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My heart leaps into my chest when a man comes slowing to a stop.
Yay! We're saved! Surely, I can sweet talk this dude into helping us.
I wave and smile at him brightly, imploring words already at my lips.
But they die on my tongue when he finally reaches us and skids to a halt.
My god, this man is freakinggorgeous.
He has windswept, jet-black hair, a square, stubbled jawline, and aviator sunglasses that give him a hint of danger.
I'm dying to see what color his eyes are behind those shades.
He's oozing all sorts of male testosterone, and he has that bad boy vibe with his classic leather jacket, light gray tee, and ripped black jeans.
This man has managed to do something no one else in mankind has ever been able to do.
I, Jessie Cunninghman, (a.k.a. Posh) am absolutely speechless.
I can feel the heat rising in my cheeks as he dismounts and approaches us. He's tall, at least six feet. He shrugs out of his jacket, and I notice that his muscular arms are adorned with tattoos. I want to run my fingers over them, tracing the intricate designs that wrap around his biceps.
"Hey there," he says, his voice deep and rough. "Looks like you're in a bit of a predicament."
I nod dumbly, unable to form a coherent sentence.
He glances at Maggie, giving her a warm smile. "Hey, kiddo. You alright?"
"Yep! Auntie Posh is taking me to the beach!" she beams at him with all the happy obliviousness of a child.
The dude turns his attention back to me and raises an eyebrow. "Posh?"
My cheeks flame at my nickname, which suddenly seems silly. "It's what everyone calls me," I stammer, "but my real name is Jessie."
"Jessie," he says my name in a way that makes me squeeze my thighs together, though I don't know why.
His eyes flick over me and linger where my thighs are clamped tightly together.
His nostrils flare, and for some reason, that makes my pulse race. "What seems to be the problem?" he asks.
"My car broke down," I manage to stammer out. "And I don't have any cell service."
He nods, his eyes taking in my old Buick.
I see the questions in his eyes when they land back on me, and I get it. My designer clothes contradict the car I drive, but when Whitney stood up to her dad, I decided to take a stand too. I moved out and started supporting myself, and some people would say I have my priorities backward, but I chose to spend more money on the type of clothing I was used to than getting a reliable ride.
I'm starting to see that might have been a mistake.
The man finally pulls his gaze away from me and scans the area around us. "Yeah, you're not gonna get any reception out here. But don't worry, I can give you a ride to the nearest town. My bike should be able to carry all three of us."
I hesitate for a moment, my mind racing with all the potential dangers of getting on the back of a stranger's motorcycle. But then I remind myself that I'm in the middle of nowhere with a toddler, and I don't have any other options.
And for some inexplicable reason, Iknowdeep down in my soul that this man would never hurt me or Maggie.
Is that crazy?
"Okay," I say, finally finding my voice. "Thank you so much."
He gives me a crooked smile, and I feel a flutter in my stomach. "No problem. Hop on."
