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I chuckled and shook my head. “You’ll have to save that for another time.”
She ducked her head with a smile. Still, she wasn’t leaving and neither was I. Retrieving my jacket from where I’d left it draped over the back of her truck, I pulled it on.
“I’ll see you tomorrow then,” I said.
“A motorcycle ride and ice cream,” she replied.
I dipped my head in a nod. With the light sending golden highlights through her hair, she was a vision of warmth. The urge to kiss her nearly drove me to distraction. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d been this infatuated with a woman.
As I started up my bike, I waited for Jules to get into her truck and watched her drive away. She stuck her arm out the window and waved.
Tomorrow couldn’t come fast enough.
Chapter Two
Jules
I couldn’t believe I had hooked a date with a six-foot-tall, motorcycle riding, leather-clad, tattooed, heavily-muscled Marine. I’d spent twenty-two years suffering through lukewarm dates and gradually losing hope because of it until I preferred to focus on work instead of my love life – or lack of it. And then Tank rolled up out of the blue, some guardian angel on a motorcycle to rescue me from becoming jaded and bitter about my meager dating record.
The next day, I’d texted Tank directions to pick me up at the Fairbanks Farms Greenhouse just off the highway. I didn’t tell him it belonged to my family. I didn’t tell him I was saving him from the onslaught of five younger brothers and sisters who would swarm him as soon as they found out I was dating him.
The man might be a Marine, but I’m sure the sight of his date’s large and overly enthusiastic family would send him running for the hills in a heartbeat.
For now, I just wanted Tank to myself.
The growl of his motorcycle echoed in the distance and I shielded my eyes with one hand, peering toward the horizon. The landscape stretched in either direction, flat and dusted with dry shrubs and underbrush. The glint of sunlight on metal winked from the long ribbon of highway.
A few minutes later, Tank pulled up alongside me.
God, he was gorgeous. My stomach swooped at the sight of him, just like it did that first time I saw him when he’d parked behind my truck. With a sharp jawline, golden brown hair neatly combed into a tidy undercut, and a devastating smile, I had a feeling Tank could easily have any woman he wanted eating out of the palm of his hand without saying a word.
And he wasbroad. A solid wall of muscle with ramrod straight shoulders, rigid spine, and a chest that might as well have been made of steel. No wonder he was called Tank.
“Looking good, Marine,” I said.
Tank chuckled. “Good morning to you, too.”
“Do I pass muster?” I asked, gesturing to my clothes. “Am I motorcycle approved?”
I’d exchanged my sundress for the tightest pair of jeans I owned, a snug peach-colored tank top, and a denim jacket. I’d embroidered cherries and sunflowers along the lapels ages ago.
Heat flushed my face as Tank studied me. His aviators shielded his eyes but the fact that I had his undivided attention – that he was looking at me for so long – was certainly pleasing if not slightly intimidating. It was one thing to toss a few flirty words back and forth. It was a completely different experience to be sized up, especially by someone as attractive as Tank.
Finally, he nodded.
“It might not be that bikini and boots ensemble you promised, but I certainly have no complaints. All you need is a helmet and we can get moving.”
Tank reached back and retrieved the helmet strapped to the seat behind him. He held it out to me and I accepted it, tugging it on. After I’d secured the straps beneath my chin, Tank offered his hand, palm up. When I placed my hand in his, Tank curled his fingers around mine in a grip that made me safe and secure. His hand was huge, enveloping mine, his skin calloused and warm.
“Now you’re ready,” he said.
Guiding me onto the back of the bike, Tank steadied me as I climbed up behind him. He took my hand, looping my arm around his waist. My cheek was practically pressed to his leather-clad back, his jacket warmed from the sun and his body heat. The scent of hickory woodsmoke and lemons clung to his clothes.
“All set?” Tank asked, glancing back over his shoulder.
I nodded. I couldn’t quite reach all the way around his middle, but I knotted my fingers into his jacket to make up for it. I certainly didn’t miss the feel of rock-hard muscle underneath his clothes either.
Tank revved the engine, checked his mirrors, and in the next breath, we were moving. It was smooth and easy, a simple lean to the left and the wind was tugging at my clothes, pavement hurtling past me at a blur. An exhilarating rush washed over me mingled with a prickle of panic at just how fast we were going. But when I peeked past Tank’s shoulder, the speedometer registered a sedate 60 mph for the highway.
