Page 51 of One Wild Wish

CHAPTERFIFTEEN

JIMMY

Gravel kicked under my tires and wind blasted my face as I leaned my bike into a turn. The speed and freedom when riding always helped me zone out. I’d forget the onslaught of messages from my mother, the winery I no longer called mine. I’d lose the chip on my shoulder and be one with my Harley. Adding Rachel to the equation took the experience to another level.

Instead of seeking oblivion, her presence anchored me. Her thighs bracketed mine, her hands pressed to my abs. My senses flared in response. I could practically taste the birth of new grapes seeking the sun, almost feel the rows of vines beneath my hand, rough leaves dragging along my fingers.

Most of all, I felt Rachel—each shift of her hips and squeeze of her arms. Her heat seeping through my leather jacket. I could have driven until the world dropped from our feet.

Except Rachel yelled, “Stop.”

We’d just turned down a dirt path, and I braked fast, the two of us jolting forward. “You okay?” I called over the motor.

“I want to drive.”

I killed the engine and leaned my bike on its stand, but neither of us moved. The simmering motor gave way to the buzzing hum of nature, a tune I hadn’t heard in ages. I liked living in the city. Great food. Cool hangouts. The hustle and bustle always offered something new. But I was still a country boy at heart and returning here was bittersweet. It brought bad memories with the good, but with Rachel around, I had less room for the hate.

She pressed her head to my back, and I closed my eyes as more warmth spread through my limbs, filling me up. Crowding out the things that normally wound me up. I didn’t question why I’d fallen for her so fast, didn’t care to understand the how or when of it. I was a thirsty man desperate for a drink, and she was a woman parched for danger.

I threaded our fingers and kissed the back of her hand. “You sure you can handle all this power between your legs?”

The little minx extricated her hand and dragged it down my chest and abs. She slowed over my dick, gave it a squeeze, then splayed her fingers over the motorcycle seat. She slapped the leather. “I think I’ll manage.”

I groaned.

When the heat fisting my balls ebbed, I kicked my leg over the seat and stood. “You ever driven a bike before?”

She shook her head. “Only been on the back. But I’ve always wanted to.”

She was exploring her deeper urges, sampling which itches needed to be scratched, and she trusted me to help her. “Rules are as follows: you go in a straight line. No fancy spins or turns. Just a smooth ride forward. Sound good?”

She bounced on the seat. “Perfect.”

Keeping the kickstand down, I pointed out the foot pegs, shifter, clutch, throttle, and brakes. Her attention was rapt. If I had to guess, I’d say her pulse was buzzing louder than a jet plane. Mine had on my first ride. When getting my first piercing, too. That first tattoo. Each experience had been thrilling, and I was gifting this to her.

She shifted her weight, settling on the seat and gripping the handlebars. “I think I’m ready.”

I raised the kickstand, making sure she was steady before letting go. “Keep your fingers on the clutch,” I reminded her. “Release it slowly, get the bike rolling, then apply the throttle.”

Her helmet bobbed as she nodded. “Got it.”

She turned on the engine, my beast of chrome and metal humming below her. Sexy as hell. Then she released the clutch. She squealed as she rolled forward, but promptly jolted to a stop. She teetered before finding balance. “Did I break it?”

Just my heart, I almost said, unsure why my head had gone there. A place it had been visiting more often these days. Each time she’d snubbed a date request, it stung a little more. Her fear may have shone through each rebuke, but every minute with her had me sinking deeper. Eventually, getting out would be a bitch.

“Everyone stalls out when they start,” I said. “You released the clutch too fast. Slow and steady wins the race.” Exactly how I’d been pursuing her, but my heart was bound to stall, too. Everything with her was moves and counter moves. Admissions of feelings by me lowered her defenses. Give her too much time to think, and her walls shot back up. The picnic was my grand master plan, one I hoped pushed us from fuck buddies to fuck couple.

She set her jaw and tightened her grip. “Let’s try again.”

“Slow,” I repeated. “Wait for the sweet spot, then the throttle.”

She was in the zone, body taut, her posture pitched forward. The engine thundered to life. She waited a beat, long enough for me to second guess letting her drive. Motorcycles were dangerous. One wrong move, and she could end up with serious road rash, or worse. Maybe this was a bad idea.

But she was gliding along the dirt path, past the point of me stopping her. The throttle roared. The sound set up residence in my chest, vibrating through me. When the bike shot forward, I pictured her losing control, her slim body pinned under all that crushing weight. Panic pushed my legs into a run. She better not fucking fall.

She rode a perfect straight line.

Breathless, I reached her as she stopped. Her grin hit me like a blast of fireworks. “That was unreal.”