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Me
Come out. I have a helmet and I’m fully dressed. No one will know it’s me.
Go first. I’ll follow in my car.
You have two minutes to come outside or I’ll go in there and it won’t be pretty since I might actually break that girl’s hand for touching you.
Don’t. I’ll be right out.
He mumbles something to an older lady in the back, and a few moments later, he storms out of the building. I expected him to be panicking about the possibility of being seen in public with me, but he seems more angry than panicked.
Interesting.
My gaze continues tracking his movements as he strides toward me, and fuck.
I missed seeing him up close in his elegant shirts and pants, looking so hot and fit. Though a part of me wishes he was a bit disheveled like I’ve been this entire time.
But then again, Bran has always been the personification of perfection. He handles himself with rigorous discipline and neurotic control. It’s who he is. That’s why he can be falling apart and look like he’s detached.
I always thought it was a defense mechanism he’d developed, but against what, I don’t know. Since he’s a closed-off asshole and all that.
As soon as he stops in front of me, he watches me for a beat, even though he can’t see anything.
After I throw away the untouched cup of coffee, I pass him the spare helmet and he shoves it on so that only his eyes are visible. They’re intense and fucking angry, but I sense something different there. Lust as ferocious as mine. Longing that almost matches my own.
Almost.
“What on earth are you doing here? Are you a stalker?” he snaps.
“Maybe.”
“You could’ve told me to come over.”
“And you would’ve?”
“I am now, aren’t I?” He releases a long sigh. “Let’s just go.”
“Hop on.”
I throw my leg over the seat and rev the engine as Bran climbs on behind me and grabs the back of the seat for balance. Like he did the first time he was on my bike, which was coincidentally the first and only time anyone has ever been on my Harley.
No matter how many times others expressed their desire to ride it—and then me—I didn’t like the idea of anyone else but me touching this baby.
For some reason, I don’t mind when it’s Bran. In fact, I wanted to get him in this position again after that first night he gave in.
The night after which I messed with his control in an irrevocable fashion. In return, he completely fucked me up.
I rev the engine again. “You can grab onto my shoulders. I don’t bite.”
“Sure about that?” he asks with a note of sarcasm.
“Okay. I don’t bite when I’m riding.”
I expect him to refuse since he’s allergic to any public touching, but he must be comfortable with how the helmets disguise us, because his hands curl around the tops of my shoulders.
It’s not on purpose, but my lips pull into a smile behind my helmet. Fuck. It’s been so long since he had his hands on me, and even though annoying clothes separate us, I soak in the feel of his hands and his warmth radiating down my back.
He shifts behind me and I suck in a sharp inhale, breathing in his citrus and clover scent.
