Almost Midnight (Shadow Falls: After Dark #3.5)(106)

Had she sounded too eager? Was she overstepping her bounds by making too many suggestions? Showing too much enthusiasm?

“You don’t think real men are into art?” he asked, but there was almost a teasing to his tone.

“No, I just mean the macho types, who don’t give a flip about walking through a gallery.”

He lifted one brow and the smile, while not on his lips, was in his eyes. “So you don’t think men who are into art are macho?”

“I didn’t say that,” she said, not sure how to react. Was he flirting?

Did she want him to be flirting? Oh, yes, she did. But was it really a good thing? Her gaze lifted to his forehead covered by his hat, but afraid he’d think she was gaping at his scars, she quickly looked away.

“Would you like to ride into town with me and help pick out the paint and flowers?”

“I would love to.”

He nodded. “Wait right here. I’ll get you a helmet.” He walked out, leaving her in the garage.

“A helmet?” Her words seemed to hang in the cold, empty room. Then she looked around and saw the red motorcycle parked beside the silver Malibu. She’d never been on a motorcycle. But she’d seen plenty of women with their arms wrapped around some hot guy as he drove right into the wind. She’d always envied those women. They had someone to hold onto. There had been times in life when she would have liked to have someone like that.

She stared at the motorcycle and realized how close they would have to be to each other. A soft thrill ran through her, but so did a little tickle of fear.

“Here you go.” He walked back in with two helmets in his hands, still only offering her the unscarred side of his face. His hat was gone, but he’d replaced it with a blue-and-black bandana and his dark hair flipped up around the cloth. Over his T-shirt he wore a dark brown leather jacket. It looked faded, worn, and warm. Right then, chills prickled her arm.

Running her hands up her arms, over the long-sleeved shirt, she looked down at the helmets.

He held one out. She took it, without thinking. Then he put his on. Turning around, he reached over to the wall and pulled down another leather jacket that hung on a hook.

“The wind can make it feel a lot colder than it is.” He held the black jacket out.

She gazed back at the bike. Envisioned them on it, her body pressed against his, her arms around his waist. She didn’t anticipate she’d be cold.

Warning bells rang in her head as anticipation whispered down her body.

“How … how are we going to bring back the paint?”

“We aren’t. We’ll just buy it and have it delivered.”

“We … we could just take the car.” She glanced at the Malibu.

“It’s … not mine. It’s my sister’s.” His gaze went to the door leading back into the house and held there for several seconds.

“I could drive,” she offered. “The car … it’s out front.”

He studied her, still holding out the black jacket. “Have you ever ridden on a bike?”

She shook her head.

“You afraid?” There was a touch of challenge in his voice.

“No,” she said, but she recognized the one word as a lie. Just not for the reasons he accused her of.

“Then let’s go.” He casually tossed the jacket over his shoulder and then threw one leg over the bike, and looked back at her. “Climb on.”

For some reason, his two words sounded like a dare. Her heart raced. She could tell him no. She could. But instead, she slipped the helmet on and fastened it.

And with her body buzzing with anticipation, she walked over to him. He held out the jacket.

She took it. Their fingers touched, and a jolt of awareness shot up her arm. He watched her put it on and zip it. It was big, but felt good, warm. And the scent that rolled off it was uniquely his.

“Just slip in behind me.” The helmet covered his scars completely. Their eyes met again. He smiled.

And it was as breathtaking as she’d imagined it. She smiled back.

“Hop on,” he said.

She did as he requested, but allowed a couple of inches between their bodies.

“Hold on to my waist,” he said, his voice low.

She inhaled and cupped her hands on each side of his waist. The leather beneath her palms felt cool. But what she mostly felt was him beneath the material, his lean waist. She remembered seeing him without his shirt.

Her pulse increased, the air in her lungs hitched. And she could swear she heard him let out a gulp of air as if he’d felt it, too.

“See the motor?” He pointed back with his right hand.

“Yes,” she managed to say, but her voice came out a little high.

“It’s hot. Don’t let your legs touch it. Keep your feet on the foot pegs. You see them?”

“Yes.” She put her feet up on them.

He hit something attached to his handlebars and the garage door opened. He started the engine. The bike jolted forward and brought her against him. Her breasts pushed against his shoulder blades.

She couldn’t help but wonder if he hadn’t done that on purpose. But she couldn’t get mad at him. It felt wonderful to be that close.

He reached down and pulled one of her hands from his waist to wrap around his middle. “You need to hold tight.”