The bike came to life beneath us, rumbling and vibrating my legs all the way up into the center of my crotch. Cam reached behind him, taking my arms and looping them around his waist, where the sensitive skin of my wrists brushed against his middle. When I thought he would pull away, he didn’t, instead he flattened his palm against my hands, sandwiching them between the smooth skin that pulled taut over his ribs. His skin was warm, like it never lost the heat it soaked in during all his time in the sun.
“Hold on,” he yelled over his shoulder, still pressing my hands against him before letting go and grabbing the handles.
The bike began to glide over the pavement, and I found my arms tightening around him just a little bit more. We moved slowly at first. He was very good at maneuvering the bike through the parking lot, and I began to relax a little. The nerves I initially felt when climbing on this bike dissolved a little with every passing second.
And then he turned onto the main road.
The bike quickly picked up speed. I squeezed my eyes shut against the blurry scenery around us. I wasn’t sure I was meant to travel at this speed. All the tension in my body came back plus some, and I held myself rigidly, afraid if I even shifted once it would throw the bike sideways and we would barrel into oncoming traffic, or worse, fall over.
I didn’t notice the way his body shook at first because everything on this bike was shaking—vibrating from the hum of the engine—but this was different. He was laughing.
“What?” I screamed and then squeezed my eyes shut, sure that just my talking was going to make us crash.
His shoulders shook more. “You’re scared!” he yelled over his shoulder.
“Am not!” I yelled like a petulant five-year-old.
His hand, large and warm, covered mine where I was gripping at his chest and he gave it a light squeeze. I was about to yell at him for only driving with one hand when he spoke again. “I got you.”
Three words.
How could three little words cause something inside me to bottom out and then swell with emotion?
I got you.
They weren’t even particularly exciting words. But there was something about the way he yelled it while he covered my hand with his. It was like instead of asking me to trust him, instead of telling me not to be scared, he was showing me.
And I believed him.
My muscles relaxed; they quivered slightly from the exertion of being so tense. Suddenly, I realized I was plastered up against him. It seemed every part of my body touched him. I practically wrapped myself around his body in a giant bear hug. Even my ankles had hooked themselves around his calves.
If I hadn’t been wearing such a massive helmet, I had no doubt that my cheek would be pressed against his back and my hair would be trailing behind us as he drove.
It was just one more reason to hate this helmet.
I opened my eyes and looked around, really looked.
Because of the late hour, the roads weren’t filled with traffic like they usually were. All the shops, the tattoo parlors, the bars, and restaurants were lit up with bright neon lights and large signs. As we moved, the lights whipped by us, creating a blur of color in my line of sight.
The air outside was hot, but traveling like this, the wind pulled at my clothes and body. It brushed over my skin, creating goose bumps in its wake, and I huddled just a little bit closer to his warmth.
Just as I was starting to enjoy the ride, the bike downshifted beneath me and slowed as he turned off the main road and drove a short distance to an apartment building that rose up out of the concrete like some imposing force.
This wasn’t my apartment.
Come to think of it, I hadn’t even given him directions.
He stopped the bike in a spot by the curb and shut off the engine. I pried myself off his body and lifted up the face shield. “Where are we?”
“My place.”
“You live here?” I asked nervously as he climbed off and turned to face me.
“On the third floor. I’d invite you in, but I’m not that kind of guy.”
I snorted. I bet he wasn’t.
He laughed and gently pulled the helmet off my head. My hands automatically went to my hair because I knew it was probably mashed to my head like I’d been wearing a hairnet.
“So I didn’t kill you,” he said, hooking the helmet on the side of the bike.
“You didn’t bring me home either.”
“I figured we could grab my car and go back to the bar. I can jump your car and then you’ll be able to take it home. You might need it tomorrow.”
Actually, I did need it. “You have a car and a bike?”
He pointed to a vintage mustang convertible parked next to the bike. It was cherry red with a white ragtop. “Yep.”
Damn, I didn’t know what was hotter—the bike or the car.
“I like it,” I said, climbing off the bike. My legs felt funny, like the cells inside them were still vibrating—like they thought I was still riding on the bike. As I stood, I stumbled a little bit and fell against his chest. Automatically, his arms came up around my waist and I stood there in his embrace, completely dumfounded as heat rushed through my veins and scorched every active brain cell.
“Your legs will feel normal in a few.” His voice was a mere whisper; he didn’t have to talk loud because I was right up against him. He pulled back, still keeping his arms around me, and looked down. Our eyes met and the heat that had been rushing through me all drained into my stomach, pooling in the bottom of my belly and placing this heavy pressure down against my core.
I shifted, trying to get a little relief, but it made it worse because my body brushed against his hips.
Oh my God. I was acting like some hormonal teenager.
I stepped back and he let me go, and I rushed to put some much needed distance between us. I didn’t know what was happening to my body, but it was losing its mind.
He pulled a set of keys out of his pocket and went around to unlock the passenger side of the Mustang. I climbed in and breathed a sigh of relief when the door closed behind me. We didn’t speak on the way back to the Mad Hatter, and I busied myself with looking at everything but him.
When my car came into view, I wanted to scream with relief but decided that might be a little rude. He pulled the Mustang right up in front of my Toyota so the cables would reach from one battery to the other.
Before he climbed out of the car, I laid a hand on his forearm. He looked at me with a puzzled expression. “I really appreciate this, Cam,” I told him. “You don’t even know me and you’re going out of your way in the middle of the night to help me.”