Total pages in book: 122
Estimated words: 115086 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 575(@200wpm)___ 460(@250wpm)___ 384(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 115086 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 575(@200wpm)___ 460(@250wpm)___ 384(@300wpm)
Stopping his movement, he faced her. “What? No. Harley’s fine.”
He stalked toward her then boxed her in against the wall.
Immediately her pulse shot through the roof, and her body recalled the last time they’d been so close. When he’d had his hands on her. And that sinful mouth.
Ugh, why did he always have to smell so good?
“Ever been on a bike?” he asked.
She blinked. “What?”
He chuckled as though he saw beneath her skin to the rapid heartbeat and breathlessness caused by his proximity. “A motorcycle. Ever ridden one?”
“No. I haven’t.” Did he want to take her on a ride? Did she want to go on one? Pressed against him. Having to hold onto him.
Her insides fluttered.
“Well, throw on some jeans, and let’s get out of here. Nothing better than riding along the coast. We can stop and grab some lunch.”
Good God, did that sound like the perfect way to spend her afternoon. But it also sounded like a date. She eyed him as her brain whirred, trying to interpret his mood and why he’d popped up to take her out like this. Especially after their conversation at breakfast a few days ago. She hadn’t seen or spoken to him since.
Though she’d sure thought about him a lot.
Too much.
The idea of sitting pressed against him as the wind blew her hair and the salty gulf air tickled her nose was almost too much to bear. It’d be a giant step in the wrong direction of resisting him. “Actually, today isn’t the greatest.” She had about two seconds to come up with a credible excuse.
“Brooke,” he said in an antsy tone that didn’t fit the man she knew. “My head’s a little fucked right now. I need to ride. Need to clear some shit from my mind. When I’m like this, it’s better if I’m not alone.”
The word no hung on the tip of her tongue. Couldn’t he ask one of his new brothers to join him? But it was eleven on a workday. They’d all be busy. His troubled gaze pleaded his case and proved his word. Frustration, maybe even anxiety, hovered in those dark orbs. They held a wealth of pain he masked every day.
Of course they did. When she tried to imagine what the past thirteen years of his life must have been like, she could only stand to think about it for a moment or two before the sorrow and indignation took over. In some ways, she understood the horror of being trapped where you didn’t want to be, but she eventually had the power to escape. He was at the mercy of others until the day someone finally discovered the egregious act that put him there.
So she found herself saying, “Give me twenty minutes to get all the dogs settled,” instead of declining his perilous offer.
In the end, it only took ten minutes with Curly’s help to wrangle the foster pups into their kennels. Brooke changed into jeans as he’d suggested while Curly waited. Ray and Harley were curled up on Ray’s dog bed, snoozing away when they locked the door and left.
They drove to his house in his truck. “Hold up,” he said after parking in the driveway.
Fifteen seconds later, he was opening the truck door for her.
She did not find that charming.
“I could have gotten it,” she said.
“I know. But then I couldn’t have done this.” He reached in and grabbed her waist, then pulled her to him.
She yelped and grabbed for his arms as he lifted her off the seat. Their gazes locked. Slowly, he lowered her to the ground, letting her brush against his body the entire way.
Oh, my God, was he hard? It took everything in her not to shiver in delight.
“There, wasn’t it more fun my way?” he asked with a wink before walking to the garage.
She sagged against the truck.
As the garage door slid open, his motorcycle came into view. Up close and personal, the bike was huge. Much bigger than she’d expected. Was he sure this outing would be safe? While she pondered whether this would be her last day on earth, Curly wrapped a hand around her waist from behind. Why did he have to feel so good?
“Sweetheart, I’ve been riding since I was eight.” He spun her then plopped a helmet on her head with an amused grin. “Promise you’re safe with me.” He winked while securing the helmet.
Brooke snorted out a laugh. “Eight? Come on. Pull the other one.”
“Started on dirt bikes as a kid. Man, we’d spend all summer on them. I remember my mama throwing a fit nearly every night when I came home covered in mud and muck from riding around the swamps.” He chuckled at the memory. “Life sure was simpler then.”
No kidding. She’d spent her childhood summers at the local lake and gobbling down popsicles with her friends. Not a care in the world beyond the next time she could get in her bathing suit.