Full Throttle Yearning

Full Throttle Yearning

Aurora Rose Lynn

When a biker chick cuts him off in traffic then parks in his spot at the courthouse, lawyer Charlie Vernon is hot under the collar—and it has more to do with her perfectly shaped backside, clad in black leather, than the sultry California heat. When he meets her later at a diner, pretty in pink, Charlie discovers she’s a woman with a secret—and he’ll do anything to keep her safe.

Hiding her true identity, Roxanne Abernathy doesn’t do men in expensive silk suits who are richer than sin. Charlie Vernon is cool, good-looking and wealthy—a bad, bad combination in her mind. But Roxie has a problem. A madman intent on killing her is on the loose and Charlie is the only man who can help. And she doesn’t know what she wants more from him—justice or lust.

Full Throttle Yearning

Aurora Rose Lynn

Chapter One

Biker chicks were major trouble and Charlie Vernon never messed with them. Too many days spent in court prosecuting men and women who rode motorcycles that exceeded a tolerable decibel level had taught him to stay well clear of anyone who appeared to be the devil on wheels. He clamped his hands on the steering wheel of his luxury vehicle and ground his teeth in a desperate attempt to control himself. Cool air from the humming air conditioner wafted over him but all he felt was the intense heat of the Southern Californian sun. And his simmering anger.

The motorcycle that had cut him off in morning rush hour traffic minutes earlier was now jauntily angled in his numbered parking spot.

Cool off, Charlie. Haven’t you stood up to these scumbags for years? What difference does one more make?

Intending to get out of the car and move the bike elsewhere, he lowered his hand to the seat belt. The sun felt much too warm on his knuckles but suddenly he didn’t care. A biker dressed from head to toe in midnight black darted from an alley potted with small palm trees. Her head—for surely it could only be a she, with her jacket zipper nestled between the enticing swell of her breasts—turned her head toward his sedan for a moment longer than was necessary. Charlie couldn’t see her face, which was shielded by a black visor. All he saw was his car reflected back at him through the shiny plastic. He watched in fascination as she kicked the bike stand free and slowly threw her left leg up and over the seat.

Oh, man. She’s got a butt I’d hold on to anytime, the kind that was made for a guy’s wet dream. Deliciously firm and rounded in tight-fitting leather, erotically shaped for steamy nights filled with raw sex.

The sight stole the breath from Charlie’s lungs and his cock sprang to life to press against the crotch of his silk trousers. The sight of the biker female made his mouth water, and his taut body sought more of her.

This is California, Charlie, and you don’t want more unless you want walking trouble.

Once her ass was planted on the Harley-Davidson, the biker turned the key in the ignition. Deafeningly, the bike roared to life. He gritted his teeth against the intrusive sound. Seconds later the biker chick, and his sensual fantasy, were gone, leaving him absolutely stunned and clearing his throat. How had he just been maneuvered so neatly into not being able to chastise her for stealing his parking spot? Why hadn’t he found his voice to berate her?

Calm down, Charlie. This is California, where anything can and does happen. You’re only here for a few days to help out a colleague, then it’s back to Boston. It’s unlikely you’ll see her again. Besides, you wouldn’t want to. With a body like that, she’s trouble with a capital “T”.

He heaved a deep sigh of frustration. When was the last time he’d lusted after a woman simply for the shape of her ass? A very nice, very squeezable ass. His now-clammy palms would easily span those inviting cheeks.

The sun must be baking my brains. I’ve never lost it over a woman, especially one whose face I couldn’t see. What’s the matter? When was the last time I had sex? Too long ago, if I can get hot and bothered over a black-leather-clad ass.

Dismayed by the direction of his usually businesslike thoughts, he grabbed his laptop and his briefcase, locked the car and strode into his friend’s law firm. He had to put the biker chick out of his mind. If he didn’t, she’d torment him into doing something foolish, like searching for her. He couldn’t do that. He had work to do.

* * * * *

Roxie Abernathy, or as her father had brought her up Elizabeth Audrey Harrier, had only caught a glimpse of the man in the black Mercedes, but that had been enough to intrigue her. And repel her. She didn’t do men in expensive silk suits and this one had the added mark against him that he was probably richer than sin. However, her body had tingled all over when he’d swept his designer sunglasses from his face and his mouth had fallen open. Had he been astonished? By what? A woman riding a motorbike?

She zoomed into her parking space in the underground garage and ran upstairs to her bachelor apartment. The view wasn’t much. In fact the front window stared smack into the middle of a brick wall, but it was her own place, torn divider curtains and rusty sink included.

Glancing at her strap-on watch, she huffed a breath of frustration but kept moving, stuffing her candy-pink waitress uniform into a nondescript duffel bag along with comfortable walking shoes. In case of an emergency, she’d stored a can of pepper spray in it too. The old wall clock ticked the seconds. Hur…ry. Hur…ry. How had she gotten herself into this mess? She swallowed hard, zipping the bag closed. All because she had a secret to keep.

She threw the bag over her shoulder, remembered to lock the apartment door and raced for work. Gerry would give her some leeway—maybe three to five minutes but not more than that. Lana, her next door neighbor, had no one to get her medication, and once every three weeks Roxie did that task. She hadn’t known the elderly lady long. Lana displayed a kind heart along with a bad ticker, so Roxie was glad to help out. However, that meant parking illegally in someone else’s spot, and this morning, she was pretty sure that certain someone had come along. Cool, good-looking and rich. A bad, bad combination as far as Roxie was concerned.

In her hurry to get to Woody’s Diner, an old relic of a bygone age with a thirty-foot-high wooden burger with all the fixings on top, which could be seen for at least half a mile, she brushed by several people, pardoned herself and raced on. No one troubled to notice her, for which she was grateful. She blended right into the massive milieu of the City of Angels. She passed an Italian bakery from which came the aroma of baking bread and the heady scent of garlic. The street was crowded for the early hour and Woody’s would open right as St. Vincent’s Cathedral’s bells pealed nine. The ringing was a comforting sound, one she always took the time to enjoy. Could she stop for a second or two? She had another block to go, then had to get into the diner and change before her shift began.

Usually she would have stopped and listened to the birds singing in the few trees that lined the street, or to admire the color of the rich blue sky, but not this morning. Roxie needed this job to earn enough cash so she could keep moving from city to city without leaving a paper trail. If she didn’t keep changing her location, she was afraid someone would recognize her and turn her in. No doubt there was a huge reward for her “safe” return by her father Clarence Harrier the Third. More than anything else, Roxie valued her freedom. Under her father’s watchful eye she’d been a prisoner, not so much under lock and key but under the constant vigilance of servants and bodyguards who reported her every move to their employer, which irked her.

For the sheer pleasure of it, she paused momentarily in her tracks, felt the warming concrete sidewalk under her feet and admired the cloudless sky and the huge cathedral bell tower in the near distance. This was freedom, when she could choose where she wanted to be, when she desired, without people hovering obsequiously around her with false smiles plastered on their faces.

Shaking her head because she had to leave the pretty scenery, she hurried on. Freedom came with a price, and that was to work her way to each breath of unhindered air. She picked up the pace and ran the rest of the way to the diner. Her feet seemed to have wings and her heart danced with joy. What more could a woman ask for?

As she changed into her uniform, her thoughts returned to the man in the Mercedes. She had caught only a peek at him but his parted lips and his gaze, piercing her with annoyance, had intrigued her. She’d probably pissed him off by driving into his space, but she couldn’t help it. At this hour, cars crammed the courthouse lot and the only way she could get to the drugstore for Lana was to edge into someone’s numbered spot. It had only been for a moment, and sure enough the pharmacist hadn’t keep her waiting, so she’d been in and out quickly.

Should she wear the neutral-colored pantyhose or should she go bare? Deep in thought, Roxie hefted the rolled-up nylons in her palm. The driver of the Mercedes had been sinfully sexy. What would he look like if he smiled? Would she melt all over the floor in a pool of pleasure? Or did he even smile? She’d never have the chance to find out. Not unless she went back to the parking space the next morning and waited for him. She’d probably piss him off again with her shiny motorbike practically in his face. In the bout of hostility that was sure to follow, she wouldn’t have to chance to get to know Mr. Mercedes better. The notion fascinated her, but it was foolish—playing with fire.

The diner’s restroom was small and cramped and there was barely room for her to change if she didn’t move around too much. It was like being a sardine in a can.

Men like Mr. Mercedes Driver were off-limits, she warned herself with a heavy heart. She’d dated a few before it had dawned on her that she was nothing more than an appendage to bolster their already puffed-up ego. She took a deep breath and exhaled shakily. She sure would have liked to find out if Mr. Mercedes was as hot in bed as he looked in the car.

She had to think about something else or she’d drive herself to distraction when she needed to concentrate on her job serving the patrons their orders quickly and efficiently as the owner Gerry, in his late sixties, demanded. He’d told her before he’d hired her that he had no use for teenagers and twenty-somethings working for him, since they spent so much of their time on their cell phones talking up a storm or playing those infernal video games. Yet he’d taken one look at Roxie and given her the vacant position even though she was twenty-five and a half, and he knew her age, which had been filled in on the application form. Everything else was a sham, from her last name to her work record, but she hadn’t lied about that. There were some things a woman couldn’t hide.

Then, too, it could have been that her fresh face and her twenty-something curves had something to do with Gerry’s decision to hire her. She didn’t know for sure. All she cared about was that she got her paycheck at the end of the week for a job well-performed.

That decided her. Although it would be hotter than tarnation outside, she’d better wear the pantyhose. For a more professional appearance.

* * * * *

Charlie asked Kyle Brant where he could get a decent meal at half-past two that afternoon. His stomach rumbled and the case Kyle and he were working on wasn’t as easy as either had initially expected.

Kyle gave him a warm half-smile, which was more than anyone else got out of him, Charlie realized. “What kind of food do you want? There’s plenty of Mexican, if you want. Pick your heat level. Spicy or spicier. Then there’s Chinese too.”

Charlie stroked his tie and even though the air conditioner was running full blast, he swiped at his forehead and the beads of sweat against his skin. “How about a good old-fashioned American burger? With fries?”

Kyle scratched his chin, which was already sporting the shadow of a beard. “Not risking your stomach on hot or hotter?”

Charlie shook his head. It wasn’t that he didn’t like burritos, tacos, enchiladas and jalapenos, but he wanted the kind of food he’d get back home in Boston.

“Woody’s, then. Been open since the 1940s. You can’t miss it.” Again the half-smile. “It’s the joint with the painted wood burger on the roof.”

“Thanks. Directions?” Charlie’s chair scraped the floor as he pushed it back.

“You’ll see it as soon as you get out the door.”

Charlie grinned back and headed outside. The heat was almost unbearable.
Boston never gets like this, so humid you could drown in your own sweat.
Stately palm tree fronds waved gently in the upper atmospheric breeze, yet down here there wasn’t even a hint of cooler air. Charlie itched to loosen his tie against the stifling heat but long years of self-discipline forced him to discard the idea.

Sure enough, the burger place was highly visible from the law firm’s front door. The burger was in bad need of a paint job but the sun’s glare probably took its toll on everything that wasn’t shaded and it could have been painted last year for all he knew.

As he pulled open one of the diner’s double glass doors, he observed that there were no iron bars to keep out thieves and troublemakers, a practice he found didn’t do much to deter the criminal element in either Boston or in LA. Out of habit, he surveyed his surroundings. The diner was like an old soda fountain, an idea he’d seen on TV but never in person. There were revolving seats at a front counter, booths for four near the wide windows that fronted the four-lane street and a black and white tiled floor. He felt as if he’d stepped into a different era.

Even for nearly three in the afternoon, the diner was relatively busy. Only two booths were free and only one seat at the counter. Charlie opted for a booth and slid in to the far side to face the door. Old habits died hard, even in a new city where few people would recognize him. Dealing with the criminal element on a day-to-day basis forced him to be cautious and observant of all that was going on around him. Several booths down, a large man with a scraggly beard and small eyes appeared out of place in a faded red plaid shirt. Charlie would have to keep an eye on him. If he wasn’t mistaken the man was on the hunt for mischief.