Page 66 of Connor's Claim
“You were touching my bike.”
Shrugging, I pulled my hand from his grip. “Still got nothing. Anyways, I have somewhere to be. See ye.”
I turned to leave, but he grasped my waist.
“Oh no you don’t.”
In a neat move I’d never let escape my imagination, Riordan picked me up and seated me on his motorbike. One slick action like I weighed nothing, with my legs falling into place either side of his saddle. My knees went weak at his flare of dominance. Every word I could have said fled my brain.
“Okay, little red riding hood. This is the second time I’ve seen you here, so either you’re an undercover cop enacting some honeypot plan,” his gaze travelled down my open neckline, “which I’m not objecting to, though for the sake of any wire you’re wearing, I’m not a fucking criminal, or there’s something else going on.”
It was hard to talk around him. My brain fritzed out.
“Something else,” I managed.
He took in my face, roaming over my features, a smirk playing with his lips. “Pity. I was picturing your seduction routine and enjoying it.”
My heart thumped.
He’d flirted with me. Had he? I wasn’t sure, and I lost the power to do anything but gaze back at him like a creep.
“Riordan?” another voice came from the shadowed doorway to a building opposite.
A woman emerged, her lip curled in clear dislike at what she could see. In heels and a minidress that skated dangerously close to popping out either a labia or a boob, she crossed the road.
His girlfriend. I knew her plastic face from a picture I’d found online. Oh shite.
“What the fuck?” she gritted out.
“Why are you here, Moniqua?” he asked.
At his distraction, my brain restarted, and I took the opportunity. Bounced off the bike, then scrambled down the road.
“Stop,” he called after me.
No way. Humiliation crawled through every vein.
Throwing myself into my car, I locked the doors. Riordan reached my handle and yanked at it then swore and thumped the frame.
I gunned the engine and didn’t look back.
What a disaster. My plan had failed spectacularly. Not only was he leaving work early, though now I thought of it, maybe the rain was an issue for working outdoors, but then his honey bunny turned up.
My happy bubble popped.
He was hers again. No way would she accept what she’d just seen without an argument. I knew I wouldn’t.
Not a minute on, and the rev of a motorbike chased me.
A peek in my rearview showed me Riordan, a black helmet I hadn’t noticed covering his face, yet somehow he still gave off menace. I’d pissed him off, undoubtedly.
I put my foot down and sped through town, following the river to the huge red-brick warehouse that sat on the banks on the west side of the city. Beyond, the buildings became industrial, making this the perfect place for Arran to build his empire—the edge of society, with routes into the building that were away from the public eye.
Riordan didn’t quit riding my back bumper.
He didn’t accelerate around me or try to force me to stop, just stuck with me. All the way into the car park, damn him.
I parked badly and flung myself from the car, sprinting to the basement entrance. There was no bouncer here. Only a passcode to get in, which I had neatly memorised. I stabbed in the code, and the door clicked, all too aware that the bike’s engine had cut out and footsteps were thumping the brick path behind me.