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“Sweet tea?” he asked, reaching to unbuckle her helmet as she paused beside him, wobbling a little on legs that had gone to jelly now that the vibrating engine was no longer between them. He dismounted enough to face her, then leaned back against the seat of the bike, his booted feet stretched out on either side of hers so she was wedged between his thighs. Her face was hovering just above his as he pulled her helmet off and his eyes drifted to her mouth.
“I have lemonade,” she offered quickly. Too quickly and she saw the amusement flash in his eyes as she leaned her head back out of reach. “Water. I might be able to make up a cup of chamomile but it’s?—”
He shook his head, a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth as his fingers caught on her hips and tugged her closer. “What am I going to do with you?” he asked. His eyes wandered over her face, refocusing on her lips as she wet them with her tongue.
“Sweet tea wasn’t exactly a popular drink where I grew up.” That wasn’t what he meant, and she knew it. But she didn’t have a coherent way to explain the constant push and pull of her emotions where he was concerned. She was a moth, drawn to him like a flame but driven back by the heat when she got too close. She danced at the edge of danger, unable to walk away and afraid to dive in.
“And where was that?” He brought one hand up to cup her cheek, his thumb drifting over her chin.
She’d avoided those discussions, tiptoeing around his questions about her parents, if she had any siblings, what her childhood home was like. The less anyone in her life knew about the tense relationship she had with her mother and the nonexistent one she had with her father, the further removed it felt from her new life.
It had embarrassed her that he’d gotten a glimpse of it in the phone call he’d overheard but the inescapable intensity of the look he was giving her now made her want to let him in, to let him see just a little behind the walls she hid behind. “Chicago,” she said simply. “My parents live in Chicago.”
“That explains?—”
She leaned up, pressing onto the tips of her toes and sliding her hands over his chest as she closed the distance between them. The worries she normally would’ve had about the neighbors seeing them were drowned out by the pounding in her ears and the soft press of his mouth. She’d spent her whole life trying to be perfect, analyzing every decision until she was almost paralyzed with fear, but suddenly she didn’t want to miss whatever he might have to give because she was too afraid to take a chance.
He needed no further encouragement; whatever he’d been about to say was forgotten as he deepened the kiss. He tasted of syrup and morning coffee, the sweetness of it dancing across her tongue as he drew her in until she was pressed tight to his chest, her knee on the seat beside his hip and her fingers tangled in his black T-shirt.
Something shifted inside her, a new need rising that made her body tingle and her head spin. This was wild and reckless. Risky. All the things she’d never let herself be … And she wanted it. Maybe she’d been right before and whatever this was between them was her own little rebellion. Maybe it was the lingering irritation from the phone call with her mother, or the heated way he looked at her, or the steady hum of adrenaline in her blood after her first motorcycle ride but whatever it was, she wanted to give in to it.
“Let’s go inside.”
Twelve
“Inside?” He’d frozen, still holding her against him as he looked down into her face and searched for confirmation. “We’re not still pretending this is just us being friends?”
“Friends?” She tipped her head and considered him. “Not even friends. Just neighbors. I’ve done this with the whole cul-de-sac.”
“Ah.” He nodded, lips twitching. “I’m sure they were very grateful.”
“Will you be grateful?” She pressed against him, unable to resist the urge to tease when his eyes were so hot on hers.
“You have no idea.”
“I dreamed about you,” she admitted. “When you first moved in and I hated you. I still wanted you, even then.”
“Christ,” he swore. “Your bed or mine?”
“Um.”
“Let’s go.” He started toward her front door and changed his mind, pivoting toward his own closer door instead. He had to let go of her long enough to fumble with his keys and he shot her an apologetic look. “It’s probably not as clean as yours but I know I have protection.”
She laughed as he tugged her inside and closed the door behind her. “Good call. I don’t think I have any and I didn’t even think of that. I’m on birth control but?—”
“You’re not the kind to take unnecessary risks and in this area, I have to agree with you.”
That soothed some of her nerves, the formalities settled and out of the way enough for her to refocus on the excitement and anticipation simmering under her skin.
He was close enough for her to touch and she was finally going to let herself do far more than just that. Her fingers itched just thinking about it and a slow heat was building between her thighs.
“Upstairs?” she asked, already backing across the living room to the base of the staircase.
“Yeah,” he agreed. His eyes were tracking her movements, shadowing her steps as she climbed. “My bedroom is just down the hall.”
His room was as sparse as the downstairs, dark colors and heavy furniture making the room feel far different than her own even though it was close to the same size. The white walls were just as bare as the rest of the house, no pictures or decorations except the flat screen that took up most of the wall across from the window.
She’d been brave downstairs, carried away by adrenaline from the terrifying thrill of the motorcycle ride, yet she felt the spark of that fade away now that she was faced with the wide expanse of his bed and her own uncertainties.
