And maybe it was snowing in hell at that very moment. His dick ached, his entire body was drawn tight and all he could think about was getting her to pull the bike over and turn to face him.
He didn’t know what the hell he was doing—well, that was wrong. He did know what he was doing, though he hadn’t planned on starting it here. Great timing, slick. Make a move on her at the cemetery. But he hadn’t exactly made a move on her. He’d just done what felt right. Colby had been with one woman for more than half his life—back when other guys were learning to deliver lines, he’d been focused on one girl—just one. He’d never spent any time learning whatever rules went along with dating and shit, because he’d never had to. He knew the rules of courtesy, because his mother had drummed them into him.
But dating? Flirting? No. Doing what seemed right was all he knew.
And this—riding on the back of Bree’s bike with her slender back pressed close to him—seemed right.
Minutes sped by as she took the winding road farther into the hills, away from the small country cemetery and even farther away from the sprawl of the city. He had an idea where she was headed. She confirmed it a few minutes later, slowing for a light as they neared the small town roughly fifteen miles away from the cemetery. Over her shoulder, she said, “I thought we could just go to the winery and grab a sandwich at the café. Kill an hour or so. That work?”
An hour. He could think of a better way to kill an hour.
Damn it, get your brain away from your dick, he told himself, disgusted. But then he heard it again. Alyssa’s soft, certain whisper.
She’s the reason you came back…
“Works for me.”
He felt too good behind her. Bree knew she needed to get off the bike and get some distance between them, and the winery was the closest place to eat that she could think of, other than her house, and she sure as hell wasn’t taking him there. Every damn mile had been an exercise in frustrated longing, one she didn’t need. Considering she’d been lusting after the guy for more than half her life, she knew all about frustrated longing and needed no refreshers, thank you very much.
But that was what she got.
He spent the entire twenty-five minutes pressed up close and personal with her. Riding on a bike made little room for personal space, but even when she had slowed for the stop sign a few minutes back, had he taken a few seconds to shift away?
No.
Being pressed up close and personal obviously doesn’t affect him the way it affects you, her common sense pointed out.
Except her body could tell otherwise.
She had felt it, the way he’d reacted, his body getting hotter and hotter until it seemed like the air around them should spontaneously combust. The way his hands had tightened around her waist for the briefest second, as if he wanted to tug her even closer, though that didn’t seem possible. She sped down the road to the winery, following the winding twists and turns and trying to focus on them. He dominated her thoughts, though.
The thick, hard length of his cock burned through their clothes, snug against her butt and lower back. Unaffected? Hell, no. She could feel the rhythmic pulse of his penis, and to her horror, her body responded in kind—her nipples throbbing, her * aching. All from a fucking twenty-five-minute ride.
Parking in the lot adjacent to the café, Bree waited for him to climb off so she could get a little distance between them.
But Colby took his time.
Way too much time.
Sliding off, his hands lingering on her waist before falling away and, instead of taking a few steps away and giving her some room, he stood right there, practically at her shoulder. Her fingers shook as she fumbled with her helmet and she swore under her breath. Before climbing off, she sucked in a couple of deep breaths, hoping it would clear her head a little.
It might have worked. If he hadn’t been standing so close that she all but tripped over him as she climbed off her bike. Even knowing how close he was, even taking extreme care not to touch him, she stumbled into him. His hands came up, caught her upper arms, steadied her—and lingered. Heart pounding, she lifted her gaze and met his, saw the dark gold depths glinting like hot, molten gold. Her vision narrowed as his gaze roamed her face, lingering on her mouth. Her lips buzzed, almost as though he’d dipped his head and kissed her.
Before she could do anything more to make a fool of herself, he let go.
As he walked away from her, she whispered a silent prayer of thanks.
She could get through this. An hour, ninety minutes, tops, then she could get him back to the cemetery—fuck, another ride on the bike with him—and then leave him alone, go home and crawl into a hot shower and hope she could ease the greedy lust that threatened to overwhelm her.
She could get through this.