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‘This is yours?’ I nod towards the bike. It’s big, matte black and like nothing I’ve ever seen. It’s like a stallion, all sleek and strong and somehow beautiful despite the fact I hate motorbikes. Their noise, their speed, their inherent danger.
‘Nah. I just thought we’d steal it for the night.’ He grins as he lifts the helmet onto my head.
All arguments are silenced as I am lost to the effect of his proximity. His fingers are surprisingly gentle as they graze my jaw, locking the helmet into place. And his concern for my safety is somehow pleasing, reassuring, like what we’re about to do meets some criteria of a ‘normal’ relationship when there is nothing normal about this.
He turns back to the bike and climbs on, his haunches so powerful in his suit, his expression holding a silent challenge as he looks at me. ‘Well? Aren’t you going to climb on?’
The double entendre is intentional this time. My cheeks flame.
‘On that?’ I point at the rear end of the bike dubiously.
‘Jesus. You’re afraid of this too?’
‘I’m not afraid of...’ I close my lips and look around guiltily. ‘Do you enjoy teasing me?’
‘Yes. Get on the bike, Holly.’
My name on his lips kicks confidence into me. Thanking the heavens I wore pants today, I lift my leg over the side of the bike and settle myself behind him. There are little divots that are the natural resting place for my feet and so I place them there. My hands are another story.
Despite the fact I’ve twice now begged this man to fuck me, I am shy about holding him intimately.
He looks at me in the rear-vision mirror—he can’t see my eyes through the helmet, but he wears none and his look is mocking. So much mocking from this man and it doesn’t occur to me to mind.
‘Hold on, Doc.’
I should ask him to call me something else but, now that I’ve spelled out the boundaries of our relationship, I have to admit that hearing him call me by my professional title is so damned hot.
I nod, figuring touching him is better than falling off the back of the bike and being roadkill.
I wrap my arms around his waist and wriggle forward so our bodies are melded together. His eyes burn into me and, despite the fact he can’t see me, my soul sears at the eye contact; it melts at the physical contact. My body is on fire.
The engine throbs to life, a powerful reverberation beneath me, and I have to bite down on my lower lip to stop from groaning. My body is over-sensitised and every single nerve ending jumps in response to this stimulus.
He pulls out into the traffic and hunches down a little—I stay curved around his back, my head pressed to the side, watching London in a blur as we tear through the city.
Despite what Ebony James might think, London is already wearing her festive finery. Lights twinkle overhead and Christmas trees mark the public spaces. It’s hard not to be caught up in the beauty of it as we pass—but I’m only partially aware of the sights. Same with wherever we’re going.
Noah Moore between my legs feels amazing. I know this is crazy and out of character, but when did I last do anything like that?
I’ve never been into the casual sex thing. Aaron was my first boyfriend, my high school sweetheart. And before I knew what a controlling bastard he was, I’d lost my heart and my virginity to him.
Still, I’ve never been with anyone else. I don’t know if I can make love to someone and then move on, if I can be Noah’s drug of choice.
By the time he pulls up out the front of a bar—and I have no idea where—my buzz is at risk of disappearing.
Despite that, I’m reluctant to walk away from him. Danger signals are everywhere and yet I loosen the helmet and place it on the handlebars, then step off the bike and put my hand in his, our fingers interlaced as though we are already intimate lovers, used to weaving our bodies together like this.
‘Let’s go, Doc.’
Pushing my doubts aside, I admit to myself that I want this with all of me. For once in my life, I’m going to do something selfish and stupid and to hell with the consequences. I suspect Noah Moore will be worth it.
CHAPTER FIVE
HE SHOULDERS THE door in—my stomach swoops because the small, meaningless gesture seems metaphorical. Like I’ve cracked open a wardrobe and I’m slipping into Narnia. One night, one decision and I already know my life will never be the same again.
The place is pumping. It’s a Friday night, and though I prefer to be at home catching up on period dramas, apparently the rest of the world still does this.
I like it. No, I more than like it. I love it. I feel like an entirely different woman as I walk in beside Noah Moore. People turn to look at him, then me and, unlike my usually reserved self, I don’t care. I like being seen with him. Confidence straightens my back.
