Dropping the rag in his hand to the counter, he made his way to the back door and eased it open. His head peeked around the opening, and he glanced cautiously into the alleyway. To his utter disbelief, a motorcycle pulled up into the small, cove-like area where delivery trucks usually unloaded their inventory.

The driver cut the engine and fluidly climbed off the bike. In an obviously practiced move, the biker flicked the kickstand with a foot and lowered it to the ground.

Charlie gaped at the biker in open astonishment. It took a hell of a lot of nerve to park up against someone’s place of business. If this guy thought he was going to leave his motorcycle here while he gallivanted about the city, he was sorely mistaken.

Marching forward, knowing his expression was one of outrage, Charlie said, “Just what the hell do you think you’re doing?” He waved an accusing finger at the bike. “This…thing…is not staying here! Remove it now, or I will call the cops.”

The biker pulled off the sleek black helmet and lowered it to one side. And in that instant, Charlie realized the biker was not a he. It was a she. A very attractive she with long black hair, deeply tanned and flawless skin, and the most kissable lips he’d ever seen. She was of some exotic descent, most likely Asian in nature. If he had to guess, he would say her family was from somewhere in the Philippines. No matter where she was from, the woman was a damn knockout.

Charlie came to an abrupt halt, his senses jarred at the unexpected sight before him. His breath was literally stolen from him, and he was finding it hard to even think a complete sentence, let alone speak one.

The woman shot him a dirty look as she looped her helmet over one of the motorcycle’s handles. “I’m reporting for work. That’s what I think I’m doing.”

“R-reporting for work?” Her comment didn’t compute in his mind. His brain was still too fuzzy, too distracted by her. He knew there were dots there, but he was having a hard time connecting them.