Jacquie ’Alessandro - Kiss The Cook

He raised his brows. "Why not?"

"I'll, uh, get helmet hair. Bugs in my teeth. A sore butt. Besides, I try to avoid things with a negative fun/risk ratio. You know, three minutes on a motorcycle, eight months in the hospital."

His smile grew broader. "Chicken."

Melanie drew herself up. "I am not chicken."

He leaned forward until they were nose-to-nose. "Then prove it, Miss I-don't-want-a-boring-accountant-I-want-a-motorcycle-kind-of-guy. Correct me if I'm wrong, but I believe your exact words were 'My motto is-it's either motorcycle guys or no guys.'"

She shot him a dirty look. "Hasn't anybody ever told you it's impolite to throw people's words back at them? You might piss someone off."

"Hasn't anybody ever told you to be careful what you wish for? You might just get it."

Yeah, she'd heard it. Blah, blah, blah. She'd always hoped it would apply to winning the lottery. She made one last desperate attempt to save herself. "Nana would be worried sick if she knew I was on that… thing."

"Ha. Ten bucks says Nana would love to go for ride on this 'thing.'"

Darn it, he was right. A lump of real fear lodged in Melanie's throat. She'd never even been close to a motorcycle before. No doors, no seat belts, no nothin'. It gave her the willies.

"Look," she said, giving up all pretense at bravery, "I lied. I don't want a motorcycle guy. Wind in my hair gives me split ends and I'm allergic to asphalt." She swallowed the rest of her pride. "I just can't get on that thing. I'm not ready to die. There are too many things I still want to do."

He leaned his forearms on the handlebars and regarded her with interest. "Such as?"

"Such as… go canoeing. Play in a tennis tournament. Teach a cooking class. Try a martini. Bake the chocolate cake I found the recipe for in yesterday's newspaper. Skinny-dip. Lots of stuff."

"Great. I'll help you with five out of six. Let's go."

"Five out of six?"

"I'll take you canoeing, be your partner in a tennis match, and you can teach me how to cook something. I make a great martini and"-his grin turned wolfish-"I'll arrange for the skinny-dipping any time you say. You're on your own with the cake."

Melanie couldn't smother the laugh that escaped her. She shook her finger at him. "If Nana knew how you were talking to me, she'd take a rolling pin to you."

"Good. We'll use it to make your cake. Now I'm six for six." He held out his hand. "C'mon, Melanie. Climb on. Take a chance. Do something wild."

"Hey, I do plenty of wild things. Lots of 'em. Wild is my middle name."

He crossed his arms over his chest and regarded her with amusement. "Oh, really? What's the last wild thing you did?"

She shuffled her feet. "Uh, well, yesterday I hand-washed a rayon shirt that said dry clean only."

He hooted out a laugh. "You're a regular Evel Knevel."

"Ha, ha, ha. I once put bubble bath in the Jacuzzi-"

"Now that's more like it."

She sent him a withering look. "I was twelve."

He made a tsking sound and shook his head. "That's pathetic. Absolutely pitiful. Boy, are you lucky I came along to save your sorry butt."

"It's my sorry butt I'm attempting to save by not getting on that thing."

A warm, teasing, utterly sexy expression entered his eyes. Melanie felt the pull of that look and groaned. "Don't look at me like that," she protested, knowing she was going down for the third time with no lifeboat in sight. "Time out. No fair."

"C'mon, Mel. Ride with me." He leaned forward and brushed his mouth over hers. Their helmets bumped. "I promise you'll like it."

Riding on a Harley with the sexiest guy east of the Rockies, arms wrapped around him, pressed into his body. Oh, yeah. She'd probably like it no end.

That was exactly what she was afraid of. And if the motorcycle didn't kill her, the overdose of potent male sexuality no doubt would.

She took a deep breath.

Oh, well. What the heck.

Everybody's gotta go sometime.

They'd been on the road for a good fifteen minutes before Chris felt the death grip she had around his waist loosen a bit. The sun was just slipping beneath the horizon, bathing the sky with a palette of pinks and oranges. He cruised down the road, feeling the tension of the past several hectic weeks ease from his body and mind. There was nothing like a motorcycle ride to relax a person.

And there was nothing like a warm female body pressing against his back, hugging his waist, to remind him that not every part of his body was relaxed. He smiled, remembering the look of utter stupefaction on her face when she'd first seen his Harley.

"You okay back there?" he shouted.

He felt her helmet un-jam itself from between his shoulder blades and knew she'd lifted her head at last.

"Prop your chin on my shoulder," he urged loudly. "I promise you'll love it."

It took her a minute, but she finally settled her chin on his shoulder.

"I don't have to open my eyes, do I?" she yelled.

"If you don't, you'll miss the most beautiful sunset you've ever seen," he yelled back.

They drove on in silence, along a tree-lined, winding road that ran parallel to the Chattahoochee River. Chris smiled when he felt her rigid body slowly relax. By the time he parked in front of his condo, he suspected she'd changed her mind about motorcycles.

He turned off the ignition and looked behind him. "Well?"

She pulled off her helmet and shook her head, spreading a flurry of curls that settled like a halo around her face. Her eyes were bright and her cheeks flushed pink.

"That was awesome," she said, laughing. "Incredible."

He grinned. "I hate to say I told you so…"

"Oh, go ahead and say it. You were right, I was wrong. You're a big macho motorcycle hunk and I was a wuss." She swung her leg around and slid off, then practically danced around the bike in her excitement. "What a feeling. Like flying. Like nothing I've ever done before."

"Glad you liked it."

"Yes, sir," she enthused, patting the Harley, "I've gotta get me one of these babies." She looked at him and asked in a dead-serious tone, "How do you think I'd look in one of those black leather biker-chick outfits?"

The thought of her dressed in black leather gave him palpitations and made his knees sweat. He removed his helmet and hung it by its strap on the handlebars. "Come here."

Her eyes narrowed and a knowing, provocative, totally sexy smile curved her lips. She sauntered over to him, hips swaying. It was all he could do to remember to breath. Inhale, exhale. Inhale, exhale.

She stopped when she stood directly in front of him. Reaching out, she walked her fingers up the front of his shirt.

"You'd better not be thinking about trying anything funny, big boy," she whispered in a husky drawl that tightened his groin and raised his temperature ten degrees. "I'm a real badass, bitchin', Harley babe now."

"Oh, yeah?" he challenged. "Prove it."

"All right." She gracefully swung her leg over and straddled the leather seat, facing him. Then she looped her arms around his neck and wrapped her long legs around his waist. "How's this?"

Chris hoped his tongue wasn't hanging out. It took every ounce of his rapidly deteriorating concentration to keep his feet planted on the ground so the Harley didn't keel over.

She leaned forward and gently nipped the side of his neck with her teeth. "Am I doing okay?"

A shaky laugh escaped him. "Yeah. You're a real badass." His skin suddenly felt too tight, like it had shrunk a couple of sizes in the last two minutes. But there was no way he was going to bypass this opportunity.

Hauling her up even tighter against him, he said, "I hope you know CPR."

Her tongue flicked out and brushed his earlobe. His eyes glazed over.

"CPR?" she whispered. "Why's that?"

"Because I'm about to have a heart attack," he said, his voice a low growl. Fisting his hand in her hair, he dragged her mouth to meet his in a kiss that left him shaking.

He didn't know why this woman affected him the way she did, but he was apparently helpless to stop it. He hadn't wanted this, but this was the hand he'd been dealt, and by God he was going to play it.

No longer gentle, his tongue demanded entrance to her mouth, plundering the silky interior, claiming it as his own. She tasted like sugar and cinnamon and she smelled like flowers. His hands caressed her impatiently, kneading her back, then coming forward to cup the soft fullness of her breasts. He stroked his thumbs over her nipples and groaned when they peaked into hardened points.

God, he wanted her. So badly he couldn't think straight. So much he'd forgotten they were in the parking lot. Good thing it was nearly dark and no one was around. He was in no condition to make apologies to his neighbors or give explanations to an arresting officer. He had to get off this bike, out of this parking lot, and into the privacy of his condo before he exploded. He was so hard he didn't know if he'd ever be able to walk again.

"Chris," she murmured against his neck. "Chris, we have to stop… while we still can. Please. This isn't the time… or the place."

He heard her words through a steamy haze of passion. He lifted his head, breathing hard. Sweat dripped down his spine and his heart pounded so hard he wondered if he really was having a heart attack.

She stared at him, her brown eyes huge and dazed. Her hair was a mess thanks to a combination of the helmet and his plundering hands. Her lips were moist and swollen from his kisses. Reddish abrasions marked her cheeks and neck where his five o'clock stubble had rubbed her. The tip of her tongue peeked out as she wet her lips.