Lucky Romo.
Ten minutes later she was re-ascending the hill in jeans tucked into her one pair of boots—simple, black, with heels. She feared she looked a bit like a pirate, but again, tried to act confident when she met back up with Lucky outside the garage.
“All set?” he asked.
Her eyes were drawn instantly to the bike he’d pulled out into his driveway. “I think.” She was no motorcycle connoisseur, but this one struck her as attractive, the sleek body black with simple red flames painted on, the undercarriage parts done in bright, shiny chrome accentuated with two long, curving pipes.
Without another word, Lucky turned to her, lowering a helmet smoothly onto her head and buckling a strap beneath her chin—so that now she felt like an alien pirate. And her head suddenly grew heavy from the added weight. Then he slid a black helmet painted with more intricate red and orange flames onto his own head and situated himself on the bike. Upon starting it up, a loud and familiar sound— plm , plm , plm , plm , plm —vibrated from the pipes as Lucky yelled over top of the noise, “Climb on.”
It was awkward hoisting her leg over the seat, especially since it was curved in such a way as to push their bodies instantly together, her front against his warm, broad back. The contact shocked her and she automatically tried to lean away, but it didn’t make much difference—she was now officially stuck like glue to Lucky Romo.
“Um, what do I hold onto?” she asked loudly over his shoulder.
He turned his head just enough that she could see his eyes within the helmet. “Me.” Then he faced forward again, instructing her, “Wrap your arms around my waist.”
A whoosh of breath escaped her at the very notion. Plus she was close enough to smell him now—he gave off a clean yet musky scent that instantly appealed. She slid her hands gingerly around his torso, unable not to press her breasts into his back. And when everything inside her vibrated madly, she wasn’t sure if it was from the rumbling machine between her legs or the big, sexy man she was plastered against.
Lucky casually reached down on both sides of the bike, hooking his big hands behind her calves, lifting them until her feet were balanced on pegs. “Don’t move ’em,” he said, then asked, “Ready?”
“As I’ll ever be,” she replied. Although her legs now officially felt as tingly hot as the rest of her.
And then the bike was easing down his driveway until he turned out onto Whisper Falls Road—and within seconds, they were racing through the twists and turns that had never seemed quite so twisty and turny to Tessa before. She held on to Lucky tight out of sheer instinct and wondered if he could feel the beat of her heart against the back of his rib cage. She suddenly heard the Foo Fighters singing about a new day rising, a brand new sky, and she realized the motorcycle had a sound system—the music encased her, her and Lucky both, as much as the wind that whipped around them now.
As they sped up on a straight stretch, Tessa sensed the power of the motorcycle beneath them yet at the same time felt as if they were flying, happy to take in the rough breeze on her face, the spring air buffeting her skin. Then the bike dipped into the shade—tree limbs bursting with new leaves arced heavy across the road to create a canopy, leaving the pavement dappled with sunlight. She found the ride at once frightening and exhilarating, and the motorcycle’s heavy vibrations echoed all through her to leave her both aroused and alert, peeking over Lucky’s shoulder as he took each bend in the road.
Latching on to him, she couldn’t help feeling as if she was . . . in his care, somehow under his protection. And normally, Tessa didn’t like letting anyone take care of her, but this felt different. Like holding on to Lucky provided . . . a little safety amidst the danger. And like, in some small way, she was doing exactly what the Foo Fighters’
Ten minutes later she was re-ascending the hill in jeans tucked into her one pair of boots—simple, black, with heels. She feared she looked a bit like a pirate, but again, tried to act confident when she met back up with Lucky outside the garage.
“All set?” he asked.
Her eyes were drawn instantly to the bike he’d pulled out into his driveway. “I think.” She was no motorcycle connoisseur, but this one struck her as attractive, the sleek body black with simple red flames painted on, the undercarriage parts done in bright, shiny chrome accentuated with two long, curving pipes.
Without another word, Lucky turned to her, lowering a helmet smoothly onto her head and buckling a strap beneath her chin—so that now she felt like an alien pirate. And her head suddenly grew heavy from the added weight. Then he slid a black helmet painted with more intricate red and orange flames onto his own head and situated himself on the bike. Upon starting it up, a loud and familiar sound— plm , plm , plm , plm , plm —vibrated from the pipes as Lucky yelled over top of the noise, “Climb on.”
It was awkward hoisting her leg over the seat, especially since it was curved in such a way as to push their bodies instantly together, her front against his warm, broad back. The contact shocked her and she automatically tried to lean away, but it didn’t make much difference—she was now officially stuck like glue to Lucky Romo.
“Um, what do I hold onto?” she asked loudly over his shoulder.
He turned his head just enough that she could see his eyes within the helmet. “Me.” Then he faced forward again, instructing her, “Wrap your arms around my waist.”
A whoosh of breath escaped her at the very notion. Plus she was close enough to smell him now—he gave off a clean yet musky scent that instantly appealed. She slid her hands gingerly around his torso, unable not to press her breasts into his back. And when everything inside her vibrated madly, she wasn’t sure if it was from the rumbling machine between her legs or the big, sexy man she was plastered against.
Lucky casually reached down on both sides of the bike, hooking his big hands behind her calves, lifting them until her feet were balanced on pegs. “Don’t move ’em,” he said, then asked, “Ready?”
“As I’ll ever be,” she replied. Although her legs now officially felt as tingly hot as the rest of her.
And then the bike was easing down his driveway until he turned out onto Whisper Falls Road—and within seconds, they were racing through the twists and turns that had never seemed quite so twisty and turny to Tessa before. She held on to Lucky tight out of sheer instinct and wondered if he could feel the beat of her heart against the back of his rib cage. She suddenly heard the Foo Fighters singing about a new day rising, a brand new sky, and she realized the motorcycle had a sound system—the music encased her, her and Lucky both, as much as the wind that whipped around them now.
As they sped up on a straight stretch, Tessa sensed the power of the motorcycle beneath them yet at the same time felt as if they were flying, happy to take in the rough breeze on her face, the spring air buffeting her skin. Then the bike dipped into the shade—tree limbs bursting with new leaves arced heavy across the road to create a canopy, leaving the pavement dappled with sunlight. She found the ride at once frightening and exhilarating, and the motorcycle’s heavy vibrations echoed all through her to leave her both aroused and alert, peeking over Lucky’s shoulder as he took each bend in the road.
Latching on to him, she couldn’t help feeling as if she was . . . in his care, somehow under his protection. And normally, Tessa didn’t like letting anyone take care of her, but this felt different. Like holding on to Lucky provided . . . a little safety amidst the danger. And like, in some small way, she was doing exactly what the Foo Fighters’
Similar Books
