I asked him if he needed my address and he told me he already had it from the paperwork he had on me.
He hung up, without saying good-bye, and I stuck my phone in the front pocket of the baggy overalls I was wearing. I looked out the curtain again; this time I was sure the binoculars were pointed right at the window I was looking out. I let the heavy material fall back down and put a hand to my racing heart. I had a bad feeling about all of this.
I should call my dad and let him know what was going on. I should tell him that I was scared and that I wanted to make better choices now so that he didn’t have to save me from myself anymore. I wanted to be my own hero for once. I didn’t want to be the girl that knew she deserved the worst so she never even attempted to show the world or the people that loved her, her best.
I think I held my breath for the entire twenty minutes as I paced back and forth in front of my bed. I didn’t exhale until I heard that same sexy purr that had been in the background of my phone call with Quaid outside my window. I crept along the wall and gingerly pulled the curtains back a hint so I could see what was happening outside. I was directly ignoring the order he gave me, but I’d done about as much smart decision making as I was capable of for one day and my reserves were dry.
A brilliantly red, supersleek motorcycle, which was as opposite as it could be from the massive chrome-and-black Harley my dad rode, pulled to a stop in front of the house. I watched, in shock, as the man sitting on the mini rocket ship swung a leg across the wicked and sexy machine and stared up at the very spot I was standing. I saw the helmeted head shake, and then the black and red protective gear was removed and Quaid Jackson’s messy blond hair was revealed as it glinted in the overhead moonlight.
He kept the helmet under one arm and started across the street where the black car was still parked. I was riveted by the way he walked, confident and with obvious purpose. I was also mesmerized by the fact he had on dark jeans, which did wonders for his backside, and the leather jacket he had on seemed to fit him as well, and looked as expensive and designer as his fancy court duds. The man looked like a god in a suit. In jeans and the red-and-black leather jacket that matched the paint job on the motorcycle, he looked much more approachable, more accessible … to someone like me. He was still outrageously out of my league, but he seemed less rigid and formal in his after-hours gear.
The bike totally worked for him, too. It wasn’t at all like the mean and beastly American machines I had grown up around. That Italian bike was made to go fast and to look good while it zipped around corners and tore up the asphalt. It was elegant and sharp. It purred, instead of growled, and I wondered if the man that rode it did the same thing. I never would have pictured him as a bike kind of guy. He seemed too stiff and serious to be the type to get off on the rush of wind in his hair and the exhilaration of riding free. Most people considered street bikes a hundred times more dangerous than the big cruising bikes that my dad and his buddies rode. Quaid Jackson didn’t strike me as a risk taker; at least, he hadn’t until he’d shown up at my house in the middle of the night on that gorgeous monster of a machine.
He was halfway across the street, his gaze focused on the car, when the driver started the motor and peeled away from the curb. Quaid had to jump back to avoid getting run over as the car raced away, and he turned to watch it as it disappeared down the street, without turning the headlights on. He stared into the darkness for a long minute, then turned his tawny head in my direction. I wiggled my fingers in a tiny wave that made him scowl. He looked like an angry bird of prey stalking its next meal. It made my body throb and my heart pulse erratically against my ribs.
He turned on his heel and headed towards the front of the house, so I dropped the curtains one last time and raced down the stairs. I pulled open the front door just as his heavy boots hit the top step.
I was heated and flustered and didn’t bother to hide my reaction to him. He let his gaze sweep over me from head to toe, and I had a second of regret that my hair was in a messy topknot and that my overalls were not only two sizes too big, but also a holdover from my high school wardrobe. They were comfy and cute but they had definitely seen better days, and even with Quaid dressed in jeans and a formfitting black T-shirt, I still felt underdressed and seriously outclassed.
“Thank you for coming. I really wasn’t sure what I should do or if I should make a big deal out of it.” I stepped aside so he could come into the house and watched as his eyes skittered around the well-lived-in and homey interior. He made his way over to the worn couch and tossed the shiny helmet he still held under his arm onto it.
“Considering they took off and almost ran me over as soon as I got close enough to make out their faces and read the license plate on the car, I would say a big deal needs to be made out of it.” He turned and faced me, and I stopped being able to breathe as I saw the predatory look on his face. He didn’t look like a legal eagle at the moment. He looked like a normal eagle, ready to strike and devour. He was all golden and glorious, his obvious anger and concern making him a thousand times hotter than he normally was. The fact that the anger was on my behalf, that the concern was for my well-being, made me tingle in places I didn’t know could tingle. Seriously, the guys that I had been into before Quaid Jackson weren’t the type that made a girl tingle, but everything about Quaid had me feeling things I’d never felt before. It was alarming and exhilarating at the same time.
His deep voice distracted me from my body’s warm reaction to his close proximity. “I would’ve taken a plate number down, but there wasn’t a license plate on the car. That means whoever they were, they don’t want to be found easily. I doubt it’s a coincidence. I’m going to call the detective in charge of the case against the boyfriend and see if he’ll get a patrol car to swing through the area periodically.”