Dire Wolf Mates - Chapter 82: Chapter 82

Gathering her courage, Tracey looked up at Phoenix, admiring his profile. She’d never gotten butterflies in her stomach just looking at a man—except for when she saw Harry Styles in concert but come on—that was Harry Styles.
Love him as she might, Harry had nothing on Phoenix Tala. His face was just as gorgeous, and his body, god-like.
“So, why are you in Maccon City?”
That brought both golden eyebrows up, and Tracey grinned. It was about time he got frazzled. But even more than the little bit of satisfaction she got from surprising the man, she really was curious.
“Well, I was itching for a road trip. So, I told my Alph—er, I mean my boss, then I jumped on my bike and wound up here.”
“Your bike? Wait—you have a motorcycle?” she asked, mouth gaping.
“Yeah. A Harley.”
“OMG! Of course you do,” she mumbled, rolling her eyes and shaking her head.
“What?” he asked.
“It just figures,” she replied, and exhaled a laughing breath.
One of Tracey’s most secret naughty girl fantasies involved a sexy stranger swooping in on a big badass motorcycle, wearing leather and denim. It was a hot dream. One that always made her motor run—pun intended.
Of course, skinny dipping with a sexy stranger was number two on her list of secret naughty girl fantasies. She’d thought she was one and done, but this hot boy had a Harley.
Swoon. Swoon. SWOON.
“Do you not like motorcycles?” Phoenix asked, looking down at her with concern in his glowing green gaze.
Sexy, sexy man.
His eyes were gorgeous. Sometimes they looked aquamarine wrapped in gold. Columbian emeralds, she mused. It must have been a trick of the light. But they were beautiful, stunning, like nothing else she’d ever seen.
“No.”
“You don’t?”
“No! Yes! I mean, I love motorcycles,” she replied rapidly.
“I see.” He grinned, beaming at her, and she thought he squeezed her hand a little longer that time.
“Well,” she continued nervously. “I think I do. I’ve never actually been on a motorcycle before.”
“I can rectify that. Just say when.”
“Really?”
“Sure. Anytime you want. Hell, we can go right now.”
Tracey stopped in her tracks. No man had ever offered to take her for a ride on his motorcycle before. Her mother would think it was undignified. Her father would consider it lowly.
But they weren’t here right now. And even if they were, so what? Tracey was thirty, not thirteen. She did not need her parents’ permission to do something wild—like jumping on the back of a Harley with a complete stranger.
“I’m sorry. Did I make you uncomfortable again?”
Phoenix frowned. He looked like he wanted to take back his invitation, but Tracey didn’t want that. Her stomach was doing all kinds of somersaults, and she knew she was bound to make a fool of herself.
Bottom line, Tracey was finished living by other people's rules. Grabbing her courage, she shook her head at the gorgeous man.
“Okay, first, no, you did nothing wrong. I am actually surprisingly comfortable with you. Second, I would very much like to go for a ride on your Harley, but I have something to confess⁠—”
“What?” he asked, looking completely enamored and making her tingle down to her toes.
“I’m starving. How about we have dinner first?”
“Sorry, I shouldn’t have dallied,” he murmured. “Let’s get going.”
He tugged on her hand gently, and Tracey felt like she was holding on to a live wire. Electricity zipped up and down her body, lighting her up like a neon sign from within. Pleasure hummed along her skin, like the breeze coming off the Atlantic. And all because of the almost impossible to believe knowledge that Tracey and Phoenix had this brand new, exciting, growing mutual attraction between them.
“You should know, I’ve never gone out with a guy I just met,” she stated, hoping against hope her brutal honesty wasn’t about to cost her the night.
“No?”
“Nope. In fact, I don’t have much dating experience at all.”
“Well, I guess you and I can practice together.”
He was grinning again, and she felt her heart skip a beat. She figured a guy who looked like that didn’t chase women very often and imagined she was one in a long line of women who he’d asked out.
Crap.
What was she doing? He was gorgeous, and she was just her. Phoenix had to know the effect he had on women. Far too good-looking not to be aware of it.
OMG.
What if Rosa was right? What if he was some man who only went after rich women? Like a real live gigolo, wooing the first single woman he saw, and wanting her to pay for his lifestyle. He was certainly hot enough to be a kept playboy on the prowl.
No freaking way.
She was being an idiot. Tracey didn’t believe that about Phoenix for a minute. Then again, what did she really know about him? Anything was possible, she supposed. If he was a kept man, his ridiculous hotness alone would command a pretty penny for the pleasure of his company.
“I’m sorry, I know this might sound rude, but are you by any chance a playboy?”
“A what?” Phoenix burst out, stopping in his tracks.
“Well, a friend of mine read about handsome men who come to places like this, like a beach resort, to prey on lonely, wealthy women. They get them to fall in love, or lust, and, well, they just love off them, I guess you could say. I’m not judging, I swear, but anyway, this friend planted this seed, and I thought it important to find out first. And, oh my God, I sound crazy. I will totally understand if you think I am nuts and want to call off dinner.”
Crap. She was a nut job. He was so walking out on her. Why couldn’t she just keep her big mouth shut?
Damn. Damn. DAMN.
“Uh, okay. First, thanks for the compliment. I mean, I think there was sort of a compliment in there about me being handsome,” he replied, and he sounded like he was smiling, but Tracey couldn’t tell. IN fact, she could not see his face at all since she was covering her eyes with her hands.
“Tracey, I am not a playboy, gigolo, or prostitute of any kind. Scout’s honor,” he teased.
“Oh my God! You’re a boy scout? Now, I am really mortified,” she squealed.
Deep, rich sounds of masculine laughter accompanied by large hands on her shoulders had her peeking out from behind her hands. God, he smelled good. A delicious combination of whatever spicy masculine cologne he wore and the fresh sea air.
“Tracey, it’s okay,” he said.
“Really, it’s okay that I basically called you a-a⁠—”
“A hooker?” he asked, and she slapped her hands over her mouth to cover up her squeak.
“OMG! I am so humiliated.”
“Why? You know, I haven’t been taken by surprise in a very long time. I think you are funny, smart, and so fucking adorable,” he said kindly.
“I think you mean crazy, ridiculous, and not a good prospect at all,” she replied, shaking her head.
“Nope. I said what I meant, beautiful.”