Chapter Eight

Shaking her head in amusement, Sophia locked the door behind Richie, and headed back toward the pool room. The three men were huddled together, deep in some serious conversation. What a sight those three make together, she thought. She took a mental snapshot to enjoy later, then cleared her throat to get their attention.

“Ready guys?” she asked Antonio and Lucien, who nodded.

“Sorry, boss,” Lucien said, as the pair walked over to her. “Just chatting with your new friend here, letting him know how you’re like our little sister, and we take protecting you very seriously.”

She unlocked the door at the back of the room, and led the trio through to the hall, and into the garage.

“I can take care of myself, but you’re sweet. Thanks for looking out for me.” Sophia gave each of them a kiss and shooed them into their car. As they climbed into the BMW, Sophia opened the door to let him out. She saw the taillights of what she assumed to be Richie’s rental fading off in the distance.

Once they were gone, she turned back to see Jon straddling her Harley. He was a mouth-watering sight in black and silver. Sophia hungrily absorbed every nuance of the scene in front of her. Jon had rolled up the sleeves of his shirt, revealing strong, corded forearms. Whew! He had a big shit-eating grin on his face, and was reverently skimming his hands over the chrome. He laughed softly when he saw the quote from his song on the tank.

Jon started when the garage door clattered shut, and his grin deepened and his eyes darkened as he took in the sight of her, enjoying the sight of him. “Great machine. Very sexy. How do you ride that thing in that dress and those shoes?”

Sophia chuckled, gave herself a little shake, and relaxed. She didn't realize just how nervous she was until now. She made her way over to the bike, caressing the handlebars. She smiled. “Thanks. I know, I think so, too. I don’t. I’m usually dressed in jeans and boots, which makes it easy. What do you think? Do you ride?” Stop babbling, you idiot!

Jon smiled at her response -- the way she answered all his questions, asked a few of her own, and got flustered in the process. “When I saw the Harley here, I had to touch it, to see how it felt under me. And baby, I do know how to ride.” His words made her shiver, but Jon was still staring appreciatively at the bike.

I'll just bet you do, darlin', Sophia thought.

Looking around the garage, Jon whistled. “Damn, baby, you sure do have some mighty powerful toys.” The “toys” in the garage were a dark purple 1970 Plymouth Road Runner, a screaming yellow 2005 Ford Mustang, and of course, the Harley.

Sophia looked around, quite pleased with herself. “The Plymouth was my Dad’s; I took it when he died. The ‘Stang was a present to myself when I opened this bar, and the Harley, hell, darlin’, that’s just for fun.” As she talked, Sophia walked around the garage, touching each one gently, lovingly.

When she looked up, she was rooted where she stood, frozen by what she read in Jon’s face. She blinked rapidly, and unconsciously licked her lips, making them shine. She took a hesitant step toward him, not trusting her own eyes. Jon quickly closed the distance between them and framed Sophia’s face with his hands. He leaned in, ready to kiss her.

Desire pooled low in Sophia’s body. She started to quiver as Jon’s long, strong fingers eased through her hair, caressing, taunting her. He pulled a lock forward, smelling it, closing his eyes as he inhaled the sweet, feminine perfume of her. “You smell like spring. Words escape me.” He chuckled, exquisitely raising one eyebrow, “and that doesn’t usually happen to me. Tell me, darlin’, just who is it that I’ve been enjoying all night? Nobody ever said your name. It’s always ‘Boss’ or ‘darlin’.” He eased closer to her, their lips just an inch apart, his hands on her shoulders.

“Sophia,” she whispered, barely loud enough to be heard, as she felt the straps of her dress fall from her shoulders. “My name is Sophia.”


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