Ever the gentleman, I open her door and hold it for her. “It was all in my evil plan to get you to speak to me.”
That has her cracking a cynical smile as she takes her seat. “You’re not that intuitive.”
Balking at her miscalculation with a boastful scoff, I sling my retort. “Proof says otherwise. It’s working.” Then I shut her inside and round the hood.
Without missing a beat, she carries on our conversation as soon as I jump in the driver’s seat. “And yet you ruined it, like always.” She shakes her head, exasperated. “You open your mouth, so I shut mine.”
Hmm. A challenge. I bet I can keep her mouth open. Yes, with my dick, but that’s not the method I was thinking about now. Okay, fine, not theonlymethod I was thinking about.
Pulling out onto the road, I shift lanes and gift her with one of my knowing smirks. “I see what this is. You’re pouting because I haven’t picked you up on Tessa yet.”
Her brows furrow before she taps my Americano in the cupholder. “That didn’t make any sense. Are you having a stroke, or do you need more caffeine?”
“It made perfect sense.” I lift the cup and draw out my words by taking a hefty sip and watching the road intently. “You like motorcycles, don’t you? I saw you eyeing her the other day.”
“I do.” There’s a hint of amusement lacing her tone, and it has me on the edge of my seat, wondering if she’ll grace me with a chuckle at some point. “I’d actually love to have your mouth muzzled with a helmet. But that’s not what you said. You said you hadn’t picked me up on Tessa yet.”
“Right.” I nod and return my coffee to the cupholder, my eyes flitting between the traffic and the rearview mirror as I change lanes. “Tessa is my bike’s name.”
“Are you fucking kidding me?” she roars, indignant. “You named your bike after me?”
That reaction was even better than I’d hoped. I wish I’d recorded it.
“All righty then. Someone’s self-absorbed.” I pull my chin back as though I’m floored she could be so narcissistic. “Tessa isnotnamed afteryou. It’s just a coincidence.”
“A coincidence?” Her silver hair is down in large, soft curls today, and the thick strands fly around her from the force at which she whips her head toward me.
“Yep.” I glance at her with a serious-as-my-spank-your-ass-threat expression. “Ask anyone. I’ve been talking about how hard and fast I ride Tessa for years.”
“Oh my God.” Her hand comes up to her mouth, and she turns her head, determined to refuse me the laughter I’m salivating for. “You’re fucking with me. That bike is a year old.”
She knows motorcycles. I’m not surprised because she also loves cars, and I thought I saw her eyes light up at the sight of my MV Agusta the other day.
“That’s true. She’s young. A virgin when I got her,” I concede and adopt my most stoic, nostalgic air as we stop at a red light. “But she comes from a long line of Tessas that I’ve owned. Tessa’s grandmother was a wild one. I rode her until she was fucking sputtering. The old broad begged me to take her one more time. Well … they usually do.”
And then it happens. She doesn’t just laugh. She cackles. Her head falling back against the seat, eyes creasing. It’s unexpected and melodic and a bit husky. A burst of mirth that fills my car with an overwhelming shower of joy.
I want more. Need more. What the hell is going on with me? I’m one step away from burying my face in her hair and taking a whiff.
Shaking that off, I drive the next half mile to La Lune Noire in silence, but before the quietude has a chance to grow thick, I check myself and keep our teasing going. “See? Sometimes, you like it when I open my mouth.”
She bites her bottom lip, composing herself. “Rarely. But that was funny.” She pauses. It’s laden, so I let her have the space to formulate her thoughts as I pull into our private garage and park. She unbuckles and shifts toward me in her seat instead of getting out. “Are you going to tell me what this is about? Why, after more than two years, you’ve suddenly decided to escort me everywhere and watch my every move?”
She came armed today. A take-no-prisoners outfit, laughter, and gentle imploring.
“I told you, it’s time we get to know each other.” That answer is partly bullshit, but that’s my problem. It should be complete bullshit.
Her doll-like features sharpen to stone. “And I told you, I don’t want that.”
I’m not sure why that spears me. I shouldn’t want that either. I loathe clinginess. I’ve designed my whole life to evade that getting-to-know-someone intimacy most people long for. That shit leads to soot.
I only told her we should get to know each other to hide why I needed to escort her. So, what the fuck is my problem? I’m just stressed—that’s all. Or it’s because she asked me the last thing I’d expected when she inquired about my role with the staff. And I found myself telling her about my mom, someone I rarely talk about, and I was eager to share more. That’s a first.
We are entering dangerous territory. I should clear this all up right now by telling her the truth so we could both breathe easier in each other’s presence.
But as much as I crave her beautiful laughter and wish she were more interested in knowing me, I’d rather have her hate me than let her be scared. And I don’t have any idea what we’re dealing with yet.
“Then let me reiterate my response.” I unfasten my seat belt and lean over the center console until our lips are merely inches apart as I grip her chin. “That’s not a fucking option. You’re stuck with me.”
