His hand around the nape of her neck, he turned her toward the door with just a glancing pressure, like he was leading her in a waltz.
She shook Cruz’s hand, then Calder’s, and said, “I appreciate you helping me.” She paused, looked at Triumph, and swallowed. Then she looked back at Calder. Both of her hands were white-knuckle-clasped around one of Calder’s. “Please let me know if I can ever return the favor.”
A gentle squeeze to the back of her neck was followed by the caress of his thumb against her skin.
He knew how much trust she had in him that those words came out. That she was welcoming the opportunity to owe a favor, even when he told her no one would ever expect one to be offered.
The doctor’s next words proved him correct. “Friends help friends. And we help friends of friends who we hope will eventually be part of the first group of friends.”
With a nod to the two men, he used gentle pressure to once again guide Glennon, but this time to lead her out of the morgue, then out the back entrance, where his cycle waited.
His excitement at seeing his bike exuded from every pore, and a spring infected his step as he moved to its side. Tripoli had hung two helmets from the handgrips. “Okay. First thing. You’re required to sit as close to the driver as you physically can, really snuggling that gorgeous pussy and those beautiful tits as tight to his back as possible.”
She pursed her lips at him and smirked. “Uh-huh.”
She could tell he was trying really hard to keep from laughing. “Yes. You hang on with both hands and thighs. You should hold on so tight, he gets bruises of honor.”
“Right.”
He lost it then. “Sorry. Couldn’t resist. But seriously, hang on to me as tight as you need. Keep your feet on the pegs so you don’t touch the exhaust and burn yourself. Lean with me when we go into a turn. Easy.”
“Promise to keep both wheels on the ground and below forty miles an hour?”
“I promise. No stunts or racing.”
He held out a hand to her, and she didn’t hesitate to take it. Fuck, that trust felt better than a kiss. Maybe. Possibly.
Probably not, but this moment was not one to push aside for what it represented.
He pulled her the last few steps to the bike and lowered a helmet over her head. He looked up at her once, twice, through where the shield would pull down as he worked to adjust the chinstrap. Her eyes never wavered from him, simply accepting that he was ensuring it fit properly.
Fingers gripping the chin of her helmet, he asked, “Ready?”
“Ready,” she said with a thumbs-up.
After flipping her shield down, he swung his leg over the bike. Tossing his head to get some of his hair out of his face, he put his helmet on and secured it, flipped down his shield, pushed back the kickstand, and started the bike. He then motioned behind him with a nod. “Come up alongside, grab my left arm with your left hand, and swing your right leg over.”
Wrapping her arms around his waist and sliding up tight against his back, she smiled at the vibration she felt go through him. She couldn’t hear if it was a growl or something else, but by doing what he’d joked about, she affected him. It was good to know that now they were home, things hadn’t changed.
As soon as he checked that her feet were on the pegs, he took off. The loud purr of the engine jump-started her blood flow, and the vibrations she felt through the seat flooded into her core, teasing her into an odd state of arousal. Not sexual, necessarily. Maybe a better word was awareness—of herself, of him, of what was around her. She had a feeling she would like riding behind him on his bike.
Elysium was only a few minutes from their location, and before she knew it, the ride was over. Since the parking lot was packed, he rode around back and pulled his bike into the loading dock. After parking, she hopped off the seat and removed her helmet. Every hair on her body felt electrified. Every inch of her skin felt charged. If he touched her, she expected to jump from the contact.
He unfolded from his seat, pulling his helmet off. Smiling at her, he ran one hand through his shaggy locks. “What do you think?”
“I already feel a bit of a stretch in my thighs.” When she bent over slightly to massage the inside of her legs, she noticed his eyes seemed to spark. “Definitely think we need to work our way up to Route 66.”
“Fuck,” he murmured. “When we take that trip, I plan to bend you over that seat every stop we make. Hell, I’d do it right now if there weren’t four cameras pointed at this space.”
She saw a vision of them at some random historical marker, out in the open air, her gripping the leather seat while he pounded into her from behind. Both of them too eager to wait long enough to take their helmets off. His pants open and down just low enough to allow his cock free, hers pulled down to mid-thigh, trapping her movement, just enough for him to get to her aching pussy.
Oh yeah. She would enjoy every minute of that.
His smile turned wicked in the blink of an eye, as if he knew exactly what she was imagining.
Helmet in one hand, he put the other to the back of her neck. This gesture was new. Early on, he’d carried her when she was too weak or too exhausted to walk on her own. When letting her pass in front of him, he’d put his hand to the small of her back. In a few instances, he’d held her hand as he helped her over an obstacle, or even on the path to the farm or the village.
This was different. Those had been necessary or polite gestures. Friendly. This, as he passed the people he knew and worked with, held a stamp of ownership to it. He didn’t squeeze, just curled his fingers to rest against her skin, guiding her into a turn. It also demonstrated to anyone in view that she belonged with him.
