Motorcycle Man

I sucked in breath as I stared into his eyes.

Then I whispered, “No.”

His eyes blazed into mine when he warned on a scary whisper, “I told you not to test me.”

“And I told you my problem was none of your business.”

“If it isn’t my business then keep a hold on that attitude, babe, and don’t make it my business.”

“Okay,” I thought it prudent to agree.

“I’m thinkin’ you don’t get this but when you turn off Broadway into Ride, you drive into my world. My world is different than the world you live in. Unless I allow the parts of it I like, you don’t get to live like you live in your world when you’re in mine. And when I’m in yours but you’re with me, you live like you’re in mine. Do you get me?”

I didn’t, actually, not at all. I still nodded.

He examined my face then with a suddenness that I again lost my breath, his body was gone. He yanked me to my feet, tugged my skirt back down then turned away.

I sucked in another breath then nearly choked on it when his eyes hit the computer monitor and they narrowed. Then his head turned toward the printer, his arm reached out to nab the paper on top, he turned it over and in about two seconds, I watched his jaw turn to stone.

Uh-oh.

“Tack –” I started on an exhale and then he was on me again, this time he rounded me then moved in. I retreated fast, bumping into my chair which rolled away and then bumping into the wall where he pinned me with his body.

“I don’t accept,” he growled into my face.

I stared up into his and stammered, “Wha… what?”

“Your resignation, Red.”

Oh boy.

“Tack –”

His hand came up, his palm warm against my jaw, his fingers curving around my ear and neck and his face got even closer.

“You gotta learn,” he told me.

“Learn what?” I whispered.

“We play this my way.”

“Honestly,” I was still whispering, “please hear me, honestly, Tack, I don’t want to play.”

“I got two Saturdays, Red, two Saturdays that prove that a lie.”

I clenched my teeth and stared into his eyes.

His fingers tensed and lifted up, pulling me closer.

“Gave you four days to play it your way. Don’t like the way you play so we play this my way,” he rumbled.

Uh… what?

I didn’t ask. I bit my lip. I couldn’t help it and at that point, didn’t have it in me to try.

“You got me?” he asked.

“I got you,” I answered softly.

His eyes moved over my face before they locked on mine. “Do not be scared of me,” he ordered, his voice still firm but also weirdly gentle.

“Okay,” my voice was trembling even on that one, two syllable word.

His eyes held mine captive then he let me go, stepped away, ripped my resignation letter in half and dropped the pieces on my desk.

I stayed pressed against the wall and watched him, knowing I had just lied. I knew he was a scary biker dude and now I knew he was seriously a scary biker dude.

“Get your purse,” he demanded as he walked to the door that led to the garage and unlocked it then went on to say unbelievably, “We’ll get a sandwich together.”

I swallowed and my mind raced for excuses why I couldn’t get a sandwich with him because I needed him to go out and get his own sandwich so I could get in my car and drive to Vancouver.

“Uh…” I mumbled, he turned, his eyes slicing to me and then the sound of someone trying the handle of the door to outside could be heard.

Tack’s eyes went to it and my eyes went to it.

Then we both heard a girl’s voice from outside. “Dad! Are you in there?” The handle turned again, its sound desperate. “Dad! Open up! God! Open up! Mom’s bein’ a bitch!”

I stared at the door.

Tack moved to it. Then he unlocked it and opened it.

Then two teenagers were in my office. Two teenagers that were most assuredly of Tack’s loins. Two teenagers who were visibly in the throes of a serious drama.

Oh hell.

Chapter Seven

Tabby and Rush

“Mom’s bein’ a total bitch!” Tack’s daughter cried again, approximately a second after she cleared the door.

I stared at her. She had Tack’s hair except long, its glorious waves cascading down her back well past her bra strap. She also had his sapphire blue eyes, hers were flashing because she was pissed way the hell off. She was petite and slim but rounded, wearing jean shorts, a sweet Harley Davidson tee and flip-flops. Her blemishless skin, every inch of it, was tanned a beautiful brown. She was a teenage knockout. And she was pacing with extreme, teenage girl agitation.

“She is, Dad, totally,” Tack’s son stated and I moved my stare to him.

He was near to the spitting image of his father. The same height though Tack’s son didn’t have the muscled bulk of his father but that didn’t mean he didn’t have a lean, sculpted body. Like his sister, he had his Dad’s hair and olive skin tone. He was wearing his Dad’s uniform of faded, fitting-too-well-for-peace-of-mind jeans, motorcycle boots and t-shirt, his announcing he was a fan of Black Stone Cherry. He didn’t have the goatee and he had his mother’s light blue eyes but other than that, Tack was written all over him. Unlike his sister, he wasn’t pacing. He was standing, his hands on his h*ps but he looked angry, if not as angry as his sister.

“This isn’t somethin’ you both don’t know,” Tack’s voice rumbled into the room.

The girl whirled to face her Dad and leaning in, she declared, “All right, then she’s bein’ more than the total bitch she normally is!”

“No joke,” the boy put in. “She’s all over Tab like a rash.”

“Why?” Tack asked.

“Because she’s a bitch?” the girl asked back.

“I need more than that, Tabby,” Tack told her.

“She took the keys to Tab’s car and grounded her and swear, Dad, totally swear, there’s no reason,” the boy informed Tack and Tack’s gaze went from his son to his daughter.

“Is there no reason, Tabby?” he asked.

Hmm. The way Tack asked that it seemed maybe Tabby was a bit of a wild one.

“You know I’ll tell you like it is, Dad, but Rush is right. She’s off on one and… again… because she’s a total, freaking nutcase… she’s takin’ it out on me,” Tabby said.