He nods at the helmet in my hands and shrugs off his battered leather jacket, waiting until I’ve pulled his helmet over my head and fastened it before handing me that too.
‘It’s a bit loose,’ I say of the helmet.
‘We’re not going far.’
‘Why aren’t we walking then?’ I ask as I slip my arms into his jacket. It’s still warm.
‘Because this is more fun.’
I feel a tingle beneath my ribcage at his playful tone.
It’s a pretty bold move to expect me to go along with this. What if I’d said no?
There was never any danger of that, though. I’ve always wanted to ride on the back of a hot guy’s motorbike.
I chastise myself for putting Ash in that category.
He pats the back of his seat. ‘Watch your leg on the exhaust. There’s a heat guard, but be careful.’
I’m wearing a navy dress and there’s every chance I’ll flash my knickers as I throw my leg over, but Ash faces forward to protect my modesty as I step up onto a small silver flip-down footrest. As soon as I’m seated, I feel myselfslipping towards him, pressing snugly against the outer edges of his legs. His jeans feel rough against the delicate skin of my inner thighs.
‘Don’t you have a spare helmet?’ I ask over his shoulder. I don’t like that he’s not wearing one himself.
‘No.’ He pauses. ‘I’ve never had anyone ride pillion before.’
What, not even Beca?
He starts the engine before I can consider asking that question and it roars into life, then he places his hand on my knee.
He’s not wearing gloves and my heart jolts violently at the skin-to-skin contact, but it’s over within a second – he just gave me what I suspect was supposed to be a reassuring pat, because he raises his voice over the sound of the engine to say, ‘I won’t crash. We’re just using the forest track into the woods. I’d never take you on the road without proper protection.’
I tentatively slide my hands around his waist, my breath growing shallow at the feeling of his warm, hard body beneath my palms. He’s wearing a faded yellow T-shirt and I feel his stomach muscles tense under the worn-thin material.
He sets off and I clutch him tighter as we jerk forward, but then he turns off the dirt track onto an even narrower one – the width of a car – and takes off at a smooth, comfortable pace. High hedgerows line the track on either side, so I can’t see the surrounding fields, only the sky.
His dark blond hair is blowing wildly in the wind and ifI tilt my head to look past him, I can see the sharpness of his jaw as it curves up towards his earlobe.
A shiver runs down my spine as a memory comes back to me of pressing my lips to that very spot.
I don’t realise I’ve adjusted my hold on him until I feel his stomach muscles contract again.
I’m hit with more flashbacks of our time on the beach, and emotion begins to gather like a storm inside my chest.
What’s the point of any of this? Why is he so desperate to explain? What if he has a reason for not meeting me that has nothing to do with the lies he told? I couldn’t bear to understand him only to lose him again.
But it’s too late to turn back.
The track climbs uphill and leads right into the woods, the leafy cover of oak, beech and maple snuffing out much of the light of the sun. The sound of the engine seems extra loud in our peaceful surroundings.
As we crest the brow of the hill, a two-storey log cabin with a pitched roof comes into view. It’s all on its own, encircled by tall trees.
Ash pulls to a stop and waits for me to get off before kicking his footrest down and swinging his long leg off the back.
He turns to face me. I’m already unclipping the helmet, but he takes it from me and it’s hard to gauge the look in his eyes.
Then he drops his gaze and hangs the helmet on the handlebars, seemingly avoiding watching me as I slip off the jacket. He takes that too, laying it over the seat before leading the way to the front door and opening it. It’s unlocked.
‘Was this Taran’s house?’ I ask, holding my breath as I wait for his answer.
