“Jeez,” Robin said, blushing. “You could have at least mentioned that you knew him.”
Cole shrugged, but dammit if Jake didn’t see the hint of a smile. “I didn’t say anything because he is a big baby.”
“Very funny,” Jake said, reaching into his pocket for some change. “Here, go get a couple of sodas. I’ll meet you at the truck.”
“Bye, Cole,” Robin said as Cole took the money and started to slink away.
Cole gave her a lift of his chin. Jake waited for him to gain some distance, then looked at Robin. She was smiling, blue eyes shimmering, eyes that could pull a man into a world of trouble.
“So . . . it turns out that instead of being a pervert, you’re actually a man of many talents,” she said, playfully punching him in the arm. “Baseball, school, renovations.”
“Ah. Zaney’s been talking, has he?”
“A little. Isn’t it a glorious day? I was walking through the flower gardens earlier, and it’s just gorgeous. Do you do that? I mean, when you’re happy, do you ever want to just get out and see flowers?”
Yes. Oh yes, there were definitely those moments. Like now. “Would you like to see some of the prettiest wildflowers in all of Texas?”
“Here at the park?”
“No—about an hour outside of Houston. There’s a place I found a few years ago where the wildflowers bloom like you’ve never seen them. If you want, I could take you.”
A smile slowly spread across her luscious lips, one almost as brilliant as her sapphire eyes. “That,” she said, “would be very cool.”
Robin heard Jake’s motorcycle on the drive and checked herself one last time in the mirror. She had changed to jeans and (just in case) matching bra and panties. One never knew when one might end up splat on the highway.
Instead of letting himself in as he normally did, Jake knocked. Robin flung open the front door, all smiles, but her breath lodged in her throat. Leaning against the scaffolding, one leg crossed over the other, Jake was wearing Levi’s that were faded in just the right place, boots, a plain white T-shirt, and a bandana tied around his head. He looked about as hot as any man she had ever seen. Hotter.
He grinned at her like he knew what she was thinking, and casually took in her hair, her patriotic flag shirt, and her jeans. “I was going to ask if it was okay to take the Hog, but you look like you’re ready for it.”
She was ready for it, all right, and grabbed a jacket and backpack from the stair railing. “Let’s go.”
Jake’s laugh made his whiskey eyes dance. “Then come on, gorgeous.”
On the drive, he showed her where to sit on the bike and where to put her feet. Robin donned a baseball cap and straddled the Harley. And when Jake took his seat in front of her, she confirmed what she had believed—that their bodies fit perfectly together. He was nestled deeply between her legs, and the breadth of his back, the strength of his legs, the whole package was just . . . perfect.
“Hold on to my waist,” he instructed her as he started the bike up.
No problemo. She put her hands on his waist—very solid, no love handles—and inched them around further, until she was practically lying on his back. As they coasted down North Boulevard, she couldn’t help but imagine lying in bed with him like this, drifting off to sleep against the warmth of his strong back. He told her to hang on and enjoy the ride.
Oh, if only . . .
They were out of Houston in no time at all and the day was perfect—the trees a vivid green against a brilliantly clear blue sky, a perfectly moderate temperature. Robin could not have had a better day if she had painted it, and with his firm control of the bike, she could relax with her hands on his waist, enjoying the rush of wind on her face.
They rode out toward San Antonio and turned onto on an old ranch road and headed north for a time until Jake slowed and turned onto a dirt road lined with live oaks and cypress trees. Robin couldn’t see where they were going, other than to know that pasture stretched on either side of the road. When they crested a small hill, Jake slowed to a stop above an amazing vista that rivaled any Robin had seen around the world.
Just below, the Brazos River meandered lazily among gently sloping hills. An old frame house, long abandoned, stood in empty disrepair, a tattered curtain flapping in the breeze the only sign someone had once lived there. Live oak trees with their long branches shaded the grassy sprawl on the banks of the river. The fields were carpeted in riotous color; violet bluebonnets, vivid red Indian Paintbrush, sunny yellow buttercups, black-eyed Susans, lilac verbena and pristine white rain lilies. A small herd of longhorn cattle grazed peacefully on the opposite bank; only one lifted their head at the Harley’s intrusion.