Free Bo by Rie Warren

feeling something close to giddy. Smirking, I leaned closer, and she smelled so damn good I had to suppress a grunt of appreciation.
    Her hand fluttered up to her throat.
    Ace. I was beginning to learn her nervous tells. I liked it.
    “You didn’t answer me, Ronnie . Was that the only reason you packed me off to Doctor Cartwright?”
    Her eyes narrowed on me. “I already told you. I’m attracted to you.” With a stomp of her foot and a toss of her head, she grumbled, “So will you come to dinner with me or not?”
    “No.”
    “What?”
    “But I hope you’ll let me take you out to dinner.” I winked.
    “So it’s like that.” Her smile sexy and sultry, she cocked one hip.
    “Yeah, babe. You hooked up with one hell of a macho man. Think you can handle that?”
    “I’ve proven I can handle you.”
    “Not all the way, yet.” I issued the challenge she met with a glare that didn’t hold the same ice it usually did.
    I opened a beer for her and even poured it into a glass because Veronica was pure class. She accepted the pale bubbling liquid, and I excused myself to get dressed.
    Behind my back, I heard her whisper, “Good Lord. Finally .”
    She was probably fanning herself again.
    In my bedroom, I flung the towel into a corner and stalked into the bathroom. I rubbed a hand over my heavy stubble and decided on a quick trim and tidy. A splash of aftershave, a rub with another towel through my damp hair, and a turn with the toothbrush later I considered myself good to go.
    My dick was having a few issues going down and staying put, but there wasn’t time to jag off, and I didn’t think Veronica would appreciate hearing me grunt her name when I came.
    Fuck the bastard. I choked it at the base and shoved that dumbstick into a pair of tight black briefs. Maybe I could tie a knot in it, too.
    In my haste to find something to wear, I almost yanked the closet door off the hinges. Then I scowled at my options. My wardrobe ran toward denim, leather, desert camo, and workout shit.
    I seriously needed to get a life.
    I chose a black button down that had dried with a minimal amount of wrinkles, a pair of old but not holey jeans and called it good after I rolled the sleeves up my forearms and hauled on a pair of boots.
    Grabbing my wallet, I shoved it in my pocket. I left my phone on the dresser—I didn’t want any interruptions, not that I was a hot commodity anyway. With one quick perusal in the bathroom mirror, I decided I’d do. Cleaned up, stubble buzzed, hazel eyes clear and copacetic, decently dressed with the shirt fitted at my shoulders, tapered to my hips, the jeans fitting to my muscled thighs . . .
    Yeah, whatever.
    Jesus.
    Date much, dude?
    Veronica spluttered over a mouthful of beer when I stepped into the living room. Her cheeks flushed under the naturally tan skin, and she did that flappy hand thing again as she swallowed.
    I tried not to concentrate on the swallowing action.
    I took the glass and set it down. Then I firmly tucked her hand at my elbow and led her outside.
    She pulled in the direction of her car.
    I halted her by planting my feet on the driveway. “Just to be absolutely clear, I’m driving and I’m paying.”
    “My, you are bossy.”
    “You haven’t seen me in bed yet.”
    “We’ll see about that later.”
    Hot attraction sizzled way down low in my body.
    I opened the passenger door of my stripped down, utilitarian Hummer and handed her inside.
    Hey. I wasn’t in the desert anymore, but I still needed a tank. The beat-up H1 was second best to my Triumph and a total beast on the streets. I had some money stashed away for smart investments—AKA my business—and a few luxuries—my rides.
    After brushing my knuckles along V’s cheek, I shut the door. Rounding the hood, I thought she looked damn good in my ride, almost as good as she had on my bike.
    When I slid inside and started the loud growly engine, she sat tapping on her iPhone.
    “I’m boring you already?” I reversed out