Let them.
The cold air outside hits her and she shivers hard, face tucking instinctively toward my chest.
I keep walking until we’re at my bike.
I set her down carefully, hands steady. She wobbles, and I catch her again without thinking.
“Easy,” I murmur.
Her eyes lift to mine. Hazel, wide, shining.
“Are you…” Her voice breaks. “Are you the one Derek—”
“Yeah,” I say. “I’m the one.”
She swallows, throat working. “Thank you.”
I don’t answer that.
Because I didn’t come for thanks.
I pull my helmet off the bike and hold it out.
“Put it on,” I tell her.
Her hands shake as she lifts the helmet. I step in and fasten the strap, my fingers brushing the line of her jaw. She stills at the contact, then exhales.
I shrug out of my cut.
Her eyes flick to the patch before she can stop herself.
I settle the leather over her shoulders. It hangs heavy on her, swallowing the dress, hiding more than it shows.
“What are you doing?” she whispers.
“Making sure nobody looks at you like that again,” I say.
I swing onto the bike and steady it with both boots planted.
“Get on.”
She hesitates a second.
I turn slightly, reach back, and find her waist. “Foot on the peg. Swing over.”
She does, careful and unsure. Her thigh brushes my back as she climbs on and settles behind me.
“Hold on.”
Her hands hover before sliding around my waist, light at first.
She presses closer.
Careful.
Then tighter.
Good girl.
