“Get on, Isla.” He doesn’t even look back, just pats the seat behind him once, a command wrapped in deadly calm.
With a muttered curse, I swing my leg over and climb on. The seat is higher than I expect, forcing me too close to him. The heat from his body seeps through his shirt, through the borrowed leather of his jacket, until I can’t tell where the warmth ends and my own nerves begin.
“Hold on,” he orders.
I hesitate a beat too long before I slide my arms around him. His muscles shift under my hands, solid and tense, a reminder of the strength that just carried me out of my apartment. The movement sends a shiver through me I try to ignore.
The engine revs once, before he kicks the bike into gear.
“Ready?” He grins back at me.
“No.”
He chuckles, the sound dark and quiet. “Too bad.”
The motorcycle surges forward, tires skimming over the cracked asphalt as the city lights blur around us.
The wind steals my breath, my heartbeat syncing with the roar of the engine, and all I can do is hold on tighter to Knox Vale.
Chapter Eight
Isla
The city rushespast in a blur of color and sound.
Streetlights flash like strobes against the dark, streaking across my visor until everything becomes light and motion.
Wind claws at my body, cold and relentless, stealing my breath every time I try to take one.
All I can feel is the vibration of the engine andhim—the solid strength of Knox’s hard body beneath my fingers. Solid muscles flex with every shift of the gears, every surge forward.
The city lights whip past in streaks of gold and white, melting into the night until they become a single, endless ribbon behind us.
The skyline fades. The glass and concrete towers give way to low buildings, then to dark stretches of road lined with trees and the occasional gas station glowing like an oasis in the dark.
The constant roar of traffic softens until it’s only us.
Somewhere past midnight, the air changes, becoming saltier and colder, edged with the faint scent of the sea.
The roads widen and the darkness softens, then a sign flashes by:Welcome to the Hamptons.
We must have been on the road for two hours, maybe more.
Now we’re here.
My body aches, my fingers stiff from gripping Knox too tightly, my legs trembling from the vibration of the ride.
The motorcycle slows as the highway narrows, the engine softening to a low growl. The sudden silence feels unnatural, like the world has been holding its breath.
We turn off the main road, and the scenery gives way to glimpses of sprawling properties with houses so big they look like they belong in movies.
My stomach knots tighter with every mile.
Another turn, and a tall, black gate looms ahead, guarded by stone pillars and a discreet security camera that flashes once as we pull up. The gates swing open without Knox lifting a finger.
I realize this is his place.My new home.
We ride through the gates and follow a long, winding driveway framed by whispering trees and hedges trimmed with surgical precision. The driveway curves through the darkness, leading toward a pale shape in the distance—his house.
