My smile was soft and genuine. "I think I'd be perfectly fine smelling like you throughout the day," I said, and was rewarded by the pretty blush that spread across her cheeks.
I gathered my pants and boxers and entered her small bathroom. I turned on the shower and finally, carefully, peeled off my gloves.
The relief was immediate, but I found myself staring at my hands in the mirror above the sink. At the tattoo that curved along my right index finger and thumb—the words that had guided me for years, the reminder of the things I'd done, of who I'd sworn never to become.
I traced the letters with my left hand, remembering the day I'd gotten it inked, the vow I'd made to myself. The promise that had shaped every interaction, every relationship, every moment of control I'd ever exercised or surrendered.
Vivienne was different from my usual encounters in so many ways, but perhaps the most significant was that she made me want to be worthy of everything those words represented.
I turned on the shower and as it heated, I gently washed the outside of my gloves in the sink before setting them on a towel to dry off.
I jumped in the shower for a quick scrub, in and out in less than four minutes, military habits came in handy on occasion. I dried off with one of the fluffy white towels she had rolled up on a shelf, then hung it up on a waiting hook and returned to the bedroom where I found Vivienne getting dressed.
"I should go," I said reluctantly, pulling on and buttoning my shirt from the night before. "Let you get to your grading."
"That's probably for the best," Vivienne said with a sigh, pulling on a soft sweater. "Otherwise I might drag you back to bed and call in sick tomorrow."
"That sounds divine," I said, meaning it completely.
"Don't tempt me." She gave me a look that was both stern and playful. "I'm a responsible educator."
I laughed, charmed by her dedication. "Friday," I said impulsively. "There's a gallery opening I'm supposed to attend—new contemporary artists, some really innovative work. I'd appreciate your company if you'd attend with me."
Vivienne's face lit up with genuine excitement. "Really? I'd love that. I haven't been to a proper gallery opening in ages."
"It's not just any opening," I said, warming to her enthusiasm. "The curator specifically chose artists who are challenging traditional boundaries, mixing historical techniques with modern concepts. I think you'd find it fascinating from a cultural perspective."
"That sounds incredible," she said, her eyes bright with interest. "I'd absolutely love to go."
We exchanged numbers, and I programmed her contact and texted her to be sure it was correct. When I leaned down to kiss her goodbye, I meant for it to be brief, but she melted against me and suddenly we were clinging to each other like we might not see each other again.
"Friday," she whispered against my lips.
"Friday," I confirmed.
I'd dismissed my driver the night before when I made the decision to stay, but had texted about thirty minutes ago for my driver to come pick me up, and the sleek black car was waiting when I stepped outside her townhome.
I settled into the back seat in a haze of satisfaction and anticipation, my body still humming from our time together. I'd never experienced anything like what I'd shared with Vivienne—the combination of physical chemistry and genuine connection was intoxicating.
At my penthouse, I changed into riding gear and tried to focus on the day ahead. The Sunday ride was sacred time, a weekly ritual that kept me grounded and connected to the men who'd seen me at my worst and still had my back.
A little past noon, I was pulling into the parking lot of one of our usual meeting spots—a diner on the outskirts of the city that served crappy coffee and minded its own business. Four motorcycles were already there, their owners clustered around a picnic table.
"Look who finally decided to show up," called Diesel, his bearded face split by a familiar grin. "We were starting to think you'd been kidnapped by fashion pirates."
"Or found yourself a woman," added Hawk, his sharp eyes taking in my unusually relaxed posture.
I felt heat rise in my cheeks, which only made Diesel's grin widen.
"Oh, he definitely found himself a woman," Kane observed quietly. "Look at that blush."
"I don't know what you're talking about," I said, but I couldn't quite keep the satisfaction out of my voice.
"Right," Bullet said, standing and stretching. It seemed he'd come alone today without Morgan, the woman who had broken through his walls and brought out the best in him. "Well, whoever she is, she's put you in a good mood. Let's get out of here. Morgan is packing up her apartment for her move and wanted me out of her hair for a bit."
We mounted our bikes—me on my sleek green Aston Martin AMB 001 Pro, the others on their various bikes—and pulled out onto the open road. The familiar rumbleof engines and rush of wind cleared my head, but couldn't quite erase the memory of Vivienne's smile or the promise of Friday.
As we carved through the curves of the mountain highway, I found myself thinking that for the first time in years, I had something to look forward to that had nothing to do with work, success, or maintaining my carefully constructed image.
