voice was gruff.
"Okay," she said, bouncing a little on the seat. "I'm ready now." Her voice turned cheerier. "Hey, this might be fun. I've never been on a motorcycle before." She bounced again.
"Stop that, damn it."
"Sorry," she said. But she didn't sound sorry. Her linked hands pressed against his lower chest. "Lead on."
He didn't know if he could. Nothing was going right. This was supposed to be his day off. His day off from her. Yet here she was, plastered against him, her crotch to his ass, and it had turned him on so hard, so fast, he wasn't sure he could ever move again.
Her hands dug into his diaphragm once more. "What's the matter?"
Kitty's voice was so annoyingly upbeat, so irritatingly unaffected, that he set his jaw and thumb-started the bike. It roared to life and she squeaked in his ear again. The noise saved him. He made it to the sanctuary of Wal-Mart with his sanity half intact by picturing a mouse behind him instead of a long-legged, creamy-skinned Kitty.
The store's automotive section appeared like an oasis after the disturbing motorcycle ride. By tacit agreement, they didn't hurry through the shopping. Dylan welcomed the frigid air-conditioning to cool him off and Kitty seemed content to browse the long aisle. He made sure to keep to the end with the turtle wax, leaving the antifreeze and fan belts all for her.
Thirty feet separated them, and he was so intent on ignoring her that it took him a few minutes to notice a pair of twenty-something men talking to her. For an irritated instant he thought she was flirting, but then he looked more closely.
The two had her backed up against the fake lamb's wool car-wash mitts and "almost like real" chamois. Each man carried a twelve-pack of beer that didn't appear to be his first of the day. "C'mon, Miss Kitty," one said. "We're staying at the campground by the lake. It's party time."
"Sorry, guys, I'm busy," she answered.
The man talking looked put out. "No! We took a break from waterskiing last week and went through that whorehouse. We know you. It wouldn't be a real party without a Wilder."
The other man snickered. "Wouldn't be a wild party."
Kitty's lips lifted in something that no one with half a brain could think was a smile. "Good for you. Wild, Wilder. That's new."
Both dolts grinned back at her.
"So you'll come," the first man said, taking hold of her arm.
Dylan hated the big, ugly paw on her smooth skin. He strolled down the aisle. "What's up?" he asked, reaching them. "Is there a problem?"
"No problem," one of the bastards answered without taking his eyes off her. "We're just getting this cute Miss Kitty to come with us."
"But she's with me," Dylan said, his voice mild.
The man glanced over his shoulder. "Oh? Well, we're going to a party. There's plenty to go around, if you want to come." His grin was sloppy. "I bet Kitty shares."
Dylan went cold. "I don't think so."
"Sure she does." His jovial tone didn't disguise the mean-drunk look in his eyes. "What do you have to say about it anyway?"
"Lee! David!" Two young women hurried over, one with long braids and the other with short dark hair. "What are you doing? Everybody else is ready to go back to the campground."
"We're going to bring Miss Kitty with us." The other man took Kitty's free arm.
She pulled away. "No."
"No," Dylan affirmed.
The first jerk swung around to face Dylan, his stance combative. "I asked it once and I'll ask it again. Who the hell are you to say anything about it?"
"Oh, my God," one of the young women said. She stared at Dylan in sudden recognition.
Dylan got ready to acknowledge his identity - "FBI agent" would probably end David and Lee's drunken bravado - when he noticed both young ladies shudder in what looked like fear.
"Let's go," the short-haired girl said, her voice gone high. The other whispered in David's ear, then in Lee's. The two men jumped. Within moments all four of the young people were fleeing up the aisle.
Dylan stared after them. "What the hell...?" But the question disappeared as he looked back at Kitty and saw the stricken expression on her face. He stepped closer to her. "Are you all right?"
She turned, inspecting a display of car fresheners in the shape of pine trees, lemons, and daisies. "Sure."
He couldn't stop himself from closing his hand around her ponytail and running his palm down its smooth length. "They were