50 - Harley Ho

TO: Morgan Prince

FROM: MissLilahJane

July 12, 2011

Well… I’m nothing but a trashy ‘ho.  Yes, I realize that’s one of your favorite terms of endearments for me, but I think I’m starting to live up to it.  I’ve arranged to rent a motorcycle here in Dusseldorf and convinced Tony to take me for a ride. 

Stop huffing.  That’s not the trashy part.

I want him to choose the bike, but I DON’T want him to pay for it, so I went ahead to the bike shop to give them my credit card info in case he tries to.  Anyway, turns out there is a little Harley store inside the show, which has clothing and the like.  They had the cutest tank with Harley Davidson written across it in rhinestones.  You know how I LOVE rhinestones, so I got it, thinking maybe that he would laugh at what he calls my ‘thing for shiny shit’. 

What’s the big deal?  Um, well…  It’s got a cut out part above the rhinestones and below the neckline.  A big cut out part in the shape of a pea pod that pops my cleavage out there for the world to see.  Yeah.  That’s a problem, seeing as my cleavage isn’t all that spectacular.  I immediately got insecure, but LOVED the top.  Then… lo and behold… what to my wandering eye should appear?  A leather push-up bra. Why wouldn't a Harley shop have a leather push-up bra, right?

Trashy.  Ho.

That is all.

Tapping the send button on her phone’s email program, Lilah glanced up at the heavy footsteps approaching her chair in the lobby of the Intercontinental Dusseldorf.  As soon as she identified the source of the footsteps, she ordered her heart to stop thumping a mile a minute and tipped her head back to smile up at him.

In her head she kept replaying a single line of Angel’s excited-yet-chastising email from last night:  He sounds like the perfect man for you, Li-Lee!

Was he?  Despite her infatuation and enamor, she hadn’t come here looking for a man to call hers. The sole mission had been to make this man feel important enough to take care of himself and know that he was valuable on his own merits.  His turning out to be funny, sweet, protective and the fact that he sent her hormones raging off the charts was all clutterdust. 

Now somebody just had to tell her heart that. 

Don't forget that other thing, Lilah Jane.  You came here for that, too.

It was nowhere near the right time for that conversation. The more she thought about it, the more she wasn't sure there would ever be a right time for it.  She'd do well just to keep her mouth shut on that particular topic.  

Unless he happened to bring it up...

“Hey, handsome," she greeted warmly, discarding the silly notion.  "How was your trip?”

Bags slung over his shoulder and feet planted wide, Tony dug his hands into his pockets and returned her smile.  “Hey.  It was okay.  Where’s your gear?”

“Upstairs.  A very thoughtful man made sure they had my name at the desk, so I’ve already checked in.  Thank you.”

A fleeting frown skittered across his face.  “You're welcome, but if you checked in, why didn’t you wait for me upstairs?”

Because as soon as the door closed behind you, I wouldn’t have cared about a motorcycle.

“Gettin’ in my daily dose of people watchin’.  It’s a great pastime,” she improvised the half-truth. When Lilah rose to her feet, the sides of the leather jacket – that she’d taken great pains in keeping together  – fell open, exposing her new Harley shirt.  And her cleavage.

She was acutely aware that Tony’s eyes were drawn to the cutout in the center of the shirt whose soft cotton clung tightly to her body under the jacket’s camouflaging outline.  His cocked eyebrow paired with little smirk of awareness made her skin tingle. 

Despite the interest implied by his facial expression, a dry, “More shiny shit,” was his only remark.

So much for tinglin’ Lilah Jane.  He’s more interested in your advertisin’ properties than your leather-squooshed cleavage.

“Yep.”  She shrugged, pulling the jacket closed again.  “My obsession with sparkly stuff strikes again.  I’m either part magpie or Elton John’s bastard lovechild.”

His burst of laughter smoothed her ruffled magpie feathers.  If he didn’t melt with lust at the sight of her womanly attributes, at least she could make him laugh.  Laughter and happy were a hand-in-hand kind of thing.  If she was making him happy, Lilah would be content with laughter.

Tony curled his fingers into the lapels of her jacket, using his grip to urge her a step closer to him.  “I like your shiny shit.  But…”  His right thumb slipped between the lapels and lightly traced the pale valley between her breasts, and his voice fell to little more than a whisper.  “I’d like the shirt even without it.”

His eyes roved over her low ponytail, the rhinestone sprinkled sunglasses perched on her head, a face that was devoid of anything but sunscreen and mascara, and the small gold hoops tucked into her earlobes.  She knew she didn’t look great, not even for her, but her head was going to be stuck inside a helmet for hours.  Foofy hair and exotic makeup had seemed pointless.

He, of course, looked great in one of his customary black t-shirts, jeans and boots. 

He’s ready to ride and still looks good enough to eat.  Life isn’t freakin’ fair sometimes.

“You look good, Bluegrass.”

Lilah’s eyebrows slammed down in immediate denial.  Was he reading her mind, or was her dismay that obvious?  She took a sharp step back while shaking her head and dismissing the entire thing with a chuckle.  “If I look good like this, then you’ve been spendin’ too much time with Mike Rew.”

She peered pointedly at the big clock hanging over the registration desk.  “Daylight’s wastin’, Jersey.  Go throw your stuff in the room and I’ll get a taxi.”

“Hey.”  Masculine fingers curled around her wrist, preventing her from breezing past him on her mission.  “No question I’m spending too much time with Rew, but that doesn’t mean I’ve gone blind.  I hate it when you blow me off like that.”

“I hate the polite game,” she countered, stubbornly setting her jaw.  “Where people say nice things just because it’s appropriate.”

The second the words were out, Lilah wished she could bite them back.  They’d come out sharper than she intended.  He’d never done that with her before, so why was she taking her issues with other people out on him?

Damn your stupid ‘tone’, Lilah Jane.  You’ve likely just ruined what was gonna be a nice day, and why?  Because you don’t know how to take a compliment. 

Tony, rather than getting upset, just grinned at her.  “Appropriate?  That’s not a word I’m real familiar with.  Let me prove it to ya…”  Still holding firmly to her wrist, he stepped near and inclined his head to speak quietly in her ear.  “First chance I get, my face is going in that cutout on your shirt to make those milky white titties a bright shade of whisker-burn red.  Then I’m gonna laugh when somebody asks if you got sunburned.  Still think I’m appropriate?”

“This is why I’m in the lobby,” she confessed abruptly, turning toward him with her eyes zeroed in on his mouth.  “If I waited upstairs we wouldn’t have enough time to ride.  I’d be more interested in you than a Harley.”

“And yet you haven’t even fucking kissed me?”

His teasing indignation had her grinning face going pink with sheer delight.  “Maybe I was waiting for you to kiss me.”

“Wait's over,” he declared gruffly, bending to take her lips with his. 

Lilah savored the moment, yet wasted no time in pushing for more.  Her tongue slid into his mouth with a sigh and tangled sensually with his until gentle fingers touched her cheek.  Remembering where they were and the total lack of …  appropriateness… she reluctantly ended the kiss.

Being alone last night had been fine, but not having the taste of him on her lips, or the smell of him on the pillow, or the heat of him at her side had been... disappointing.  Mind fleeting back to his email, which she had filed away in a special folder marked 'TBJ', she let her hands drift reluctantly down his chest and took a small backward step.

“I missed you, too, Jersey.”

His goatee went lopsided with the half-smile that snuck its way onto his mouth.  “Good to know.”

She was going to end up embarrassing herself before long if she didn’t get her emotions and hormones under control.  In lieu of spitting out three words she had no business spitting out, she cocked a sassy hip and jerked her head toward the elevators. 

“Now dump your stuff so we can hit the road.  I’ll meet you out front.”

“Damn.  You can be a bossy little thing.  I didn’t think ya had it in ya,” he chuckled, meandering toward the bank of shiny elevator doors. 

“You’d be surprised what I have inside of me,” she muttered to herself before lifting her voice and calling out, “Don’t forget your camera.”