Jon teased. “No scars on that boy.”
Brandon grinned. “Not ones you can see anyway.”
Someone closer to the starting line yelled, “Card’s up!”
As soon as the card was raised, riders had thirty seconds before the gate dropped. Brandon knew Matthew was already revving his throttle. With that scary-intense focus of his, Matthew would go tearing out of the gate and try to hit that first turn ahead of the pack. He’d done it a dozen times before at these events. And if Matt could make a name for himself in motocross, win some major championships and score a few million-dollar endorsement deals, Brandon would never have to worry about the kid again.