Riding Desire: Alpha Bad Boy Biker Boxed Set Read online

  “Claire, why would you want to pay someone to kiss you?”

  I blush. “I don’t have a lot of kissing experience, and he didn’t seem too impressed.”

  “He was drunk. Probably his main worry was staying conscious. Sadly, given how drunk most of the guys are at frat parties, he probably doesn’t even remember you kissing him,” Abby points out.

  That actually cheers me up. I would love it if he didn’t remember. “I just wish I could learn how to be good at things like that.”

  “You know, I really doubt you’d have to pay a guy here to get him to kiss you.”

  I sip my coffee. “A business arrangement would be easier.”

  Abby laughs at that and coffee spurts onto the table. She mops it up quickly with a napkin. Abby is incredibly pretty. Her hair is straight and fans over her shoulders in blue-black perfection. She is half-Japanese and half-British, though she moved to the States at age three.

  Then Abby stops, holding a dripping napkin over the table. She stares straight ahead, over my shoulder. Curious, I turn around.

  And see six-feet-four inches of black leather.

  No, that’s not accurate. The guy is six-four, and the leather stops at the collar of his jacket. He’s wearing the kind of leather pants you wear on a motorcycle, along with a black jacket with heavy silver buckles. He carries his tray in his right hand and a helmet under his left arm.

  “How about Sawyer?” Abby asks.

  “Sawyer?” I don’t know anyone by that name.

  “Him.” She nods toward the tall, broad-shouldered guy in leather. “That’s Sawyer Tremaine.”

  I can’t help but stare. His legs are the longest I’ve ever seen. His hair is golden blond. His eyes are violet—I can see that even from our table, that’s how brilliant they are. Stubble covers his sexy jaw and cheeks, below the well-defined cheekbones.

  I thought Trey was gorgeous. This guy cannot be real.

  I swallow hard. “You mean, go up to him and ask him to kiss me for money?” I know I’m pure red with embarrassment. “I was thinking hypothetically. Like if there was an app and I could upload my credit card number and have a guy delivered for kissing lessons. I am not going to go up to him and offer payment, Abby.”

  She keeps her voice low. “You know, I don’t think Sawyer would require payment. I’ve known a few girls who’ve had one night stands with him. He’s supposed to be really, really great in bed.”

  “He’s into one night stands?”

  “I guess. The females involved wanted sex without any strings attached.”

  “How could you do it with him just once?”

  Abby giggles and I blush again.

  Since it’s the beginning of October, and Sawyer is apparently in his sophomore year at Yardley, I assume I must have seen him on campus before. I can’t believe I never noticed him. But I guess I didn’t, because now that Abby pointed him out to me, I see him everywhere.

  For the rest of the week, I run into him at the res cafeteria, in the campus store, in hallways, out on the grassy quads. I even discover he is in two classes with me: first year Statics and first year Calculus, two of the required courses for engineering students. Since he is a sophomore, I assume he’s repeating the courses.

  One thing I’ve always been good at is research. Not that I intend to approach Sawyer, but I’m intrigued to find out about him. On Friday afternoon, I’m in the campus coffee shop Beans with Abby and four other girls. I’m the only one in engineering, the others are in arts. I try to casually bring Sawyer up in a conversation.

  It works well until Abby says bluntly, “She wants to know about him. Claire is considering a one night stand with him to get a little experience.”

  “Abby!” I gasp.

  No one else at the table looks shocked.

  Shanelle, who has long black braids and dark caramel skin, smiles. A dreamy smile. “Sawyer. Yummm.”

  Two other girls—Stevie and Kylie—join in, adding to the volume of the ‘mmmm’.

  Beside me, Jenna, who is a history major with short, honey blond hair, adjusts her glasses. “You guys are crazy. Sawyer is trouble.”

  “He’s sexy,” Kylie says. “Soooo sexy.”

  “I heard he rides in illegal street bike races,” Jenna continues. “He does it for the money. I heard he makes tens of thousands of dollars from bets and that’s how he pays for school. But it’s totally stupid. People get killed. They race on regular roads at over 150 mph.”

  “That sounds highly irresponsible,” I point out.

  Abby rolls her eyes. “I don’t think that’s true. Anyway, you’re not looking to raise children with him.”

  “Street racing is why he won’t get seriously involved with a woman. That’s what he told me. He doesn’t want to draw anyone into his world of danger.” Shanelle sighs. “But he’s gorgeous. And he really is a good lay. Most one night stands suck. I mean the guy is so fixated on actually getting sex that he expects a lot of wild thrusting will make you feel good. But Sawyer was never like that.” She makes another ‘mmm’ sound. “I have his number on my cell if you want it, Claire.”

  I shake my head. But Shanelle texts my phone to send me Sawyer’s number, even though I keep protesting that I don’t want it.

  I won’t use it. I don’t want to have a one night stand to get experience. I’ve crushed on Trey since seventh grade and I don’t want anyone else.

  Shanelle looks me over. She taps her glossy red nails on the table. “If you want Sawyer, I have two words for you.” She grins, flashing perfect teeth. “Makeover Intervention. Tonight.”

  ***

  After my makeover, I go to another party off campus with Abby and Shanelle.

  This one is not a frat party. It’s at a house shared by five guys. Just like at the frat party, the living room is being used as a dance floor. Dozens of people fill the living room and there are even more crammed into the kitchen. There must be a few hundred people here.

  “You look stunning,” Shanelle assures me.

  “Thanks to your makeover skills,” I say. Shanelle applied face primer on me—who knew there was such a thing? Eyeliner and mascara have made my eyes stunning. She flat-ironed my normally wild red hair and it hangs halfway down my back, straight and shimmering. I put in daily wear contacts for tonight. Other than the fact that I keep blinking my right eye because it feels scratchy, I look good.

  I bite my lip and wince at Shanelle. “I think I look too good. I look like someone I’m not.”

  “Confidence on the outside leads to confidence on the inside,” she says.

  I realize its true—I feel like I could leap tall buildings. Outrun freight trains.

  Then Shanelle gasps, “Abby, look.”

  My friends drool over a group of tall guys standing in the living room. It’s Yardley’s basketball team, where the shortest guy is six-three. At once, the guys grin, wave the girls over, and integrate Shanelle and Abby into their circle.

  I hang back.

  Because I see him.

  Trey.

  He has his arm around a slender girl with wavy blonde hair. Then he captures the girl’s mouth and they fall into a perfect, sinful, steamy kiss. I am so stunned I smack my Coke can into my teeth.

  I never told Abby I couldn’t dream of dating Trey in junior high or high school. I was always the rejected geeky outsider. I was made fun of and teased in junior high. When I reached my last year of high school, things got worse. Even though I was quiet and didn’t bother anyone, someone developed a hatred of me and attacked me online. It wasn’t so bad really. Just mean messages and stupid pictures. But it hurt. And it didn’t stop. I got to the point where I wished I just didn’t exist.

  In reality, I don’t think I ever really thought I could learn how to seduce Trey. I don’t think I ever really imagined he could be mine. But watching him kissing someone passionately hurts so much.

  The girl he’s with is gorgeous and he looks like he’s…in love.

  I walk through the h
ouse, again realizing I am at the kind of fun party I used to dream of attending. And I want to leave.

  I find the only empty room in the house. In the basement, there’s a small laundry room. I go in there, bite my lip, and let a few silly tears of self-pity roll down my cheeks.

  “Are you okay?”

  I almost jump out of my skin. A guy is standing behind me, in the laundry room. I wipe my cheeks as fast as I can, hoping that he will have no idea I’ve been crying. “Yeah,” I mumble, not trusting my voice.

  I turn.

  Oh. Wow.

  Sawyer Tremaine is standing there. All of him, in this very small room. I can’t believe I didn’t notice him. Admittedly, he was hidden by the door, and I swung it shut without turning around. He is folding clothing and setting it neatly into a white plastic laundry basket. Jeans cling to his hips and follow his amazingly long legs. He’s wearing a white t-shirt. He has a build that is not unlike Hugh Jackman’s when the actor plays the character of Wolverine. A beer is standing on the dryer. “Hi, I’m Sawyer.” He holds out his hand.

  “I know. I mean, I’m Claire.” I take his hand and awkwardly shake it.

  He studies me with his stunning violet eyes. He has long, black eye lashes despite having blond hair. “Are you sure you’re okay? You look like you’ve been crying.”

  “No. My eyes just got watery. No idea why. It just happened.” I add, floundering, “It’s probably my contacts,” I add.

  He folds a shirt and puts it in the basket.

  The significance of that suddenly hits me. “You live here?”

  His brow lifts. “I don’t usually go to parties and fold other people’s clothes.”

  “I guess not. But why would you even want to do it at your own party?”

  “The dryer was finished and I didn’t want the stuff to wrinkle.”

  Logical, that’s true.

  Sawyer holds out the beer. “I just opened it and haven’t drunk any.”

  “I don’t drink,” I say quickly.

  “Okay. If you’re sure.”

  “I am so sure.”

  That makes him smile. He is really gorgeous. In a confined room, his gorgeousness is making me want to hide in a corner and try to disappear.

  That was high school Claire. New Claire, with a makeover, should—

  A crazy thought hits me.

  If I could find out how to turn Sawyer on, maybe I could have one last chance with Trey.

  In the statics course that both Sawyer and I attend, we write regular tests—one every two weeks. We just wrote one a few days ago. Afterward, as people filed out of the classroom, I overheard Sawyer talking to other guys from the class. He admitted he didn’t study.

  “I’ve heard stuff about you,” I say quickly.

  He stops with his beer bottle touching his lower lip. “What kind of stuff?”

  I’m being crazy, but I don’t want to stop. “I thought—well, I wondered if we could work out a deal.”

  He looks confused. “A deal?” When he moves, his biceps bunch up under the short sleeves of his T-shirt. And…god, are those triceps? Are they supposed to bulge like that?

  “I—uh—wanted to ask you for a favor,” I say. “I thought in return, I could help you. You know, with statics. Give you some tutoring.”

  “You did—what was your name again?”

  “Claire.”

  He sets his beer down. “I got a 98 on the last test. But you’re right—I do have room for improvement.”

  Ninety-eight percent? Oh God, I never dreamed he was smart. Given the gossip he was an outlaw bike racer and given I heard him say he didn’t study, I never once entertained that conclusion.

  “Yeah, it’s a tough course,” he continues. “I couldn’t fit it in my schedule last year and had to take it this year.”

  He didn’t fail it. And apparently he doesn’t study because he doesn’t need to. My face goes bright red—I know it does.

  “I—uh.” I have no idea what to say. Then it occurs to me that maybe I can get what I need without making a trade. I mean, he’s supposed to be notorious. Why not try it? Why not just tell him what I want to do? Maybe he would be willing.

  Do it! Do it! an inner voice shouts.

  “I actually kind of wanted to go to bed with you.”

  There, I did it.

  Sawyer’s brow goes up again. He doesn’t say anything. Then he lifts his beer bottle to his mouth and takes a long swallow. He rubs his jaw. He doesn’t look me over or anything.

  My heart is wedged so tight in my throat I think I’m going to choke on it. What was I thinking? He is not going to want boring, plain old me.

  Now he’s going to make fun of me.

  I’ve started the cycle all over again. The teasing, the posts, the bullying—all the stuff I suffered through in my senior year of high school. I’m certain he is going to mock me, so I take a step back, intending to turn and get out.

  But he sets down his beer and smiles at me. It’s not a mean smile. It’s a soft one. “Why don’t we start with a date first, Claire?”

  Chapter Two

  I assume Sawyer is joking or he thinks he should deflect this crazy girl who just propositioned him. He bends to the door of the dryer and I move out of the way so he can take out a shirt, which he folds neatly. “Do you want to go out Friday?” he asks.

  I don’t know if I’m arranging to have sex on Friday night. Or if he is just avoiding the awkwardness that would follow rejecting me. At this point, I’m too embarrassed to ask. I pull out my phone and he takes my number, types it into his phone, which he slips into the back pocket of his jeans. My mouth goes dry as I watch his hand go into his pocket, following the tight curve of his butt.

  I don’t believe he’s going to call.

  It wasn’t that all the teasing in high school has made me doubt myself—well, maybe a bit. Mainly it’s because I am certain an invitation to a one night stand should have been done with more finesse. What was I thinking?

  “Uh, do you want to go upstairs and dance?” I ask clumsily.

  “Sorry. I have to study for a test.”

  “Oh, yeah.” I step aside to let him out of the laundry room. I asked both Trey and Sawyer to dance and struck out both times. My cheeks feel like they are brilliant red.

  Sawyer balances the basket on his hip, opens the door, and steps aside to let me leave first. Hmmm, I guess it would look strange if I stay in the laundry room after he’s gone. “I have to go home,” I say. “I should study too.”

  “Would you like me to call you a cab?”

  Great. Maybe he thinks I’m drunk because I propositioned him. “Thanks,” I say graciously. “That’s very nice of you.”

  That makes him grin. And I feel something catch fire deep inside me. Smoke smoulders through me. Oh. Oh. Oh. The flash of white teeth and dimples, the sight of the sexy lines that bracket his mouth, the hint of stubble—

  The only smile that ever had me almost whimpering and sobbing at its sheer gorgeousness was Trey’s. But against Sawyer’s grin, that is like a sparkler compared to a fireworks display. Well, maybe the difference isn’t so extreme, but right now I am transfixed on the spot, gazing at the sheer sexual beauty of Sawyer’s smile. I’m melting. I’m going to turn into a puddle on the floor of the basement.

  He puts his phone to his ear and orders a cab for me. Then he nods toward a door. “That’s my room.”

  Right now, if I were Shanelle or one of the other girls, I might be able to say or do something seductive and end up in his room with him. But I’m not ready for that yet. I know that now, standing in the hallway with the most gorgeous guy I’ve ever seen.

  He grins again. “Goodnight, Claire. See you Friday.”

  Then he disappears into his room and shuts the door. A few seconds later I hear music—I think it’s a blues tune, a stark contrast to what they’re playing upstairs. A seductive feminine voice starts to sing about her guy, about how she’s not going to let him stray.

  I picture Saw
yer putting his clothing away to the song—socks folded in the sock drawer, underwear in its drawer, shirts on hangers. It’s crazy but I have never been so turned on in my life and it’s from thinking about Sawyer dealing with his laundry.

  ***

  As I leave the lecture room after calculus class, my phone buzzes in my purse. I take it out, and a deep, gorgeous male voice says, “Hi. Claire?”

  In a squeak, I say, “This is Claire.” I sound like a fourteen-year-old boy whose voice is changing.

  “This is Sawyer. Are you still available for tonight? Want to go to a movie at the Westingham theatre? We could have dinner first.”

  I can’t believe he is really asking. Having reached Friday with no phone call, I assumed he was just trying to avoid my request.

  I hesitate. I’m afraid to say anything in case this is just a set up for a huge joke at my expense. Instinctively I think: maybe this still isn’t real.

  You are not in high school anymore. “I’d love to,” I say.

  I hold my breath after that and wait for some girl’s snotty laugh on an extension as she screams with malicious delight at how easily I was duped.

  But the next voice I hear is still Sawyer’s. It’s rich and soft and he has a smooth, easy way of speaking that makes my knees tremble. “I’ll pick you up at 7:00 from your dorm, Claire.”

  “Sure. I’ll be there. Uh, I’m in Laker dorm. I’ll meet you by the front entrance.”

  “Great. I gotta go. See you then.” He hangs up.

  For a full five minutes, I stand with my phone against my ear and no one there.

  The truth is I’ve never dated.

  In high school, I did get asked out a couple of times. But it was by guys who I looked on as friends. I didn’t feel that spark of desire. So I said no because I didn’t want to ruin everything. I wanted to stay friends. I knew it was just a date. But I didn’t believe a guy dated unless he hoped, even infinitesimally, for sex. And if I had zero interest in sex, there was no point.

  Also, my brother has colitis. We found out because he ended up in hospital with a dangerous blockage. Charley had flare ups and felt crappy for a lot of the time I was in high school. While he was being tested and his doctors were figuring out treatments and medicine doses, Mom worked several cleaning jobs. I never had time to date.