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Chapter 18
Solo killed the engine
Pulling off his helmet, he planted his feet either side of the bike and let his gaze take in the neat weatherboard house with its rim of rosebushes. It provided another piece to the jigsaw he’d been putting together of Polly. Homely and quaint, it made him think of scones and jam and cream. Somehow he’d imagined she’d live in some trendy art deco apartment, all boho chic and crammed full of quirky ornaments, but this was more homespun charm.
So this was where she now lived with her “adopted” family. And yeah, now it made sense, her need for somewhere safe. He’d seen the chinks of vulnerability peep out from the depths of those green eyes. Then down would slam the shutters to keep him out.
He’d worked out the game he had to play.
Casual. Cool. The problem was that nothing in his body, or his brain, seemed to want to play by the rules. As he walked up the path, excitement revved, a steady hum low in his belly. He’d even bought a pack of condoms. Just in case. And when he knocked on the door, his heartbeat sounded as loud as his fist on the wooden surface as the pad of feet on the other side got closer.
Like always, whenever Polly was near, his breath got knotted in his throat.
The door flung open.
Her hair was tied up, but softly, in a casual up-do that encouraged little ebony curls to tumble around her face. In a checked cotton shirt, she looked like a fresh-faced jillaroo and suddenly he could picture her on the farm. It did nothing to calm his libido.
He lifted an eyebrow, trying for cool. “Ready?” He handed her the helmet.
Polly took it and frowned. “It’s heavy.”
“It needs to be, to protect your assets.”
She held it against her chest with a suggestive raise of an eyebrow and he burst out laughing. “Not those assets.” He grinned, feeling his face flush.
And, boy, did he want to take her into his arms and crush those gorgeous assets against his chest.
“Come in then.” She cast him a smug little smile.
They went into the kitchen and Solo took in the room. It was cosy and inviting, a big wooden table in the centre, cluttered shelves and photos haphazardly stuck on the fridge. A coffee machine and an array of teapots all different sizes and shapes sat on a shelf above the stove.
“Someone likes tea.”
“Rowena and Alice are tea addicts. Me, I’m a coffee girl. I need a proper caffeine hit.”
“Never anything by halves, right?”
“You know me.” She bit her lower lip, a mottled flush appearing on her cheeks. Quickly she changed tack. “So, now, how do I put this thing on?”
She was fiddling with the straps, scowling at it like it was some kind of slain animal that Solo had brought to her as an offering. Grinning, he took it from her and their fingers brushed. A zing of lust hit his groin, and the room suddenly felt thick with expectation.
“Like this.” He untangled the straps, slipping it onto her head, avoiding inhaling too deeply of her perfume and that sweet, musky something that lurked just below it. He forced himself to focus on the straps and not the nearness of her breasts almost brushing his chest.
Their combined breathing seemed to fill the space. His hands felt too large, clumsy as he pulled the strap around her chin. “You need to not have hair around your face.”
“That’s impossible with my hair,” she grumbled.
He grunted, focused. God itwasnearly impossible, getting those curls to behave. Like their owner.
Gently he tucked the tendrils in.
“Feels weird,” she mumbled. Her cheeks were bunched by the helmet and it gave her a cute chipmunk look.
“All done,” he said gruffly as their lower bodies bumped.
Before he could stop himself he did something totally unexpected, even to him, and dropped a feather-light kiss on the tip of her nose.
Polly sprang backwards, one hand rubbing fiercely at her nose like he’d decked her.
