Gypsy King (Tin Gypsy, #1)(52)

I’d been contemplating a trip to Bozeman anyway. It was two hours one way, and depending on what we found, it would take up the entire day. I’d already delivered my content for this Sunday’s paper and I was ahead on Wednesday’s. If I was going to write something about Amina in next week’s edition, I’d need to get new information soon.

“All right.” I nodded. “But I’d still like to drop by the school.”

“Why? We’re probably not going to find much there anyway.”

We’d likely find a few more old pictures, and while they might shed light on teenaged Amina, it was more important to know the person she’d grown into as an adult. “Yeah, you’re probably right. We can skip the school and get on the road. I need to text my dad and tell him I won’t be in today. Then we can go.”

“Good.” He grinned. “Mind if I use the shower?”

“Go for it. Towels are in the tall cabinet.”

“Want to join me?” He winked.

I ignored the rush of heat between my legs. “We don’t have time.”

“Babe.” He set down the cup on the island and sauntered my way, his slow, steady strides raising my heart rate with every step. I gripped the edge of the island and prayed my body didn’t melt at his feet. When he spoke, his voice was rough, like the fingertips he shifted into my hair. “There’s all the time in the world.”

“We should go.” There was no conviction behind that statement.

“Tomorrow, don’t shower without me.”

I suddenly wished it was tomorrow.

With a playful tug on my ear, Dash dropped his hand from my hair and walked out of the kitchen. This time, his steps were sure and swift. Those of a man ready to get to work.

I closed my eyes and let my heart rate settle to normal, then made us travel cups of coffee while the water ran in the bathroom.

Dash was mere feet away, naked and wet. I unloaded the dishwasher so I wouldn’t go anywhere near the bathroom. Then I readied my purse for the trip, taking out the extra notepads I wouldn’t need for this story. I sat at the island, drinking my coffee until Dash came out wearing yesterday’s clothes and his signature, cocky grin.

“Here.” I held out a travel mug.

“No cup holders on the bike.”

I blinked. “Huh?”

“Cup holders.” He went to the front door to pull on a boot. “My bike doesn’t have them.”

“Well, then it’s a good thing I’m driving. My car comes equipped with cup holders.”

Dash straightened. “We’re taking the bike.”

“No, I’ll dri—”

“Babe, the bike is fun. Trust me.”

“You told me not to trust you.”

He grinned. “Make an exception. Riding through Montana in the summer is unbeatable.”

“Fine.” I shoved his coffee mug into his belly and tipped mine to my lips, guzzling because I didn’t want to risk falling asleep on the motorcycle.

“That was easier than I thought it would be.” He took a long drink from his own cup.

“Shut up.” Did I secretly want to ride on his Harley? Yes. But I’d die before admitting that to him.

I set my cup down on the island and began digging the essentials out of my purse and wallet. Cash. Credit cards. Driver’s license. Lip gloss. Hair tie. Gum. Phone. The jeans I was wearing were tight and the pockets wouldn’t keep it all, so the hair tie went on a wrist. The gum, money and cards into my jeans. But the other items still needed a new home.

I looked at Dash and smiled. Then I moved into his space, nice and close. My fingers hooked in his jeans pocket, pulling it open as his breath hitched. With my things dropped into his pocket, I patted his thigh before backing away. “All set.”

“Careful.” Dash palmed his zipper, making a blatant adjustment to his cock. “I might make you go in there to get them back.”

My core tightened. “I might insist.”

Outside, the morning air was fresh and clean. We walked to Dash’s bike and he sat on the dewy seat first. “Climb on.”

“Helmets?” I hadn’t minded when it was just a slow ride through town. But the highway? I was insisting on a helmet.

Dash opened his mouth to protest but stopped when he saw the look on my face. I was guessing it was part fear, part excitement.

“Please?”

He sighed. “We’ll stop by the garage and pick them up.”

“Thank you.” I settled into the seat behind him, wrapping my arms around his waist. Then he started the motorcycle, roaring away from the curb and down the street.

To my relief, the garage wasn’t open when we arrived. I wasn’t ready to show up on Dash’s bike and get questioning looks from his employees about why I was wrapped around their boss. With the way Dash jogged inside to retrieve a helmet, I guessed he wasn’t ready to address our relationship with his employees either.

After Dash insisted I wear his leather jacket and buckled the matte-black helmet on my head—he refused one for himself—we rode out of town. The crisp morning did more to keep me awake than coffee ever could, and it was a thrill to be behind Dash as he navigated the curved highway.

I felt the shift in his muscles as he leaned us to one side or the other. The power of him and the machine between my legs. A couple of times, he’d let go of the handlebar with one hand to grip my thigh, those long fingers giving it a squeeze to make sure I was okay. I’d tightened my arms around his ribs in a silent yes.