“Why did you really volunteer to help? I mean, a hugging charity isn't exactly...” She gestures at me. "On brand for a motorcycle club.”
I set down my fork and hold her gaze.
“You walked into a room full of bikers and pitched a hugging event. That took guts.”
“Um… it meant I thought I was pitching to a different crowd. My mistake.”
“You could have left. You didn't.” I lean back. “I respect that.” Her cheeks flush.
“Well. Thank you. For all of this. The partnership, the dinner, the...” She trails off, suddenly shy. “It means a lot. More than you know.”
She reaches across the table and lays her hand over mine.
Her fingers are small and warm. The touch is light, almost tentative, but it burns through me. I should pull away and keep this all professional. Instead, I turn my hand over and let my fingers curl around hers.
“You're welcome,” I say.
Her breath catches, and those flame-bright blue eyes go wide.
I am in so much fucking trouble.
Chapter Five
KARINA
His bike is parked outside Casputo's when we leave, gleaming black and chrome under the streetlight.
“Where did that come from?” I ask.
“Had it dropped off. You up for it, cupcake?” He pulls a helmet from the saddlebag and holds it out to me.
I nod, but I've never been on a motorcycle before.
Clay gives me the helmet and watches as I fumble with the chin strap. His fingers brush mine when he reaches over to adjust it, and my skin tingles at the contact.
“Hold on tight,” he says. “Lean when I lean. Don't fight it.”
“What if I fall off?”
His mouth curves. It’s not quite a smile, but close. “You won't. I've got you.”
He swings onto the bike like he was born on it, all coiled power and easy confidence. The machine rumbles to life beneath him, a low growl that vibrates through the air. He looks back at me, waiting.
I climb on behind him.
I have to press myself against his back to reach around his waist. My thighs bracket his hips. The leather of his cut is smooth under my cheek, and beneath it, the heat of his body,the hard planes of muscle. He has a fresh cedar cologne with a darker undercurrent that makes me want to lean in and sniff his neck.
“Tighter,” he orders.
I squeeze harder, my arms locked around his stomach, my hands close to his rock-hard abs. I'm pressed so close that every breath pushes my breasts against his back.
I can’t make up my mind whether this was a terrible or a wonderful idea. Then he pulls out of the parking space, and I stop thinking entirely.
The world blurs. Wind whips past us, tugging at my clothes, and the bike hums beneath me as if it’s alive. We take a turn, and I lean with him instinctively, my body following his. It's terrifying and exhilarating at the same time; I want to laugh and maybe scream a little. I could stay on this bike forever with my arms around him and the cool night air rushing past.
By the time we pull up to my apartment, I'm breathless and buzzing. Every nerve ending feels alive, and I'm hyperaware of every place our bodies touch.
Clay cuts the engine. The sudden silence is deafening.
