Total pages in book: 92
Estimated words: 89572 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 448(@200wpm)___ 358(@250wpm)___ 299(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 89572 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 448(@200wpm)___ 358(@250wpm)___ 299(@300wpm)
My jaw clenches.
I can waste time warning them away, or I can get Emery to safety.
“Go on.” I nudge her toward my motorcycle.
“What? I thought you lived upstairs?”
“I do.” I shove my helmet into her hands. It’s the only one I have. “But it’s not safe enough anymore.”
Her fingers curl around it, hesitant. Christ. No one’s ridden behind me in years, and the idea of Emery pressed close, her arms around me—it’s the only thing I want, and I can’t let myself enjoy.
Emery
Helmet. I stare at the sleek black dome. It’s heavier than I expected. Solid enough to feel like a weapon in my hands. How do I even put it on?
Declan’s tense expression moves in closer. He throws a hasty glance over his shoulder, then pries the helmet from my fingers. “Here, let me help you. We don’t have a lot of time.”
“Why?” I hold up my wrist, still throbbing from the glowing green band. “What is this? What’s happening? Where are we going?”
He gently places the helmet on my head and secures the chin strap, his knuckles grazing my jaw. A shiver of desire sparks over my skin.
“I’ll explain when we get there. But we have to go, now.”
“I’ve never ridden on a motorcycle before,” I blurt out, my voice high and shaky. I’ve never wanted to be on one before. They look like two-wheeled bets against physics.
But the idea of being pressed up close to Declan seems worth the risk.
“I’ll get on first,” he explains. “Then use my shoulder to boost yourself up and over.”
He grips the handlebars, swings his leg over the big machine, and settles into the seat. “One foot on the peg.” He points down to a small metal piece sticking out.
Clutching his shoulder, I tap my foot to one of the pegs, testing whether it will hold my weight.
The air around us shifts. The fog thickens, pulling tight as if it wants to cinch us inside a noose. A low vibration travels through the pavement, steady and deliberate, like hoofbeats striking just beneath the surface of the earth. My stomach clenches even though my brain doesn’t recognize the sound.
“Hurry,” he urges. “Use my shoulder for leverage.”
I grip his biceps, then move my hand higher. In an awkward and graceless move, I swing my leg up and over. But there’s nowhere to really sit.
“I…uh…”
“Settle in right behind me.” He starts the bike and the ferocious rumble of the engine startles me into the seat. My knees brushing his hips, I try to scoot back. Keep a respectable distance between us.
Declan reaches behind him, clamping one big hand around my leg right above my knee. A shiver races straight through me. His touch is rough but protective. “You need to be much closer, sweetheart.”
Sweetheart?
I slide down.
“Closer.” He twists the throttle, almost drowning out his instructions. He glances over his shoulder, his jaw clenched tight. “I’ve got you, Emery. Just hold onto me.”
He circles his fingers around my wrist and pulls my arm around, pressing my palm against his stomach.
His hard, flat stomach.
“Uh, this feels kind of…intimate!” I shout.
His muscles ripple under my touch and laughter flows below the engine’s snarl.
“You’re the first passenger I’ve had in a long time.”
What’s that supposed to mean?
Before I expend too many brain cells figuring it out, the bike jerks forward, then takes off. The engine rumbles violently beneath me, vibrating through every cell of my body. My free arm hovers over my leg.
“Both arms around me!” he commands.
I slide my other hand around his middle and beneath his leather jacket. He’s solid under my hands, heat and muscle.
Momentum carries me forward—or maybe I propel myself closer—until I’m snuggled up against his back. I angle my head, hoping I won’t hit him with the helmet.
“Where’s your helmet?” I shout.
“You’re wearing it!”
The fog swallows everything in the parking lot as the bike rumbles forward. The headlight carves a path of visibility only a few feet ahead of us before dissolving into the mist.
He slows but doesn’t stop at the end of the parking lot and turns right onto a side street. My whole world narrows to the rumble underneath me and the solid body in front of me.
A completely inappropriate wave of heat spreads through me. It’s just fear. Fear’s an aphrodisiac, right?
So are tall, grumpy, muscled men rescuing you from unknown danger.
Maybe it’s just from our bodies being pressed together. As Wren so charmingly reminded me this morning it’s been a while since I “frolicked” with a man. Being so close to such a fine specimen and sharing something so intimate as a tiny motorcycle seat must be responsible for the low throb between my legs.
He guides the bike through the fog, taking back roads I haven’t explored yet. The air cools and some of the fog clears.
The bike dips and I curl my fingers into Declan’s jacket as we fly down a long hill. The fog parts, revealing an impressive stone wall with tall iron gates looming ahead of us.