Out for the Count by Michele Mannon

Author:Michele Mannon
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Harlequin
Published: 2014-01-28T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Eleven

The Harley 1200 Custom idled beneath the Biggest City in the World sign, with Bracken feeling like the biggest fuckup in the world.

A sexy diversion—that’s what she was. Temporary. A means to an end. Because he never got sidetracked from getting the job done. The devil knew there’d been plenty of distractions, drugs, a bounty of women willing to do anything for a price—how he managed to stay celibate was a goddamned miracle—blood and mayhem. Dishonorable things. Actions that chipped away at his self-respect. His dignity. And instead of putting an end to all the illegal shit, he’d turned a blind eye to it. His eye instead was always on the end game. The big bust. But seeing the excitement pass across Huntley’s face as she fit the spare helmet on and climbed onto his bike gave him such an overwhelming sense of pleasure, he felt himself smiling. Goddamned smiling.

It didn’t fade, either. Riding through the city streets with an incredible machine between his thighs, Huntley wrapped around him like a fine leather jacket, and that feeling of lightness within his heart—he was enjoying himself.

As the light turned green, he gave his bike more juice than warranted, wanting to leave his uncomfortable emotions in the dust at the intersection. Huntley hugged him tightly as they took off flying. Her laughter, and obvious joy, spoke volumes; his moody bullshit was long forgotten in her rush from the morning ride.

He had to shake off the emotional crap and get down to business. A few Russians had started trickling into the Warehouse. Hell, the guy Huntley’d been chatting with had all the markings of a drug pimp. What Bracken should have done was let it play out. Let Huntley charm the crook, just like every other freakin’ guy in the place. Use her to smooth his way to befriending the perp.

Dream on, buddy. Not going to happen on so many levels. Befriend the Russian? Yeah, right. Bracken had been seconds away from grabbing him by the throat and squeezing the air out of him, curtailing him from even thinking about pursuing her. Huntley had an innocence about her, a wholesomeness that sent his protective instincts into a tailspin. Despite her having a kick that was lethal and an attitude that would crush a man’s heart if he wasn’t careful. If she hadn’t interrupted...

Bracken rolled his neck, trying to relieve the tight knot that’d formed there. Screw it, he worked best with an in-your-face approach, anyway.

His hand twitched. Shit, with each passing day, it was getting worse.

Bracken grabbed the handlebars tightly, willing his grip to hold steady. When that didn’t work, he ignored it and twisted the throttle. The Harley roared—much like he felt like doing. His cabin was calling him, his sanctuary. His psychiatrist, physiologist and therapist all wrapped up in one. A couple of months spent fixing it up should do the trick. Then this would all be one mind-fuck of a memory.

A little alone time. He couldn’t get there quick enough.

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