I did as he asked and waited patiently for him to respond.
“Is there anything else other than this?”
His voice had an edge to it, and it prickled the hairs on the nape of my neck. “No, that’s it. I chose not to respond.”
“Good. Now, I’m going to ask you a question and I need you to answer me honestly, okay?”
I swallowed hard. “You have my word.”
“Do you feel comfortable and safe at your place right now?”
I didn’t hesitate. “No.”
“All right. Then, pack an overnight bag. Pack whatever you want. I’ll be there in a few minutes to pick you up.”
I rushed to my closet. “Where are we headed?”
“Just trust me, okay? Pack your things and give me twenty minutes. I’m on my way now.”
I quickly hung up the phone and started with the things I absolutely needed. I packed up my chargers and my laptop. My work notebooks and client schedule. Then, I pulled clothes out of drawers and shoved them into the bag. I tossed my toiletries into a plastic bag, trying to keep a barrier between them and my clothes in case anything bursted.
And thirteen minutes later, I stood by the front door, waiting for Caleb to knock.
As I heard the elevator door ding, I braced myself. I didn’t hear the heavy cadence of footsteps that I had come to associate with Blake, though. If anything, I could barely here the footfalls before a shadow peeked beneath my front door.
Then, a soft knock happened.
“Rose? It’s me.”
I whipped the door open almost instantaneously. “Are you sure this is okay?”
He reached in and picked up my bag. “Is what okay?”
I wrapped my hand around his wrist. “Look, I know I’ve put a lot on you, and if I just need to stay here—”
He placed his finger against my lips, silencing my words. “Just come with me. Don’t listen to the panic in your head, it’s fooling you.”
So, I did exactly as he asked.
We made our way down into the parking garage and he shoved my bag into some sort of compartment on the back of his bike. He tossed his leg over, situating himself down into the leather seat. I studied him on that motorcycle. I watched the way he eased into an effortless sort of confidence behind those handlebars.
Then, he offered me his hand. “You remember how to get on one of these things? It’s been, what, seven years now?”
I snickered as I slid my palm into his. “I remember just fine, thank you very much.”
He helped me onto the back of his bike and memories came rushing back. I remembered the first time he ever showed me his motorcycle, and the pride in his eyes twinkled like starlight in a moonless sky. He had been eager to take me on a ride, even though the damn thing sputtered and groaned like it was ninety years old.
He had been so damn proud of that ride.
But as he cranked up the engine, the rumbling beneath my body slid me closer to his.
And his rock-hard muscles greeted me as I slid my arms around his waist.
“Hang on tight,” he said.
I closed my eyes and clung to him, trying to ignore the chiseled outline of his muscles beneath his clothes. My legs pressed into his outer thighs, coating him in warmth as he fed it right back to me. My cheek laid itself against his back. Right between his shoulder blades, where I could hear his heartbeat if I held my breath long enough.
It wasn’t until we came to a stop at our first stoplight that I finally asked the question, though.
