They walked through the alley hand in hand, back to the street. The cool evening air a shock after the intimate warmth of their private dining space. His motorcycle gleamed under the streetlight, powerful and sleek.
“So,” she said, suddenly nervous. “About my condition..."
“Eyes closed,” he reminded her, his voice low.
Morgan took a deep breath and closed her eyes. She heard him move closer, felt the warmth of his body near hers. Then his hands were on her shoulders, steadying her.
“Keep them closed,” he murmured, the sound closer, less modulated.
She nodded, heart hammering against her ribs. The faint rustle of the helmet being removed and placed on his bike sent a thrill of anticipation through her.
“Hands,” he instructed, his voice now clear and rich without the helmet’s filter.
Morgan lifted her hands, and he took them in his and guided them to his face. Her fingers met warm skin, the slight roughness of stubble along a strong jaw. She traced the contours slowly—high cheekbones, a straight nose, she felt a small scar near his right eyebrow, a dimple in his strong chin. His firm lips parted slightly under her touch as he softly let out a breath.
Under her exploration, she felt his breath quicken. His hands came up to cover hers, pressing them more firmly against his skin.
“Morgan,” he whispered, her name sounding different in his true voice—deeper, almost reverent.
She hadn’t realized how close they were standing until she felt his breath against her hair. A little lean forward and she’d easily be able to pull him down for a kiss. The temptation was overwhelming.
But something held her back. Not fear, but a strange sense that once that line was crossed, everything would change. The mystery that made this connection so intriguing would shift into something more complicated, more real.
Morgan let her hands drop slowly, eyes still closed. “Thank you.”
She heard the helmet slide back into place. “You can look now.”
When she opened her eyes, she was facing the blank visor once more, but everything had changed. The man behind it was no longer an abstraction. He had a face she had mapped with her fingertips, a voice that had spoken her name without electronic filtering.
“I should get you home,” he said, the modulator back in place.
Morgan nodded, suddenly overwhelmed by the intimacy of what had just transpired. She glanced toward her car parked down the street, then back at him.
“I’m not ready for the evening to end,” she admitted, surprising herself with her boldness. “Would you like to come back to my place? For coffee or a drink?”
The invitation hung between them, loaded with possibilities. She watched his helmet tilt slightly as he considered her offer.
“Are you sure?” he asked, his modulated voice somehow softer. “The helmet stays on.”
“I’m sure,” Morgan said, feeling reckless and alive. “Besides, I make excellent coffee, and Kane can vouch for my muffins.”
He chuckled, the sound warm even through the helmet. “Lead the way. I’ll follow you on my bike.”
As Morgan walked to her car, she felt a flutter of nervous excitement. She was inviting home a man whose face she’d felt but never seen. It was madness, and yet it felt more honest than any date she’d been on.
She fished out her phone to send a quick text to Tessa:Everything’s going great, I’m bringing him home... Talk later.
Tessa’s reply was short:You go girl!
She caught sight of him swinging onto his motorcycle in her rearview mirror as she pulled out of the parking space. The sleek black bike followed at a respectful distance as she drove through the city streets toward her apartment, his headlight a constant presence behind her.
What was she doing? This wasn’t like her. And yet, something about tonight—about him—made her want to throw caution to the wind, see where this took them.
She constantly caught herself making sure he was still following behind her as he followed her home.
By the time she parked outside her building, her mind was made up. Whatever this was—she wasn’t ready for it to end.
6
