Seeing him here, looking so unshakably confident yet somehow vulnerable, throws me off balance.
“Get on the bike, Isabella.”
His hand brushes the helmet dangling from the handlebars, but his eyes stay locked on mine. I scoff, shifting my bag on my shoulder and looking around to see who’s watching us. It was one thing when he did it at my home, but here on campus, it is even more dangerous and far too public.
“I’ve already fallen for that trick. It won’t work again.”
He retrieves the helmet from the handlebars, holds it, and saunters closer. His boots scrape against the pavement. His swagger reflects the same confidence he had the first day he walked into my classroom.
The space between us feels electric with a kind of tension that doesn’t just dissipate, it sparks and burns. But that’s the thing with fire. It grows out of control, destroying everything in its path. My heart and career.
I start to walk past him, intending to ignore the striking machine and its equally striking owner, when he captures my bag, smoothly sliding it off my body and tossing it over his shoulder.
“You know you’re curious. Maybe not about me, but about the bike. How it handles. How it feels underneath you.”
His tone is low and husky, words meant to seduce and draw out the one side of myself that always yearns to be free, especially after the two shit days I’ve had.
“I don’t have time for this, Diego. Now give me back my bag.”
His fingers brush mine. It takes everything in me not to lace them together and climb onto that sleek Italian machine. His touch trails along my sleeve, across my shoulders, until he leads me down the concrete toward the bike.
“Make time, Rossi.”
Standing in front of the bike, gleaming under the streetlights, I take a steady breath. Every instinct urges me to give in, to chase the thrill, but I have to stay strong. I can’t let that wild streak win, not this time.
“Izzy.”
That name.
It cracks something inside me, a fracture I’ve been trying to seal since Sunday.
“I won’t be your backpack.”
His arm drops from my shoulder as he slips his helmet over my head, leaving the visor up so I can glare at him.
“I know. I’m yours.”
He swings a leg over and starts the engine with a deep, beautiful rumble. With effortless ease and a dazzling smile, he shifts to the sissy seat, making his intentions clear. He adjusts my bag, ensuring it’s perfectly balanced behind him, then extends a hand, waiting. It’s all so seamless, so practiced. I’m impressed and disgusted with myself for falling for him so easily.
“Diego, people are looking.”
I glance around to prove my point, but no one’s really watching. The campus is empty, and people are caught up in their own lives, indifferent to how I spend mine. His dark eyes stay locked on mine, unconcerned and unaffected by anyone else’s opinion. It’s one of the many things I admire about him.
“I don’t see anyone but you.” He shakes his hand, insistent that I join him. “Besides, if you put the visor down, no one can see you.”
His logic is as flawed as a child closing their eyes, believing that makes them invisible. I’m torn between hating him and admiring him for it. It’s bold, relentless, and unwilling to back down, and isn’t that exactly what every woman secretly wants?
“Get on the bike, Isabella.” He pats the seat in front of him. “You’re driving this time, so it’s your choice where we go.”
“My car is here. I can’t?—”
“We’ll come back for it.”
Per his suggestion, I reluctantly lower the visor and climb on the bike. His hands are on me in seconds, helping me. It’s absurd that he’s going to backpack me. I admire the newness and wonder how long he’s had it since I didn’t see it in his garage.
My fingers glide over the smooth, pristine handlebars as the scent of leather and motor oil blends with his cologne. Intoxicating and overwhelming. I slide forward, settling into the seat, the bike’s low hum vibrating beneath me. It’s already exhilarating, and we haven’t even moved. Diego’s chest on my back makes me feel safe. His hands rest on my ribs. Not possessive, just firm and trusting.
“Take it slow at first, Izzy.”
