But still, the middle of the article featured that picture of me on TIME Magazine, laughing and happy. Next to it, they’d placed one of Beck’s mugshots from twenty years ago. He was thinner, angrier, practically snarling into the camera. I placed my phone into his hand.
“This blowback…” I started to say. “It… I mean, I’m really sorry, Beck. It’s an absolute disgrace. Now I feel like I should…”
“What?” He was staring at the screen, forehead creased.
“Tell you to partner with someone else. Maybe you should associate yourself with someone who isn’t going to cause such unwanted negative attention on your very deserving nonprofit.” I pulled at a fraying string on the bottom of my shirt. “I wouldn’t be offended if you wanted me to leave. And I’d still keep giving you donations, make a large gift. That wouldn’t go away.”
He placed the phone back in my hand, screen down. “I haven’t seen that picture in a very long time.” I was still, awaiting his judgment. “But it looks like we’re stuck with each other,” he said, repeating my words from the other day.
The surge of happiness that swelled up in my chest caught me completely off guard. “It might get worse,” I said, feeling the urge to protect this man.
“I’ve been through worse,” he said softly.
We shared a smile for a sweet second.
“Can I ask you a nosy question?”
“How nosy?”
“I’m guessing the Miami Devils… your parents… weren’t happy that you decided to defect from them?” I’d seen the word defect last night while doing research on the culture of outlaw motorcycle clubs. Like formally fleeing your own country, running across borders toward freedom. I’d found the word to be startling in its intensity.
“It’s rarely done. And never done if you’re blood. I was on high alert for a long time, making sure they didn’t come after me.” I remembered how he’d reacted that day at the beach, when Devils club members had been strolling past us. The way that one man had waved at Beck. Except it hadn’t been a wave but a crueler, more threatening act than that. He’d looked prepared for a fight in broad daylight.
“I think it’s interesting, courageous, actually,” I said, “that even with your family out there, even with people knowing about them, even knowing you’d have to be the public face of this nonprofit, that you still started it. That you and Elián still gave it a go. Everything I’ve experienced recently, the way people have turned on me, it’s absolutely the worst thing that’s ever happened. I’m not sure, if all of this fraud nonsense had happened first, I would have gone through and done something so public. But you did.”
“I’m not that public though,” Beck conceded, nimbly dodging my compliment as usual. “Elián is frustrated with me.”
“I think Elián sees what I see,” I said.
“What’s that?”
“A dedicated leader.”
His expression looked… grateful.
“Hey, Beck?”
We turned—it was Elián with a concerned look on his face.
“What is it?” Beck said.
“Animal control just called. A stray pit bull on the beach at Lummus Park. If we can’t get it, it has to go to the kill shelter over on High Street. You want in?”
“What’s open?”
Elián turned behind him. “I guess Jack’s kennel? You and Jem cleaned it the other day, right?”
“We did,” I said, happy to have provided even the tiniest amount of help.
“Let’s get her,” Beck said.
“I’m coming too,” I declared, standing and brushing dirt from my pants.
“It’s pretty physically demanding,” Beck said.
“And this body can do anything,” I tossed back.
And for a delirious second, his eyes traveled the length of the body in question—mine—in such a filthy way my core flooded with heat. I liked it. A lot.
“Let’s go then,” he said. “Want to take my bike? Jem can follow in the truck if we catch her.”
“When we catch her,” I said, needing to distract myself from sexual thoughts of Beck and his bike. “And you’re sure I’ll, uh, fit on the back?”
He stood up, barely six inches from me. I had to crane my neck to maintain eye contact. “We’ll make it work.”
I was the girl who always fantasized about sex on a motorcycle—but had never actually been on one.
Riding with Beck was going to be absolutely, one-hundred-percent fine though.
Right?
23
Luna
It was not fine.
It was hot as hell.
I’m about to ride a motorcycle NBD I texted to Cameron, Daisy and Emily. A flurry of those three dots—I imagined they were trying to text the fastest snark.
Who are you riding? Daisy texted. A beat, then: With. I meant who are you riding with, obviously.
Beck, I said. The nonprofit hunk’s one-word answers were rubbing off on me.
And I needed to stop thinking about words like riding and rubbing off. Immediately.
“I’ve got an extra helmet for you,” Beck said as we stood by his Harley Davidson that gleamed in the sunlight. His arm behind his head caused his unnaturally large biceps to bulge, making me think of granite boulders.
“Okay, cool,” I said. “Should I take my hair down so it can fit?”
“Sure,” he rasped.
I tugged apart my high bun and my hair went tumbling to my shoulders. It might have been my imagination but his entire body went taut, the curve of his lips like a tease. “How do I look?”
“Like Cousin It,” he said.
“Just the look I was going for,” I said. That curved lip became a truly crooked grin and only the buzzing of my phone stopped me from leaning into the gentle giant standing in front of me.
Motorcycle? HOT. I knew you were going to ride Beck, Cameron had texted back.
She and I shared an affinity for motorcycles.
His BIKE. Riding his BIKE. I replied.
Statistically speaking you’re going to die on that thing, Emily said, ever the scientist.
Going out in style. That’s very Luna, Daisy replied. I was so distracted I didn’t realize Beck was standing an inch from me.
“Can I put this on you?”
“Please,” I smiled. He tugged the helmet over my hair, and I couldn’t help but keep smiling up at him.
“You look like a real badass.”
“This is a real fantasy of mine,” I said. “I mean dream. Dream is what I meant.”
“You fantasize about motorcycles?”
Yes.
“Nope. They’re death machines that destroy the environment.”
He lifted his chin, a flirtatious glint in his eye. “But it’s always been your dream to ride one?”
“Absolutely. I know it doesn’t make sense,” I said airily.
“Well,” he said, “death machine or not, we’re heading over to Lummus Park. You’ll be behind me. Hold on tight. Really tight. You’ve got to lean into the curves. Follow my lead, okay?”
“Is it scary?” I asked, transfixed by how aroused I was at watching Beck swing a jean-clad leg over the seat, hands already flexing on the grip. He settled into the seat, turned to face me.
“It can be. It’s also fun as hell. But I’ve been riding since I was sixteen years old. You can trust me, Luna.”
“I like fun.” Also trusting Beck felt incredibly easy in this moment. His posture exuded competency and I liked it.
“I thought you would.”
“Listen. We both know Miami has the craziest drivers. You’re not… one of them, right?”
He twisted the throttle—roaring the bike to life. I couldn’t entirely hear, but he mouthed the word never. And there went that sexy grin again—a grin that had me moving toward him like a sleepwalker. Swinging my own leg over and settling on the seat. His back was like one giant, muscled wall in front of me. My hands landed gently at his side.
Holy shit
, there were vibrations. It was like sitting on top of the world’s most powerful battery-operated vibrator. I tilted my pelvis an inch forward, pressing my sex more firmly to that seat.
“Holy shit,” I whispered. Beck was turned away, thankfully, but he adjusted his front mirror so I could see him. Which was good and bad—his handsome face was too alluring as my clit was treated to such dirty treatment.
“Luna,” he said, half-shouting. “You need to get closer. Wrap your arms around me.”
Ooh, baby.
“Sure thing, boss,” I said. I slid forward a couple inches—swallowed a moan—and let myself wrap him in a bear hug, tucking my cheek to the middle of his back. The force of his body was awe-inspiring. I felt overcome in the sexiest way, immediately submissive, immediately wanton.
And between my legs—a persistent buzz.
He squeezed my hand clasped around his chest. We were off.
Fun wasn’t the word for what happened next. We were a sleek, streamlined body in space, hurtling down a highway toward Biscayne Bay. I was half-convinced we were going to crash, half-convinced we were going to take flight. If I’d grown wings and shot straight into the sky I wouldn’t have been more ecstatic. I kept laughing against Beck, my hands gripping him hard. His muscular ass was cupped between my legs and every few minutes I shuddered and sighed as those vibrations pushed me closer and closer toward orgasm. But I couldn’t orgasm on the back of a motorcycle with Beck Mason. So I kept shifting, moving, attempting to distribute the buzzing feeling to other, less sensitive parts of my body. Which ended up being the backs of my thighs and the curve of my ass.
And of course, as I squirmed and wiggled and beat back a rush of arousal, I was doing my best not to slide my palm down that magnificent chest and cup his cock through those jeans. Would Beck be hard for me? Was he as turned on as I was, wrapped together like this as we broke the sound barrier and whipped past cars like they were standing still? Every shoddy, out-of-the-way gas station we passed suddenly seemed rife with erotic adventure. Bike parked out front while I shoved Beck back to the wall and dropped to my knees. Tugged until that zipper exposed what I knew would be magnificence.
Or maybe I’d take him like this—straddling his body on the bike while he let me fuck him raw.
Beck tapped my hand twice—a sign I took to mean You okay?
I nodded against his back, flushed, aroused as the wind whipped over my skin and a continual loop of X-rated images played in my mind. By the time we made it to Lummus Park, I was a hot mess of hormones. One false move and I was liable to pop off. As soon as he slowed the bike down to a parking spot, I clambered off, took off my helmet and shook out my hair. The pulse between my legs was incessant and demanding. And my body knew who it wanted: the gentle giant standing in front of me, scanning the beach for a stray dog he was planning on saving.
As he slipped on a pair of sunglasses that made him look extra dashing, the only sensation my body conveyed was need.
24
Beck
Lummus Park was hot, the sun’s rays blinding off the white sand. Bathing-suit-clad tourists played beach volleyball or lounged on towels as music drifted past us on the breeze. This was the Miami Beach of movies and tourism videos—a neon-colored paradise.
I’d lived in Miami Beach my entire life. But everyone here existed in a world where I wasn’t welcome. I’d had a front-row seat to the mayhem the Miami Devils caused along Ocean Drive. My playground growing up had been the cold concrete floor in the clubhouse.
“Okay, what do we do?” Luna asked, clapping her hands together.
I searched the sand for a dark-brown dog, ignoring the beach balls people were tossing back and forth, and the roar of a pair of jet-skis off the shore. “According to the report, she’s a brindle pit mix, not more than thirty pounds. Skittish. Skinny. No collar.”
I showed her the supplies I’d brought: slip-collar, gloves and a leash. And the bacon I had in my pocket.
“I feel like a Marvel superhero but for dogs,” she said.
“Which one am I?”
“The Incredible Hulk, duh,” she said.
I was about to ask her which superhero that made her—but then I saw the dog.
“She’s over there,” I said, extending my hand. “Follow my arm.”
Luna lifted her aviators, squinting. “I don’t see her.” She rose up on her tiptoes and grabbed my bicep. Our ride out here had my head spinning with lust—the feel of her hand on my chest, face to my back, strong thighs pressed against mine. We’d been joined together as we rocketed down the road and I’d thought about fucking her any number of filthy ways.
But I needed to focus on the stray, not her fingers on my skin.
“How about now?” I asked.
She shook her head. Against my better judgment, I placed my fingers in her soft hair and gently moved her face toward the dog far across the beach.
“Oh, there she is!” she said.
I gave her the heavy-duty gardening gloves. “We’ll try and get close to her—with the help of this bacon. Wear the gloves and watch her mouth at all times. Scared dogs snap.”
“What if she runs away?”
We began to make our way through hundreds of towels on the sand. I could smell hot dogs and sunscreen.
“Well, it’s kind of hard. We don’t want to scare her but we might need to run after her. Either way, the most important thing is to get her in the truck, okay?”
“Sure thing, boss.”
Her smile was cute.
“You really don’t have to call me boss.”
“Aye aye, captain.”
“Luna,” I said.
“On it, sir.”
She was laughing and loose. Meanwhile my fingers were curling into fists.
Sir made me think of her sinking to her knees in the sand.
But as I watched her wind-tossed hair, my secret desires turned tender.
I wanted to touch her hair.
Dive into it, tangle it, grip it, yank it. Breathe it in. Beneath every fantasy I had—of bending her over my bike and tearing those yoga pants in two—lived an urge to smell her hair like a weirdo.
“Beck?” Luna prodded.
I dragged a hand down my face. “Sorry. Uh, I was thinking about the dog. Let’s head towards that row of palm trees.”
As the two of us neared, I could see the dog lying in the shade. Her ribs were visible and her skin had mange. As soon as we came into view, she hid behind the trunk.
I crouched. Luna did the same. Our body language was gentle. Non-threatening.
I held a finger to my lips and Luna nodded. When I pulled out the bacon and placed it on the spot in front of us, the stray was immediately interested. The dog took one… two… three steps closer. Her legs were trembling, eyes wide with mistrust.
The dog looked at Luna. Looked at me. Looked at the food.
And bolted.
“Fuck,” I swore, standing up and holding out my hand to Luna. I pulled her up easily. “You ready for a chase?”
“Aye aye, sir,” she replied.
25
Beck
The stray made a break for a crowded part of the beach and Luna and I followed it.
“The goal is to follow her quickly without making her feel like she’s being chased.”
“So… like super-fast walking while pretending to stare at something else?” she suggested.
“Exactly,” I replied. “Let’s go.” The dog was loping around a long row of food trucks, clearly searching for food. I gave a whistle and she turned to me, ears lifted. Walking swiftly now, I held out the bacon.
She bolted again.
“Oh, shit,” Luna swore, this time grabbing my hand. “Come on, we got her.”
We moved through vendors selling pork dumplings and bánh mì, cubanos and street tacos. A frisbee sailed past us and I snatched it out of the air before it hit Luna in the head.
“Whoa, thanks,” she said. “Hazards of the job, huh? I guess my biggest hazar
d is like thumb sprain from Instagramming too hard.”
I grinned at her joke and almost walked right into the restroom wall. She stopped me just in time.
“We make a good team,” she sighed. “If a clumsy one. Should we split up?”
I gave her a strip of bacon. “Whoever sees her first, okay?”
She snagged her bottom lip. “Feels like we should give her a name. Since we’ll probably be chasing her across the entire city.”
“Uh… okay. What do you think?”
“Beach Ball,” she said.
“How about no,” I countered.
“You don’t think Here, Beach Ball has a nice ring to it?”
My lips twitched. “No, I do not.”
Luna must have been wearing glitter on her skin. She was sparkling in the sun.
“What about… Sunshine?” I said.
Luna threw her hands in the air. “That’s perfect. We’ll get her. I’ve got bacon, gloves and a can-do attitude, as usual. See ya on the other side, boss.” And then she slinked off toward the front of the building.
There were plenty of corners and crevices for a dog to hide in as I crept against the back wall. I was concerned—if we couldn’t catch her, I didn’t want to think about what her future would be.
But I was also having fun with Luna.
When was the last time that had happened?
A flash of tan caught my eye. I stilled, listening. I peeked my head around the corner—saw Sunshine’s tail. She was hiding beneath a bush. Caught sight of me—and ran away.
I let out a frustrated sigh. Turned the corner. And Luna crashed into me.
“Shit,” I said, taking a step back at the impact.
“Oh, sorry,” she squealed, face squashed into my chest. I grabbed her upper arms. Steadied her. She was out of breath—staring at me with determination in her dark eyes. I was tempted to brush the strand of hair from her forehead. “Part of my can-do attitude is running into things.”
WILD OPEN HEARTS: A Bluewater Billionaires Romantic Comedy Page 12