Dangerous Love Read online

  Lost in her random thoughts, she managed to knock off three more blocks. Night sounds of crickets, frogs, and the nocturnal animals filled the air.

  Out of nowhere, a group of guys rounded a corner two blocks away. She stopped dead. A quick count. Seven. There were seven of them. The street lamps played spotlight on their features. Ranging in the ages from late teens to mid twenties, they all dressed in dark jeans, black long sleeved tee shirts, and baseball caps worn differently on each young man. Hackles raised, her heart began to race and her stomach somersaulted. Not. Good.

  A couple of self-preserved retreating steps caused the group of men to focus her direction.

  “Hey, baby.”

  “Red.”

  “She’s so tiny. I like tiny.”

  “Where u goin’?”

  “Now, now, don’t be afraid.”

  “I loooove me some red.”

  And it went on and on, one catcall after another.

  Eying her surroundings, she was royally screwed. Alleyways as a potential escape route lined between the business buildings. Well, that was certainly a no-go. Too many horror and Lifetime movies were made to know what would happen if she headed down those paths.

  They maneuvered themselves closer and spread out into the street in order to trap her. Finally, she turned around to go back to the bar. Maybe Joe, her manager, was still there. Hopefully. But she wasn't feeling lucky about those odds.

  Immediately the pounding of rushing feet echoed off the buildings. A glance over her shoulder, they'd decided to come after her and were closing in quickly. Her feet automatically ran for safety. They chased. She'd never been a track star back in high school but didn't consider herself slow. Her major issue was her short legs that couldn't eat up the distance needed. But she put all of her strength and energy into saving herself. Fear drove her to speed down the sidewalk the fastest she'd ever run. She only made it two blocks, when a hand grabbed her from behind, wheeled her around, and tossed her into the brick of a paint store. Pain lanced through her torso as the air left her lungs.

  “Well, well, well,” said the tallest one of the group. “She’s pretty.”

  They surrounded her like the prey they were about to consume. Someone tugged open her fleece while another ran his fingers through her hair. The distinct odor of booze assaulted her senses. Her lungs desperately screamed for air.

  "Let's play," one whispered into her ear.

  Cringing, she slammed her eyes shut to gain some sort of composure. She had no choice. She'd fight. There was no way in hell she'd lie down and hope to make it out of whatever was about to happen in one piece. A deep breath to take oxygen into her deprived lungs. Her mind raced to remember the safety course she and Kayla had taken a year ago. She hadn't practiced since.

  A blast of light burst through her closed lids. Her eyes flew open. A set of high beams lit the night, pointed directly on the group that boxed her in. The sound of a truck coming to a squealing halt interrupted their game.

  “Forester,” the shorter, wider one said respectively, with what sounded like a hint of fear laced through his voice.

  The group parted.

  Stalking toward her was her savior. Her biker savior.

  Grabbing her wrist, he yanked her toward the truck. Throwing open the passenger's door, he picked her up as if she weighed nothing and plopped her inside, then slammed the door shut. He spun and pegged the group.

  “Touch her again and you’ll deal with me. She’s mine,” he growled, then stormed around the front of the truck, his eyes deadly focused, and climbed inside. Peeling out, he punched the truck down the road.

  When her mind adjusted to the fact she was safe, she began to shake uncontrollably, her adrenaline kicking in.

  “Come here,” he mumbled. Once again, he manhandled her by pulling her into his body. Turning up the heater in the cab, he wrapped his solid arm around her body and hugged her tight against him.

  Unable to help herself, she whimpered and buried her head into his hard chest. Her vision blurred but she refused to cry.

  “Shhhh,” he said softly. “You’re all right.”

  For five minutes she kept herself hidden against his body. The scent of clean, male spice and cigarettes flooded her senses. She could feel his heart beat against her cheek through his tight black tee. But those few things barely registered, as if fleeting realizations in the back of her mind. She was too shaken to take full stock in his warmth engulfing her.

  Suddenly, the truck pulled to a stop and he threw it into park. She looked up to find they were outside Kayla's apartment.

  "How do you know where I live?" she asked, wary once again. Clarity smacked her upside the head. She willingly got into a vehicle with someone she didn't know. Someone enormous and strong. Someone who looked deadly.

  Digging for her self-preservation, again, she went to pull away but he held firm.

  "I won't hurt you," he rasped quietly but stern.

  "I don't know you."

  "You know enough that I saved you from becoming a rape and/or murder victim," he said factually. Tossing open his truck door, he fluidly slid out and held out a helping hand. His grim laser stare waited for her to take his proffered palm.

  "Thank you," she whispered.

  If she hadn't been looking directly at him, she would have missed the subtle softening of his striking features.

  "You're welcome. Let's get you inside then we can discuss why the hell you're walking home after three in the morning." He glared.

  She slid her hand into his large, calloused palm. Closing his fingers around hers, he balanced her when she climbed out of his oversized vehicle.

  Ascending the steps to the second floor apartment, he followed so close she could feel his body heat radiating off him. Or was that adrenaline remnants messing with her?

  Nothing about this was right or normal. A man she didn't know saved her, but that didn't make it all right for him to know where she lived.

  She wheeled around. "What's your name? How do you know where I live? And how did you end up saving me?"

  His lips quirked. "So, not only gorgeous but smart too." He studied her. "A lethal combo."

  "Answer the questions," she demanded.

  Reaching into his dark denim jeans pocket, he pulled out a pack of cigarettes and lit one up, blowing out the first puff. "You want to do this on the steps after three a.m. with what just happened? Fine, Derk Forester."

  "Derk," she repeated.

  "Yep."

  "Is that short for anything?"

  "Nope."

  "How do you know where I live?"

  He leaned casually against the railing, seemingly not a care in the world. "Did some research after you kissed me."

  "Wha−" she sputtered. "I did not kiss you. You mauled me."

  "So you say." His chocolate brown eyes glittered humorously. "I recall the events quite differently."

  "Are you insane?"

  "Nope."

  "How do you know where I live?" she whispered, her blood racing. Panic started to take residence again. He continued to refuse to answer her.

  "Hey," he said, stepping in front of her. "It's okay. I'm not going to hurt you. It was simple research on my part," he said, his deep raspy voice soothing, reassuring. "It's a good thing I did too, right?" He crouched down to look into her eyes. "Right?"

  Her hands went straight to her hips. He was purposely being vague. No, she couldn't argue with the fact he saved her, but that didn't make this entire situation acceptable. She tapped her right foot. "You aren't very forthcoming considering I know nothing about you except that you prowl the night and save women in distress." She looked him up and down. "But I get the feeling that's not your normal MO."

  Chuckling, he said, "Ah no, I don't prowl the night with a cape looking to save the city, women, children, or cats stuck in trees." He motioned up the steps. "Up you go."

  She rolled her eyes, turned and muttered, "Great, a bossy smartass hero."

  "No hero
here, baby." He snorted.

  When she unlocked and opened the apartment door, she refused to welcome him inside. She knew nothing of this man, but apparently he knew too much about her. Name. Work. Address. Wait, she just moved in today, how the hell…

  He stood on the threshold, his large body eating up the doorway, as if waiting for an invitation.

  "Thank you, again," she said, hoping he got the hint she wasn't inviting him in.

  His dark brown eyes raked her over. Taking the cigarette out of his mouth, he flicked it over the railing and blew out a final puff. One hard step toward her, his mouth descended upon hers before she realized what was happening. Again.

  This time she tried to escape using her available strength, but he surrounded her. There wasn’t a bar to hinder his power. Trapped and engulfed by his strength, his right hand tangled into her hair, his left wrapped firmly around her waist and pulled her flush against him. How he managed to engulf her yet make her feel safe, she didn't know. But he did. This was different than the frightening episode. He wasn't using his size or strength to intimidate or scare her, he was using his physical muscle to wrap her into him in a blanket of seduction.

  That mixture that she had a brief taste of at the bar assaulted her once again. His wonderful flavor committed to memory and pushed out the possible horror that he'd prevented. Was that his objective? Was he taking those potential nightmares away?

  When she opened for him, he didn't hesitate to plunge his tongue into her mouth, dancing with hers. Her arms went to his chest, fiercely clinging to his tee shirt. What if he hadn't shown up when he did? If it hadn't been for him, she'd...nope, she needed to shove those thoughts out of her head. She refused to go there. If she dwelled on it for even a moment, she'd lose her mind going over each possible deadly scenario. One of her personal attributes was how she was capable of quickly ignoring any potential psychological damaging occurrence. Hence totally glossing over her ex's extracurricular activities.

  Then Derk was gone. His warmth two feet away from her. His chest heaving. Turning on his heels, he stormed out the door and down the steps.

  "Lock your door," he threw over his shoulder before jogging down the remainder and disappearing into his truck.

  Mackenzie watched until he drove away, stunned. What the hell was that?

  4

  Derk allowed the scalding water to beat off his tightly wound body. Man, if his new obsession hadn't needed rescued from those seven punks, he would have killed every single one of them with his bare hands. No, that was a lie. With his knife‒minus gloves.

  Thank fuck his natural stalking habits kicked in and decided he needed to find out Mackenzie’s habits and follow. When she'd plopped down on the bus stop bench, he knew then she didn't have a ride home. He'd watched the bus pick up riders twenty minutes earlier. He about had a coronary when she got up and started to walk home. That's when he became creepy guy and inched his truck in a slow pursuit, staying a couple blocks behind. Tomorrow she'd receive a stern lecture about noticing her damn surroundings.

  After he'd left the bar, he couldn't get Cookie off the brain. Hell, five minutes after contacting Claire and ordering her to meet him, he canceled the easy lay. Instead, he went home, logged onto the House of Cards website and cyber stalked Mackenzie A.K.A. Cookie. He loved the innocent ones. Got a hard on every time for a girl he could break. This girl had all that and more. Her ink free body looked virtually virginesque and her shy return kiss made her innocence even more appealing. Her online photo didn't do her justice. In person, she was phenomenal. He could still feel her grasping his chest when he attacked her mouth. Those delicate hands on his solid body had sent his dick into instant overdrive. If he could have taken her against the nearest wall, he would have.

  His body stirred just thinking about her. Slowly, his hand wandered down to his now semi-hard length. He wrapped his fingers around himself in a firm grip. When was the last time he got himself off? Years ago. He had plenty of women on speed dial to give him a good release at a moment's notice. But none of them were named Mackenzie.

  Palming himself in a slow stroke, he thought of her at the bar and that tiny damn outfit. If she was his woman, there was no way in hell he'd allow her to work at that seedy bar displaying off her tits and ass. She probably warded off handsy men every shift. Plus, the dancing those bartenders did, hell, they might as well have poles embedded into the bars. According to the website, she'd been working at Cards for six months and was already a patron favorite. Further internet research and hacking of records, he found she'd been married at the time. What kind of jackass husband allowed his wife to get pawed-at every night she went to work? Especially a cutie like Mac.

  The way she leaned on the bar, pushed her cleavage high on her chest, left zero to the imagination. The image danced in his head. Increasing the speed of his firm grasp, the water his lube, he thought of how her creamy skin might taste. He imagined his tongue creating a path from her ear down to those breasts. Bet her nipples were the color of strawberries. Redheads always had strawberry tits.

  Squeezing himself tighter, he thought of those eyes, lined too harshly in makeup. If she wiped that makeup clean, he’d bet anything a man could lose himself in those blue babies. But it was her lips that propelled his release closer to the edge. Envisioning those plump, glossed lips wrapped around him, doing with her mouth what he was doing with his hand, but far more satisfying. He envisioned pushing himself deeper into her warm, moist mouth, forcing her take all of him, pumping his hips. Wet slaps filled the shower. His hips pistoned. He groaned, feeling his balls tighten. Lost in his erotic thoughts of Mackenzie and his dick in her mouth, his body jerked and his fluids shot out, not giving him the true satisfaction he needed.

  Fuck.

  He fell back against the tiled shower, his body spilling out his seed. Derk recognized he was in trouble. This woman wasn’t his type. He liked the younger ones. At least a ten-year age difference. A rule he instilled a few years ago. The older, wiser ones were too much to handle. But that wouldn't quite stop him. He was fixated. He'd stick to his usual routine‒conquer then desert.

  5

  Mackenzie tossed and turned all night. Even though her body was exhausted, her mind raced. Thoughts crashing together of the searing kiss by Derk, the near miss she had walking home, then her bazaar rescue by Derk. All of it jumbled and fumbled around.

  Tall, at least six three, coal black hair he wore a bit longer, and a hard body that screamed he worked out religiously. His arms were the size of her thighs. Evident though his tight tee. Any woman would drool over him. He spewed danger, and she had no doubt he was lethal. The evil glare he sent those seven boys was murderous.

  She couldn't get past the way she gave up control to him with both assaults on her mouth. The way he held her firmly and devoured her, she couldn't and didn't want to fight. She still felt his five o'clock shadow brushing against her skin. She'd love to know how it felt against her bare belly and how his naked chest felt below her fingertips. Was he bare-chested, or did he have a splattering of hair that a woman could toy with?

  Maybe she should have been frightened over the near attack, but being saved by Derk and his invasion into all her thoughts drove that aside. Though she did concede she'd never walk home alone again. A major personality fault with Mackenzie was how she easily forgot how people treated her. Not that she did the whole forgive thing, it was easier to immediately let it go, move forward, and get past it. A trait she'd picked up in order to survive moving from foster home to foster home as a child. Normal women would be shaken to their core, but Mackenzie developed the mentality a long time ago to shove the frightful away and turn a blind eye.

  Scissoring her legs from the heat that developed between her thighs, she tossed the sheets and blankets off her body. It had been so long since any man paid attention to her. Well, any real attention other than slimy bar gawkers. Quickly after her and her husband married, he'd lost interest. Thinking back on it, he'd probably been having af
fairs at the beginning. If that was the case, why the hell did he marry her?

  Shoving that depressing question aside but keeping on the same track, she really should get Derk off her mind. There was no way involving herself with that man could end well. Biker guy. Bar fly. Tattoos. Smokes. Drives a truck. Apparently drives the streets after three in the morning.

  She jolted upright in bed. He’d been following her, that’s how he saved her. How had she not noticed? Holy shit! She flopped back in her bed, convinced she was going nuts. See, this is what men did to you. Crazy, crazy, bat-shit crazy.

  6

  Pulling a white tee shirt over his head, Derk lumbered downstairs to retrieve his morning coffee. No matter how much sleep he got, his internal clock always had him up at the crack of dawn. One hour. One fucking hour was all he slept.

  After pouring himself a hot cup of Joe, he made his way to the living room to find Smith seated in the corner chair, his usual place to occupy when he stopped over.

  "What the fuck are you doing here this early?" he snarled.

  Smith didn't respond. Didn't even raise an eyebrow. Not a twitch of his mouth or flex of his jaw.

  Derk's front door swung open. Jack and Carl strode through. Well, Jack strode, Carl limped.

  "What the fuck is this? Party fucking central? It's six in the morning. Everybody out," he snapped. “Tonight the door starts to get locked so none of you assholes can come in.”

  "Good morning to you, too," Jack drawled.

  "Fuck off."

  Carl laughed.

  Derk plopped his ass down on the couch.

  "Boss-man has a job for you." Jack stepped into the living room.

  He turned to Smith. "This why you're here? They call you first?"