Total pages in book: 53
Estimated words: 50811 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 254(@200wpm)___ 203(@250wpm)___ 169(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 50811 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 254(@200wpm)___ 203(@250wpm)___ 169(@300wpm)
It looked awful. I drew my fingers back and forth, wishing I could take away the pain. After a few seconds his muscles tightened and something rumbled deep in his throat.
“Usually I like a girl to buy me a drink before she rips off my clothes in public,” he said lightly, but there was a hint of strain in his voice. I dropped his shirt abruptly, stepping back.
“I’m sorry,” I said, embarrassed.
Rome pulled me back to him, catching and holding my gaze. “Randi, I like you touching me. In fact, I’d really like you to touch me some more.”
“What happened to talking?” I asked, biting back a laugh.
Rome raised a brow. “I’m excellent at multi-tasking. Let’s go for a ride. There’s somewhere I’d like to show you.”
“Would this somewhere be public or private?” I asked, slowly running my hand down the front of his shirt. He caught it right above his belt, and I laughed.
“Does it matter?” he asked, eyes dancing. “You didn’t seem to mind last night.”
“About that…” I said, feeling my cheeks heat up. “For the record, I don’t normally do stuff like that.”
I waited for him to say he didn’t, either. Instead he just laughed. I smacked him, and he laughed harder.
“Enough. We should get going—I can’t be gone for more than a couple hours. We have an early dinner planned, and I still have to get ready for the reunion.”
“No worries,” he said. “I’m covering a shift tonight anyway. Ambulance crew. I’ll get you home in plenty of time.”
Chapter Eight
For the third time in twenty-four hours, I found myself riding through the hills with Rome. We’d gone south this time. He still wouldn’t say where we were headed, just that it was a surprise.
That worked for me.
The wind cleared my head, and I kept thinking how dark and depressing Mom’s apartment felt. Kayden and Lexi deserved light and clean air. There had to be a better place, although with mom’s housing subsidy, her options were limited. Maybe Tinker had something available in the apartment building she’d inherited from her dad. The place was small and relatively old, which meant most of the units had windows on three sides.
That’d be almost like living in a real house.
I’d talk to her about before I left town, I decided.
It wasn’t long before Rome pulled off the main highway. We turned onto a side road that wound its way up through foothills peppered with evergreens, many of them showing fire damage. Then we took a left onto a gravel road, passing a large ranch-style house before pulling off in front of an old wooden barn.
It was like something out of a movie.
The roof was steep and slanting, with a high peak in the front that poked out almost like a horn over the hayloft. The wood was dark brown and weathered. A line of green marked a little stream not far away, shaded by a massive willow.
He turned off the motorcycle and quiet descended.
“It’s beautiful,” I said, hopping off and handing him my helmet.
“It’s the original family homestead,” he said. “We passed my folks’ place on the way in. The old farmhouse was a mess—built without a foundation. The historical society hauled it away before I was born. We still use the barn, though. It’s in good shape. Come and see.”
Wow. He’d talked about his family last night, but I hadn’t realized the McGuires were original settlers. Somehow I’d never considered him the settling down type. I wondered if he planned to live on this land someday, too.
Catching my hand, he pulled me toward the big sliding door, which was padlocked. It didn’t take long for him to unlock and then he was pushing it to the side. He reached for a cord, turning on a series of shop lights.
The whole place was full of motorcycles.
Or rather, it was full of parts of motorcycles, all in different stages of restoration and repair. There was a trailer, too, and a big hoist hanging up high on the cathedral-like ceiling. A second level ran around the sides of the barn, open in the middle. A loft. In the back corner I saw something that looked almost like a giant shower curtain, mounted on metal tracks.
“What is all this?” I asked.
“It’s my shop,” he said, pulling me in close. I fit under his arm perfectly. “This is what I do when I’m not working EMS. My dad taught me. He’s got arthritis now, so it’s all mine. Motorcycles, fighting fire, jumping out of planes… McGuire men are adrenaline junkies.”
“So it’s your hobby?” I asked, although the minute I said it, I felt stupid. Clearly this wasn’t a hobby—this was a passion.
“No, it’s actually how I make most of my money,” he replied, looking pleased with himself. “I love the work, and people pay top dollar for a good restoration.”