Oh yes.
Especially when he shrugs into Sean’s leather jacket. It fits him obscenely well, drawing attention to his broad shoulders and forearms flexing.
“Don’t tell me you used to be a daredevil,” I tease, zipping mine against the chill.
His eyes flash. “Why don’t I show you?”
I try to hide how nervous I am as I climb on behind him, carefully swinging my injured leg over, my arms circling his waist.
“Hold on.”
The engine growls, and we shoot down the coastal road—wind ripping through my hair, salt air sharp on my lips. Streetlights and sea blur, golden smears against black.
I bury my face against his back, breathless with laughter and adrenaline.
We take the long way home—past the harbour, along the sleeping beachfront, then through the narrow Whitstable streets, Brandon manoeuvring the heavy bike with ease.
When we finally pull up outside the cottage, my legs are unsteady as I climb off. Brandon removes his helmet, hair mussed, eyes burning like he already knows every thought in my head.
We barely make it three steps towards the door before he stops, cups my face, and kisses me again—backing me against the wall, the cool night air clashing with the heat of him.
We shed our jackets, and he tries to unlock the door without breaking the kiss.
He fumbles the key, cursing as they fall, and I laugh, fingers curling into his shirt, dizzy and happy as he stoops to pick them up.
He straightens and whispers in my ear, “God, I can’t think when you’re this close.”
A giggle escapes me, and it incites him, because he spins me around and pins me to the door, my back meeting cool wood as his lips press against my neck, hands exploring me, pulling me as close to him as he can.
We’re lost in the kiss, trying to find the handle—then it turns, and we stumble inside the hallway, laughing, clinging to each other for balance.
“Bedroom,” Brandon rasps, and I lead the way, aware of the heat of his gaze searing a path down my spine as he follows, my metallic skirt fluttering with every step to tempt him.
We cross the threshold into the bedroom, and suddenly, the frenzy from the hallway dissolves.
I stand in the middle of the room, nervousness prickling my skin as I turn to face him, slowly, my breath straining. The anticipation that’s been building all night crystallises into something sharper, more real, the butterflies that were fluttering in my belly now scattering.
Brandon stands in the doorway, eyes burning into mine with an intensity that roots me to the spot. He doesn’t blink. Doesn’t look away. His gaze holds me captive as he reaches back and shuts the door with a soft click.
The lock turns.
The sound echoes in the quiet room.
He moves towards me—not rushed but purposeful, like he’s savouring every step that brings him closer.
My heart hammers against my ribs.
When he reaches me, he lifts one hand to my face, fingers trailing along my jaw with aching slowness. His thumb brushes my lower lip, and I tremble.
“You’re stunning,” he says, low and appreciative, like he still can’t believe I’m here with him.
Heat floods through me. I reach for the top button of his dark shirt, fingers fumbling slightly. He covers my hand with his, kissing each of them in turn, before he helps work the buttons free. I part the fabric, revealing a broad chest with warm skin.
I push the shirt from his shoulders and let it fall.
“Turn around,” he murmurs, and I obey, feeling his hands thread through my hair before finding the zipper of my dress. He draws it downslowly, the metallic grey fabric loosening around me. His knuckles graze my spine, and goose bumps rise in their wake.
His breath is warm against the nape of my neck. “I think…I’m developing a thing for zippers.”
