Church Mouse on his Motorcycle

By Alexandra Isobel

"We're going to stand out, no matter what you do with all that hair."

 

She's a new grad about to take flight. He's been ordered to bring the boss's daughter home.

Will their rekindled forbidden romance triumph over some new ridiculous heights?

 

 

 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Alexandra Isobel
• Release date: Nov 16, 2018
• ISBN: 9781386789574

Alexandra Isobel

Canadian romance writer who sees the romance in everyday life, and mixes it into her stories.  She thrives on visual inspiration so is a diehard movie junkie and photography hound - both of which keep her imagination humming.  She's definitely an introvert who secretly lusts after her alpha hero characters!

Book preview

CHAPTER ONE

TUCSON, ARIZONA

Spike? Vanessa Davis squinted up at the dark imposing figure that bore down on her from the bathroom stall doorway. Oh, thank Heaven it's you, she focused on Craig 'Spike' Stephen's redheaded man bun and unruly goatee instead of the big ass gun he trained down on her.

Jesus— He holstered the weapon under his leather cut. What the hell are you doing—never mind? He glowered down at where she had squished her body between the wall and toilet, the first place she dove at the sound of gunshots upstairs in the chapel. Let’s go. He held out his hand.

What’s going on up there? She uncurled her arms from around her knees and canvas knapsack and struggled to her feet. Is anyone hurt? I thought I heard gunshots. In truth it sounded like Armageddon up there with all the smashing and yelling and pounding feet over head.

The Sadistic Jacks are up there shooting up the place looking for you. He helped her steady herself and looked around the stall. We need to get out of here, before they clue in where you are.

Me? Panic exploded in her chest, her eyes darting to the door. She half expected to see one of the Jacks standing there. Why me?

I’ll tell you later. He pushed out of the stall and dragged her with him.

She barely held onto her knapsack as her thigh-high boots skittered over the chipped tiles. I need to go back to my room and—

No, Spike's pale blue eyes searched the empty women's bathroom. We're leaving right now. So far they're just shootin’ and stampeding but.... His voice trailed off as he stared at the small window near the ceiling. Several pairs of skirted legs ran by, followed by stomping black biker boots and roaring motorcycles. Spike looked back at her. Take that off.

Why? Vanessa looked down at her green and gold Southern Baptist Christian College graduation gown. After five years of intense study, she had finally been able to wear this thing. She shook off the cap, her frizzy dark brown hair springing free like uncoiled jack-in-the-boxes, before she unzipped and stripped out of the robes. So much for her big graduation day.

Because once we hit the road, you'll stick out like a sore thumb in that getup. He nodded back at her.

Vanessa stuffed her hard-earned cap and gown into the garbage bin, and watched five years of blood, sweat, and tears fall unceremoniously to the bottom of the can. Could be worse, she mumbled as the bin slammed closed. Could’ve been my wedding dress.

What? Spike frowned at her before he pushed at the window, then stepped around her and cracked open the bathroom door.

Never mind. She glimpsed herself in the mirror. Lord, what a mess. She grabbed at her disastrous mass of hair and gaped at the beautiful fake eyelash she was in the middle of applying that now clung to her cheek. Ugh, she plucked it off then peeled away the other before she wiped at the smears of black eyeliner that leaked into her brown eyes. What are they doing up there? She looked up to the ceiling as paint chips and plaster crumbled down into her face. Those Sadistic Jacks don't respect nothin'. Idiots, all of them. Spike turned back from the deserted church basement hall. Her graduating class had long since gone upstairs. She had run back to grab her knapsack and speech. She had just gotten started, self criticizing the way her normally dark golden skin had gotten sickly pale over the winter, her hair brittle dry and her features bearing the brunt of her late night exam studies, when clear sharp blasts exploded above her head.

So not a hero. She dove into the closest stall, a messy terrified heap of arms and legs, covered in bathroom grime and cobwebs. I can't believe it, the Sadistic Jacks? I haven't even heard of them being around here—this far South. She babbled and brushed at her used to be white long-sleeved shirt, her dirty fingers grinding in more dirt than cleaning. And what do they want with me? I'm down here to be away from all my father's crap. She hissed out the last word with all the frustrated disgust churning in her stomach.

Later. Spike pulled her into the common room, her boot heels echoing through the space. He glowered back at her, his eyes taking in her long black skirt that covered her noisy boots to her smudged and stained shirt. He raised his eyebrows at her hair.

What? She snapped.

We're still gonna stick out.

She glanced down at herself, then at his tattoo covered arms, black t-shirt beneath his leather vest, then at the chaps that protected his jeans and motorcycle boots. The sight they'd make together was laughable. Big bad biker and church girl. Yeah, we're going to stand out. And, the second he climbed onto his classic Harley and looked even more the motorcycle outlaw, with her at his back looking like an escaped Pilgrim, they'd stop traffic.

We always do. Spike looked up at the ceiling when more noise crashed down. This time she went up on tiptoes as he pulled her across the empty room.

Nothing about