“We’ve got this,” she said, ignoring her own worry about the last fifty feet of wide-open sidewalk. “Put your arm around my shoulder.”
He did as she asked and she snuggled into his embrace. Her arm circled his waist and she pressed her cheek against his chest. Her tension eased away, but Killian’s didn’t. If anything, it got worse.
“This is your plan? Cuddling?” Amusement and tension warred in his voice.
Dizzie closed her eyes and counted to ten, slowly. So easy to stay like this forever. But they couldn’t. “Not exactly. Now, we walk down the street like a couple in love.”
“Like this?” He tipped her chin up with his free hand.
She expected a soft kiss.
It wasn’t one.
Fueled by aggression, it was demanding. Possessive.
She surrendered to it. To him. She wrapped both arms around his waist and leaned into the kiss.
They broke apart slowly. Her heart raced.
She raised her fingers to her lips. “Um, that was probably too much. In public at least.”
“Or it made people uncomfortable enough they won’t look too much closer.”
Swallowing, hard, she nodded. The kiss made her feel uncomfortable things too. Made her want things she couldn’t have.
“Ready?” he asked.
She nodded.
Arms wrapped around each other, they rounded the corner at a quick stroll, nuzzling and murmuring to each other along the way. She kept her face turned toward his chest and he nuzzled her neck, using her hair as a shield.
Crossing the half-block distance to the lockers, they didn’t pass many people. The ones they did looked away from the public display of affection.
It was easy to pretend it was real, that they were in love. Disgustingly easy.
She sighed into his chest.
“What’s wrong?” He kept his voice low.
“Nothing. Just thinking.” Impossible thoughts. Dizzie reluctantly pulled away from Killian. She shivered, missing the warmth of his body pressed against hers. “Back here.” She led him toward the street-side lockers.
The locker units were scattered all over the city. Made from repurposed shipping containers that had been divided into smaller and smaller sections, each with a digital lock, they were available to anyone who had the credits to rent one and provided a quick place to stash goods. She knew of more than one illegal enterprise that was run out of a streetbox.
This container had started life out a deep blue, but layers of graffiti and tags had changed the color of everything but the high corners. “Keep watch,” she said as she circled around it.
She’d chosen one of the biggest lockers, on the side hidden from the street. Dizzie keyed in the code. The door creaked open and she ducked under the doorway to enter the storage locker. With no room to turn around, she grabbed the handlebars and gently pulled their ride out.
“Coming out,” she warned.
Once clear of the streetbox, she set the kickstand and ran her hand over the gleaming metal. The freedom of the road was so close she could taste it. “Ready?”
Killian stared at the bike with a closed expression. “The car is still an option.” His words were stilted. “A good one.”
There was no time to explore his reluctance. They had to get out of here. “I’m taking the motorcycle. Your call.” Dizzie released the helmet and handed it to Killian. “Put this on.”
“No.” His refusal was clipped. “You wear it.”
Damn chivalry.
