And suck in a shaky breath when he tugs me closer so that he’s nestled right between my open thighs. The feel of his smooth back pressed against my breasts makes my nipples bead right up; since I’m wearing a thin, unlined bra, I can’t help but wonder if he can feel my reaction.
Oh fuck, I hadn’t anticipated needing to be this…near him. With his hand stroking my outer thigh as he revs the engine, I feel myself sinking into a space with him I swore I wasn’t going to feel again. After waking up alone that morning, hurt and embarrassed that he didn’t bother to even say goodbye, I was determined to avoid Smith.
Even though I thought about him all the time since then.
But the hole I felt in my heart since waking up to find him gone has made me feel empty and sad and jaded in a way that is unexpected. I didn’t intend to start falling for this tattooed guy who runs a bar and seems like the type that doesn’t ever settle down.
I hoped I’d learned my lesson after he ran out on me, hoped the hole in my heart would start to repair itself and I’d lose interest in Smith Beckett, as impossible as it seemed.
And then he showed up at my door not asking for sex, but for a date. Seeming awkward and trying to talk me into it, even when I initially refuse him. Not like his usual self, the version of him that is so self-assured that he never has to work for a girl’s attention. The version I’ve seen of him at the bar, in bed.
The fact that he put himself out there for me made my heart weaken. So despite me swearing him off a few days ago, here I am, on the back of his bike as he pulls out of my apartment complex and onto the road.
I must be a fool to open myself up to yet more heartache. Will I never learn?
When we pick up speed, I can feel the wind whipping at my bare skin on my arms. I try to be careful not to move my head too much so he can stay balanced, but I’m riveted by the sight of everything streaming by us fast, the world open, unlike in a car where we’re closed in metal and glass.
Here, I’m not just riding. I’m almost a part of the road.
Smith navigates turns expertly, and I lean with him into them. His body is firm between my legs, and my clit grows warm and begins to throb. I can’t help but be reminded of the last time he was there.
Something about sitting on such a powerful piece of vibrating machinery with the sexiest man I’ve ever met is arousing me more than I ever realized would happen. God help me. I refuse to get off this bike and jump on his body the way I want to.
After about ten minutes, we pull into a parking lot of a small diner. Despite its size, the lot is filled, with people lingering outside in a row along the building. When the motor cuts, I take off my helmet and get off the bike.
Smith takes the helmet from me and locks it into place in a resting spot on the back of the bike. I can’t stop staring at him. He’s radiating sex, and several of the younger women—and a couple of older women—are eye-fucking him so hard it makes me feel a small surge of jealousy.
But when I turn back to look at him after scoping out the crowd outside, his eyes are locked on me, and I forget everything else.
“Um. Thanks for the ride,” I tell him. When his mouth quirks in a half smile, I chuckle and say, “I mean on the motorcycle, you perv.”
“Let’s go get some pie.” Fuck, his voice is just as sexy of a rumble as that motorcycle. Is there anything about him that doesn’t turn me on? It’s almost embarrassing how much I feel in heat around him.
“It, uh, seems like a really long wait,” I tell him.
“I have connections.” Smith takes my hand and leads me in front of the crowd. He weaves his fingers in mine, and I tell myself it’s just to get us to the building, because if I start thinking it’s anything more, I’ll just get hurt again.
I can’t let him make me feel bad about myself, the way I did when I woke up alone, mortified, thinking maybe the night wasn’t as impactful for him as it was for me. I’m only here because he made an obvious effort in this, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to drop my guard.
Besides, it would be good for me to explore more of Rock Bridge. Right?
The door dings when we come in, and the older black woman at the register waves Smith over. “Holy shit on a shingle, it’s about damn time you get your ass in here, you overworked moron. I was wondering if you ever take a day off from that skank hole you call a bar.”
A barking laugh erupts from my chest at her blunt words, especially when I see Smith narrow his eyes but not lash back out at her. I have no idea who she is, but I already like her. She seems like she can tame the beast in a way no one else can.
“Aunt Sylvia, can you fit us in?” he asks her, obviously exasperated but reining it in. “Aubrey’s new to town, and I told her the key lime pie here is the best.”
“Well, damn right it is. I make it myself fresh every day.” She gives a matter-of-fact nod then eyes me. Her eyes are the same color as dark amber, and her skin is smooth, despite her advanced age. “You’re pretty. Sweet-looking. Not his usual type.”