Francesca nodded, but there was no denying the immediate wariness in her expression. She didn’t glance his way, but focused on the bike. “Long time ago, yeah. Not usually on back though. I may not be a great passenger.”
Her words struck him a little oddly, but Ryker didn’t have time to puzzle out why. He didn’t know how long the man on the sailboat would be there, and if he was someone who remembered him from his old life…
“You up for a ride?”
“Sure,” Francesca said, easily enough. Had he imagined her reticence before? He didn’t think so, but now she appeared content as she pushed the old bicycle back into the shed. She leaned the first one against the wall, then moved out of Ryker’s way as he pushed the second one in. For a moment, they stood in the shadows of the small shed, the two of them too big for the space. Before he could capitalize on the opportunity, however, Francesca ducked around him and stepped into the sunshine, strolling away with deceptive casualness.
Had he made her nervous by standing too close to her? Yesterday she’d seemed completely at ease with him…then again, yesterday she’d been cast in caretaker mode because of his memory flares. He wasn’t in pain today, and he didn’t need her help.
Not yet anyway.
Silently, Ryker shut the shed doors, then returned to the bike. Though he needed Francesca for what he planned next, he didn’t like the idea of her thinking that she was some kind of babysitter. Because that’s certainly not how he saw her. And he’d much rather imagine her viewing him like a man, not a charity case.
One thing at a time, though.
“Wonder when this thing was ridden last,” he said, leaning the bike away from him. He checked the tank. “Plenty of gas.”
“Kick start, so easy enough to determine.” Francesca considered him, her expression assessing. “I assume you can ride?”
He considered that. “Feels like it,” he said. Then he shot her a grin. “Wanna see?”
“I’m serious,” she laughed. “No headaches as you imagine the process to start the bike or shift gears? No anxiety?”
“Nope.” Ryker swung his leg over the bike and with a smooth motion, then braced the bike with his right foot and leg while his left foot found the kick starter with an unerring sense that it was the right move for the bike. Almost like he’d ridden it before, though nothing else on the island felt that predictable.
Sure enough, the motorbike roared to life, and he scooted forward slightly on the seat. “Can I give you a lift?”
“You sure you have your license?” Francesca teased, but re-opened the storage shed and a moment later returned with two helmets. She handed one to Ryker, ignoring his rolled eyes, then donned hers. She arced a leg over the seat, settling in behind him. “It sounds a little rough.”
“God only knows how long it’s been since it’s been ridden,” he nodded, twisting to scan the back of bike and the smoky exhaust. Everything looked more or less right and sounded more or less right, though. So he supposed he could trust it. And he didn’t want to wait another minute up on the ridge, when the man with the boat could finish his chore and leave. “Hang on tight,” he ordered.
Francesca did without complaint. She slid her long, slender arms around his waist, and locked hand and arm together. “Warn me when you—hey!”
Ryker gunned the motorbike, and Francesca’s laughter matched his as the thing took off in fits and starts, smoke blowing percussively out of the tailpipe for a few yards until the machine evened out. Then he was rolling down the street, gradually picking up speed until Francesca’s hold around his waist tightened in earnest.
“Roads are easy,” he called over his shoulder. “Not too steep.”
“Focus!” she shouted back and he grinned, then opened up the throttle a little more. This high on the ridge, the wind was strong enough to blow the sun off their skin, and he roared down the narrow access road, past the primary guest villa.
If his doctors were watching him from inside, well…let ‘em look, Ryker thought. He wasn’t doing anything wrong. He was simply a man taking a spin on a motorcycle with a pretty girl, with no particular place to go.
If he played his cards right, they wouldn’t know he was gone until he’d reached the mainland.
5
Fran allowed herself to relax a fraction as Ari proved that, amnesia or no, he could manage a motorbike that was little more than a souped-up scooter. This wasn’t anything like the muscle bikes she’d grown up with at her father’s bar, but the feel of the wind in her hair still threatened to take her back to those days. She focused hard on the rocky landscape and open sky, so different from the concrete, grease and corrugated metal that had surrounded her when she’d last heard motorcycles roaring to life.
She’d left that life behind a long time ago, that and a half-dozen others in quick succession. Those lives had served their purpose, getting her farther away from her past and helping her convince others she could do more, be more. By the time she’d entered college as an independent student on a full ride scholarship, she’d done everything she’d needed to become Francesca Simmons.
She wasn’t about to screw that up now.
The queen might trust her to babysit Ari as he struggled to find himself again—literally—but that would happen sooner or later. Probably sooner, if her sense of Ari’s progress was right. She’d spent the evening reading the documents the doctors had provided to the royal family. Ari was healthy, his mental and physical responses all in line. He wasn’t remembering who he was because he didn’t want to remember. That, coupled with his strong feelings toward protecting his family, spoke to a memory that he firmly believed would threaten those he loved most. He’d keep chipping away, though. He was too stubborn not to, from all accounts.
She straightened as they cruised around the last corner of the long road, and the rocky tree-lined hills gave way to the marina, with its white-washed buildings and cheerful boats bobbing on the now-gentle waters of the Aegean. The prettiest craft was a sailboat with a tall mast, and with a thud of panic Fran recognized Dimitri Korba half-hanging off the boat, scrubbing away.
Ari stopped the bike, and Fran leaned forward quickly. “The road keeps going around the bend.” She pointed. “Why not see where it leads?”
“Maybe,” Ari said, and he moved to get off the bike, leaving Fran no choice but to hop off first. He dropped the kickstand and headed toward Dimitri.
