I arch an eyebrow, leaning in a touch and letting the teasing lilt in my voice do all the heavy lifting. “You think you’re ready for that kind of trouble?”
His grin turns dangerous. When those blue eyes flare with that wild, irresistible spark, it’s the kind of look that promises everything I should probably stay the hell away from. It’s impossible not to want it when every inch of me is screamingyes.
“Oh, I’m more than ready,” he says, his voice rough around the edges. “Question is, can you keep up?”
I tilt my head, casual, like this is just another challenge I’m about to dominate. His gaze doesn’t move, not even a blink, and the air between us practically crackles. This tension could set fire to the entire block if we’re not careful.
Then he moves, reaching for my brand-new helmet with a confidence that screams he’s in control of every second. He holds it out, his smirk practically daring me. “Ready to ride, monster?”
I take the helmet from his hands, our fingers brushing in a way that sends a jolt of electricity straight through me. His touch lingers, but just for a second. “Born ready,” I say as I slip the helmet on.
He leads me out to his motorcycle, and it really is a thing of beauty. A sleek black beast that looks like it eats lesser bikes for breakfast. The late morning sun hits the polished chrome, making it glint like something straight out of a dream.
Callan swings his leg over with thateffortless confidence that’s sohim. The engine roars to life, deep and satisfying, rumbling through the air like it’s alive and daring the world to keep up.
I hesitate for half a second, taking in the man, the bike, the moment. Then, without overthinking it, I climb on behind him. The second I press against him, the heat from his back seeps through the leather, and everything clicks into place. The strength of his presence is undeniable, and it’s like my body justknowsthis is where I’m supposed to be. A perfect fit.
My arms naturally lock around his waist, and I can’t help but dig my fingers into the worn leather of his jacket. The movement pulls me closer to him, and for just a split second, the muscles under his jacket flex slightly, like he’s subconsciously reacting to my touch.
I lean in close, yelling over the roar of the engine. “Where are we going?”
He turns his head enough for his voice to carry over the noise. “My favorite spot!”
Without another word, he guns the throttle, and the bike surges forward like it has a mind of its own. The rush of wind hits me instantly, cool and exhilarating. Everything around us speeds up, the world blurring in the best possible way. It’s like the air, the ground, and the whole damn world is moving with us. Alive, and maybe just a little bit reckless.
I smile against his back, the thrill of the ride pulsing through me. Every turn he takes, every shift in speed, sends his muscles flexing under my grip. I hold on tighter, not just for balance, but because there’s something magnetic about being this close to him. It makes my pulse race faster than the bike beneath us. It’s not just from the ride anymore. It’shim.
It’s different this time. The sun shines down on us, casting everything in that golden light that makes the world seem like it’s in slow motion. The landscape blurs past in a sweep ofgreen fields, flashes of wildflowers, and the smooth curve of the road, but none of it really holds my attention like he does.
We roll to a stop, and for a moment, I’m completely disoriented. How long have we been riding? Ten minutes? An hour? Time slips through my fingers, the blur of the scenery and the calming scent of Callan filling the air like some kind of irresistible, distracting cologne.
I can’t stop noticing it. I’m torn between wanting to inhale it like it’s the world’s greatest perfume and trying to ignore the fact that it’s making my pulse quicken. Not that I’d ever admit that.
Nope. Definitely not.
I’m doing my best to shut down the mental gymnastics because I really just want to enjoy today.
As I climb off the bike and take in our surroundings, I realize I’ve been here before. I remember how stunning it was the last time, the air thick with fall’s chill, everything draped in the cool shadows of midnight, silvered by the moon. This time, in the daylight, with spring starting to paint the world with color, it’s like stepping into a whole new place. A different kind of magic entirely.
The air is crisp, sharp with that earthy scent only spring can bring, the smell of life waking up from its long winter nap. Everything’s so still and quiet, but it’s the kind that feels alive.
Sunlight spills over everything, filtering through the scattered clouds. It catches the rolling hills, casting shadows that shift as if the land is breathing in time with the wind. And the snow stubbornly clings to the hillsides in patches, like winter’s refusing to let go, unwilling to admit defeat.
And then there’s the lake. It’s like a scene from a postcard. Timeless, untouched, and impossibly calm. The surface sparkles, glinting in the sunlight, so impossibly smooth and clear it feels like stepping into another world.
I take a deep breath, letting the brisk air fill my lungs. “I could sit here forever and never get tired of this view.”
Callan dismounts in one smooth, practiced motion, pulling off his helmet with that easy confidence of his. Before I can shift, he’s in front of me, his presence like a magnet I can’t escape. His hands are strong but careful as he reaches up to remove my helmet, cradling my head like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
“You see why I come here often, aye?”
That damn accent of his makes even the simplest words sound like poetry. I could listen to him say the dumbest thing in the world and still get lost in it.
I glance at him, ready to answer, but then I catch sight of how he’s standing, tall and broad-shouldered, looking out at the horizon like he owns the whole world. For a second, the view doesn’t register. It’s just him, standing there, that steals my attention. Watching him is like its own kind of magic, pulling me in, making everything else fade away.
It should be strange, right? This big, leather-clad guy just standing still in the middle of all this nature, like he’s part of it, not some intruder just passing through. But with Callan, it’s not strange at all. It just…fits.
I reach for his hand, craving that little bit of contact like it’s the air I need to breathe.
