I chose to ignore that as I stared at the bike. “I’ve never ridden a motorcycle before.”
His smirk finally appeared with dimples. A genuine smile at my freaking fear. “I like knowing I’ll be your first. Let’s go for a ride.”
“Jameson … I don’t think so.”
“Put your helmet on, Mia.”
“It might be better for me to catch a ride with Archer, or Hades, or is your brother going? I’m happy to take an SUV with them. Could he pick me up?”
He positioned the sleek black helmet over my head and curls. Luckily, they were natural and wouldn’t flatten completely even as he firmly slid it onto my skull. He hooked his arm around me and yanked me toward him, then so he was close enough to secure the buckle under my chin and test how snug it was on my head. “You’ll be fine, baby. I got you.”
That calmed my nerves a little, but I was still leery. Itmay seem odd, but this might scare me more than what I’d been through the night before. Motorcycles were death traps. Everyone knew that. “I’d still feel better going with your brother in the SUV.”
Jameson’s eyes flashed as he walked over to that menacing-looking machine and threw his leg over it so fluidly that my mouth watered. Motorcycles might be death traps, but I might also be a simple woman. Him sitting there with his tats out and his helmet on, only his eyes glaring at me, did things to my ovaries.
“Get on the bike, Mia.”
The command was delivered with enough authority that I knew I wasn’t getting my way. I slid on to it slowly. I tried not to press my body up to him, but within a second, he’d gripped my wrists and placed them on his stomach before grabbing my thighs and pulling me close, so close I felt every one of his back muscles ripple against my chest.
Then he turned and murmured, “Hold on, baby.”
The garage door lifted and he kickstarted the machine, revving the throttle before we launched into the evening sunset.
He didn’t go fast or take any sharp turns. Instead, he cruised down his winding drive, letting the wind brush through my hair almost like a caress. I heard the chirping birds mixed with the rumble of his engine as we drove through the tree-lined streets of Paradise Grove. And the Ducati purred within the luxury of the town like it belonged, so smooth and sleek yet black and built like a threat, humming with power and silence and control.
Jameson was like the bike he owned. He didn’t speak. Just rode. In silence, in control, in power.
All I could do was hold on to the man who wasn’t supposed to mean anything. To the man driving straight into a syndicate meeting like he owned the damn night.
We cut to the main road, and that’s where more rumbles of engines met us. More men. And we all headed toward what I knew to be the town hall. Where the government was supposed to uphold the law.
Yet, on the side of that building, a garage door raised and as it did, the floor inside opened too. Jameson revved his engine and drove right down into it, straight into a secret tunnel with brick roads that led to parking and sliding glass doors.
This must be where the laws were truly made.
We parked beside a matte black McLaren that had two men standing next to it, one of whom I knew was Callahan. They were smoking cigars while another woman almost half their size stood there glaring at them both.
Jameson killed the engine, and Callahan smiled over at us both. “Look who finally decided to bring her.” His eyes danced with much more mirth than I usually saw in them as he looked toward me.
“So, she with you now?” the guy next to Callahan asked. His gaze was casual enough, but I saw how he assessed every movement I made.
“She’s notwithme. She’smine.”
And just like that, the temperature changed. The air stilled and chilled me to the bone. The men stopped smirking.
We weren’t there as a couple. I knew that. He hadn’t promised me anything.
We were walking into a world where us screwing around didn’t matter. My feelings for him didn’t matter either … only his ownership of me did.
Ownership of everything was apparent throughout the event too. We walked through brick hallways, and I stayed quiet, taking it all in. Jameson didn’t need to introduce me because everyone already knew who I was.
His.
Mia
ALTHOUGH WE WERE UNDERGROUND, the ceilings were still high and the hallways were filled with art I was sure was expensive and original. A couple standing in front of one oak-framed portrait whispered something about Monet, confirming I was in the presence of elite society.
Cigars were being smoked, glasses clinked, and meetings were being had in rooms we passed.
