Her mouth falls slightly open, then she asks, “To ride?”
“Well, yeah.”
“Each of these bikes costs more than my car.”
“Do you plan on wrecking the one you ride? Is this your way of telling me you’re a shitty driver?”
She scrunches her nose and it’s adorable. “No. I’m probably better than you, but these are way too tall for me.”
I rub my chin. “Yeah, you are vertically challenged.”
She smacks my arm, laughing. “True. Plus, I’m more of a cruiser girl, like my Bonneville.”
“Well, if you’re willing, you can be my backpack.” I switch from the Arch, since it doesn’t have a passenger seat, to the Ducati.
“I don’t know. I like in being charge—”
“I’m well aware.” I look at her mouth, recalling the night on the train. Her demands were hot as sin.
“I was going to say on a motorcycle. But it’s true, I like being in charge…unless the other person actually knows how to do it.”
My gaze falls to her mouth. “I do.”
She licks her lips and parrots my earlier words, “I’m well aware.”
We are close. Bridging the distance would be so easy.
But the fallout would be the opposite.
I force myself to step back instead, shoving my hands in my pockets before I do something stupid. “We can stop for roadside burgers I found while exploring the perfect riding road.”
“Okay. Give me ten minutes to change.”
She runs inside the house and is back in under five minutes. I barely even had time to regret my suggestion. Why had I thought that having Ivy pressed up against me would be a good idea? Too late now.
Handing her Lillianna’s jacket and helmet, I get on the Ducati and flip up the visor of my full-face helmet. “Hop on.”
I see the hesitation in her eyes as she takes in the small passenger seat. And for a moment, I think she’ll back out. Partof me hopes she will. Having her pressed against me for the next hour or so isn’t the smartest move I’ve made today.
Then she swings her leg over the bike and settles behind me, her thighs bracketing mine. Her hands hover awkwardly at my sides.
“You’ll want to hold on,” I say, my voice rough even to my ears.
Her arms slide around my waist, her body molding against my back as I press the ignition. The Ducati purrs to life with its signature growl, more felt than heard. The engine’s vibration travels through both of us and her grip tightens.
Bad idea or not, there’s no backing out now. I’m taking Ivy West on a ride that could lead us anywhere. And the most dangerous part has nothing to do with the motorcycle.
Chapter Twelve
Ivy
We pull out of the garage and down the long driveway of Thorne’s estate. Once we reach the main street and he accelerates, that rush of exhilaration that only comes with being on a bike fills me as we race through the streets. It isn’t the same as when I roll on the throttle, but hanging on for this ride does have its advantages. Sure, I’d seen most of his body on the train and when we swim in the mornings, but touching him again is a separate thrill from the winding road we are traversing.
He takes a sharp curve and the muscles in his back shift slightly as he leans. His shoulders are broad and solid beneath my hands. The late afternoon sun bathes everything in a honey-gold glow, transforming ordinary fields into something magical. I breathe deeply, filling my lungs with air that tastes of fresh-cut grass and honeysuckle. A hint of earthy dampness from recent rain mingles with the warm sweetness that can only be Kentucky in early summer, when everything is vibrant and alive with possibility.
I grew up with air like this, land like this. Before Mom left and Dad moved us to New York. Before law school and partnership tracks and forgetting what it felt like to see stars at night.
And for the first time since arriving in Kentucky, I feel truly free. The tension of the environmental crisis, Madison’s blackmail, and the complicated family dynamics fall away with each mile we cover. There is the road, the wind, and Thorne’s solid presence guiding us through the Anchorage suburb to the countryside.
