Rocky Ride (Thompson & Sons)

By: Vivian Arend

Chapter One





September, Rocky Mountain House

HEAT ROLLED along her spine, leaving a sticky residue behind like at the conclusion of a long shift on an endless summer day. Only it wasn’t hard labour that had brought the undeniable flush to her skin. It wasn’t the sweltering breeze blowing past, causing leaves on the nearby trees to tremble, or the scalding sun beating down on her dash.

It was sex. Or more accurately, the anticipation of sex.

A straight-up, body-pounding, muscle-clenching fuck about to be delivered with all too much finesse by her favourite speeder in the entire district.

Right now she wasn’t in the RCMP cruiser, and she certainly wasn’t on any major highway in the Rocky Mountain House area. Anna Coleman sat in her personal vehicle at the side of a lonely country gravel road as anticipation rapidly rolled toward consummation.

Thank God.

Her side-view mirror gave her a flawless view of Mitch Thompson. He uncurled himself from his Harley, removed his helmet and left it behind on the handlebars. Her heart rate kicked up as he sauntered closer, dragging a hand through his dark hair before pulling off his sunglasses and hanging them from his front pocket. Black leathers gripped his thighs, sunlight flicking off the fabric as he strode forward. The tight black T-shirt only emphasized the width of his chest and biceps, the dark lines of his tattoos curling over his forearms to where they ended in ragged flames on his wrists and the back of his hands.

Hmmm, his hands…

His usual cocky grin was absent, instead his expression one of total dignity and control, one step away from a glare. From this distance, she couldn’t see the golden specks in his dark brown eyes, but they were there, the knowledge of how they flashed brighter during moments of intense pleasure intimately embedded in her memory. His hair was too short to be more than rumpled from the time under his helmet, the dark brown strands matching the shadow of facial hair darkening his square jawline.

Nice. Today Mitch was one hundred percent hoodlum playing one hundred percent dangerous authority, and the combination caused one hundred and ten wicked reactions. She squeezed her knees together, but the pressure did nothing to ease the localized ache between her thighs.

He rapped his knuckles on her window.

Anna moved slowly, as if she hadn’t been panting for this moment. She rolled down her window but stared straight ahead, refusing to make eye contact.

“I need to see some identification,” he drawled.

“What seems to be the problem?” she tossed back, one side of her mouth twitching upward briefly before she got her amusement under control.

“You have no idea what you’ve done?” Mitch leaned in, elbows resting on the doorframe and inhaled deeply. “You got an explanation for the smell in here?”

She jerked to face him. That question wasn’t in their usual repartee. “Smell?”

His panty-melting grin exploded. “Hmm. Like sweet, hungry pussy.”

Holy moly. Anna squirmed. “You’re mistaken. I’m not transporting any animals.”

“Get out of the vehicle. Now.” He jerked her door open.

Anna was in no hurry. Drawing out the tease, taunting him for a moment or two could only heighten the experience for them both. Make what was sure to follow that much more explosive.

Pleasure licked around her as she obediently stood beside her car, his gaze skimming over the curve of her breasts. Lower, over her hips, lingering on the length of legs left exposed by her short miniskirt. She’d strapped on high heels, not much more than bits of buttery soft leather wrapped around five-inch spikes, and he swore lightly at the sight of them, fiery red against the dull grey gravel.

Screw it if the stilettos were impractical. This was her fantasy, and for the next half hour she’d damn well wear what she wanted.

A growl escaped Mitch as she pushed him to the edge of control. He squatted, one finger tracing the line of leather around her ankle and up the back of her calf to tease the sensitive skin behind her knee. “You have a license for those weapons?”

“Maybe. Maybe not.”

The passion in his eyes burned as he glanced upward. “Hands against the car.”

Anna glanced around cautiously as she twisted to obey. Double-checking there were no farmers using the remote shortcut to move bailers or haul hay from field to shed. Nothing to break the mood. No observers.

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