Read Online The Ninety Days of Genevieve by Lucinda Carrington - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Lucinda Carrington
Tags: Erótica, Literature & Fiction
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away.
But even in leathers there was something familiar about the tall, slim figure. When he blasted impatiently on the horn she knew she was right. A motorcycle? How could she ride on a motorcycle in this skirt? It was hardly long enough to cover her bottom. If she sat astride the pillion it would probably go up round her waist.
Did he really expect her to show herself in public wearing the kind of clothes that made her look like a total exhibitionist? The kind of woman men instantly thought of as a good lay? Her first reaction was anger, but she had to admit that the idea excited her too.
And, she reminded herself, she had not chosen this situation. It had been forced on her. Well, more or less. She knew she could invoke the back-out clause but that would be the end of any chance of a deal with James Sinclair. It would also probably be the end of her chances of early promotion. She went downstairs and into the street.
He stood by the powerful, chrome-tanked machine. His leathers fitted him as if they had been tailored, accentuating his broad shoulders and slim hips. She found her eyes drawn to the bulging trouser zip and quickly looked away. She wasn't going to give him the satisfaction of knowing that she found his sexual equipment exciting.
He hardly moved his head but she knew she was being checked.
'Very nice/ he said. His voice was unexpectedly clear and she realised there was small speaker in the helmet. 'Lift your skirt.'
There was no one else on the street but she still flattened her hands protectively against her thighs. 'I'm not wearing anything under this,' she said.
'You'd better not be,' he said. He handed her the helmet. 'Put this on.'
She took it and held it. 'I can't ride pillion dressed like this.'
'Why not?' He sounded surprised. 'It's a nice warm day.'
'It's obvious why not.' She tried to tug down the ultrashort skirt. 'You've only got to look at this outfit to know why not.'
'You look fine/ he said, and she guessed he was grinning. 'Put the helmet on.' She lowered the helmet over her head. There was a click and his voice sounded in her ear. 'You look like a typical biker's tart. I'm going to take you for a ride, and I guarantee you'll remember it for the rest of your life.' He swung one long leg over the saddle, kick-started the bike and his dark-visored helmet turned towards her. 'Get up behind me.' She hesitated. 'Get astride.' His voice was hard. 'Or I'll pick you up and dump you on and if any passers-by get a good look between your legs that won't bother me at all.'
The street was empty but she wasn't sure if anyone was watching from the windows. She approached the bike cautiously. Suddenly she felt as if she was acting in a play. She was a different person in these clothes and with the added disguise of the helmet no-one would ever recognise her. Let him take her for a spin round the block. If anyone saw her they wouldn't have time to realise that she was more undressed than dressed.
She climbed astride the pillion. The saddle felt warm against her naked skin. She managed to tuck the lower edge of her skirt under her bottom. If she sat down hard she thought she could keep it there. Well, she decided, this isn't so bad after all. She slipped her arms round his waist, feeling the smooth, sexy texture of the leather. The bike roared away from the kerb.
It soon became obvious that he did not intend to take her for a short ride, but he did stay on the side roads and before long they were passing boarded shop fronts and decaying rows of terraced houses, a mute and depressing memorial to what had once been a thriving East End community. The few pedestrians out walking turned to stare, although whether it was at the powerful, macho lines of the motorbike or at her she wasn't too sure. But she was sure that it was going to be impossible to keep the skirt secure.
He slanted round a corner and she slithered towards his back. The skirt slipped from under her bottom and she was acutely aware that
But even in leathers there was something familiar about the tall, slim figure. When he blasted impatiently on the horn she knew she was right. A motorcycle? How could she ride on a motorcycle in this skirt? It was hardly long enough to cover her bottom. If she sat astride the pillion it would probably go up round her waist.
Did he really expect her to show herself in public wearing the kind of clothes that made her look like a total exhibitionist? The kind of woman men instantly thought of as a good lay? Her first reaction was anger, but she had to admit that the idea excited her too.
And, she reminded herself, she had not chosen this situation. It had been forced on her. Well, more or less. She knew she could invoke the back-out clause but that would be the end of any chance of a deal with James Sinclair. It would also probably be the end of her chances of early promotion. She went downstairs and into the street.
He stood by the powerful, chrome-tanked machine. His leathers fitted him as if they had been tailored, accentuating his broad shoulders and slim hips. She found her eyes drawn to the bulging trouser zip and quickly looked away. She wasn't going to give him the satisfaction of knowing that she found his sexual equipment exciting.
He hardly moved his head but she knew she was being checked.
'Very nice/ he said. His voice was unexpectedly clear and she realised there was small speaker in the helmet. 'Lift your skirt.'
There was no one else on the street but she still flattened her hands protectively against her thighs. 'I'm not wearing anything under this,' she said.
'You'd better not be,' he said. He handed her the helmet. 'Put this on.'
She took it and held it. 'I can't ride pillion dressed like this.'
'Why not?' He sounded surprised. 'It's a nice warm day.'
'It's obvious why not.' She tried to tug down the ultrashort skirt. 'You've only got to look at this outfit to know why not.'
'You look fine/ he said, and she guessed he was grinning. 'Put the helmet on.' She lowered the helmet over her head. There was a click and his voice sounded in her ear. 'You look like a typical biker's tart. I'm going to take you for a ride, and I guarantee you'll remember it for the rest of your life.' He swung one long leg over the saddle, kick-started the bike and his dark-visored helmet turned towards her. 'Get up behind me.' She hesitated. 'Get astride.' His voice was hard. 'Or I'll pick you up and dump you on and if any passers-by get a good look between your legs that won't bother me at all.'
The street was empty but she wasn't sure if anyone was watching from the windows. She approached the bike cautiously. Suddenly she felt as if she was acting in a play. She was a different person in these clothes and with the added disguise of the helmet no-one would ever recognise her. Let him take her for a spin round the block. If anyone saw her they wouldn't have time to realise that she was more undressed than dressed.
She climbed astride the pillion. The saddle felt warm against her naked skin. She managed to tuck the lower edge of her skirt under her bottom. If she sat down hard she thought she could keep it there. Well, she decided, this isn't so bad after all. She slipped her arms round his waist, feeling the smooth, sexy texture of the leather. The bike roared away from the kerb.
It soon became obvious that he did not intend to take her for a short ride, but he did stay on the side roads and before long they were passing boarded shop fronts and decaying rows of terraced houses, a mute and depressing memorial to what had once been a thriving East End community. The few pedestrians out walking turned to stare, although whether it was at the powerful, macho lines of the motorbike or at her she wasn't too sure. But she was sure that it was going to be impossible to keep the skirt secure.
He slanted round a corner and she slithered towards his back. The skirt slipped from under her bottom and she was acutely aware that
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