Free Her Sister's Secret (Mills & Boon Vintage Superromance) by Linda Style

learned quite a bit about motorcycles. It’s amazing stuff,” she said, resting one elbow on the desk. “But there’s so much I didn’t understand.”
    She sent him a college-student-awed-by-her-professor look. “Can you tell me why one bike would be preferred over another? For example, the one you were riding the other day, why would you ride that when it’s obviously not as comfortable as one of the, uh, Big Twins?” God, she sounded like an idiot.
    “Big Twins?” he asked, smirking.
    She not only sounded like an idiot, she was one. If he didn’t see through that crap… But she forged ahead. “Yes, you know…” She fiddled with the pen on the desk. “Wouldn’t a smaller bike, something like your Sportster, be less comfortable to ride?”
    His smile broadened and he slanted a glance at her from under his brows. “Did you find the ride uncomfortable? I didn’t get that impression.”
    Instant heat reached her cheeks. She shifted her position, crossed her legs. He was purposefully trying to unnerve her. And he was doing a pretty good job of it.
    She steeled her resolve. Play along, Whitney. Do your freaking job . She leaned against the back of the chair, brushed a hand against her hair and, unflinchingly, returned his look.
    “It was a smooth ride,” she said softly, deliberately. “At least, the first part was.”
    He sent her a knowing smile, and she gave him one back. She would not let him unnerve her again. “And I enjoyed it very much. Actually, I just wondered why you chose the bike you did.”
    His expression suddenly shifted from amused to interested.
    “Lots of reasons,” he said, settling back in his chair. “Racing is one. It requires a smaller lighter bike.” He pointed toward the back door. “Like my Sportster. But that’s not the reason I ride it.”
    “And your reason is?”
    “I collect old bikes. They appreciate in value. But I also like the quick response I get.” He grinned. “A quick response is one of my requirements.”
    Again heat creeped up her neck. Until she saw the glint in his eyes. He was doing it on purpose. He liked to unnerve her.
    “Really,” she said tersely. “Well, even though I haven’t had the riding experience, I have a feeling I’d prefer the big one.”
    His eyebrows shot up, but the hesitation brief. “I’ve got one of those, too.” He scraped a hand across his chin. “I can take you for another ride. Then you’ll know which you like best.”
    She leaned forward again, elbows on the desk, one hand cupping her chin as bits and pieces of research came back to her. “You own a…fat boy? A HOG?”
    Rhys threw back his head in a burst of laughter. “Yeah, it’s a Harley. Most of the bikes I own are Harleys.” He stood, picked up a magazine from a table near the window and handed it to her. Pointing at the title, he said, “That’s a HOG—Harley Owners’ Group—magazine.”
    She spared him a speculative glance, waiting for further explanation, or another innuendo, or God only knew what. She hadn’t a clue what would spring from this man’s mouth next.
    “So HOG’s an acronym, not the name of a bike. Though some people use it that way.”
    He smiled again, that same blinding smile he’d given her before.
    “I knew that,” she deadpanned. “It was a test…to see how much you know.” She allowed a grin.
    “Well,” he said, grinning, too. “I can see you do need a little guidance.” With a gesture he indicated Whitney should pull her chair around next to his, and as he sat again, he reached behind her and took several books from the shelves. “Let’s start with the basics.”

 
     
     
     
     
    CHAPTER SEVEN
     
     
    WHITNEY FRESHENED UP for dinner, replacing her denim shirt with a soft navy turtleneck. Her brain was still frazzled from all the information Rhys had heaped on her, but at least they seemed to have arrived at an understanding.
    He realized she was serious about her job, and regardless of whatever sideline