I wanted this woman more than ever. If she’d thought this little trip would discourage me, I had news for her.

“Fuck,” I said for lack of a better word. But then you couldn’t get much better than the word fuck, in my humble opinion. It’s a word for the ages.

She smiled at me and tossed her hair over her shoulder. My mouth was dry, and my dick was hard. Was it possible to screw on a motorcycle? I wouldn’t mind giving it a shot. I dragged my gaze away from her body, attempting to rein my libido in.

“What is this place?” I repeated my question in an attempt to distract my dick from its mission.

“It’s a biker bar. A lot of my dad’s buddies hang out here when they’re in the States from Vancouver.

“Are you sure it’s safe?” I sounded like a whiny wuss, and she threw back her head and laughed.

“Of course it’s not safe, especially with you looking all yuppyized, but we’ll get through it. They won’t touch me, so they’ll leave you alone. Most likely.”

I wasn’t feeling too good about this. I glanced down the road, just in case, but zero luck.

“What’s the matter?” Geneva teased. “Is this fit, strapping hockey player afraid of a few out-of-shape bikers?”

I ran my gaze down the line of bikes and back to her. “Looks like more than a few.”

“Come on, Superman, let’s go inside. I’m starved, and they have the best bacon double cheeseburgers around.”

Now she was talking. I ignored my misgivings and opened the door for her, following her inside.

The inside didn’t look much better than the outside, badly in need of paint and a good cleaning. It was dark and smelled funny, probably from decades of cigarette smoke back when smoking was allowed in bars in Washington. The tables were old and cracked, covered with faded orange Formica from the seventies. The wooden chairs had seen better days. The bar was long and metal stools with padded seats lined the entire length. Someone had patched the torn orange vinyl seats with gray duct tape.

I’d been in bars like this. I certainly wasn’t above them, but I hadn’t dressed for such a place either. As I followed Geneva across the room to an empty table, every set of male eyes in the room watched her traverse the crowded room. The women, on the other hand, eyed me like I was a rare piece of candy.

I kept my gaze on Geneva’s ass, not wanting any of those women to get the wrong idea, especially if their jealous biker boyfriends might be in close proximity. Besides, staring at her fine ass was hardly a chore.

Geneva claimed a seat at a round table for two, and I sat across from her. Either this was a test to see if being here discouraged me or this was who she was. I might not be comfortable here, but the whole biker chick thing heated me up hotter than the summer sun in Death Valley. I didn’t mind taking the good with the bad.