“Don’t use one.”
I frown. “That’s not fair.”
“Not about fair.” He throws a leg over the motorcycle, and sweet Jesus, the sight of him straddling that machine scrambles my brain. His jeans pull tight across his thighs. His arms bunch as he grips the handlebars. “I’m protecting you. That’s my job now.And I’m not just keeping Viktor away. I’m keeping your brain intact.”
“And yours doesn’t need protecting?”
“Skull’s too thick.” He taps the side of his head. “Get on.”
Nerves flutter in my stomach, but I approach the bike anyway. I put one hand on his shoulder for balance, feel the heat of him through his shirt, and swing my leg over the trunk box.
Oh.
Oh, this is...
My thighs bracket his hips. My chest presses against his broad back. My arms snake around his waist, and I can feel his abs through the thin cotton of his shirt. Rock solid. Warm.
Every point of contact between our bodies lights up like a live wire.
The engine roars to life. The vibration travels through the seat, through my body, settling somewhere dangerous. I tighten my grip on him.
“Hold on,” he shouts over the noise.
As if I’d ever let go.
We pull out of his neighborhood slowly, but once we hit the open road, he twists the throttle. The bike surges forward. My stomach drops, then soars. Wind whips around my face, blocked by the visor but catching the ends of my hair. The desert blurs past us in streaks of gold and brown.
I’m grinning so hard my cheeks hurt.
This is freedom. Pure, uncomplicated freedom. No Viktor. No fear. No looking over my shoulder. Just the rumble of the engine beneath me and Matteo’s solid body in front of me and the endless road ahead.
When he leans into a turn, I follow, moving with him like we’re connected. The bike tilts, and my stomach flips, but I’m not scared.
I press my helmet against his back and just... feel.
We ride until the sun dips low on the horizon, painting everything gold and pink. By the time we turn back toward his house, my body is stiff from holding on, my thighs aching from the vibrations.
But I’m smiling so hard my face hurts.
Matteo parks in the garage and cuts the engine. The sudden silence is jarring. He helps me off the bike, his hands steadying me when my legs wobble.
“You good?” he asks, pulling the helmet off my head.
“That was amazing.” I can’t stop grinning. “I had no idea it would be that fun.”
His mouth curves barely. But it’s there.
He flips an empty bucket upside down and gestures for me to sit. I do, rolling my neck to work out the kinks, and he moves to one of the other bikes.
“I’m gonna work on this for a bit,” he grabs a wrench. “You hungry?”
“Starving.”
“Want to order us a pizza?”
“Sounds good. Sausage and pepperoni?”
He nods without looking up.
