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Her voice had turned bitter, and I felt like I was suddenly standing on very thin ice. She gave me a fleeting smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “Sorry, I’m breaking my own rule. No talking business.”
“I asked the question.” I could see a thousand emotions swirling behind those emerald eyes as she stared up at me, looking so vulnerable. “But I’m glad you answered it. For what it’s worth, I’m sorry.”
I didn’t tell her I understood what it felt like to lose someone you loved. Any platitudes I offered meant precious little, coming from someone like me. But Cassidy just smiled, a fragile, delicate thing, and placed her hand on my arm. “Thank you.”
We’d reached the far end of the garden. Beyond lay the garage, and I could see Grady patrolling the edge of the woods, watching us. The conversation seemed too heavy all of a sudden, and placed my hand over Cassidy’s, desperate to get out from under prying eyes.
“Hey.” I nodded towards the garage where my bike waited. “Do you want to go for a ride?”
9
Cassidy
"Iamnotgettingon that thing." I dubiously stared down at the streamlined conglomeration of steel and plastic.
"It's perfectly safe."
“Have you ever seen what a tree trunk can do to a body at sixty miles per hour? Or, better yet, a pickup truck? There’s a reason we call motorcyclists ‘Organ Donors’ in my line of work.” Connor was smirking at me as if he sensed a challenge. Well, bring it on, tough guy—I could wax poetic all day about what I’d seen roll through the ED’s doors. Maybe that would take him down a peg.
“You’ve always got excuses,” he cocked his head at me. “You don’t like getting out of your comfort zone much, do you?”
I crossed my arms, refusing to budge. “It’s not about comfort. It’s about stupidity and cheap thrills.”
“No, it’s not. You’re scared.”
“I am not.”
“Then get on the bike.”
“Don’t boss me around.”
Connor leaned in until he was within inches from my face, staring me down, his usual icy stare turned playful yet losing nothing of its intensity. “Either get on the bike, Cassidy, or admit you’re scared.”
“And then you’ll drop it?”
“If you can admit to yourself that you’re too scared to ride the bike, then yes. I won’t make you go.” Connor’s eyes never wavered from mine.
The gauntlet had been thrown. What was it about him that he knew exactly which of my buttons to push? I didn’t like being so transparent. I growled and snatched the helmet from him, noting with satisfaction the flash of surprise that he quickly tried to cover. If Connor McTiernan thought I was going to let him win that easy, he had another thing coming.
“Are we going, or what?” I snapped.
Dimples creased the corners of Connor’s mouth as he tried to suppress a grin. “Just around the block. Practice for tomorrow.”
Down to business. After some coaxing and a surprisingly informative lesson on how the thing worked, I was sitting behind him, helmet on and motorcycle purring between my legs. Or, at least, that’s what I told myself was going on down there when Connor suddenly reached back and wrapped my arms around his waist.
Woah.
Beneath the heavy jacket, I could feel the taught planes of his muscles shift as he balanced the bike with practiced ease. The heat of him was nearly overwhelming. The confidence. Connor wasn’t a large man, but what he lacked in bulk he made up for with sleek athletic prowess, every move calculated, nothing ever wasted. The sane part of my brain screamed at me to pull away. The other part, that sex-starved, hormone driven primal instinct part, wanted nothing more than to dip my hand beneath that jacket and feel those ripcord abs tense beneath my touch…and then maybe dip a little lower…
Connor squeezed my wrist and pulled me back to reality. “I’m not going to go very fast at first,” he said, “but hold on. Keep your shoulders in line with mine and lean when I do.”
“But—”
“You’ll be fine,” Connor said. “Trust me.”
It was all I could do to nod my head. I half expected him to floor it, just to mess with me, but he didn’t. I felt a steady acceleration take hold of my middle, and the bike tilted slightly as we pulled out onto the road. I don’t think I opened my eyes until we’d gone a couple miles. Instead, I perched on the back of the motorcycle, stiff as a statue and holding onto Connor as if my life depended upon it, precarious and vulnerable and somehow blindly giving my trust to this man I was supposed to hate.
I had my own pegs to rest my feet on, but my thighs slid hopelessly against his with every tilt of the bike, a delicious friction building that made me want to jump off the back. Or pull him closer. Wrap my legs around his waist and ride him…
