Behind the Lyrics by Melissa Riddell

Chapter 18

Viktor Farrow

I pulled up to the car park and switched off the motor, debating whether I should run inside and demand she accept my apology. Yet, another part of me whispered caution, that the way to her heart wasn’t with brute force but gentle persistence.

An old geezer, his long, stringy hair whiter than brown, pulled his twenty-year-old Volvo next to the bike. When he stepped out, his gaze landed on me and widened for a moment then he gave a quick nod, as if saying he knew who I was but wouldn’t bother me.

Well, thank fuck.

Unlocking the door, he stepped inside. Must be Angela’s relief, which means she should be off air soon, I hope. On the ride over, I’d switched on the radio and tuned in to her show. That soft, sultry voice slid into my ears, coiled inside my chest, and shot straight to my cock. The little vixen had a strange hold over me, and I felt like a drowning man grasping for something, anything, to keep from sliding under her addictive spell.

Yet, here I was, throwing the fucking life preserver toward shore and swimming out even farther. I sat on the hog and fretted. Should I or shouldn’t I dash inside and prove I was a half-witted imbecile?

While debating which path to take, my little angel wrestled the decision from me. Dressed in a dark-gray T-shirt and ripped black jeggings, she stepped through the doorway and turned to lock it. From the back, her attire and slight frame made her appear no more than twenty.

How old is she, anyhow? Twenty-six, twenty-seven?

Partially hidden by the Volvo, I hunched lower, feeling less sure of my harebrained, half-cocked plan. How had I sunk to such a low, skulking and stalking a woman I barely knew?

Fuck me, I’m turning into one of my fans.

As she locked the station, I gazed at the empty desert surrounding the building. I didn’t care for the idea of her being out here at night alone. Who knew what kind of crazy motherfuckers could be lying in wait, ready to pounce on her as soon as she exited the building?

The bloody hell, Viktor? I shook my head, confused at the possessive protectiveness overcoming me.

Click. The tumbler turned in the lock, and she moved her hand to stuff the keys into her purse.

“Evening, Angel.”

Like a frightened rabbit, she bounced into the air with a jangleof the keys and a breathy yell.

“It seems my messages aren’t getting through, so…”

With a careful turn, she faced me, her hand thrown across her chest and her eyes guarded. In her other fist, she clutched her purse in front of her stomach—a shield against the big, bad rocker. She was so fucking cute. My dick twitched in my pants, and I ripped my stare from her tantalizing body to her face.

“You could’ve called the station if it was that important.” She marched to the pickup truck from hell and mashed a thumb on the button beneath the handle.

Awestruck, my attention zeroed in to see if the metal would fall off its hinges when she opened the door. Unbelievable. Does the thing even run? It seriously pained me to think of her driving that piece of gobshite on this deserted stretch of highway. No doubt it’ll fall apart at the first jarring of a pothole.

“Wait. Please?” I scurried from the bike, lifted the flap of a saddle bag, and pulled out my offering. With my eyes cast to the pavement, I stepped toward her and stretched out an arm in her direction.

God, have I really stooped this low in my plan to seduce her?

“What’s this?” Her smooth voice rose a tad. “Are they for me?” Such wonder laced the words it caused me to lift my eyes to see her reaction. She touched her cheek, and her mouth parted in surprise.

“Yes, well, they’re roses. Dead, I might add.” I fumbled with the box tied to the bundle, releasing it, then held it in my other hand. “And Belgian chocolates. Hopefully, the little bastards aren’t melted.”

Something fucking wonderful happened—she laughed. Not just a tinkling of sound, but a deep, satisfied peal filled with warmth and happiness. It wrapped around me and tightened its hold on my heart, needling its way inside and caressing me like a lover. In that moment, I’d do anything to hear it again.

She shifted the purse strap higher on her shoulder, stowed the keys, and stopped in front of me, fingering the petals of a rose. “I don’t know what to say.”

“Say I’m forgiven for being a total arse last night and let me give you a ride.” My glance strayed to the ancient vehicle that didn’t know it belonged in the scrapyard. “Please, Love.” I pushed the gifts closer until they touched the cottony material of her Pink Floyd prism T-shirt. The woman has great music choices.

Her teeth gnawed at her lower lip. “I guess I can give you a second chance.” Leaning forward, she pushed her nose into the bouquet and breathed. A low moan escaped her throat, and an urge to fling them away and kiss her senseless rose within my body.

No, Operation Angel Seducer, remember? Go slow, work your charm then go for the kill.

“Come on.” I held out my empty hand, palm up, and motioned her closer.

With her gorgeous brown eyes on mine, she took the flowers and candy, then stared into my face. A loose, natural smile tilted her lips and a rosy glow spread over her cheeks. “Thank you,” she whispered. “No one’s ever bought me flowers before.”

“What?” I pushed a lock of hair from her forehead, and her breathing accelerated. “Not even your ex?”

She shook her head and swallowed.

“Well, he must be as daft as they come.” What the fuck was I even saying? I’d never bought a woman flowers either, so what did that say about me?

That you’ve never found a woman worth the effort, perhaps? No, this was all part of my seduction plan, that was it.

I slid an arm around her shoulders and walked her to the motorcycle. Taking the gifts, I re-stowed them on the bike and handed her a helmet. “Put this on so that pretty little head stays protected.”

She nodded then slipped on the helmet and buckled it under her chin. With a tentative glance at the beast of a bike, she licked her lips and fidgeted with the hem of her shirt. “Um, Viktor?”

Goddamn. My name on her lips nearly made a growl escape my throat. What was it about this woman? “Yes, Angel?” I slapped my helmet on, giving her an easy grin.

“I-I’ve never ridden one of these.” She stepped closer and trailed a finger along the leather seat. “I didn’t know you were a biker.”

“There’s a lot you don’t know about me. Not every detail of my life is in the news.” I lifted her hand in mine. The flesh, smooth and supple, felt good against my skin. “Come on. Throw your right leg over, like so.” I eased her on, then straddled it myself. “And wrap your arms around me.” There was no real need for her to hang on, as the bike was made for two and had grab bars, but I wasn’t passing up this golden opportunity to have those perky tits against my back and her hands closer to my crotch. Hell no.

She slid her arms around my waist, and I closed my eyes for a moment, savoring the scent of her perfume—a heady mix of jasmine, vanilla, and something fresh and clean, oceanic. Fucking delightful.

Refocusing, I cranked the motor, and her grip tightened. “You’re going to be fine. Just lean into the turns with me, don’t fight it.” I backed us out and onto the road. “Trust me, you’re never going to want this ride to end.”

“Ha. Why do I feel there’s something dirty in that comment?” She leaned her entire upper body against my spine and relaxed, which nearly sent me into a full-on meltdown. I could definitely get used to this.

I smirked. She was right. If I had my way, this ride would turn into a much more intimate journey by the end of the night.

Letting out the throttle, a deafening roar broke the silence of the night, and I gave the engine its head. We sped down the highway with the full moon stretching its silver light across the empty desert.