Published by: eXtasy Books
Author : Evelyn Starr
Word Count :70500
Publication Date :2010-08-25
Series : #
Heat Level :
Category : Erotic Romance
- Product Code: 978-1-55410-019-4
When Maureen Molinaro arrives in Rehoboth Beach, she has no idea that she’s on the run. True, there are plenty of things she can’t think about…won’t think about. Things about her past, about her mother and all the guilt her father has made her feel since her mother’s accident. Thinking she’s just looking for action and a good time even if she does have no intention of going home again, Maureen steps out of her cottage and into the alleyway…right into the path of Troy Donoghue’s speeding motorcycle. And that changes everything. Because once Troy’s got his arms around her, once she’s felt the warmth of his gray-green eyes and basked in the sunshine of his approval, Maureen realizes she has nothing to feel guilty about. She’s never been guilty of anything, and she deserves a life of her own. The life Troy wants to give her.
The sickening spinning inside her head had begun to subside. Not enough that she could make any realistic effort to right herself, or save herself from the embarrassment of being seen sprawled across the gravel in such unladylike disarray. But enough that she’d come back to her senses and started to re-remember why it had seemed so desperately important to run away to Rehoboth.
She’d wanted to lose herself in this place where no one would know her. Where she’d been happy for one or two of the only times in her childhood. Where her only memories wouldn’t be anything but good, and where no one would remember her. She’d come here for freedom. The kind she’d craved ever since that dreadful night when her mother and Brad--
Maureen shook her head quickly. Reminding herself that there were some things she was not going to think about; some things and people and places left behind that were going to stay left behind. And to clear thoughts that had definitely been scrambled in her close call with death.
She’d come to Rehoboth for action, she decided. That was going to be her answer, her only answer, in case anyone should ask. She’d come here because she was twenty-four years old and she’d been stifled. Because she’d been yearning for all the kinds of wild and flirtatious things that seemed to come so easily to other twenty-four-year olds.
Well, action was one thing. She groaned, and tried again to move. But this...
"Sweet Jesus!" At the sound of a man’s voice, Maureen jumped.
The man from the motorcycle. She’d forgotten all about him.
He was bending over her now. He said something else, and for a second or two she thought her hearing had been ruined by the fall and the blow to the back of her head. His voice was muffled and indistinct, and she stared at him uncomprehending, wondering why she was having trouble seeing him as well. Then she realized it was only his motorcycle helmet. Black and blue, lightning-striped--wild blue? she thought, and had to fight back a sudden, hysterical urge to giggle--it covered everything but his eyes.
And what fantastic eyes they were. Dark-gray and deep, touched with the faintest shimmer of sea-green, they had to be the best eyes, the most attractive eyes Maureen had ever seen. Even in the wildest, most confused and sex-starved fantasies that had come over her sometimes in the midst of a cold and duty-bound night in Barry’s Cove.
At the moment, the green-kissed gray eyes were worried. Very, very worried. Which snapped Maureen out of her stupor and let her make her way, kicking and spitting, back to reality.
"You idiot!" she hissed, and tried to sit up.
"You should lie still." He had a deep voice...make that deep...to go along with a mouth-wateringly muscular body all decked out in form-fitting black leather. "You’re not thinking straight." His voice sounded perfectly serious, but when he reached out an enormous black-gloved hand to hold her down, his shoulders shook a little and his spectacular eyes crinkled around the corners.
The fool was laughing at her.
Maureen tried to scowl.
She tried harder to sit up. Tried again to shove her skirt down over the shamefully prim white cotton panties her father’s wife, the one she not-so-affectionately thought of as The Second Mrs., insisted were the only appropriate attire for a 'young lady of her station’.
Thinking about The Second Mrs. and all her rigid prattle about responsibility and selflessness and the thrill of ‘doing her share without complaint or expectation of reward’, Maureen really did want to spit. But her throat had gone dry, so she snorted instead. Impatiently.
Crinkle-cornered green-misted eyes floated above her, taking in the entire, shameless spectacle of her. And his shoulders shook again, harder.
Maureen prepared to snap at him again, but before she could do anything more than draw in a deep breath, she felt a dart of something hot, vague and nameless, though she thought any average girl--woman--of her age should be able to put a name to it without the slightest bit of trouble. It was something hot and red, something darting and delicious that made her feel--
Shivering, she decided it might not be a good idea to put a name to it, after all, and tried again to shove at her skirt.
If she couldn’t manage to sit up--and that was proving extremely difficult with the biker’s massive black-gloved hand searing a hole through the flesh of her bare upper arm--the least she could do was cover herself.
Once again he stopped her. "I like the view just fine," he said, and this time when his shoulders shook, his voice did too.
"Don’t you laugh at me."
"That was quite a fall." Lifting her foot with his free hand, he pulled the ruined sandal off.
"Don’t you even dare think of laughing," she hissed, and did her best not to jerk away when strange white-hot curling tendrils of that same nameless something that felt almost like lightning jolted into and along her leg.
For a second or two, with his fingers closed around her ankle as if it was tiny, tiny and oh, so fragile, with his thumb stroking the skin gently, carefully, she nearly forgot herself. Then, almost too late, she managed to scowl. "If this just isn’t the last straw. First my baggage gets lost, sent to heaven only knows where by an airline too incompetent to--and who knows if I’ll ever see it again, what with security and bomb-sniffing dogs, and--and then that odious drive from the airport. But, no, that’s not enough!" She laughed, and hated the way it sounded, all shrill and shaky, and borderline-hysterical. "Then you had to try to kill me."
His eyes crinkled again. "I did not. If you weren’t in the habit of stepping into public alleyways without bothering to look first, like some kind of--"
"You did everything but kill me. If I had a single lick of sense, I’d be in the house right now, calling a lawyer and getting ready to sue your pants off."
Maureen felt her face burn red. Scarlet. Crimson, vermilion, maroon. Her face, her throat, her earlobes and her scalp.
Had she said that? Good, sweet, pure-as-the-driven-snow Maureen Molinaro, School Superintendent’s cloistered daughter from Barry’s Cove, Oregon? Had she actually said--
The biker’s green-gray eyes took on a new, devilish gleam.
Apparently she had.