Page 23 of Breaking the Lawyer

"You've got to be kidding me."

He turns back, eyebrow raised. "Problem?"

"Do you have any idea how much hotter that makes you?" I stare at the bike, then at him, my circuits about to overload.

Christian grins. Smug bastard. "I had a feeling you'd appreciate it."

He pulls a spare helmet from the bike's storage compartment and hands it to me.

I take the helmet, staring at it. "Wait, I'm riding with you?"

"Unless you want to follow in your car and risk losing me in traffic." He's already putting on his own helmet, and I realize he's serious.

"What about my car?"

"We'll come back for it tomorrow." He swings his leg over the bike with practiced ease, and I watch the movement like it's performance art.

I hesitate for a moment, helmet in my hands. But watching him sitting there, waiting for me, I realize I'd probably follow this man anywhere at this point.

"I've never been on a motorcycle before," I admit, putting on the helmet.

"Just hold on tight," he says, his voice slightly muffled.

I climb on behind him, immediately wrapping my arms around his waist. Chest pressed to his back. Thighs bracketing his hips. I can feel his body heat even through our clothes. It's making me dizzy. "That's not going to be a problem," I say, tightening my grip.

"You okay back there?" he asks, looking back over his shoulder.

"Perfect." And it’s true.

Because this feels right. Natural. Like I wasmeant tobe pressed against him like this.

The engine roars to life between my legs, the vibration traveling through my entire body. He pulls into traffic, and I press closer against his back, my hands splayed across his chest, feeling the warmth and solidness of him through his shirt.

The combination of the bike's vibration, the wind, and the intimacy of holding him like this has me half-hard by the time we reach the first stoplight. Every bump in the road, every turn, presses us together in new ways, and I find myself fighting the urge to let my hands wander.

At a red light, I lean closer, shouting over the engine, "How much further?"

"Five minutes," he shouts back. "Try not to distract me."

I let one hand drift lower, just briefly, his abs contracting under my touch. "No promises."

He tenses against me. "Brooks."

"Eyes on the road, counselor." I grin behind my helmet, loving that I can make him lose composure even while he's operating heavy machinery.

The light turns green and we speed off into the night.

By the time we pull up to a sleek high-rise building, I'm wound so tight I think I might vibrate apart.

He cuts the engine, and the sudden silence feels deafening.

Chapter 5

I FOLLOW CHRISTIAN to the elevator on legs that feel like they belong to someone else. The ride up is silent except for the sound of our breathing, which seems unnaturally loud in the confined space.

Twenty-three floors. I count every single one on the display, using the numbers to keep myself grounded because looking at him right now might actually kill me.

When the doors finally open, he leads me down a hallway that screams money—marble floors, expensive artwork, the kind of lighting that makes everything look like a magazine spread.

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