She gripped him tighter as he turned smoothly into a parking lot by the beach, held them up with one leg as he balanced the kickstand, and killed the engine. Then he pulled off his helmet and Darla did the same.
"Yeah?" he asked with a half-grin and eyes that sparkled.
"Yeah," she replied, and she couldn’t stop smiling.
With his help she took a deep breath and slid off the back. Her legs were practically jelly from the buzz of the engine and shaky from the adrenaline rush.
"This is way better than a scooter," she said, breathy and gripping his arms for stability. Then she closed her eyes in an attempt to imprint the memory of that ride, and these moments, in her brain forever.
"Mach Powers," somebody called from across the parking lot, totally wrecking the moment between them.
"Well, shit," Mach said, his lips pulling into a low frown.
Darla turned and a couple of camera guys hustled toward them, already clicking away with their cameras.
"Are those real paparazzi?" she asked. These guys didn’t jump out from behind a car or catch her right after she left human resources, so they didn’t have quite the same effect on her as the dude from theTribune.
"They don’t look fake to me," he said, more growly than usual.
Darla waved. "Hi."
They stopped, obviously surprised by her reaction. Then one of them recognized her and it was on. They were snapping photos like it was their job—which, it was, but still.
"Darla Davis," one of them said. "You’re here with Mach?"
She glanced to Mach, then back to them… "Pretty sure that’s obvious."
"Are you two together?" the other guy asked.
"We’re both here," Mach said, and he snagged her hand and tugged her along with him toward a purple food truck at the edge of the parking lot.
"Are we eating?" she asked. "I’m starving."
Mach’s hand gripped hers tighter, and she turned to glance behind at the two camera guys still following. She waved again. "Are you guys hungry? We’re gonna grab something to eat."
Mach stumbled a little. "You can’t feed the paparazzi."
"Why not?" she asked, sort of swinging their hands between them.
"Because then they belong to you, and they’ll expect it again."
"I never thought it might be fun to have my very own paparazzi," she said. "I think I like it. I think we should… how did Courtney say it? Feed the beast?"
"I don’t think she meant for us to take that literally," Mach said.
But that didn’t matter because if they were there to feed the beast, then Darla was going to feed them. Chili cheese fries, apparently.
She and Mach ditched their shoes to walk down to the water, letting the cold wet of the Pacific swirl over their bare feet.
"You might be right," she said as the swirls of salt water soothed her feet.
"Probably am," he said. "What specifically are you referring to, though?"
"The water is healing," she said, looking up at him and meaning every syllable.
Mach’s face softened, and his thumb traced the edge of her jawline. He pulled her in for a kiss, one hand in her hair and the other at her waist. His mouth met hers and she lost all thoughts of being sensible. She didn’t even have to think; it was as though her body let out a sigh and her mouth opened all on its own under his possessive lips. She let go of any control and let him have it all.
And Mach? He took it—everything she gave. The funny thing was that even as he took it? He gave it right back.
