“I…” Chelsea blinked behind her glasses. She was careful to keep her face turned away from the men who had delivered the bikes. Not that they looked like the kind of blokes to follow the news, but still… “I thought I’d just…ride with you. If that’s okay?”
Zoelner’s Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat, and his chest expanded to twice its usual size. “I thought maybe after what I did in Morrison’s office that you…” He trailed off. Christian watched him search Chelsea’s eyes before firming his jaw and finishing with “Let’s go, then.”
Those two are the absolute worst, Christian thought.
Everyone could tell they were barmy about each other. But, for whatever reason, they refused to see it or acknowledge it for themselves. Pathetic. And annoying. And…whatever. He had his own pesky, misplaced lust to deal with.
Grabbing the remaining motorbike, he opened the seat to reveal the storage compartment inside. After shoving in his rucksack, he mounted up and rocked the steel beast off its kickstand. It felt heavy and cumbersome.
Turning the key, he listened to the massive engine purr to life. Then he tugged on the helmet that had been dangling from the handlebars. To his surprise, Emily swung her leg over the seat, scooting in close behind him.
He stiffened at the feel of her warmth seeping through his leather and wool-lined coat. Swallowing, he turned to find her slipping on the extra helmet that had been strapped to the back of the seat.
“Okay if I ride with you?” she asked.
For the first time ever, he saw uncertainty in her eyes, heard trepidation in her voice. Emily put on a good front, but she wasn’t as confident and unflappable as she would have them all believe.
Given her closeness, given that look in her eyes, he could do nothing but nod. When he did, he saw relief flash across her face before she flipped down her visor. Then…the most amazing thing happened. Her thighs squeezed his hips, and her arms went around his waist.
Okay, so perhaps there’s something to this motorbike thing after all.
Chapter 8
Dover, England
Lloyd and Harry fromDumb and Dumber…
That’s how Chelsea expected to look by the time she and Dagan exited the highway toward Dover. But with Dagan in front of her blocking the wind, and with his blast-furnace body heat radiating against the length of her, instead of being chilled to the bone, she was all warm and tingly.Morethan warm and tingly. She was on fire.
So, not Lloyd and Harry fromDumb and Dumber,more like Frodo and Sam on Mount Doom right before the Eagles saved them.
Then again, maybe all that heat had something to do with her having just spent the last sixty minutes plastered around Dagan like human Saran Wrap while he maneuvered the sleek Ducati in a marvel of easy agility and fluid strength. Or maybe it was the memory of that kiss that had kept her toasty warm.
Talk about hot. Lord have mercy!
Never before had Chelsea experienced such a toe-curling, head-spinning lip-lock. He had mad skills. Unbelievable oral gymnastic skills.
No doubt perfected over many years and with many women. Ugh.
Normally, she would insist she didn’t have a jealous bone in her body. But when it came to Dagan? Yup. She was pretty sure she had two hundred and six of them.
It didn’t help that after he kissed her, he’d pulled away with a look of utter horror contorting his face. It had hurt. Itstillhurt. That look coming so close on the heels of the best moment of her life. And all she could think was…why?
Why did he kiss me? And then why was he immediately horrified by it?
She wasn’t a bad kisser. She’d been assured of that by her high school boyfriend who had once told her she had the mouth of an angel, all soft and sweet and eager to please. Then again, she’d been so shocked by the fact that Dagan had been kissing her that she hadn’t had the time to really bring her A game, so maybe—
“Almost there!” Dagan turned to her when they stopped at an intersection. He yelled to be heard over the purr of the Ducati’s engine. “You okay?”
No!Chelsea wanted to holler back.I’m not okay! I won’t be okay until you explain what the heck happened in Morrison’s office!
But she proved she was a chickenhearted cur when she simply dipped her chin, the weight of the motorcycle helmet pressing the earpieces of her glasses into the sides of her skull.
Dagan nodded and turned back to the road, throttling up and making his way down the winding lane that ran through the center of the seaside town. Dover was perched beside vast, chalky cliffs, and brick four-flat houses nestled next to their whitewashed counterparts zoomed by on either side of the bikers. Locals turned their heads, curiously watching the trio of high-end motorcycles making their way toward the docks.
Chelsea breathed deeply of salt-tinged air. Having been born and raised on the coast of South Carolina, she’d always been partial to the sea. To the changing tides, the beauty of a sunrise over open water, and the inherent spark of danger that lurked just below the surface.
Once, a long time ago, she had said something to that effect to her mother. Grace had smiled gently, shaken her head, and accused Chelsea of being a romantic. “Just like your father,” Grace had added, a wistful gleam in her eye.
