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The bike hugged the curves of the road, angling to the side a little too much for my comfort whenever we turned. The water was off to the right and, as we came closer to it, the breeze picked up, imbuing the air with bitter coldness.
We drove past a blustery green sea coast, inland meadows with pops of wild fuchsia, seabirds whirling through the sky . . . it was stunning. And the fresh air was just what I needed. After the wide-open spaces of the farm back home, living in a hotel room for three weeks had made me want to claw at my skin.
The craggy cliffs dropped down to the sea where the water roared up into foam on the rocks. God, I was so alive at the moment. Part of me wanted to peel my arms free of Adam and open them wide, to allow freedom to wash over me, to cleanse me of my past . . .
But I wasn’t an idiot, so I clung to Adam, noticing a red lighthouse in the distance.
I wanted to speak, to tell him how incredible it all was, but I doubted he could hear me.
We passed crumbling ruins of an old building, and then Adam began to slow down. He parked, and I lifted the helmet from my head, shaking my mass of hair free. He turned off the engine and reached for my hand, steadying me as I hoisted my leg over. I combed my fingers through my hair and smiled at his reddened face.
My fingers grazed his cheek, which was like ice, even though the temperature was in the upper forties.
Over his shoulder, I could see colorful boats dotting the waters.
“This place is spectacular.” He secured the helmet to his bike, and I guessed he trusted that no one would steal it. He grabbed hold of my hand and our fingers laced together.
“I thought this would be a better place to talk. A heavy conversation inside a hotel room didn’t seem fitting, ya know?”
“Agreed.” We began walking down a path alongside the boats. The water softly lapped against the concrete to my left. “So. How are you feeling this morning?” We’d barely spoken at the hotel before he’d whisked me away.
“I’m not sore at all if that’s what you mean.”
“I’m a little sore,” I said, trying to keep the conversation light. “You wore me out last night.”
He tightened his grasp on my hand. “And I’d be happy to wear you out again tonight.”
“Why wait so long?” I teased, raising a brow.
“You drive me mad, woman.” His free hand shifted to his jeans, and he adjusted himself. Had I made him hard with just a few words? I tried not to laugh.
He stopped walking and faced the railing, looking out onto the sea of boats. “It seems crazy that I’d never seen the sea before I came here. Hell, I’d never been to a beach.” The thought made me claustrophobic, now. “How can I ever go back to a life where I live in the middle of nowhere and never experience the world?”
Our hands unlocked as he gripped the railing. “Don’t.”
“I don’t think working at your company is going to happen for me when this is all over.” I knew well enough by now that I wasn’t meant for the corporate world. All that student loan debt had been for nothing.
What would I do? Work on my parents’ farm for the rest of my life?
“Because of me?” he asked, looking over his shoulder.
I copied his move and wrapped my fingers around the black metal, which had grown warm from the clear sun hanging unobstructed in the soft blue sky. “No, because I don’t get any satisfaction from it. And I know a lot of people work for a paycheck, and that’s the way life is, but—”
He faced me, his hand touching my hip as he looked into my eyes. “You’re not going to be one of those people. I don’t want you to be.” His brows were pulled together, and he released a lungful of the crisp air. “I want you to do something that makes you happy.”
“The only thing that I have really enjoyed so far is working at the center. Well, that and riding horses, but—”
“So do that.”
“Do what?” I shifted back away from him and looked out at the water.
“Do something that involves working with kids and working with horses.”
He made it sound easy, but was there such a job? “I don’t know. Do you enjoy what you do?”
“Yeah, I guess, but I never had a choice. I was raised to run the company. Besides, if the company doesn’t turn a profit, then we wouldn’t have the foundation.”
“How do you fight?” I hadn’t meant to verbalize my thought, but I needed to know, eventually. “I mean, you’re such a good guy—it’s hard for me to understand why you would ever hit people . . . on purpose.”
