“Well?”
Lewis looked forward and pulled his helmet down. I followed suit.
Then I slid my arms around his waist. His heat hit my palms through the thin fabric of his shirt. I could feel the hard ridges of his abs and noted how much broader his shoulders were now.
He was Lewis … but he wasn’t.
He wasn’tmyLewis anymore.
“Ready?” His question was slightly muffled by his helmet.
I tapped his stomach to let him know I was.
With that, the engine purred to life and Lewis kicked up the stand to take off. I loved being on the back of a bike, but it was different with him. Whereas before I got lost in the sensation of riding—it was almost like flying, taking in the scenery passing by at speed—now I felt nothing but him.
His heat, his hardness.
The vibrations of the bike between my thighs while I pressed my breasts against his strong back.
Memories flooded me.
Random moments. Like searching for him in a room, only to find him watching me with such tenderness on his expression, I could die with happiness. His hungry kisses. His loving touch. How perfect and right it felt to be naked in his arms.
The way it broke me in half to realize that for him, none of it was enough to stay with me in Ardnoch.
Less than twenty minutes later, Lewis halted the bike on a well-lit, well-maintained, tree-lined street occupied by pretty townhouses.
As soon as the engine stopped, I released my hold on him and pulled off the helmet. “Where are we?”
Lewis took off his helmet. “My place.”
Annoyance and anticipation were my friction-filled companions as I swung my leg off the bike and smoothed my dress down. When I looked up, it was to find Lewis staring hotly at my body. “Stop ogling me,” I huffed.
He smirked as he got off the bike. “If you didn’t want me to ogle you, you shouldn’t have worn that dress. Or those shoes.”
“Does that kind of talk work for you with other women? Because it seriously does nothing for me.” I slammed the helmet into his stomach and marched away from him to wait on the pavement.
Lewis locked the helmets away, grabbed my clutch, and then handed it to me before he walked past with a careful expression. He gestured to stairs that led down to a basement flat.
“Why did you bring me here?” I asked as we walked into the small apartment. It had an open-plan living and kitchen area that was smaller than my parents’ living room. A hallwayat the side of the kitchen clearly led to the bedroom and bathroom. The space was stylish but cold. He had no photos on the walls. Just generic artwork. The lack of light was depressing too. I hated this flat for him.
It was like it was a stopping point.
“How long have you been here?” I asked before he could answer my last question.
“This flat? Two years. And I brought you here because I wanted to be able to talk and actually hear you.”
In the glaring artificial light, I could see now that his sleeve tattoo was blackwork, where larger areas of black ink made for dramatic effect. Whoever his artist was, they were talented. The art was amazing.
I took a step forward, peering at it.
The short sleeve of his T-shirt hid part on his shoulder, but I could make out what looked like the bottom of a woman’s face. The branches of a graphic-style tree touched her chin as it blossomed across his biceps. The roots of the tree morphed below it into stunning roses and thistles, and embedded in the petals was half the face of a clock with roman numerals. I couldn’t make out what time it was at.
Curiosity plagued me.
Knowing Lewis, every inch of his sleeve of tattoos held meaning.
Lewis lifted his arm, seeing my perusal. “It took five three-hour sessions.”
