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be like. She didn’t know it yet, but she wasn’t going to be meeting the biker gang until tomorrow.
    He pulled the bike to a stop and dismounted, resisting the urge to help her as he set the kickstand. No self-respecting Warlord helped his woman off the bike. Any poor sucker who tried would probably get his hand bitten off for his trouble, Diablo thought wryly. A biker’s woman was tough as carpet tacks.
    “That was fun,” Edwina said, surprising him as she swung her leg over the bike and smiled. She didn’t look as though she needed help of any kind. In fact, with her windstung lips and hair blown blond and curly all over her head, she looked like a cross between Madonna and a fallen angel. Now that’s sexy, he thought.
    Almost involuntarily he made a quick inventory of her other assets—legs, breasts, and big brown eyes—and realized he’d created a mantrap. Sexy? She was dangerous , though he doubted she would believe him if he told her. Another awareness hit him as pried his eyes from the T-shirt that clung to her breasts. The Warlords would never recognize her as the woman who’d created a riot in Blackie’s that afternoon. He wouldn’t have recognized her himself. A smile crossed his lips. Maybe this was going to work out after all.
    “So? Where are the Warlords?” she asked, squinting into the darkness beyond him.
    “Later,” he said dismissively. “You’re going to need a little more work before I spring you on the gang.”
    “ ‘Work’?” It was a soft, surprised question that made her look even more adorable.
    On impulse, he caught hold of her by the waist and lifted her away from the bike, aware of the delicate shiver of her breasts and the sleek line of her thighs. His palms slid up her midriff, and his thumbs nestled into the creamy drift of her breasts as he set her on the ground. Lord, but she was soft, he thought, letting his hands linger on her body as he stared into her copper-flecked eyes. Dappled with rust and gold, they were closer to russet than brown. Odd on a fair-skinned woman. Odd and beautiful.
    “There are a couple of things you need to know,” he said.
    “ ‘Things’? What things?”
    The smile never left her lips, but a strange sparkle of energy lit her expression. Fear, excitement? He couldn’t tell, but her heart was beating out of control. He could feel it near his thumb. Blond tendrils of hair were caught in the dampness at her temple. It gave her a wild, flushed look that a man could take for panic ... or for sexual desire.
    “You’re too soft, Princess,” he said, his voice husking. “We’ve got to toughen you up some. “
    “Bikers don’t like women soft?”
    He would have laughed if she hadn’t seemed so serious. Bikers’ women were tanned and toughened from so much time riding under the open sky. Bikers’ women were street-smart. This one was as fair and tender as a high school freshman.
    “I like women soft.” Lord, what an understatement. He nestled his thumbs into the silky curves of her breasts and felt his groin muscles tighten as though on cue. He’d give his right lung to have her sweet naked body all to himself, his to command for a couple of hours. The need to feel that kind of tenderness pressing up against him, pressing in around him, was almost painful.
    “Well, that’s a relief,” she said, her voice breathy.
    Her russet eyes were dreamy and a little drugged. They were whispering the very things that a hungry man wanted to hear—that she was susceptible and a little off-balance. That she was slightly drunk on rpm’s and conquered fear. That she was feeling the blood rush hot in her veins, perhaps for the first time. That she liked it and wanted more.
    One part of him didn’t give a damn for anything but getting her flat on her back and making love to her warm, delectable body until dawn. Her parted lips and droopy lashes were telling him everything he needed to know. She had the same thing on her mind that he did. The problem