“She’s got a lot of power,” he says, pride in his voice.

The noise and my own whirling thoughts are almost too much to talk over, so I just nod.

“Ready?”

“No,” I shout back.

He chuckles and I feel it against my chest. “Relax, Nat. I’ve got you.”

The bike jumps forward, and without thinking, I press my face into his shoulder and squeeze tight.

Chapter 3

Monroe

This chick is going to kill me. I merge onto the highway, working hard to focus on the road, as Natalie’s hold on me goes spider-monkey tight. Her face is buried against my shoulder, and I can feel every damn curve of hers pressing along my back. And though I’d actually attempted to be decent when she’d gotten on the bike, I’d caught a glimpse anyway. Now all I can think about is the fact that she’s got fuck-me red panties on beneath that bring-a-guy-to-his-knees dress.

But she’s not my date, and I’m not going to be seeing those panties or anything else tonight. No, I’m just the idiot going ten miles out of my way to help a sexy redhead meet up with her jackass boyfriend.

I know better than this, know not to mess with girls like her. The look on her face when I’d first gotten out of the truck told me everything I needed to know. She doesn’t see me as a member of the same planet she inhabits. She’s one of those uppity chicks from Texas Methodist University—the school that cost almost as much a semester as I make in a year. In her eyes, I’m just the help.

Usually that would piss me off enough to tell someone to go to hell, but Natalie had gotten under my skin back at the shop. Something about her doesn’t seem as distant and polished as the other debutante rich girls I’ve come across. There’s a realness there, a vulnerable side, one that had cracked wide open when her boyfriend said he wasn’t coming to pick her up.

What a douche bag. Canceling on a girl on her birthday is bad enough, but if this guy bailed on her to take some other girl out . . . well, then he deserves whatever Natalie’s planning to dish out. Though, part of me wonders if she’ll react outwardly at all. Apparently, she’s highly concerned with being nice and non-psycho and non-high-maintenance. Where’s the fun in that?

I run in circles where girls don’t take that kind of shit lying down. Most of my female friends go with the scorched-earth philosophy if a dude does them wrong. Screw one over, and she’ll make you rue the fucking day. I’d seen more than one of my friends taken down after making a stupid mistake. It’s one reason why I steer clear of relationships and stick to the casual stuff. I don’t need the drama. I like my life simple: take my classes, do my job at my brother’s shop, and have a little fun in between. Perfect. But that doesn’t mean a woman who isn’t afraid to spar with me won’t turn my head. It’s what had captured my interest with Natalie up front—well, besides the legs on her; those had been hard to miss. But it’d been disappointing to see her yield to some boyfriend.

Nice girls. Yawn.

Though, I admit the “do you know how dangerous this thing is” bit pushed a button I didn’t know I had. That Miss Priss vibe she’s got going on kind of does it for me. It makes me want to get her dirty. Really, really dirty.

Images of all the things I’d like to do to her fill my brain as I exit the highway, and my dick goes hard against my zipper. I tighten my grip on my bike and try to rein in the X-rated thoughts before I look like some hard-up pervert. Thank God Natalie still has her face pressed to my back.

This is what I get for taking double shifts at the shop for the last few months. All work and no play has left me wound tight and sporting a hard-on for someone else’s girl. Pathetic. This is exactly why I can’t wait to head out for my summer trip. Open road. The beach. And no obligations but housesitting my buddy’s condo and taking in the view. Next week can’t come fast enough.

Before long, we pull onto the street Natalie requested, and I circle the block twice before finding a parking spot near the restaurant. I cut the engine and Natalie startles behind me, like she has no idea where we are.

She peels her grip from my T-shirt. “That was quick.”

“You kept your eyes closed the whole time, didn’t you?”

She climbs off my bike, pulls off the helmet, and gives me a sheepish grin. “Maybe.”

I shake my head then let my gaze trace over her windswept form. That wild red hair is killing me. “You missed a nice view of downtown when we drove in.”

She adjusts the neckline of her dress and hands me the helmet. “You can show me next time.”

“Next time, huh? You asking me out, princess?”

She presses her lips together. So prim. “That’s not what I meant. I was just saying it—”

“To be nice?” I ask, lifting a brow.

She catches my sarcasm and her eyes narrow. “I’m not that nice.”

“I sincerely hope not.”

She sighs and glances toward the restaurant, worry flickering over her features. “Well, I guess I’d better go in.”

“Want some backup?”

“No, it’s fine. I’m sure it’s a mix-up and will turn out to be nothing.” But she’s still staring at the restaurant, looking like she’d rather eat a pile of rotten sushi than take another step.

“Too bad. I’m coming in with you anyway.” I climb off my bike. “And for the record, the make-out offer still stands.”

She turns to me, the tension on her face smoothing a bit. “Try it and you’ll see just how skilled I am at self-defense. Warning: they teach us to aim for the soft parts first.”

“Kinky.”

“But if you’re going to come anyway, fine. Just don’t say anything and let me handle it. Here”—she reaches forward and swipes her fingers along my cheek—“you’ve got grease.”

The warm touch jars me, and I have to fight not to grab her hand and keep it against me. When she pulls away, her fingertips are black.

“Hold on.” I grab the bandanna I keep folded and tucked in my back pocket and take her wrist, turning her hand palm up so I can clean her fingertips. “Can’t have a princess getting her hands dirty.”

Her eyes are fixed on what I’m doing, but she doesn’t say anything. And more importantly, she doesn’t pull away. When I’m done, I take a chance and don’t release her hand. I lace my fingers with hers and tug.

“What are you doing?”

“Let’s get this show on the road. What’s on the other side of those doors isn’t going to change no matter how long you stand here. Might as well see what’s what.”

She lets me pull her for a few steps, but when we reach the restaurant, she quickly tugs her hand back, that tight nervousness taking hold of her features again. “Remember, let me handle this.”

“You won’t even know I’m here.”

The door is opened for us, and we head into the swanky restaurant, soft Spanish music drifting around us. The whole place smells like smoked paprika and garlic. It’s an enticing smell, but I’ve heard this place is overrated and overpriced.

The host lifts her head from studying the list on the podium and offers Natalie a warm smile and me a crinkled brow. Jeans and a T-shirt aren’t acceptable attire here, but I’m not apologizing for my clothes. This is Texas. No restaurant should ban jeans.

“May I help you?” That, of course, is directed at Natalie.

“Yes, my boss Caleb Dewhurst is here, and he asked me to stop by and drop off a document he needed for his dinner meeting.”

“Oh, well, I can bring it to him.” The hostess holds out her hand.

“Actually,” Natalie says, patting her purse. “It’s a confidential document I have to deliver in person. You know how bosses are. It’ll only take a minute.”