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Rudy pulls back, his eyes taking on a hot, predatory gleam. “The baby’s sleeping,” he notes conversationally.
“Be gentle,” I say, shivering at the way his hands shape my curves.
Rudy kisses the tip of my nose, then gives me a soft squeeze. “Always.”
Nora
The Cedar Grove’s parking lot is jammed.
Girls’ Night.
Mostly, my friends take a taxi or have a designated driver for their evenings here, but I’ve been told that Girls’ Nights have started attracting other patrons, too. It seems they’ve taken on a sort of mythical reputation in and around Heart’s Cove—hence the multitude of cars in the parking lot. If people aren’t here to participate, they seem to like coming for the atmosphere.
And by “atmosphere,” I mean a bunch of crazy forty-somethings letting their hair down.
Tonight is the first time I’ve been officially invited. Trina even booked a blowout at the salon for me earlier, only to click her tongue when I told her I wasn’t in town and would be driving back from Reno this afternoon. She told me Lily’s having her first evening away from her baby, and we’re making an event out of it. Hamish even agreed to let us put up a sign inside the bar.
Lily only promised to show up for an hour or two, so I’m under strict instructions to arrive on time.
I sped all the way here and left Reno in the dust.
Thankfully, it’s the final time I have to make that drive. I put in my two weeks’ notice exactly two weeks ago, and today was my last day. I’m officially a full-time resident of Heart’s Cove, with nothing holding me back in Reno. It feels like a weight has been lifted off my shoulders.
Except…
As I pay my taxi driver and turn toward the entrance, my stomach shrinks into a hot, hard ball. A line of gleaming motorcycles is backed into a neat line at the front of the bar, each one shining black and chrome under the parking lot lights.
I hadn’t realized how much I missed seeing those bikes during the winter months, when rain and even a bit of snow coated our area. It seems the weather has warmed up enough for riding.
The motorcycle on the end of the row is navy, and I recognize the distinctive smoky swirls painted on the body. My stomach unwinds, sending heat spearing lower in my gut.
Even his bike is sexy.
The last time I saw Lee Blair was at Candice’s housewarming party. When his eyes met mine across the room, I decided I couldn’t do it. The girls had just pulled gossip out of me like it was their job, only to descend on Lily like hyenas.
As someone who hates being the center of attention, having a pack of bloodthirsty gossipmongers asking me the size of Lee’s penis is not something I want to put up with.
It’s probably very big, my brain helpfully interjects, and I scowl at myself.
I’m not here to ogle the sexy, motorcycle-riding man who turns my insides to jelly. I’m here for my inaugural Girls’ Night. I’m going to drink too much, dance like a buffoon, and make an absolute fool of myself surrounded by all my new friends.
My feet disagree, because they carry me closer to his motorcycle. I bet it would feel positively sexual to have that big machine vibrating between my legs, to have Lee’s big, hard body pressed up against my chest.
The leather of his seat is blue too, I notice. A blue-black that gleams under the artificial lights of the parking lot. Glancing around to make sure I’m alone, I run a palm over the buttery-soft leather of the seat and feel a shiver dance in the very feminine core of me.
This isn’t like me. My ex-husband worked in tech. His favorite word was “optimization.” Bad boys riding motorcycles are not the type of men I’ve ever been attracted to. Not then, not now, not ever.
But I remember the way Lee’s eyes tracked me around Candice’s house, how he almost cornered me on the patio before I ducked away and ran to the kitchen to help Jen. When I finally went home after Candice and Blake’s party, it felt like I’d run a marathon.
Palm still running over the soft leather of the motorcycle’s seat, I fall into something of a trance. Maybe I’ll talk to Lee again. Maybe I’ll even do more than talk. Girls’ Nights are for bad decisions, right?
He’d be rough, I decide. He’d grip those broad hands over my hips and pull me close, until all I could see was him. Maybe he’d sit me right here on the back of his motorcycle, spread my legs, and—
A loud, crashing noise jerks me out of my stupor. It sounds like a thousand bottles falling and shattering in the alley beside the Grove, echoing against all the brick and concrete. I stumble at the noise, still panting from my too-vivid imagination, and catch myself on the nearest object.
Lee’s motorcycle.
In slow-motion, the two-wheeled machine starts tipping away from me. Inch by inch, it lifts off the kickstand beside me, hovers in a near-vertical position for a heart-stopping moment, then starts falling in the other direction.
