Need You for Always (Heroes of St. Helena)(63)

“Oh, for God’s sake, I give you permission to stick your nose in my business.”

Harper swallowed and peeked back over the rail. “Yup, it’s him.”

“Is he parked in front of our building?”

“Can’t tell,” she said. “He’s in a pair of camo pants, though, and his legs are wrapped around a big, black motorcycle. God, he looks like Dirty Harry meets Magic Mike.” Harper sighed. “Even from this distance I can see the outline of his tattoo.”

Distance? That meant he wasn’t close enough to notice if she took a peek? “There is no way you could see his muscles through his jacket.” Dax would never ride without his jacket or helmet. That was a fact.

“Oh.” Harper looked over her shoulder and grinned. “Not that tat. The one that peeks out from beneath his shirt and jacket, only to disappear below the belt.”

Emerson knew the tattoo well, so well she felt her mouth go dry at the memory. Unable to resist, Emerson leaned over the railing and looked down—only to find Dax looking up. Right at her. Smiling.

He was on his bike all right, but the only distance separating them was one story. Straight up.

“What are you doing here?” she asked.

“I wanted to check on Shirley Temple,” he called up, that cool timbre rolling over her. “See if the poison oak had gone down any.”

“Megan’s mom called yesterday and said that most of the swelling and itching was gone, and she should be ready to go to the campout this weekend,” she explained, and he made a universal gesture for close call by wiping off his forehead.

She was relieved by the news too, because in order to compete for the Loveliest Survivalist, a Loveliness needed a minimum of four Lady Bugs.

“Hey, I thought you weren’t allowed to ride your bike.”

“Just got cleared,” he said. “I was going to go for a ride to blow off some steam, maybe find some trouble to get into.” He released those dimples and Harper gave Emerson a giddy Oh my look. “You up for a little trouble?”

She was up for trouble, all right. So much it hurt. But if he was cleared to ride, then it wouldn’t be long until he was cleared to leave. “How was the training yesterday?”

“Come for a ride and I’ll tell you all about it.”

Said the fox to the hen. “I’m testing out my food truck menu. There is a lot of green stuff or I’d invite you up.”

“You know you look slightly to the right when you tell a lie,” he said. “Not to mention when I stopped by earlier, your friend said you were planning on a low-key afternoon. Just sipping wine and tasting cupcakes.”

Emerson shot a dirty look at her friend, who lifted her hands in surrender. “I talked to him before I promised to butt out. And I’d like to remind you that you gave me permission to butt back in a moment ago.”

“The doctor said I can’t ride alone. See,” he hollered and she looked back over the railing. Dax held up a white piece of paper, which may or may not have been a prescription, but it looked convincing. When she didn’t move, he shoved it back in his pocket and ran his fingers through his hair. “Come on, Emi.”

That was all it took. Him saying her name that way. Tired and rough around the edges, so exempt of the normal BS and charm that she found herself caving. He didn’t want to go for a ride, he needed to disappear for a while. That he needed her to go with him spoke to a part of her that she couldn’t shut off.

“You’re glowing, Em,” Harper said quietly. “Glowing. Tell me you still don’t know what to do.”

Oh, she knew. She’d known since San Francisco, she’d just been too stubborn to admit it. “You like cupcakes, Ranger?”

“Depends,” he said with a rare boyish smile. “What’s the color of the frosting?”



Emerson squeezed tight, a mix of thrill and terror pumping through her body as Dax sped along the winding mountain road. Thrill because the bike was going fast enough that it felt as if they were free-falling in tandem, their bodies pressed tight together from the force of the wind.

There wasn’t an inch of her front that wasn’t in full, bone-melting contact with his back, and shoulders, and thighs, and butt. Oh my, that butt. It matched the God complex he wore so well. In fact, every time he zigged the bike their bodies zagged in the best way possible.

The terror part came from the overwhelming sense of being out of control. Every hard turn Dax leaned into, her body screamed for her to go the opposite direction. Because leaning into what felt like falling went against everything she knew.

A firm hand pressed down on her knee, which was nestled tightly against his thigh. “Emerson,” Dax hollered over the wind roaring around her mask. “Do you trust me?”

Emerson didn’t do trust so well. Life had taught her better. But there was something about Dax and that take-anything-life-throws vibe he wore like a cape that made her want to trust. Made her want to let go and experience every terrifying thrill that came with it.

“Yes,” she hollered back.

With a quick squeeze to the thigh, he yelled, “Then close your eyes and hang on.”

And she did. Without hesitation. She squeezed her eyes shut and grabbed tighter, her hands resting low on his stomach, loving how safe she felt wrapped around his broad, strong body. Because even though she was holding on with everything she had, it somehow felt as if she was finally letting go.