“You don’t even know my name,” I retorted.
“Nope, and I didn’t before when you sucked my cock, I ate you, you f**ked me hard and I f**ked you harder. Didn’t bother you then.”
“I thought you knew my name!” My voice was rising.
He bent at the waist, put a fist to my desk and said quietly, “If that what it takes for you, baby, then tell me, we’ll go to the Compound and I guarantee you’ll enjoy an extended break.”
“Go to hell, Tack,” I hissed.
“Or we can just lock the doors, close the blinds and I’ll do you on your desk.”
Total. Freaking. Jerk!
“Go to hell,” I repeated.
“Or, if you’re into that shit, we don’t have to lock the doors and close the blinds.”
I glared at him. He held my glare and did it with his lips twitching.
After we had our staring contest for a while, he whispered what sounded like a dare, “Gonna quit?”
“No,” I snapped, his lips stopped twitching because he grinned and then I finished, “Not until I find another job. You’re right. I need this job. I’ll start looking immediately and I promise to give you notice.”
“Right,” he muttered, still grinning.
“And in the meantime, I will warn you that I have no clue what I’m doing.”
“I’m patient, baby,” he said softly and I knew he wasn’t talking about me getting car and bike part orders right.
“Well, that’s good because you’re going to have to be,” I returned then added, “Very patient.”
“You’ll get it in the end,” he muttered, his meaning clear.
“You’re unbelievable,” I whispered irately.
“Yeah, I think you whispered that in my ear Saturday night,” he whispered back, not, I noted, in the least irately.
It was safe to say I was done.
“I have a lot of work to screw up, Tack. Do you want to stop annoying me so I can do it?”
“Sure,” he agreed. I glared at him. Then, without warning and so fast I couldn’t avoid it, his hand was curled around the back of my head. He pulled me to him, leaned into me and I had to execute evasive maneuvers not to have a desk covered in coffee.
I forgot all about the coffee when I noted his eyes were so close they were all I could see.
“To be fair, baby, I’m givin’ you a warning,” he said quietly.
“Let me go,” I demanded just as quietly, mostly because I was freaking out.
“I want somethin’, I get it.”
“Let me go,” I repeated.
“Only once, I didn’t. That shit ain’t happenin’ to me again.”
“Tack –”
“You’ve been warned, Red,” he whispered and I watched his eyes drop to my mouth.
I held my breath and put pressure on his hand at my head. I was concentrating on both of these things so hard, I lost track of his other hand until I felt his fingers against my cheek. His thumb was sliding along my lower lip before I could do anything to stop it.
Then he released me, turned and without another word or look, he sauntered out the door.
When the door closed behind him, I sucked in breath, closed my eyes tight and kept breathing deep until I felt my heart slow and my lower lip stopped tingling.
Then I opened my eyes and stared at the door.
Then I whispered, “I’m not coward and I’m not going to be your plaything. I don’t know where I’m going or what I’m doing but I do know I’m Tyra Sidney Masters and Tyra Sidney Masters is not a coward and she’s not a plaything. That’s what I know. So, Tack Whoever-You-Are, bring it on.”
Then I turned to the computer and royally screwed up the order.
Chapter Three
Only I Call You Red
“Hey, Lenny,” I called loudly to the mechanic (or body guy or whatever he was) closest to the door leading to my office. The big man in blue coveralls straightened, shoved back his welding mask and turned to me.
“Yo!” he replied.
“Do you know where Tack is?” I asked.
It was precisely thirty-seven minutes since my last encounter with Tack (I had timed it). I had the, what I was sure was screwed up, printed parts order in my hand along with the Sanskrit notes and a pen. I was hoping Tack had already taken off and when he returned, he’d promptly come in and fire me due to the lateness of the order being completed as well as the fact it clearly stated I had no clue what I was doing.
These hopes were dashed when Lenny’s eyes slid to the door of the bay and he jerked his head toward them.
“Out there, Tyra, Compound,” he yelled over the garage noise. I looked toward the door but couldn’t see anything so I walked down the steps and through the garage toward the doors.
Then I saw him. He was standing, back to me, at the line of bikes in front of the Compound. He was with two other bikers. There were more bikes there today. Eight, I counted as I walked across the forecourt, my heels clicking against the cement, my eyes squinting against the powerful, bright July sun of a Denver day.
I was ten feet away when the attention of the two bikers with Tack shifted to me and I was seven feet away when Tack’s body turned and his eyes hit me.
I will not blush, act like an idiot or a shrew. I will be professional. This is a job. Only a job. He’s my boss. He’s a handsome one but a jerky one and I slept with him but he’s just my boss. I embrace my inner slut. Sluts wouldn’t blush, act like idiots or shrews. They would just go about their business. Therefore, I am a slut and I am proud, I said to myself as I approached.
I stopped close to their huddle and looked at the two bikers. One was huge, tall, blond, his long hair pulled back in a ponytail at the base of his neck. He had blue eyes, lighter and grayer than Tack’s (which were a blue so pure it was nearly sapphire, no joke), and he was really cute in a rough and ready way. The other was also tall with a full beard that needed a trim and it needed that trim about two years ago. He had long russet brown hair that he’d bunched up at the back of his head in a man-bun. He also, unlike Tack and the blond guy, had a hint of a beer gut.
“Hey,” I said, my eyes pinned to the two other men when I stopped at them. “Sorry to interrupt. Do you mind? I need Tack but this won’t take a minute.”
“Not at all, darlin’,” the brown-haired guy said.