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PROLOGUE
HANNAH
When I’d suggested this outing to a vintage motorcycle show with my dad, sex had been the last thing on my mind. But now, thanks to my dull-as-dirt ex-boyfriend, who’d dumped me for someone better suited to his country club lifestyle, I needed a rebound before my ego capsized, and this seemed as good a place as any to find one. Some people might consider it strange to troll for a man while out with my dad, but we’d never had a conventional relationship. He’d spent a good portion of my childhood behind bars, but he’d done everything he could to make up for it when he’d gotten out, and we didn’t have any secrets from each other. Besides, I knew he was hoping the gorgeous woman who did custom motorcycle paint jobs might accept his invitation for a date tonight, so we were both prepared for the other to disappear, if either of us got lucky.
We strolled along the grassed paddock between rows of motorcycles that were being displayed by their proud owners. Old school rock and roll played in the background from a cover band, who’d set up near the food trucks. I scanned the bikes, appreciating the nicer ones and glancing at the people beside them in case they were of interest too. Dad and I often attended these events when they happened near our home in Wellington. He was motorcycle mad, and we’d bonded over them when I was a teenager, although I was more into vintage scooters than the beasts he liked.
I stopped beside an exquisitely restored Vespa with a paint job that made it seem to shimmer different shades of pink. I stepped closer, studying the detail.
“It’s stunning.” I looked around to find the owner. When I did, my mouth went dry and my body heated with interest. The man resting with his legs apart on the back of his Ute was as impressive as the Vespa. I greedily drank up the sight of his broad shoulders, tattooed forearms, and dark hair with just a few grays at the temples. My gaze lingered on his face, a punch of lust hitting me in the gut as I realized he was staring right back. His cheeks and jaw were covered with stubble, and his lips were full for a man, but it was his eyes that really got me. They were a deep, bright green. Based on the crinkles around them, he was older than me. Maybe in his late thirties or early forties. My heart gave a pitter-patter. I’d always been attracted to older men. Perhaps because I subconsciously thought they’d give me the stability I hadn’t had as a child—who knew?—but it was an undeniable fact that this guy really did it for me.
His lips twitched. “You like her?”
His voice was deep and rumbly, and sent shivers racing over my skin.
“She’s a beauty,” I agreed, moving closer to get a better look.
“I did the work myself,” he said. “She was a hunk of scrap when I found her.”
“You’d never know it,” I replied.
He stood, his thick thigh muscles bunching beneath his faded jeans as he made his way over. “You have one?”
“Not a Vespa,” I admitted. If I could afford to indulge my obsession on a teacher’s salary, I’d have a garage full of different models, but as it was, the only reason I had a garage at all was because Dad had been kind enough to let me stay with him after Ethan told me to pack my things and get out of his house. “I have a ’52 Ducati Cruiser.” I blushed. “It’s not in original condition though. Dad”—I waved a hand behind me to indicate who I was referring to—“refurbished it, and a friend of his did a custom paint design.”
“Really?” His eyebrows shot up. “Do you have a photo?”
“Sure. Hold on.” I got my phone out of the small, over-the-shoulder black-and-pink clutch I’d brought with me and swiped until I found a photograph. I offered him the phone.
He whistled. “She sure is pretty.”
“She is.” I glanced at him from beneath my lashes just in time to see his eyes do a sneaky perusal of my body. I took the phone back and offered him my hand. “I’m Hannah.”
“Warren.” Those beautiful green eyes locked onto mine and heated as his massive hand engulfed my smaller one. His palm was calloused, and the roughness of it against my softer skin felt divine. He held on for a beat longer than necessary, and my heart rate sped up. A persistent throb began between my legs, telling me we were on. All systems go. Everything about Warren’s body language said he returned my interest.
“I’m Sam,” Dad said, as Warren finally released me. “But I can’t stay to chat.” He caught my eye. “See you tomorrow?”
I grinned. Good old Dad, reading the moment right. “Say hi to Petra for me.”
He nodded, and strode away.
I turned back to Warren, glancing surreptitiously at his ring finger. Bare.
Yes.
I fought the urge to do a happy dance. I had a feeling this mountain of a man could be exactly what I needed to get Ethan off my mind.
“You’re not here with him?” Warren sounded confused.
“We came separately.” I laid a hand on his forearm, feeling the cords of muscle shift beneath his inked skin. I was being forward, but no one had ever accused me of not going after what I wanted. “Are you from around here?”
He tapped his chest, and it took me a moment to realize his T-shirt was advertising a motor shop in Destiny Falls, a tourist town that was a ferry ride and several hours’ drive away.
“Ah, right.” Silly me. I should have noticed. “Are you staying for the night?”
He crowded me, his hand coming to rest on my hip. Heat rushed to my core, and I had to crane my neck to look up at him. “Why do you want to know?” He dropped his head so his lips were beside my ear and murmured, “The way you’re looking at me is giving me dirty thoughts.”
“Then we’re on the same page,” I whispered back.
