Page 20 of Captive Audience

“Here.” He patted a tiny black cushion that wouldn’t fit the rear of a six-year-old.

“That’s not a seat. That’s a postage stamp.”

“Then you’d better hold on tight.”

Rook handed me the helmet, and I tugged it over my head. “I thought rich guys had drivers with town cars or drove fancy European sports cars.”

“I have those, too. Look up.” I did, and he buckled the chin strap, then he lowered my face to meet his gaze again. “Don’t worry, pet. I’ll look after you. Do you trust me?”

“I hardly know you. So no.”

“Good answer.” He smiled, and I felt it in my belly. “Not gonna let anything happen to you. That would spoil my plans.”

Ah, yes. The night of sin he’d promised. It would be a crying shame if we didn’t make it to the fun part.

Rook swung his leg over the bike, raised the kickstand, and pressed the Start button. The bike came alive with a roar that vibrated through my bones.

He tapped the rear seat, which looked as comfortable as a postcard-sized slab of black marble. There was no easy way to get on this damn thing, so I hiked up my dress, climbed on board, andkissed my modesty goodbye by giving a group of drunk guys on the other side of the street an eyeful of my lacy black panties.

Rook reached for my hands and pulled them around his waist.

Hard muscles. Lots of them.

Oh, come on. There had to be something wrong with this guy. Bad breath? A laugh like a hyena? What was the catch?

But there was no time to worry about that as Rook merged into traffic and I was forced to cling to him or fall off the back of the bike.

Five minutes and several attempts at sending my heart into cardiac arrest later, we arrived at the underground parking lot of the Lynch Continental Hotel. Rook’s bike had a prime position near the elevators. Expensive sports cars were on either side of it, and I had to wonder if they were his.

Two huge dudes who looked like pro wrestlers in suits flanked an elevator separate from the ones leading to the hotel lobby. John Cena greeted Rook with a nod while the Rock said something into a tiny receiver on his lapel. Rook pressed his palm to a touch pad, and the doors opened.

Since it was a new construction and ultrachic, the builders must’ve gone all out and installed biometric scanning systems for the penthouse floors.

The elevator doors closed behind us. Rook turned to me, eyes intense, hands twitching at his sides like he was burning to get at me.

How was it possible that a man who could get any woman he wanted was as eager for this as I was?

Instead of lunging for me, he approached slowly, cautiously, as if one wrong move might spook me into fleeing.

Ha! Not likely, big guy. I was as sure as a sure thing could get.

I gripped the handrail behind me, needing something to steady my jelly legs.

This was happening. Holy hell, this wasreallyhappening.

Rook’s advance only stopped when he stood close enough for me to see the aqua flecks in his blue eyes.

Sweat clung to my palms. My heart pounded. I was embarrassed by how wet my panties were. Was this elevatoreven going up? My stomach tumbled so fast it felt like the cables had snapped and we were plummeting to the ground.

Rook took my face in his warm hands, and when his gaze shifted to my mouth, he asked, “Changed your mind?”

I shook my head without an ounce of hesitation. “You?”

One side of his mouth curved up. “No, love. There’s no going back now.”

13

ASHA