Page 2 of Head Over Wheels

Clearing his throat, he said, ‘I took a shortcut. I thought it would be better to let Colin have his fun, but arrive back at the hotel at the same time.’

I was impressed by his attitude. Since I didn’t recognise his face, I assumed he was a domestique, a support rider, and not a big name, but he had some spirit – and a really nice, strong jaw. And those eyes… Crap, I was not here for nice eyes.

‘Besides,’ he continued, ‘I felt sorry for her.’ He reached one lean arm up to give the doll a pat on the bum.

With a huff, I studied the vacant expression on the doll’s face, the exaggerated lips that reminded me of a vacuum cleaner. Surprisingly, I felt sorry for her as well – not for her, exactly, but for the tangled mess of desire and ego and vulnerability that was sex. ‘You bonded with her?’

He choked out an inarticulate response. With a beleaguered sigh, I held out my gloved hand to him and, after a moment’s hesitation, he grasped it and allowed me to help him up.

‘Do you think your bike’s okay? Are the men coming down from la Mare de Déu?’

He nodded as he picked up his bike and inspected itcarefully, hefting the frame with one arm and spinning the wheels. ‘Looks okay.’

‘Good, then let’s go!’ Grabbing my bike, I threw my leg over the seat and looked back just in time to catch him staring at my butt.

‘What was that?’ he asked, his eyes whipping back to mine and blinking rapidly.

‘I said, let’s go! Let’s get down and I’ll draft you back to the others.’

‘You will?’ His voice was high and breathy and boy, it reminded me of the few times I’d given poor Loonie a compliment and he’d reacted as though I’d offered him a medal.

I didn’t miss my online training partner – I couldn’t. We’d only known each other about ten weeks and he was nothing more than a voice in my ear. It was just that I’d been in a weakened state after all the surgery and he’d always been there and it was a good thing I’d severed that connection, if I was still thinking about him so much.

‘I don’t know you from a bar of French soap, but I’ll help you get one up over my brother.’

‘Soap?’ Even the doubtful version of his smile was electric.

‘Do you want my help or not?’

‘Yes, absolutely.’

‘Then hop on your bike and let’s go, French soap.’

‘Yes, sir,’ he muttered, grasping his handlebars to follow me, a small smile on his lips. ‘But it’s Belgian soap,’ he continued drily as we pushed off and headed for the next curve.

I snorted a laugh. Thank fuck it wasn’t Canadian soap.

‘Are you all right?’ he asked. ‘You’re bleeding.’

‘Are you offering first aid?’ I called back. ‘I’ve had worse. Let’s just get back down to the hotel.’

‘What are you doing up here alone anyway?’

Setting my jaw, I just said, ‘I prefer to warm up on my own.’ So I didn’t show weakness in front of the rest of the team. ‘Lucky for you!’

He remained mercifully silent while we negotiated the gravel and the hairpins. When we returned to the road, I gripped the drop bars and set a high pace, ignoring the sting of the grazes on my thigh. ‘See if you can keep up!’

When I glanced back, he had a wide grin on his face, with long dimples above that square jaw, looking cute and utterly ridiculous, with a blow-up doll and a bunch of balloons whipping in his slipstream.

I’d forgotten to ask his name. It was too late now. I’d got him mixed up with LoonieDunes in my mind – although I didn’t knowhisname, either.

As we rejoined the road, I glimpsed the men’s team ahead – a flash of blue and orange in the colours of our current sponsors – riding in a bunch. Standing up in the saddle, I pushed ahead.

‘Still there?’ I asked over my shoulder. ‘How’s the dust taste?’

‘Your dust, Lori Gallagher?’ he called back. ‘Like gold.’

The cadence of my pedalling faltered. ‘You idiot,’ I grunted, a piss-poor comeback. ‘You can’t eat gold!’

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