by Anna Katmore
“I didn’t know I was going to chauffer a princess around when I came here, or I would have brought an extra.” Grinning, he puts the helmet on my head.
When he starts to fumble with the clip under my chin, I smack his hands away and scowl at him through the open visor. “I can do this alone.”
His hands lift in surrender. “Whatever you say, tiger.”
God, how I hate that smirk on his face. From the collar of his white, long-sleeved shirt, he removes his shades and puts them on—a poor substitute for a helmet. Then he swings one leg over the motorcycle and eases onto the seat.
By the almost tender way his fingers brush over the handlebar, I get the feeling that he’s missed riding his bike. The key slides easily into the ignition. At its turn, the monster beneath him awakes, coming to life with a mighty roar. He certainly lied to me before—this bike does carry the genes of a dragon. Let’s just hope Justin knows how to handle it.
“Hop on and hold on tight,” he commands.
I don’t hop but, after snapping the visor down, rather carefully slide one leg over the seat behind him. It takes forever and two minutes for me to find a position to sit in without rubbing the core of my spread legs against him. For a while, he seems patient, but when I stop fidgeting, he scratches his neck and casts me an amused look over his shoulder. “Is the princess comfortable?”
Absolutely not. My toes barely touch the ground, and I’m not at all sure I could hold the weight of this machine from hell if his legs give out. And then there’s the next problem, of course: where to put my hands? We’re not one of those romantic duos, where she hugs him from behind and cuddles up to him for the ride. Uh-uh, not me. Light as a feather, I place my hands on his sides.
“Good Lord!” Justin claps his hands to his face, then cuts off the engine and twists on the bike to glare at me with frustration.
“What?” I snarl.
He grabs my hands at his sides hard, staring into my eyes through the darkened visor. “Is this your idea of holding on tight?”
“What do you expect—”
Before I can finish the sentence, he yanks me forward, flush against his back, bringing my hands together in front of his stomach. A whimper escapes me. My arms looped around him like this, he curls his fingers around my shaky fists until my nails bite into his skin and his abs twitch in response. “This is exactly what I expect from you.”
Stiff as a stick tied to his back, I grunt under the helmet. I have no choice but to leave my hands where they are.
“Now lift your feet onto the bars. Whether you believe it or not, I’m well capable of balancing the bike without your help.”
Reluctantly, I follow that order, too. With my knees angled and my thighs aligned to his, my butt involuntarily slides forward a few inches and bam, I’m in the very place I tried so hard to avoid. My face burns behind the visor. At least Justin seems to be pleased with my new position. He lets go of my hands, restarts the engine, and then gently squeezes my right leg. “Relax. Once you get a feeling for it, it’s pretty amazing, I promise.”
I don’t believe one word.
“Ready?”
“Will we stay here if I say no?” I whine.
He chuckles quietly, but I can feel the rumbling of his chest. “Sure…” Moments later, we roll forward onto the paved road and head into certain death.
Chapter 15
Justin
Chloe’s arms are wrapped around me in a death lock, as if she’s trying to pump my breakfast back up my throat. To ease her into the ride, I don’t pass forty at first. Go too fast and she might suffer a heart attack—or I’m going to puke on the tank from her tight grip.
Where the street starts to wind down the mountain, a road sign warns of the danger ahead. “Did you see that?” she screeches into my ear as we pass it. “You should slow down!”
I turn my head toward her. “Any slower and we might as well walk!”
The first hairpin bend is right ahead. For a smooth curve, I lean to the left, tilting the bike gently to keep it on track. Except, the more I lean to one side, the harder Chloe leans the other way. It feels like I’ve got a tree to tilt instead of a motorcycle. Even at only thirty-five miles per hour, this could end in us being road kill. I’ve got to fight really hard to keep the bike smooth. Then, at the outermost point of the switchback, the rear suddenly starts to fishtail. Adrenaline kicks in fast. My fists tighten around the handlebar, and the asphalt scales the rubber off my boots as I put my feet down for balance. All the while images of us shooting down the mountainside swamp my mind. Chloe’s screams might be the last thing I hear in my life.
I don’t know how I do it, but three seconds later, we stop at the side of the road—miraculously unharmed—engine shut down and my heart pounding fast. Putting the Ducati on the kickstand, I jump off and Chloe follows on the other side. With tense hands, I shove my sunglasses up into my hair, facing the girl who obviously has no idea how to ride out a hairpin. “Dammit! Are you insane?”
“Me?” she fires back hysterically, slides the helmet off her head, and tosses it hard at my chest. “You almost got us killed!”
“Oh, no-ho!” Raging with fury, I throw the helmet on the ground and brace my hands on the bike’s seat, leaning across it into her face. “You almost got us killed!”
“I was doing nothing at all! How did that make the bike slide?”
“How about—if I lean to one side, I do it for a reason! And no, princess, it’s not to encourage you to lean the other way.” She sucks in a breath for a retort, but I’m not done yet and place one finger over her lips before she can speak. “Have you ever tried to ride a bicycle around a curve completely straight? You can’t. It’s natural to tilt it. The faster you go, the farther you lean.” When she draws in another lungful of air, I reach behind her neck and yank her forward. With the other hand on her cheek, my thumb seals her lips once and for all. “And don’t even think about finding excuses now. This was not my fault.”
“You knew I didn’t want to ride on your bike,” she growls eventually. “This was such a bad idea from the beginning.” And for the first time I notice how flushed she actually is. Adrenaline becomes her.
“It wasn’t a bad idea.” My voice has gone softer as I release her. “It’s simply a matter of trust.”
“Trust?” She rakes a hand through her long hair, tossing a portion of it to the other side of her face. It makes her look wild and her scared eyes more beautiful.
“Exactly.” It all comes down to one basic question. Lifting my eyebrows, I cock my head. “Do you trust me, Chloe?”
“I—”
I’m waiting, but after a couple of seconds, I’m pretty sure she’s not going to finish that one at all. So I reach out for her once more, taking her hands and placing them on the bike seat with mine on top. “If you trust me, we’re heading on to San Luis Obispo, and you’ll get there without a scratch on your pretty little head. If you don’t, we can turn around now and go the short way back to camp.” Leisurely, my thumbs stroke over the back of her hands while my mouth stretches into a warning smirk. “But be sure that on those two miles you’ll find out what a motorcycle is really made for.”
“This is blackmail!”
“This is pointing out your options.”
“And if I agree to go on to San Luis Obispo, who says you’re going to get us there safe and sound this time?”
My gaze locked with hers, I hesitate a heartbeat. The answer is simple. “I do. So make up your mind, tiger. Do you trust me or not?”
We’re caught up in a staring battle for what seems like minutes. Eventually, she jerks her hands out from under mine, stalks around the bike, picks up the helmet, and smoothes her hair back as she straightens. “Fine. Let’s go.”
With my arms crossed over my chest, I sit on my bike sideways. “Which way? Downhill or up?”
Chloe holds her answer back for another rebellious moment. “Down,” she growls then, and her lips pucker in a sulky way. Frankly, I’v
e never wanted to ravish her mouth more than at this very moment. And I thought last time, by the tree, was the worst.
“All right then, here’s what you do,” I explain to make sure we get to our destination in one piece and also to distract myself from her lips. “If I lean to the right, you lean to the right.” Not a single muscle in her face twitches as she stares at me, but I guess she got it. “And if I lean to the left, you do what?”
“I’ll poison your coffee tomorrow,” she drawls with a smirk and then slides the helmet back onto her head. Laughter rocks my chest. She uses my shoulder for balance as she mounts the bike again and waits for me to join her. Moments later, we’re back on the road.
I take the first bend with extra care, testing how far I can go with Chloe on the rear. Smashing herself against me, with her hands locked tight in front of my stomach again, she follows my lead this time, although she feels like one taut rubber band back there. Because of the wind in my face and the noise of the engine, I can’t be sure, but she might be sniveling behind my shoulder.
At the fourth turn, the tension begins to ease out of her. She’s still holding on tight, but the iron cage around my middle loosens a little. Enough that I can breathe again, and my abs unclamp, too. Heck, those muscles will be sore tomorrow, but having her plastered against me like this is totally worth the pain. After the sixth curve, we finally travel smoothly at fifty mph.
“Are you all right there?” I shout a while later, when I get the impression that she’s starting to feel comfortable behind me.
“Yes! I’m fine!”
Jesus, was that a laugh? Could that be?
Yes, it definitely can, because moments later, on a long, straight section, Chloe’s arms slip away from me all of a sudden and she spreads them like an eagle, tilting her head back. There’s little chance that she’ll fall off the bike with her thighs still clamping around mine so tightly, but I slow down anyway and place a hand on her leg.
“This is amazing!” she screams so loudly that I have no trouble hearing her through the helmet and the wind.
Oh yeah, this is the girl I knew once. “Told you so!” I yell back. Before I can shut my mouth again, though, I catch a fly and nearly choke. Ugh, that’s what you get for not wearing a helmet. Reaching out to Chloe’s left arm, I push it down and bring her hand back in front of my stomach, then spit the fly out on the road. She holds on fast again before we approach the next turn.
Forty minutes after our unhappy stopover, we roll into San Luis Obispo at a leisurely speed. Since I don’t know where this store is, I have Chloe show me the way by pointing out directions over my shoulder. It’s easy enough to find.
While I balance the bike with my feet on the ground, she climbs off and removes the helmet. “How was that?” I tease her with a smirk.
Her answer is a rare honest smile. “It was…nice.” In one fast motion, she bends forward and straightens again, expertly fluffing up her flattened hair. Then she hands me the helmet. “Can you wait for me? It’ll only be a few minutes.”
“Sure.” Where else would I go? While she jogs into the store, I wheel the motorcycle into a shaded parking spot and walk back toward the store entrance. Across the street is a nice-looking cafe. I think I’ll take Chloe out for lunch before we return to camp. We can probably both do with a few hours back in civilization.
She keeps to her promised few minutes and walks out of the store with an excited expression and a plastic bag dangling from her hand. “Where’s the bike?” she demands, frowning at the spot where it stood before.
I nod toward the spot a few feet down the sidewalk, then ask, “Are you hungry?”
Automatically, she touches a hand to her tummy. “Yes, a little.”
“Great, because I’m starving.” Placing a palm on the small of her back, I leave her no choice but to come across the street and into the cafe.
We find a table by the window and, a little later, give our order to a waitress in a yellow minidress. She brings Chloe a plate of chicken enchiladas with sour cream, while I have a Salisbury steak.
After her first bite of steaming enchilada, Chloe licks her lips and moans. “Oh my God, I must have died and gone to heaven.”
She’s right, after ten days of camp food, this meal does taste like heaven. When we’re finished, she leans back, laces her fingers over her stomach, and lets her gaze skate around the room. “You know what would round this up perfectly?” she muses with a smile. Crumpling up my napkin, I lift my brows in curiosity, and Chloe heaves a sigh full of longing. “A cosmopolitan.”
I chuckle. “Not today, tiger.” Leaning forward, I brace my folded arms on the table and wink at her. “You can have a milkshake.”
“Bah.” She sticks her tongue out and grins. “You’re a party pooper.”
“I’d rather be that than an accomplice to a crime.” I push to my feet. “Chocolate or vanilla?” I ask, intending to place her special order at the bar before heading to the restroom.
Chloe fixes me with a teasing stare. “Cranberry.”
A laugh on my lips, I set off for the bar. Once I’m there and the bartender looks at me with big, green eyes, waiting for my order, I cut a quick glance back at our table and then ask her with a merciful sigh, “Can you bring the sad girl over there a cranberry and lime juice in a martini glass? Put an orange-peel swirl in it, too, please.” Before I round the corner, I stop and turn around to her once more. “When she asks what it is, tell her you were out of shakes.”
Chapter 16
Chloe
“I didn’t order this,” I tell the waitress with a confused frown as she places a bright-red cocktail in front of me. She doesn’t even card me.
“The young man you’re with ordered it for you.”
“He bought me a cosmopolitan?” I didn’t know, Justin even owns a fake ID to get drinks in a public place. He hasn’t returned from his trip to the restroom yet, but if this is his sick way of testing me—or worse, torturing me by drinking it himself while all I can do is watch and grind my teeth—I will find some poison for his coffee tomorrow.
The waitress has only an apologetic smile for me. “We’re out of shakes.”
“Aha.” Now, if this doesn’t explain it all… I roll my eyes but don’t move an inch closer to the cocktail, even thought my mouth is watering at the shiny red liquid. My fingers are itching to grab the glass. I shove them under my butt and glare at Justin as he strolls back to our table, a bottle of beer he nabbed from the bar in his hand.
“Not good?” he mocks with a nod at the cosmopolitan as he slides back into the booth opposite me.
“You know I can’t drink this,” I mutter. “And you shouldn’t be drinking, either.” Whether he’s already twenty-one or not doesn’t matter. “You’re supposed to drive us back in a bit.”
“I think you can. And you should.” With two fingers on the bottom of the glass, he shoves the drink toward me, sending me a tentative look from under his lashes. “You won’t get any more drunk from this than I will from this beer.” As he turns the bottle around and holds it out to me, I read the label with surprise.
“It’s nonalcoholic?”
“Mm-hm.” He takes a swig then smiles in a way that burrows right under my skin. “Would be a bit unfair to you otherwise, don’t you think?”
His solidarity is appreciated, even if I don’t tell him that. “So what is this, if not a cosmopolitan?”
Justin dips one finger into my drink and licks off the liquid with an exaggerated smack. “It’s a J. Andrews Sour. Try it. It’s good.”
Carefully, I sip the juice. Eyes narrowed at him, I swish it through my mouth, trying to identify the exotic taste. “Cranberry and lime?”
He slowly arches his eyebrows and cocks his head with a taunting grin. Next he clinks his bottle against my glass. “To scary rides and friendship revivals.”
His toast coaxes a giggle from me. “I’ll drink to that.” And the juice—even nonalcoholic—creates an explosion of taste on my tongue. It
’s deliciously refreshing. I’m even itching to throw him a kiss for the small gesture. But of course I don’t.
Justin puts his bottle down and draws in a breath to say something funny, no doubt. Except, the next instant, his eyes flicker to the window and his face goes blank, as if in shock, for an infinitesimal moment. “Must be the summer of reunions,” he mutters before refocusing on his beer.
I shift in the booth to peek outside. There’s no one on the street. “What’s wrong with…” The last words die in my throat as the door behind him opens and a young woman in a black top and hot pants walks in with a huge smile on her red-painted lips. Lesley.
Oh. My. God.
Her black ponytail sways behind her neck, and the clacking of her thigh-high stiletto boots echoes aggressively through the cafe as she strides toward us. The sound works like a switch to my stupor, urging me to rise from the bench.
“Chloe! What in the world are you doing here?” she cries out, a load of shopping bags sliding from her arm and dropping to the floor when she hugs me.
I return the embrace with more reluctance than I should and stammer, “We—er—I had to get some stuff from town. For the kids. And Justin gave me a lift.”
As if she’s only now realizing I’m not alone, she releases me, glances Justin’s way, and says coldly, “Oh, right.” Her features harden. “Andrews.”
“Caruthers,” he replies with the same hostility in his voice as he barely looks at her.
It suddenly feels like there isn’t enough air to breathe for the three of us. Struggling to get a grip on myself, I utter hoarsely, “But why are you here?”
“Shopping, darling.” Her exaggerated beam is right back in place. “I just came out of Jimmy Choo, and who do I see across the street? My best friend having a drink with”—her voice flattens briefly—“someone in this cafe.” She ushers me back into the upholstered booth. When she lowers next to me, Justin’s knuckles turn white from gripping his bottle too hard. He shifts in his seat, probably pulling in his feet away so as not to accidentally touch her.