on a singlet and a rolled-neck top, then the jacket—all
black. The leathers were stiff. Either she’d put on a few pounds since she’d
last worn them or they’d shrunk. The pants clung to her thighs like black to
night.
“Everything okay in there, Olivia?” Owen
called.
There was no time to change into her trusty
jeans now, Liv thought, staring at the imposter in her mirror—at a girl with
eyes too-bright and cheeks too-pink.
“Live a little, Liv,” she hissed at her
inner Catwoman, wrapping the pink scarf around her neck and snatching up the
helmet before she could change her mind.
When she emerged from the hall, she forgot
her wish for jeans.
Owen’s eyes lingered the length of her
body, loitered on the return journey, and the wide sweep of his mouth broke
into a lop-sided grin. He flicked the remote at the television, cut Graham
Norton and the statuettes off mid-note, and returned to his slow appraisal.
“Wow.”
The blaze of pure male appreciation made
her heart dive through her ribs with a single, ragged, thump.
Liv tried to will the hot blush from her
throat— hell— tried to will that blush from everywhere. Her core
temperature must have climbed ten degrees.
“You’ve been stuck on Antarctica too long.
A penguin would look hot to you.”
“No penguin I ever saw looked that good.”
He pushed off the bench and moved close. So
close she could smell the heady scent of leather and didn’t know if it was his,
or hers. Saliva pooled on her tongue, rich with the taste of how much she
wanted him.
“God, Liv. If we don’t go for this ride
right now…”
“If we don’t go…” Her lips popped apart and
she heard his muffled groan against her hair. She was so sure he’d draw her
closer. She ached to be in his arms—but with one hand on her shoulder, he held
her away.
“I want that ride, Lovely. I’ve been
thinking about how it would feel to have you pressed up against me all day.”
Liv tilted her head back so she could see
his eyes. “Luke used to call me that. Lovely . You’re the only other
person who’s ever said it.”
“It’s true. You put those beautiful eyes
together with this stubborn little chin...” the hand on her shoulder moved and
his finger grazed her jaw, brushed her lips: “and this mouth.”
Owen’s hands, his words, they worked on her
brain and her body like a drug and she felt her eyes start to drift closed,
knew she swayed nearer.
“Fresh air, Liv,” Owen said on a jagged
breath. “That’s what we both need. Let’s go.” He took her hand and led her up
her parents’ hall, then waited while she locked the door.
The fresh air slapped them both sober.
Freeway noise drifted over the town and the night was lush with dew and
cuttingly cold. From the main street, music played. A Bon Jovi cover.
Liv found her boots, pulled on her helmet
and snapped the visor in place. Last, she tugged on her gloves. Owen mounted
the Ducati and switched on the ignition. If she’d been worried about the
neighbours earlier, she cringed doubly now—at this rate none of them would
sleep for a week. Even on idle, that v-twin roar was loud.
She swung her leg over the bike. The padded
seat cushioned her thighs and she searched for the footrests, resting her hands
lightly either side of Owen’s waist. Owen reached back and wrapped her arms
around his waist until her tummy pressed hard into the small of his back and
her breasts crushed his shoulder blades. Leather met leather. Thigh met thigh.
Soft curves met hard, lean muscle.
They accelerated into the night. Owen rode
through the roundabout out to the Freeway and picked up speed up the long
stretch of hill. Freight trucks crawled like bloated snails and the Ducati
streamed past, houses and streetlights blurring behind them in orange and
yellow ribbons.
She’d forgotten how thrilling it was to
ride a bike fast at night. She’d forgotten the rush, the roar; the vibrations
that throbbed right through her.
Liv moved when Owen
black. The leathers were stiff. Either she’d put on a few pounds since she’d
last worn them or they’d shrunk. The pants clung to her thighs like black to
night.
“Everything okay in there, Olivia?” Owen
called.
There was no time to change into her trusty
jeans now, Liv thought, staring at the imposter in her mirror—at a girl with
eyes too-bright and cheeks too-pink.
“Live a little, Liv,” she hissed at her
inner Catwoman, wrapping the pink scarf around her neck and snatching up the
helmet before she could change her mind.
When she emerged from the hall, she forgot
her wish for jeans.
Owen’s eyes lingered the length of her
body, loitered on the return journey, and the wide sweep of his mouth broke
into a lop-sided grin. He flicked the remote at the television, cut Graham
Norton and the statuettes off mid-note, and returned to his slow appraisal.
“Wow.”
The blaze of pure male appreciation made
her heart dive through her ribs with a single, ragged, thump.
Liv tried to will the hot blush from her
throat— hell— tried to will that blush from everywhere. Her core
temperature must have climbed ten degrees.
“You’ve been stuck on Antarctica too long.
A penguin would look hot to you.”
“No penguin I ever saw looked that good.”
He pushed off the bench and moved close. So
close she could smell the heady scent of leather and didn’t know if it was his,
or hers. Saliva pooled on her tongue, rich with the taste of how much she
wanted him.
“God, Liv. If we don’t go for this ride
right now…”
“If we don’t go…” Her lips popped apart and
she heard his muffled groan against her hair. She was so sure he’d draw her
closer. She ached to be in his arms—but with one hand on her shoulder, he held
her away.
“I want that ride, Lovely. I’ve been
thinking about how it would feel to have you pressed up against me all day.”
Liv tilted her head back so she could see
his eyes. “Luke used to call me that. Lovely . You’re the only other
person who’s ever said it.”
“It’s true. You put those beautiful eyes
together with this stubborn little chin...” the hand on her shoulder moved and
his finger grazed her jaw, brushed her lips: “and this mouth.”
Owen’s hands, his words, they worked on her
brain and her body like a drug and she felt her eyes start to drift closed,
knew she swayed nearer.
“Fresh air, Liv,” Owen said on a jagged
breath. “That’s what we both need. Let’s go.” He took her hand and led her up
her parents’ hall, then waited while she locked the door.
The fresh air slapped them both sober.
Freeway noise drifted over the town and the night was lush with dew and
cuttingly cold. From the main street, music played. A Bon Jovi cover.
Liv found her boots, pulled on her helmet
and snapped the visor in place. Last, she tugged on her gloves. Owen mounted
the Ducati and switched on the ignition. If she’d been worried about the
neighbours earlier, she cringed doubly now—at this rate none of them would
sleep for a week. Even on idle, that v-twin roar was loud.
She swung her leg over the bike. The padded
seat cushioned her thighs and she searched for the footrests, resting her hands
lightly either side of Owen’s waist. Owen reached back and wrapped her arms
around his waist until her tummy pressed hard into the small of his back and
her breasts crushed his shoulder blades. Leather met leather. Thigh met thigh.
Soft curves met hard, lean muscle.
They accelerated into the night. Owen rode
through the roundabout out to the Freeway and picked up speed up the long
stretch of hill. Freight trucks crawled like bloated snails and the Ducati
streamed past, houses and streetlights blurring behind them in orange and
yellow ribbons.
She’d forgotten how thrilling it was to
ride a bike fast at night. She’d forgotten the rush, the roar; the vibrations
that throbbed right through her.
Liv moved when Owen
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