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Rebel(2)

By:Skye Jordan



“What the fuck are you wearing?” His voice tilted toward resigned frustration, one Jax often used with Wes. “You can’t come out here dressed like…like…” One hand lifted, gesturing the length of her body. “Like…that. Guys are working here, Rubi. I can’t have them off in porn fantasy land while they’re running stunts.”

He swung one hand toward a pile of crumpled cars down the length of the viaduct, burned out and still smoking, huddled in a haphazard heap as if they’d recently crashed.

She stopped several yards away, crossed her arms, and smiled indulgently. “I’ll take that as a compliment, Jaxy-boy.” The irritated press of his lips made her grin. He hated the nickname she’d given him. “I’m taking your girl to lunch today, remember? And you didn’t tell me you were running a stunt or that I’d need to be here to watch? So I made other plans this morning—and dressed accordingly.”

She’d been negotiating a sale price for the Aston when he’d called, and estimated the outfit had saved her at least five grand.

The Ducati revved, and Wes shot the bike between the group and Rubi. She pulled up short with a gasp. Heat from the bike whooshed over her body.

The helmet hid his mouth, but those deep gray-blue eyes crinkled at the corners with his smile.

“Don’t listen to him.” His deep voice was muffled behind the gear. “You look perfect. And you’re just in time. We’re going to run the real thing.”

That giddy electricity in her belly intensified. She lifted her sunglasses to the top of her head and worked up her easy, sexy grin. “Wes, if you run over Jax’s toes, he’s going to take away that pretty toy between your legs.”

He laughed, his head falling back. The sound was so rich, so damn happy it trilled through Rubi, leaving her body a sizzling mess of carbonation. Then he released the Ducati’s handles, letting the bike idle while he pulled off his helmet.

His hair fell all over the place as it came free. Light gold on top, wheat-colored underneath, it gleamed in the sunshine. Static electricity from the helmet’s padding grabbed a few strands and pulled them into the air.

Rubi reached up to finger them back into place. Only when the soft, warm, sweat-dampened strands slipped between her fingers did she realize the misstep. A wicked craving kicked deep in her body. Delicious, languid desire tightened her throat.

And, shit, she’d floated over that damn no-touching line again—a line he had a way of making her forget all about.

She told herself to pull her hand back, but it had been such a long time since she’d done something as simple as touch a man’s hair. Okay, maybe not that long. Maybe it had been a long time since she’d touched a man’s hair with a purpose other than fisting it during sex.

An image of her hands fisted in Wes’s hair, his hands and mouth pleasuring her body, flashed in her mind. Heat exploded at her core and spread. Quick. So damn quick, she almost didn’t catch herself from a headlong fall straight into him. Her gaze lowered to his mouth, those lush, masculine lips she wanted to taste. To know.

He propped the helmet between his legs and leaned forward. The teasing heat in those smoky eyes had deepened. “Trying to distract me? ’Cause it’s working.”

“Not really. But as long as I’m here…”

He let his gaze skim down her body again with an I-gotta-have-every-inch-of-that-now-or-I’m-gonna-chew-my-arm-off groan. “As long as you’re here…”

“Wes,” Jax called as he walked toward another camera, “we’re going again in five.”

“I’m so ready,” Wes said without taking his eyes off Rubi. He definitely wasn’t talking about the stunt, and his voice sounded as decadent, sinful as dark chocolate.

She lowered her gaze to ease the unsettling current growing between them. His body armor, tucked into pockets of the neoprene, covered his most vulnerable areas—shoulders, elbows, chest, hips, package… A very nice package she’d noticed on more than one occasion.

The thought forced her gaze back to his square jaw dusted with golden stubble, then higher. Avoiding those stormy gray eyes, she inspected his new haircut, shorter on the sides, longer on top.

“I like the cut,” she said, holding back from another suggestive comment.

Wes didn’t show such restraint. “Feel free to sink your hands in anytime.”

She pretended the words didn’t vibrate in her belly. “Did you go to Sterling Shears?”

“And saw Julie, just like you suggested.”

“I knew she’d do you right.”

His grin heated, eyes sparked. “I’d rather you did me right.”

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