by Beth Andrews
Somehow.
Forcing her reluctant feet forward, she walked to the truck, arriving as the bike’s back tire touched the tarmac. Her helmet swung from the handlebars. Coward that she was, she kept her focus on the bike.
Seeing it up close sent a fountain of joy shooting through her chest. The moonlight shone off polished chrome, and even in the dim light, she could see the candy-apple red of the gas tank. The leather of the seat was cold and hard under her fingers. So were the handlebars.
It was perfect.
She forced herself to stop stroking her bike, and look at the man who held it upright.
He looks awful.
Two days of stubble darkened his cheeks, and his hair looked like it hadn’t been combed in at least as long. Even in the moonlight, she could see the bags under his eyes.
“Nick, what’s wrong?”
He dropped the side stand and leaned the bike on it. Even his smile looked tired. “I just haven’t slept in a while. I wanted to get this to you way before dark, but I just finished it an hour ago.”
One recalcitrant curl hung on his forehead, and his soft dark eyes made her stomach ache. He wore the same clothes he had the first time she’d met him; a white shirt with a windbreaker thrown over it, a patch declaring his name on the breast.
He looks wonderful.
She allowed herself one last stroke of the tank. “You did a beautiful job. Thank you.”
* * *
THE MOMENT STRETCHED out as he stood there, tongue-tied, not knowing how to start. His brain felt stale and sluggish, like his furry tongue after a night of drinking. He was so damned tired, he’d had to roll the windows down on the way out to stay awake. But he was determined to keep working until he completed his delivery.
Liar.
He’d wanted to see her, to watch her face light up when she saw the Vulcan. He wanted to feel what he felt right now—dorkishly delighted at having made Sam happy.
Then reality hit. He’d been so focused on the clock, he’d forgotten—he’d just made it possible for her to ride out of his life.
She looked fantastic. All prim and formal, with her hair swept on top of her head, looking like she’d stepped off a fashion plate from nineteen hundred. But her full lower lip and long, sexy neck reminded him of the woman beneath the proper clothes.
Jesus, she had to be freezing. You have a jacket on, idiot. He shrugged it off, and though she raised her hands in protest, settled it on her shoulders.
“Thank you. Again.”
“Oh. I brought you something else.” He unbuckled the black leather side bag with the dangling fringe and extracted his surprise; a candy-apple-red cruiser helmet, not much bigger than a yarmulke. He’d seen it in a catalog, and had imagined her riding in it, blond hair streaming. “I bought it months ago. Before...” Skirting quicksand, he started again. “I figured it would be fine for around town. It just seemed to belong with the bike.” And with her.
Her smile wrenched his heart.
“It’s perfect, Nick. I love it. Thank you.” She stood for a time, looking down at the helmet. “I’m so sorry.”
She said it so softly, he almost missed it.
“It was the wrong thing to say. Here you were worried about your father coming back. I wanted to save you, and I just blurted out the first answer that popped into my head.”
When she looked up, the pain in her eyes hurt him. “I’ll be all right, Sam. I’ve been working through it. If he has the guts to show his face in Widow’s Grove, I’ll be fine.”
“I’m so glad.” He heard her swallow. “I know you wouldn’t leave, Nick. And I so admire that about you.” She hung the clasped chin strap over her arm. “I just wanted you to know.”
He caught movement at the corner of his vision and glanced to the house to see Jesse, standing in the light of the open front door. Sam followed his line of sight. She tsked, and made shooing movements with her hands. Jesse put a hand on her hip in a pantomime of annoyance, but after a moment, went back inside.
“Jeez, that woman is like a momma hen.” Sam stood facing away from him. “I wanted to tell you, if you need a friend to talk to when your father is released, I’m at the other end of a cell phone.” She turned to him with a sad, crooked smile. “Especially late at night.”
It tore at him, that sadness. Even before they’d been lovers, they’d been good friends. He so missed that. He wanted to reach out and wrap himself around her, to tell her they could make it work.
But he couldn’t.
Long-distance relationships didn’t work—especially when one party never planned to come back. He put his hands in his back pockets to take away the temptation. “Do you have any idea when you’re leaving?”
* * *
SAM SWAYED, SUDDENLY dizzy. Realizing her knees were locked, she forced the muscles in her thighs to unclench. This was it. She’d know in a minute if she could still have Nick as a friend.
She couldn’t dare hope for more.
“That’s the thing, Nick. I just realized tonight that I’m not.” She tried to halt her limbs shaking with a deep breath.
“You’re not leaving.” He frowned.
She nodded.
He cocked his head. “As in never?”
Didn’t he care if she stayed? Had she ruined things so completely that they couldn’t even be friends?
She made her feet be still, when they would have walked her back up the hill to hide in her house.
No, dammit. She was done running.
If she wanted it all, she’d have to risk it all.
She dug her nails into her palms, hoping the pain would grant her courage. “Why would I, when I’ve found everything I could ever want, right here in Widow’s Grove?”
“Everything?” In the false daylight moon, she saw the hope on his face.
Hope balled in her throat so tight, the words wouldn’t squeeze past. She nodded, instead.
“Whoop!” His shout echoed off the hills.
Then she was in his arms—Nick’s strong, safe arms, with the smell of him filling her head. The world spun again, but this time, it felt perfectly right.
He leaned her back over his arm, watching her face. “It won’t always be easy, you know. You could get scared again.”
She put her hands around his neck, into the hair that curled at his nape, and brought her lips so close they tingled with the need to touch. “How could I leave? My mechanic is here.” She brushed her lips across his, intending a kiss of welcome.
But he opened his mouth and took her in, his tongue taking and giving. His arms tightened, as if he’d never let her go. And that was just the way she wanted it. A blowtorch of heat drove the shivers from her body.
Oh, God, how did I ever think I was tough enough to leave him?
Suddenly, sound intruded. Nick lifted his head. “We have company.”
She wasn’t going to look. Embarrassed, she dropped her forehead to his chest. “Just Jesse, or all of them?”
Before Nick could speak, raucous cheering and applause gave her the answer. A long wolf whistle pierced the din. Sam knew that whistle. She turned, to the assemblage that filled the front porch.
Nick didn’t let her go, just stood, arms around her waist.
“Way to go, Pinelli!” Jesse pumped her arm like a crazed football fan.
Nick inclined his head. Heart in her throat, Sam curtsied, then waved all her idiot guests back inside.
Jesse shot them a thumbs-up, then turned to herd everyone to the door.
Sam handed Nick the red helmet and lifted her old black one from the handlebars, then walked to the other side of the bike. Giggling, she hiked up her skirt and threw her leg over, gasping as the cold air hit her thighs.
Nick’s eyes got big.
She stra
ightened the bike and tried to release the kickstand.
“Damned girly shoes,” she muttered, and tried again. When it retracted with a clunk, she settled the helmet on her head.
Nick held out the cherry-red helmet. “You don’t want the new one?”
She snapped the closure. “Are you kidding?” She lifted her chin and tried for haughty. “It clashes with my skirt.”
Looking poleaxed, Nick’s gaze traced her long exposed legs, to her waist, and higher, coming to rest on her face. “Wow. You have changed.”
She chuckled, turned the key, pulled in the clutch and fired up the bike. The engine caught with its deep, throaty rumble that settled in her chest.
Oh, man, she’d missed this. She closed her eyes, savoring.
She opened her eyes to Nick’s smug smile. “Well? Slap that helmet on, Pinelli. If you’re going to be a biker chick’s dude, you’d better get used to it.”
“Hey, I was born to be wild.” He donned the helmet, fumbling with the buckle.
He reached down to drop the foot pegs, then threw his leg over the bike.
She watched over her shoulder. “Sorry about the butt-floss seat. Guess we’re going to have to get a better one.”
“Oh, I don’t know.” His arms came around her, warm, steady. “I could get used to this.” His voice next to her ear overrode the growl of the engine. “Ready.”
Heaven. I’m in Heaven.
With a flick of her toe, she dropped it into gear. Easing the clutch, she opened the throttle and inched the bike around the tow truck.
She goosed the throttle again, just to feel him tighten his grip on her.
Then they were flying. The bike’s vibrations shooting sparkles of happiness through her. Laughter bubbled out, only to be snatched away by the wind.
“Hey, Pinelli,” she shouted over her shoulder. “You know any good road songs?”
* * * * *
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ISBN: 978-14592-5461-9
Copyright © 2013 Harlequin Books S.A.
The publisher acknowledges the copyright holders of the individual works as follows:
WHAT HAPPENS BETWEEN FRIENDS
Copyright © 2013 by Beth Burgoon
STAYING AT JOE’S
Copyright © 2013 by Kathy Altman
HER ROAD HOME
Copyright © 2013 by Laura Drake
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