“The helmet’s not the problem.”
“Then what’s the problem?”
The fact that I’ll be pressed up against you, my arms wrapped around your waist while I relinquish all control to you.
“The motorcycle,” I respond carefully. “It’s dangerous.”
“The bike, huh,” he drawls. “You sure about that?”
“I’m sure,” I say stiffly. “The chances of surviving a motorcycle accident are...”
The light touch of Justin’s fingers cupping my elbow causes the rest of my sentence to trail off. “Trust me,” he says in a low, deep voice, his hazel eyes holding mine. “I’ll keep you safe.”
My heart is beating too fast in my chest. It’s not my physical safety I’m worried about.
I tug my elbow out of his grasp and hold out my hand for the helmet. With a half-smile, he swats my hand away. My pulse climbs as he leans in close to fit the helmet onto my head, adjusting the strap so he can clip it snugly under my chin, his knuckles skimming my jawline.
I stare fixedly at the tanned column of his throat as he tucks flyaway strands of my hair under the helmet lining. I find myself unwillingly captivated, my nerve endings humming with anticipation, my stomach feeling all fluttery.
Then I glance up at Justin’s face. It’s amused, as though he’s entertained by the effect he’s having on me, as though females becoming all flushed and foolish in his presence happens all the time.
I take a step back, struggling to regain my composure, calling myself all sorts of names in my head. None of them complimentary.
“You’re toying with me,” I accuse when I finally trust myself to speak.
“No, I’m playing with you.”
“It’s the same thing.”
“That suspicious mind of yours is working overtime. Give it a rest.” He hands me his jacket. “Put this on. It’ll give you some protection in the event of an accident.”
“What about you?”
“My skin’s not as pretty as yours.”
“But—”
“You’re on my bike, therefore you’re my responsibility. Put the jacket on.”
I slip it on over my blouse, pushing the sleeves back. “What about my handbag?”
“Leave it in your car. We’ll come back for it later.” When I return, he gestures to his bike. “You ever been on one of these before?”
I stare at the bike’s gleaming lines, the chromed exhaust pipe jutting out the back, thick tires bursting to go. The entire machine is designed for speed, and my whole life is about taking it slow. “No, I haven’t.”
I can feel him studying me. “Ready to try something new?”
“Yes,” I hear myself say.
He grins approvingly and gives my helmet a playful tap. “Ground rules. Keep your body in line with mine. Don’t put your feet anywhere except on the foot rests. Tap my shoulder if you need me to stop. You got all that?”
“That’s a lot of rules.”
“You should be right at home then.” He sits astride the bike and gestures for me to get on.
“Where are we going?”
“For a ride.”
