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“You said to bring a bathing suit. I thought we were going to the beach.” She glances down the stairwell, and I lean forward into her hair, grazing my lips over the top of her ear.
I’m rewarded with a shiver, and I smile. That little erogenous zone is still intact. My mind travels to the other ones—all the ones I found that summer we were inseparable.
“We’ll go to our beach.” I’m not hiding my desire, and she melts further into my arms. “Only, I changed my mind. Who needs a bathing suit?”
Her sexy laugh is a sound I’ve missed more than I realized until this moment. Again, she steps out of my arms and starts down the stairs. “So where are we going?”
Catching up, I reach down and pull her slim hand into the crook of my arm. “Do you have a helmet?”
“No...” Her pretty brows clutch together.
We stop outside beside my bike, and I smooth the line in her forehead with my finger. “It’s okay.” Reaching to the side, I take my helmet off the seat and gently slide it on her head.
“Oh!” She ducks at first before reaching up to hold the sides, positioning it behind her ears. The sunglasses are replaced by the tinted visor over her eyes, and her chin and mouth are exposed. She gives me a cute grin. “But what will you wear?”
“If those were aviators, I’d wear them.” I point to the sunglasses now tucked in her shirt. “As it is, I’ll be okay for the short drive.”
Her hands immediately fly to the shiny helmet. “You should wear this! I’ll be behind you.”
“You forget,” I say with a smile. “Protection is my job.”
I can tell she wants to argue, but I climb on the bike before she has a chance, kicking it to life with a loud roar.
“Get on!” I shout, and she reaches out hesitantly for my arm. “Trust me.”
Her fingers tighten on my sleeve and she carefully gathers her dress up her long, silky legs. I don’t even try to hide that I’m watching the hem of her skirt rise, but she doesn’t seem to notice. In a swift move her leg is across the seat and her body is pressed against my back. The heat between us is undeniable.
“I wish you’d warned me.” Her lips just graze the skin of my neck as she speaks, and tightness crosses my fly. I want her. “I would’ve worn something more appropriate.”
“You look amazing,” I say, twisting back to steal a kiss, another hit of my favorite drug. “Now hold on.”
Slim arms hug my waist so tightly, and I’m pretty sure this is the greatest feeling in the world. Easing into the speed of the chopper, we head off into the late afternoon climbing the mountains, following the winding, narrow roads of the countryside.
The salt air is at my face, and the sun is going down in a blaze of pinks and oranges and burning yellows. Kass’s head is on my shoulder; her arms hold my waist. Her body is pressed to mine, and I wonder how long it would take to get to Paris. Too long.
Instead, I turn in at the Robie House restaurant, a Frank Lloyd Wright-style establishment on the cliffs overlooking the ocean. Naturally, we sit outside, and the way it’s built, the patio juts out from the mountain. It’s like we’re on the edge of a cliff, and a light breeze surrounds us.
“And here I thought you wanted to apricate,” she says with a little smile.
Taking my seat across from her, I grin at her old hobby. “Still collecting unusual words? What would I be doing if I were to apricate?”
She leans toward the table and wrinkles her nose. “You’d be basking in the sun.”
“Good one,” I take the roll of silverware off the table and place the utensils beside my charger, the napkin in my lap. “I’d like to see you apricating in one of those string bikinis you used to wear. How about tomorrow?”
“You’re very sure of yourself.”
“I’d say I’m optimistic.”
That earns me a laugh. She places her own napkin in her lap, sliding her fingers back and forth on the fabric. “These linens are very soft. What expensive taste you’ve acquired, Mr. Hunt.”
“Only the best,” I say with a wink. One benefit of working nonstop and keeping a studio apartment is my bank account is ridiculously full. I want to empty it on her.
We’re quiet a moment, and I don’t want us to be awkward. I want to see her beautiful blue eyes. Those dark glasses are back in place on her nose, and I’m just about to say something when the waitress appears to take our drink orders. I ask for a bottle of
champagne and the young woman disappears. Kass slides her fingers over the menu.
“Are we celebrating?” she asks.
