“Settle in right behind me.” He starts the bike and the ferocious rumble of the engine startles me into the seat. My knees brushing his hips, I try to scoot back. Keep a respectable distance between us.
Declan reaches behind him, clamping one big hand around my leg right above my knee. A shiver races straight through me. His touch is rough but protective. “You need to be much closer, sweetheart.”
Sweetheart?
I slide down.
“Closer.” He twists the throttle, almost drowning out his instructions. He glances over his shoulder, his jaw clenched tight. “I’ve got you, Emery. Just hold onto me.”
He circles his fingers around my wrist and pulls my arm around, pressing my palm against his stomach.
His hard, flat stomach.
“Uh, this feels kind of…intimate!” I shout.
His muscles ripple under my touch and laughter flows below the engine’s snarl.
“You’re the first passenger I’ve had in a long time.”
What’s that supposed to mean?
Before I expend too many brain cells figuring it out, the bike jerks forward, then takes off. The engine rumbles violently beneath me, vibrating through every cell of my body. My free arm hovers over my leg.
“Both arms around me!” he commands.
I slide my other hand around his middle and beneath his leather jacket. He’s solid under my hands, heat and muscle.
Momentum carries me forward—or maybe I propel myself closer—until I’m snuggled up against his back. I angle my head, hoping I won’t hit him with the helmet.
“Where’s your helmet?” I shout.
“You’re wearing it!”
The fog swallows everything in the parking lot as the bike rumbles forward. The headlight carves a path of visibility only a few feet ahead of us before dissolving into the mist.
He slows but doesn’t stop at the end of the parking lot and turns right onto a side street. My whole world narrows to the rumble underneath me and the solid body in front of me.
A completely inappropriate wave of heat spreads through me. It’s just fear. Fear’s an aphrodisiac, right?
So are tall, grumpy, muscled men rescuing you from unknown danger.
Maybe it’s just from our bodies being pressed together. As Wren so charmingly reminded me this morning it’s been a while since I “frolicked” with a man. Being so close to such a fine specimen and sharing something so intimate as a tiny motorcycle seat must be responsible for the low throb between my legs.
He guides the bike through the fog, taking back roads I haven’t explored yet. The air cools and some of the fog clears.
The bike dips and I curl my fingers into Declan’s jacket as we fly down a long hill. The fog parts, revealing an impressive stone wall with tall iron gates looming ahead of us.
“What is that?” I yell over the constant roar of the wind rushing against us.
Instead of answering, he twists the throttle harder. I yelp and clench my fists in his shirt. Slowly the gates part as if welcoming us inside. I’m too scared to turn around but the low screech and clink of metal behind us suggests the gates closed.
The motorcycle’s growl deepens as Declan downshifts onto a narrow driveway choked with fallen leaves and scarred by potholes.
Small lights, almost smothered by overgrown trees and shrubs, dot the narrow black road. The scent of pine and damp earth envelops me. Blackness stretches ahead. Through the thick trees, something dark glistens. Are we headed toward the river?
Declan gently steers the bike to the left. From the skeletal embrace of the forest, a large house…or mansion emerges. At least three stories of dark stone, ornate gables jutting toward the sky, and what looks like a round tower with arched windows.
He stops in front of a set of stone steps leading to two massive wooden doors covered with an iron gate shaped like ivy. I stare, mouth open, at the house…mansion…castle? The dark stone is stained black in places from years of rain and probably neglect.
