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He climbed aboard the bike, adjusted the throttle and kick-started the engine.
She jumped and he grinned. ‘Don’t worry. I promise it won’t bite.’
Even if I do.
‘I don’t even know how to mount it,’ she said, all practical as she chewed off the last of her lipstick.
He had to force his gaze off her reddened bottom lip and ignore the swift kick to his gut.
Whoa, buster, no dirty thoughts while driving or you’ll wipe out.
‘Gather your gown up,’ he said, ‘and tuck it under your knees when you get seated. We don’t want it snagging on anything. There’s a pedal there to stand on and mount up.’
She nodded, her frown making his lust kick again. He was treated to an impressive display of long, toned thigh before she put one foot on the pedal and flung her other leg over the bike. Grasping his shoulders, she bounced up behind him.
‘Hang on tight,’ he said, and her slender arms banded around his waist.
Her soft breasts flattened against his back, and the kick burned down to his crotch. Heck, he needed to get his response under control, or this ride was going to be torture.
Her helmet clicked the back of his.
‘Oops, sorry,’ she said. ‘Are you sure you want to do this? I’m a complete novice.’
Her thighs hugged his butt, and it was all he could do not to weep.
‘Positive,’ he groaned.
Revving the engine, he settled his hand on her bare knee and gave it a reassuring squeeze—then he let her go, before the sizzle against his palm could add to the torture.
‘Just remember to lean with me on the turns. I’ll take it slow at first, until you get the hang of it. If there’s a problem, yell.’
Her helmet clicked his again as she nodded.
‘All set, cher?’ he asked.
‘As I’ll ever be,’ she yelled, above the rumble of the bike’s engine.
He peeled the bike away from the kerb and heard her shocked gasp, felt her breath hot against his nape, her arms locking tighter around his waist.
The grin that split his face as they headed down the street made him wonder why the heck he hadn’t thought of taking a woman for a ride on his bike before now.
‘Oh, my goodness,’ she said, as she clung on and he whipped around the traffic on Lincoln Way.
She tightened her grip again when he hung a left on Clayton. Her intoxicating scent mixed with the aroma of exhaust fumes and stale weed as he slowed the bike to a crawl to turn at the busy intersection into Haight Street.
‘This is Haight-Ashbury!’ he yelled over his shoulder.
‘Where the tourists come to celebrate the Summer of Love a half-century too late.’
She giggled, the light musical sound floating on the night air. ‘I feel like I should start singing a Bob Dylan song!’ she shouted back.
He laughed as a shiver of sensation shot down his spine. And suddenly he knew why he’d never offered another woman a ride on his bike. Because no woman had ever captivated him the way she had.
And he hadn’t even tasted her yet.
* * *
Cassie caught her breath as they entered the old hippie neighbourhood she’d read about in a guidebook on the plane but never imagined she’d have a chance to visit. Neon signs announced tattoo parlours, thrift stores and record shops, while young people spilled out of bars and restaurants dressed in a rainbow of psychedelic colours.
