She pauses. "Then we'll take a Jeep."
"Don't have one handy," I lie. The club has three. "You want to see the site today? You ride with me."
Her gaze flicks to the window, to the massive black Harley parked at the curb. Her throat works as she swallows. "I am not getting on that motorcycle with you."
"Then go back to your hotel and write your briefs," I say, turning my back on her. "But don't pretend you care about the truth. You're just another suit scared of getting a little dirt on your shoes."
I walk to the door. I count the steps.
One.
Two.
"Wait."
I stop, hiding the triumphant smile that splits my face. I turn back. She stands there, her chest rising and falling rapidly, clutching her designer bag like a shield.
"If I go," she says, her voice tight, "and I see that the environmental impact is significant, you agree to review the alternative site proposal."
"If you see it and you're right," I say, "I'll tear up the permit application myself."
She nods, sharp and decisive. "Fine. Let's go."
The moment we step out into the crisp mountain air, her proximity is a physical weight. She doesn't touch me—not yet—but the scent of her, that mix of fig and adrenaline, is a tether wrapped around my balls. She hesitates at first, standing by the bike like it’s a bomb waiting to go off. I hand her a spare helmet—matte black, full face. "Put it on. And keep that hair tucked tight. I don't want it whipping in my face."
She glares at me but complies, her fingers fumbling slightly with the strap. I brush her hands aside, doing it for her. My knuckles graze the soft skin under her chin. Her breath hitches, warm against my thumb.
"Tight enough?" I ask, my voice dropping an octave.
"It's fine," she whispers. Her pupils are blown wide, swallowing the hazel.
I grab her leather briefcase and laptop bag, my fingers brushing hers as I snatch them. I shove the expensive leather into the hard-shell saddlebag of the Harley and snap the lock.
She’s coming with me, and I’m making sure she has no excuse to leave. I swing a leg over the bike and bring it to life.
She climbs on behind me. She tries to hold the grab bars at first, keeping space between us. I rev the engine, letting the bike jerk forward just an inch. She gasps and slams against my back, her arms instinctively flying around my waist to anchor herself.
"There," I shout over the rumble. "Just like that. That's it, wrap those thighs tight."
I feel her stiffen at the praise, but she doesn't let go. She can't.
I peel away from the curb and bank hard onto Main Street, the tires screaming beneath me. I catch a glimpse of Riley, the influencer, standing on the sidewalk with phone raised, recording us as we roar past. Good. Let the whole town see the lawyer wrapped around the Enforcer.
We leave the town behind quickly, the asphalt giving way to the winding mountain roads that lead up to Grizzly Peak. This is my territory. The air gets colder, cleaner. The pine trees grow thicker, towering over the road like sentinels.
Every curve of her body presses against my back. Her breasts flatten against my leather cut, her thighs bracketing my hips. She’s tense, holding on for dear life, but as we lean into the switchbacks, she starts to move with me. She has to. On a bike, you’re either one unit, or you’re roadkill.
We hit the gravel turnoff for the eastern cliffs. The bike fishtails slightly, controlled chaos. Her grip tightens, her nails digginginto my stomach through the leather. I love it. I want her deeper. I want her under my skin.
I pull up to the clearing that marks the edge of the proposed expansion site. The view here is staggering—a sheer drop-off overlooking the entire Pine Valley basin, mist clinging to the treetops below. Wild, untouched, lethal.
I kill the engine. Silence rushes back in, deafening, filled only by the wind and the ticking of the cooling metal.
She scrambles off the bike immediately, her legs wobbling. Ripping the helmet off, she shakes her hair loose. It falls in a dark, glossy cascade around her shoulders. She looks flushed, wind-battered, and absolutely beautiful.
"You're a maniac," she breathes, glaring at me. "You did that on purpose."
"Did what?" I swing off the bike, moving toward her. "Drove?"
