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I scowl at him. Then turn my back on him and keep walking.
A small smile creeps across my face. Bossy git. It isn’t like him. I don’t know what he was thinking. Like I’d get on something so dangerous. The spectre of my parents’ disapproval sends a shudder rolling down my spine. Me being on something like that could only ever end in disaster.
The droning of the quad stops. There’s a scuffing noise as his shoes hit the road, and my smirk deepens. Good. He’s obviously come to his senses. We can just walk down, enjoy the nice evening…
Thud!
The breath is knocked from my lungs and I find myself rising into the air. My stomach drops as gravity hits and I begin my plunge towards the ground. I close my eyes, bracing against the inevitable impact. But it doesn’t come. I am scooped into arms as hard as iron, yet as gentle as velvet, and cradled against a vast expanse of rock-solid chest muscles. The scents of freshly washed cotton and citrus cologne combine with the heat of his skin, and I rest my cheek against him for a second, drinking in the heady mixture.
So that’s what it is like to be tackled by a rugby player. I didn’t expect it to be so…thrilling. I can hardly breathe.
I tuck my head down, burying into his arms.
Why the hell do I have butterflies?
I can’t look at him.
He’ll see.
He carries me to the quad. He sets me down on it like I’m made of china.
He holds out the helmet.
Released from his intoxicating embrace, my spirit rallies once more into non-compliance. I pout.
Corran rolls his eyes. “Put the helmet on.”
“No.”
“Oh, for goodness sake!” His huge hands lower the helmet over my head, his face inches from mine. One tiny move forward and I could brush my lips to his. The memory of his arms cradling me sends a shiver of desire rolling down my spine. What has gotten into me tonight? This is Corran. He’s my friend. We don’t…it isn’t like that. I want Ben. Yeesh. Getting dumped seems to be doing crazy things to my head.
Corran frowns as he adjusts the strap. I’m glad he has no idea what’s going on in my mind. “Is that ok?”
His blue eyes meet mine. The hairs on my bare arms stand on end.
What the hell?
The click of the clip on the chin strap sliding into place startles us both.
“Oh, the strap,” I breathe, absent-mindedly running my finger under it.
“Tight enough?”
I nod.
“Great.” His voice is quiet, distracted. He runs a hand through his hair.
“We’d better go,” he mutters. “The others will be waiting. Ben…”
Yeah, Ben.
Fuck.
CHAPTER TWO
Victoria
Something odd is going on.
