The night Marisela Gonzalez rides up to the Devil’s Den on her motorcycle, running from trouble and looking for her sister, she finds more than a place to hide out and work her red-hot body. She meets a guy brave enough to stand by a tough, terrified nineteen-year-old girl who’s been in the wrong place with the wrong jerk one too many times. And he’s ready to show Marisela how a real man treats the woman he desires.
An ex-cop taking over as the club’s head of security, Craig Hanson can handle anything—except the urgent need he suddenly feels to hold Marisela tight. Commitment has never been his thing, but all that changes when Craig finds something too real to deny between them. Sensual and vulnerable, Marisela’s got a scary past. And when it comes knocking, Craig goes all in to protect her—because seduction is the ultimate game changer.
I can’t believe Marisela Gonzalez is standing in my office all grown up, in skintight leathers with windblown hair. She’s something out of a fantasy. I’d kill to fist my hands in that long, silky mane. I’m sure this is payback from some higher power. She’s nervous. It concerns me. Sargent worries me even more. This girl needs to leave town by tomorrow—she’s gonna be on every Bandito’s shit list by morning. She nearly bashed his brains in—he’ll need stitches. I almost need stitches. I look at my arm, it stings. She intervened at the right moment. I owe her, but I won’t ever tell her that. Girls shouldn’t act the way she did.
I hold the office door open. She gives me a go to hell look and heads for her bike. She mounts it like a pro and revs the engine. I can’t help staring. She slides her black helmet on and slams the visor down. I circle behind her to a take a look at her perfect ass perched on the seat. Shit. My mouth waters. I have to remind myself who she is. Likely off limits. But I’ll enjoy the image of her on that bike for nights to come. She drives off the breezeway and stops. She stares at me and I point toward my Mustang.
I get in my car and rev my engine too. I turn onto South Padre Island Drive, watching for her in my rearview. She’s gone. Son of a . . . I look right. She’s next to me and flips me the bird. I punch the gas and fly by her. Her little Ducati is no match for my car—for me. We race down S.P.I.D. until I put on my directional and merge left so she’ll know to exit off Weber. She does, and I drive another mile before turning onto Robyn’s street.
Where to find Violetta:
Author website http://www.violettarandromance.com/