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“Dammit!” I wrench my hand out too slowly, the burn of the exhaust pipe catching the tip of my finger. Scowling, I stand to my full height and tower over the motorcycle, tempted to kick it over.
Outside the open garage doors, birds chirp mockingly at me, and I whip around to curse at them, too, half-tripping over the tools scattered around my scarlet bike. But before I can open my mouth, the sleek, black Range Rover pulls up to the front of the house, and the words stick to my throat. My annoyance melts away in the wake of Aspen’s arrival.
Damn. She’s finally here. It feels like she’s been gone for six months already.
Wiping my oily hands on a rag half falling out of the back of my jeans, I stride toward the driveway, ignoring the fact that I’m shirtless and dirty—just like the first time Aspen and I laid eyes on one another.
But I already knew she was coming today, which was why I had chosen that morning to rise bright and early and work on the motorcycle. I liked the way her eyes had trailed over my body that day, lingering on the abs I worked on religiously every morning—or whenever I rolled out of bed. It’s nice to have fresh blood in our little town.
And I want to be the first one to greet her.
Long, tan legs come into focus first, her svelte form emerging as Ryan holds the door for her. She looks so professional in a navy blazer and matching skirt, a white tailored blouse under her jacket, her purse clutched to her side to contain her nervousness.
“Welcome back, Aspen,” I call out to her, and she whirls around, startled to hear my voice from the other side than she had expected. Her full, sensuous mouth gapes, and even though she’s wearing sunglasses, I can tell she’s checking out my abs.
“Dr. Taylor,” she exhales in a whoosh of breath, her shock palpable as she removes her glasses to meet my eyes directly. “You surprised me.”
“I was just working in the garage when I saw you two pull up. Ryan, can you bring Ms. Palco—” I catch her reproving stare. “Sorry, Aspen’s…” She chuckles approvingly. “Bring Aspen’s luggage to her suite—but through the servant’s stairs. Don’t tell Flint and Lily she’s here yet.” Aspen’s dark eyebrows knit into a vee, and I wave her toward the garage. “I want to hog you for a couple of minutes before you go inside. Is that okay?”
She glances at her old, outdated cell phone, and I realize for the first time how much it doesn’t line up with the rest of her professional appearance. My gaze takes in her cheap bags in Ryan’s hands, and I understand that she’s trying to keep up a certain look. On even closer inspection, I see her clothes are all worn, too, potentially second-hand purchases, even if they’re name brands.
One paycheck around here ought to fix that right up, I think, trying to imagine her in a proper evening gown—or even some nice lingerie.
“I’m a little early,” she admits. “But Mr. Sterling said nine, sharp.”
“I’ll have you back by nine,” I promise.
“Back?” she repeats, eying me warily. “Where are we going?”
I march into the garage, kicking my tools out of the way, and jump on my motorcycle, patting the seat behind me. “Come on. You don’t want to be late on your first day, do you?”
Her dark eyes almost pop out of her head, and she waves her head so vehemently that her tightly coiffed bun comes loose.
“No! I can’t!” she chokes. “They’re expecting me!”
“At nine. It’s eight fifteen. You need to know your way around Cypress Gardens if you’re going to take Lily anywhere. You should know all her favorite spots, or you won’t win any brownie points. Come on. It will take fifteen minutes, max.”
Uncertainly, she stares at me, and I tap my foot impatiently. “What’s the problem, Aspen?”
“I’ve never been on a motorcycle before,” she squeaks.
A smirk returns to my face. “Then you better hold on tight,” I reply, grabbing helmets off the table to my right. “But I’ll try not to crash us.”
* * *
Aspen clings to my bare chest with so much intensity, I’m sure there will be scars there in the morning. I relish the feel of her pressed against my naked back, the motorcycle whipping in and out of the little traffic we have at this hour. Over the roar of the engine, I hear her gasping with each turn until I halt in the middle of town.
“See? You’re all in one piece.”
Slowly, she removes her helmet, and her chestnut hair is a disheveled mess. She’s so sexy like this. I imagine it’s exactly what she looks like in the morning, slightly wild-eyed, hair askew. I get hard just thinking about it.
“What did you want to show me?” she asks as I help her off. Her knees knock slightly, and I swallow a laugh.
After hooking the helmets to the bike, we stroll along the charming streets of Cypress Gardens. She glances back at the bike.
“Aren’t you worried someone’s going to take those?” she asks. I follow her gaze back and snigger.
“This isn’t Atlanta, sweet pea. Anyway, everyone knows that’s my bike. They wouldn’t dare.”
