What would it be like to be with a man like him? Every man I’d dated just didn’t work out. They were nice guys, but the spark I wanted was always missing. People think I’m a good girl, and I am, but my mind is filled with dirty thoughts that I could never share with a mate. I’d shared them with Sophia, but she doesn’t count. No one had ever done anything fantasy-worthy with me. I can barely speak the words that are needed to describe the things I want done to me, or that I’d want to do to another person in this world.
“Ma’am,” he said, snapping me out of the evaluation of my sex life, or lack thereof.
“Sorry, yes?”
“Can you try and start it for me, please?” he said, leaning over the hood, his hands placed on either side of the opening. “Now,” he said. The car churned and churned. “Stop,” I heard him yell over the screeching noise. He moved methodically around the engine. “Try it again.” I turned the key, causing the engine to rattle, but not start.
He stood, rubbing the back of his neck as curses spilled from his lips. The only thing I could see was his crotch. I stared, motionless. His t-shirt covered the belt loops and stopped just above his groin. Damn. He filled out those jeans. He had to be big. Everything about him was big—he couldn’t, just couldn’t, have a small cock, could he?
The last guy that I’d slept with was more the size of a party pickle. It was the most unsatisfying sexual experience of my life. He was a teacher, and I wanted someone who was educated and self-sufficient, but he was boring in and out of the bedroom. I thought I’d found that with Derek, Mr. Pickle, but I was wrong. He was a wreck, and filled with more mental issues than anyone I’d ever know. He was germophobic, which was problematic when having sex. He’d jump right out of bed immediately after sex to shower and wash the dirty off. I sighed to myself, remembering his need to be clean—never mind that he was an asshole, too.
The hood of my car made a loud thump as the man slammed it. “Your car is a little tricky. Foreign cars can be complicated. I can’t seem to get it to start,” he said, walking toward the driver-side door.
“It’s okay. Thanks for trying.” I climbed out, not wanting to be trapped inside. What the hell was I going to do now?
“I was heading to the bar up the road. Want to join me?” He smiled and tilted his head as he studied me. “You can call a tow truck from there. It may take them a while for them to get out here.”
I couldn’t think of any other option. He was my only hope, my saving grace from the dark roadside, and a means to an end. There were worse things than climbing on the back of his motorcycle and wrapping my arms around him. “Okay, but I’ve never been on a bike.”
“Never? How is that even possible?” he asked, shaking his head, a small laugh escaping his lips. His teeth sparkled in the light, straight and white. His jaw was strong, his cheekbones jutted out more when he smiled, and a small dimple formed on the left side of his face.
I looked down at the ground, my cheeks heated. “I don’t know. I just never knew anyone that had one and I find them totally scary.”
“It’s not far from here and there isn’t much traffic. I’ll keep you safe,” he said, holding out his helmet.
My stomach fluttered as I closed the car door and thought about my first motorcycle ride. The black, round helmet felt cool against my fingers as I took it from him. I scrunched my eyebrows together as I studied it. I didn’t know if there was a front or a back, or how to put it on.
“Here, let me help you,” he said as he reached for the helmet, removing it from my grip. His hand touched mine and I felt the spark again. Not a real spark, but electricity that I felt with every fiber of my being from the slightest touch. My body wanted his touch, but my mind was throwing up the caution flag.
Placing it gently on my head, he ran his rough fingers down the straps, almost caressing my skin, to adjust it to fit my face. I inhaled deeply, trying to fill all my senses with him. He smelled different than any other man I’d smelled. He didn’t smell of cheap cologne, but there was a spicy, woodsy scent that reminded me of home. I closed my eyes and relished the feel of his warm skin against mine.
“All done. Are you ready?” he asked.
I opened my eyes, heat creeping up my neck, as I had been lost in his touch. “Yes.” I prayed my voice didn’t betray me.
He climbed on the bike, sliding forward, making room for me. “Lift your leg and climb on.”
Placing my hand on his shoulder to help balance myself, I followed his instructions; my body slid forward, smashing against him. Rock solid. He turned his head, looking me in the eyes. “Put your feet on the pegs and wrap your arms around me. I don’t bite—well, unless you want me to.” He smirked, and my heart felt like it was doing the tango in my chest as I pressed against his back. He didn’t just say that to me, did he? I lifted my feet off the ground, turning over complete control to the stranger I was entrusting with my life. I locked my hands together, completely wrapped around him.
“Ready?”
“Wait! I don’t even know your name. I mean, I’m putting my life in your hands and I don’t even know who you are.” I gripped his body tighter, clinging to him.
I couldn’t hear his laughter, but I felt the rumble of it from deep in his chest. “My friends call me City, sugar.” He throttled the engine and my heart skipped a beat. Fear gripped me—there was no turning back now.
Click here to check out the Men of Inked Series
Acknowledgments
Every time I finish a book I stare at this page in a panic. Why? Because I always worry that I forget someone vital in the creation of each and every page. There are dozens of steps when writing and prepping a new book to be published. Beta readers, editors, bloggers, street team members, reviewers, and more have their input and help promote the upcoming release before I ever press the publish button. I hope that I’m able to remember each person that had a hand in helping me make the best book possible. If I forgot you, please remember you are still import. It’s just that my mind is fried and I can barely process information at this moment.
My beta readers mean the world to me. Not only are they willing to read anything I throw their way, but they are a sisterhood. They chat each day, give me words of encouragement, and help keep my writing mojo going. In the middle of this book, actually right after I’d written the accident scene I came down with Appendicitis and had to have emergency surgery. My fabulous betas were patient (not really) in waiting for me to recover to find out what happened to Georgia. I couldn’t write a book without the following ladies: Deb Schultz, Patti Correa, Renita McKinney, Ashley Hampton, Kaylee Lovering, Malia Anderson, Kathy Lee-Herbst, Wendy Shatwell, Mandee Magliaccio, Maggie Lugo, and Stefanie Lewis. You ladies help keep me sane and mildly productive.
Lisa A. Hollett you are an amazing editor. You’re always patient and willing to throw me a laugh when I need it. Thank you for editing and re-editing Unlawful Desire. Even though I kept changing things you rolled with the punches. You are not only my editor, but also my friend. Thank you for working with me and never flipping your lid every time I added words.
I couldn’t have made my deadline without the help of Rosa Sharon and Fiona Wilson. You ladies put everything down to be the final set of eyes on Unlawful Desire. Thank you for being selfless and always having my back. I love you so much and will forever be grateful to each of you.
I can’t even begin to say how much I love the cover of Unlawful Desire. Shelton Cole you captured an amazing image. The emotion in the photo is electric. Thanks to Lance Jones and Brit Love for agreeing to be on one of my covers and help spread the word about the release of Unlawful Desire.