“Promise?”
“Oh, you’d better believe it, Hunter!”
He smirked, then passed me a heavy, leather jacket that was obviously one of his. It was old and battered and so enormous on me that my hands disappeared inside the long sleeves. It had that pleasant musty smell of old leather, and a faint trace of Sebastian’s own delicious scent.
He pulled up the zipper for me, and turned back the cuffs so I could free my hands.
“Suits you,” he said, raising an eyebrow.
Then he handed me a shiny, black helmet that matched his own. He swung one long, denim-clad leg over the seat and held out his hand to help me mount the ghastly machine.
The seat tipped me slightly forwards so my thighs automatically gripped his.
“Hold on tight,” he said, his voice muffled through the helmet.
I could tell from the tone that he was enjoying himself. I would really have liked to ignore the suggestion, but I was so terrified of falling off, that I wrapped my arms around his waist and hung on tightly. I could feel the hardness of his body beneath the leather and I knew for a certain fact, that agreeing to this trip had been a bad, bad idea.
The engine started with a gravelly roar that crescendoed as Sebastian revved the accelerator.
He started forward at a gentle pace, mostly for my benefit I had to assume, and soon we were traveling steadily through Geneva, before taking the lakeside road north-east to Lausanne.
The lake was a steely green-gray and flecked with white spume. It was serene and timeless and I felt my body start to relax. Irritating as it was to admit, I was beginning to enjoy myself.
Sebastian must have felt the change in my body because he accelerated smoothly, and bent forwards slightly, weaving his way past the patchwork fields as we continued to circle the lake. I snuggled closer, grateful for the warmth of his body as the cool air flowed past us.
He slowed as we reached Montreux, giving me time to appreciate the chocolate-box prettiness of the old town with chalets and fairytale granite castle, and the contrasting modernity of the concrete and glass buildings, and hotels that looked like chateaux.
“Do you want to get a coffee?” he called over his shoulder.
I nodded enthusiastically, bumping my helmet awkwardly on the back of his, and gave him a thumbs up.
He drew up outside a small café that looked out onto the lake, then kicked down the stand and cut the engine. The sudden silence was very welcome and I gazed out across the water, feeling peaceful, at peace.
Sebastian pulled off his helmet and grinned at me.
“How was that?”
I struggled out of my own helmet and hoped my ‘hat hair’ wasn’t too scary.
“That was… surprisingly okay!”
He laughed at my bemused expression, then his eyes darkened in a way I remembered. It was a look of lust and need and deep, burning desire. Yes, I remembered.
I scrambled off the bike hastily and rubbed my hands trying to get some warmth back into my fingers.
“Are you cold?”
“A little: just my hands.”
Without saying a word, he took my hands in his and lifted them to his lips, heating them with his warm breath and rubbing them gently.
After a moment, I pulled free.
“That’s fine, thank you.”
He continued to stare at me, his expression serious. I looked away, confused and ill at ease.
“This café looks good,” I said desperately.
I heard his soft sigh, but refused to look at him. Instead I strode into the café and found a table by the window.
Sebastian followed more slowly, sliding into the chair opposite me.
“Un espresso et un caffé americano, s’il vous plait.”
“Do you speak French, as well?” I asked, curiously.
He shrugged. “Enough to get by. I never studied it.”