She slid up to the Virgin America terminal, and Lexi smoothed the knots from her hair as her mind turned toward her flight, her meeting, her future. All the stress her few hours with Rubi had released now coiled tight in her chest again.
She didn’t like this feeling. Didn’t want this sickness. And suddenly felt trapped—trapped by success. How had that happened?
“Now there are a couple of fine examples of men who could get your creativity flowing.”
Rubi’s voice pulled Lexi’s attention from the glass doors leading into the terminal. She followed Rubi’s gaze to the truck stopped in front of the Ferrari—big, dark gray, and dirty. Lexi’s blood stirred without even looking at the men. She knew exactly what kind of guys drove those trucks.
Then her gaze traveled over the two fine male specimens on opposite sides of the truck, talking over the bed. Both built as rugged and sexy as that vehicle. The one on the driver’s side was in his midtwenties. Golden, sloppy hair sticking out from under a baseball cap. Unshaven. Tank top and cargo shorts showing off tanned muscles. Just about six foot.
It was the other man who set Lexi’s body all out of balance. The one on the passenger’s side, who looked about Lexi’s age. His hair almost black and too long. His face dirtied with a couple of days’ worth of scruff. His tattered duffle sat in the truck bed near his hand, and his long legs filled out torn black jeans ending in scuffed black boots. The finishing touch—lighter fluid on a struck match—his muscled torso was covered in the sexiest black leather motorcycle racing jacket she’d ever seen.
“That’s a Brutale jacket,” Rubi murmured, referencing the Italian motorcycle company. She grinned at Lexi. “There’s a conversation starter for you.”
“Talk about a fashion statement.” She and Lexi had modeled in Venice for a short time, which was where Lexi had been introduced to the fine leather sport jacket. Sleek. Fitted. Sexy as hell. Expensive. Kinda out of place with the ratty duffle and torn jeans…
“Maybe he won it,” Rubi said as if her thoughts were along the same lines. “You know, in a race. Or maybe he’s a model for the company. Maybe—”
“Maybe you should stop guessing.” The boots were for motorcycle riding too. She knew all about the habits and hobbies of boys from the dark side. Lexi lifted her brows and released a long, slow sigh without taking her eyes off Biker Boy. “He’s just…” She couldn’t find words in the lust heating her blood, the desire zapping new connections between cells all over her body. “Jeez.”
Rubi’s laugh drew the men’s gazes. Their heads turned lazily, mirroring each other’s movement in a way that reminded Lexi of the way she and Rubi sometimes mirrored each other. But they were completely opposite, again like Lexi and Rubi. Golden Boy all light and smiles. Biker Boy all shadows and intensity.
Golden Boy grinned at Rubi. “Looks like someone’s got too much money to play with.”
“I’ll share,” Rubi called back, raising her voice to be heard over the traffic and noise around them. “As soon as she gets out, I’ll have a spare seat. Wanna ride?”
He laughed, the sound low and husky. “Sorry, sweetheart, I’m taken.”
“All the good ones are.”
Lexi only heard the exchange but saw none of it. Biker Boy had locked on to her with an awareness that made all the hustle of the airport fade. He didn’t smile. Didn’t blink. Didn’t…anything. He just gazed at her with the kind of stare that heated her insides until she wanted to start shedding clothing and made her envision the crazy, sexual things she’d witnessed earlier at Stilettos.
She couldn’t see the color of his eyes, only that they were lined in lashes as dark as his hair. His face was just…gorgeous, with hard lines and perfect angles. But he wasn’t pretty. Definitely rugged.
Her gaze roamed and roamed, trying to memorize him. Words like intense, deep, and complicated came to mind—not descriptive at all—but all ways she would have described him.
“Looks like someone’s zeroed in on you,” Rubi said quietly beside her. “Get your ass out of this car, girl. He’s hotter than nuclear fusion. What’s wrong with you?”
“I…can’t breathe,” she said without breaking eye contact with Biker Boy.
Rubi laughed again, making Lexi smile. The man’s lids grew heavy. His tongue slid over his bottom lip, and Lexi’s lungs seized to hold back a moan.
Oh, yeah. It had definitely been too long.
“Dude,” Golden Boy called across the truck to his friend. “Hel-lo, dude. Did I just waste my breath?”
Biker Boy’s long lashes fluttered like he’d come out of a trance. He turned away from Lexi, focusing on the other man, who said something else Lexi couldn’t hear and shook his head.
“I’m Rubi Russo.” Rubi called, drawing Golden Boy’s gaze again. “In case, you know, you become available.”
Biker Boy swung that horrible duffle over his shoulder, turned away from both the truck and the Ferrari, and walked into the terminal without looking back. His jacket had a white strip of leather high across the back and the letters of the motorcycle company, Brutale, in red block letters from shoulder to shoulder.
That was the most gorgeous jacket…
On the most gorgeous man…
And he was walking away.
Disappointment pinched Lexi’s chest, but oh, the way he moved…fluid, smooth, confident… Then he was gone, leaving an unfamiliar hunger deep in Lexi’s gut.
“Is he the lead singer of Hysteria?” Rubi asked Golden Boy as he opened the driver’s door of the truck.
The man glanced toward her and laughed. “Him? He can’t carry a tune to save his life.”
“He looks familiar,” Rubi said.
Golden Boy shrugged.
“Is he taken too?”
“Rubi,” Lexi whispered.
Golden Boy grinned. “Trolling, beautiful?”
“I’m not asking for me. I’ve only got eyes for you.” She tilted her head toward Lexi.
Golden Boy’s gaze jumped to Lexi and held. She didn’t experience any of the same sensations one look at Biker Boy had slammed through her body. Golden Boy glanced at the door his friend had disappeared through, then back at Rubi. “He’s…got a lot on his plate right now. It’s not a good time for him.”
The man reached for the driver’s door handle.
“Hey, handsome,” Rubi said.
He opened the door and paused again.
Rubi sighed dramatically. “Nothing. I just wanted one more good look. Thank you. My dreams will be sweet tonight.”
He gave her a killer smile, a two-finger salute, and slid into his truck. Rubi sighed as he drove away, and the two waved to each other out their windows as he disappeared.
Lexi collected her hair into a ponytail, coiled it into a bun and slid on her hat, thinking how quickly two people could make a connection through a smile and a few words. Or a look. And grew all tingly again at the memory of that hot, deep gaze in Biker Boy’s eyes when they’d connected with Lexi’s.
“You know he’s going to think about me when he does his girl tonight,” Rubi said, her voice dreamy, watching Golden Boy’s truck disappear onto the 405. “It’ll be the best sex he’s had in months. And he’ll remember me.”
Lexi closed her eyes and dropped her forehead into her hand. Then pushed her door open and stood.
“Biker Boy is flying your airline,” Rubi said, using the same temporary name Lexi had applied to the man in her mind. She and Rubi did that a lot. Rubi glanced back at Lexi, took in her hat, and smirked. “But he’ll never know you were the hottie he wanted to devour if you’re wearing that.”
“But it will keep other guys from trying to tell me their life story or asking for my phone number.”
Rubi tossed her hands in the air. “That guy looked at you like he’d do you in the nearest bathroom. Go find him. The extent of your conversation can consist of ‘yes.’ You certainly won’t be worrying about any other guys talking to you.”
Lexi set her carry-on down and shut the Ferrari’s door, shaking her head. “Screwing in an airport bathroom. That would be paparazzi heaven, wouldn’t it?”
“No paparazzi here, Lex. No reporters on your trip who know what you do or who your clients are. None of your customers will ever know. That is the beauty of a business trip. I’m not talking forever, girl. And you know I’m not serious about the bathroom. I’m just talking about letting go a little.”
God, that sounded good. Lexi would love to let go—a lot. It felt like forever since she’d been able to.
“But since I know you,” Rubi said, her voice filled with resignation, “and I know you won’t be doing anything more enjoyable while waiting for your plane, take a few minutes to play with my app and give me some feedback. I loaded the prototype onto your phone. I’m going to build the final app off that model and want to have it spit shined when I meet with those guys next week.”
Those guys were top men at the National Security Agency. That was a very different group of people than Rubi was used to working for or dealing with, but she seemed as confident as always.
“If they lowball me,” she said, “I’ll make a few quick changes and offer it to Apple and Google for a whole different purpose. There’s an instruction screen when you open the app.” She grinned. “But read it fast, it self-destructs in five minutes.”
Lexi laughed. “You kill me, you and your fascinating world. Can’t wait to see what top-secret stuff you’ve hidden on my phone.” Lexi met her friend’s gaze. “Rubi, drive like me—for me.”
“If you’ll go find Biker Boy, I’ll drive like you.”
She grinned, had no intention of doing any such thing, but said, “Deal.”
“An easy hookup with an anonymous hottie, Lex,” Rubi said, revving the engine, poised to pull away from the curb. “It will improve your mood and your designs.”
Three
After clearing security, Lexi wandered along the rows of stores and restaurants in the airport corridors, stopping into Hudson News for a bottle of water and a magazine. But with nothing interesting to look at and no more Biker Boy sightings, she planted her pathetic ass in a quiet corner at her gate.
Instead of pulling out her sketch pad, as she usually did whenever she had a free moment, Lexi stared down at the magazine she’d picked up. And smiled. This wasn’t the first cover one of her designs had graced, but this was the cover and the design that had prompted Martina Galliano to come calling. And Lexi had been thrilled to find it on the newsstand. She hadn’t thought it would see mainstream distribution for another three or four days.
Two men came into the area’s open seating area chatting, and their deep voices carried to Lexi. Recognizing the use of reporting terminology, Lexi glanced at them from beneath the brim of her cap. She recognized one man as a writer for the Style section of the LA Independent, but not the other, and relaxed when they sat in another row of seats facing away from her.
