Before I could process what I’d just agreed to, Milo gestured toward his motorcycle parked at the curb—a sleek black Honda with silver accents that gleamed in the evening sun. “Let me give you a ride home,” he offered, his smile doing strange things to my insides. “You can direct me, and X can follow. Unless you drove here?”
“I walked,” I said, adjusting my glasses nervously. I’d read so many scenes in my books about motorcycle rides—the heroine clinging to the hero, wind in her hair, the rumble of the engine between her legs. Pure fantasy fodder. And now it was being offered to me on a silver platter by a man who looked like he’d stepped out of those very pages.
“She doesn’t have a helmet.” The words were flat, matter-of-fact, but there was something like concern in his expression. “We don’t have a spare.”
Milo froze, his shoulders slumping as he turned back to us. “Shit. I didn’t think of that.” He ran a hand through his hair, frustration evident in the gesture. “We came here looking for June and didn’t bring a helmet? Seriously, we’re the worst at this.”
My brain snagged on his words. They were here for me, specifically? Had they been waiting for me? The thought was both flattering and mildly alarming. But then I brushed it aside. They couldn’t possibly have singled me out from all the women who frequented Honeybee Books.
“I can walk,” I offered, adjusting the strap of my bag. “That was the plan, anyway. And it’s only five blocks to my house.” I pointed vaguely in the direction I needed to go, trying to ignore the disappointment settling in my chest. So much for my motorcycle fantasy.
Milo’s face lit up again, dimples flashing. “Five blocks?” He glanced at Xavier, something unspoken passing between them, then turned back to me with a grin that was pure wickedness. “It’s not illegal to ride without a helmet in Colorado, X is just a stickler for safety. If you want to ride with me, I’ll ride slow and careful. Promise.”
I hesitated, common sense warring with desire. What were the chances of something happening in five blocks? But this was a complete disruption of my evening plans. But how did I explain that the walk would give me a minute to process?
“Come on, June. It’ll be fun,” Milo said. “Okay,” I said. “But go slow.”
Xavier’s expression was unreadable, but he nodded once, then held out his hand.
When I didn’t move, he said. “Give me your bag. I have a backpack. Gotta keep your books safe.”
Protecting my books. If that wasn’t a sign that these two were dreamy, what was?
Once the books were safely stowed, Xavier moved toward his motorcycle—a sleek black and green Kawasaki that looked fast even standing still. The way he swung his leg over the seat was so graceful, so effortlessly masculine that it made my mouth go dry.
“Come on,” Milo said, already astride his Honda, patting the seat behind him. “Just hold on tight. I won’t let anything happen to you. Watch the exhaust as you climb on. It gets hot.”
I approached cautiously, suddenly very aware of how awkward I was about to look climbing onto this machine in my skirt. But Milo didn’t rush me, just waited patiently, his dark eyes warm and encouraging. I hiked my skirt up just enough to allow me to swing my leg over, trying to subtly adjust the wrinkled fabric so I wouldn’t be sitting on a crease.
The seat was firmer than I expected, the leather warm against the backs of my thighs. I settled in behind Milo, suddenly uncertain what to do with my hands. Should I hold his shoulders? His waist? Would it be too forward to wrap my arms around him completely?
“Arms around me,” Milo instructed, as if reading my thoughts. “And scoot forward. Don’t be shy. I need you secure.”
I slid forward until I was pressed against his back, my thighs cradling his hips, my chest against his leather jacket. Hesitantly, I wrapped my arms around his waist, feeling the solid warmth of him through the leather. He was broader than he looked, his body firm and substantial under my hands.
“Tighter,” he said, his voice dropping lower. “Like you mean it.”
Heat flared in my belly at his words. I tightened my grip, my arms fully encircling him now, my face close enough to his neck that I could smell him—leather and some spicy cologne and beneath that, something uniquely male. My heart hammered against my ribs so hard I was sure he could feel it against his back.
The engine roared to life beneath us, and I flinched, covering my ears, then quickly put my arms back around his waist, hoping he hadn’t noticed. Closing my eyes, I just listened for a minute, finding I didn’t mind the steady rumble and vibration of the engine. My thighs squeezed tighter around Milo’s hips as he asked if I was ready. He glanced back at me, a knowing smile playing at his lips, before focusing on the road ahead.
We pulled away from the curb with a gentle lurch, the momentum pressing me even closer against him. Behind us, Xavier’s bike growled to life, the sound of it sending shivers down my spine. I risked a glance back and found him following closely, his eyes hidden behind his visor again but his posture alert, watchful.
“Which way?” Milo called over his shoulder.
“Just down on Maple Street. Follow Fourth Street down, then it’s the third house on the right. 2275 South East Maple Street.”
He kept his promise about riding slowly, but even at this gentle pace, the experience was intoxicating. The warm night airrushed past us, tugging at my hair and clothes like eager hands. The engine rumbled between my legs, a constant, rhythmic vibration that sent little sparks of pleasure radiating through my body. Between his scent, the sounds, and the wind, I had to close my eyes to regulate the sensory overload, but there was a pleasantness to it, too. Every bump in the road pushed me against Milo, every turn had me holding tighter, my breasts pressed against his back, my thighs gripping his.
“Right at the next street,” I managed to call out, pointing to guide him. Five blocks had never seemed so short and so endless at the same time. I was hyper-aware of every sensation—the warmth radiating from Milo’s body, the cool night air on my exposed skin, the vibration of the engine, and the constant, thrilling awareness of Xavier following behind us, watching.
My house came into view far too soon—a two-story Craftsman with a wide porch and neatly trimmed hedges and a garage in the back. It wasn’t fancy, but it was mine, bought with inheritance money and a modest mortgage that was just outside of comfortable on my current salary. In the gathering dusk, with the porch light I’d left on casting a warm glow, it looked like a snapshot from a real estate listing—charming, inviting, and worlds away from whatever life I imagined these men lived.
Milo slowed even further as we approached, turning into my driveway with careful precision. The engine cut off, leaving us in sudden silence broken only by the low purr of Xavier’s bike as he pulled in behind us. For a moment, I stayed exactly as I was, arms wrapped around Milo, my cheek pressed against his back, reluctant to let go of the connection, the sensation.
“This your place?” Milo asked, his voice vibrating through his back and into my chest.
“Yep, home sweet home. It isn’t much but—”
