Page 106 of Haunted

“Which you won’t need anymore.”

The elevator ride down feels endless. Xavier stands too close, his presence filling the small space until I can barely breathe. The scent of leather and cologne make my pulse quicken despite my irritation.

“What about my job? My editor expects?—”

“Handled.”

“You can’t just ‘handle’ my entire life, Xavier.”

He turns those eyes on me, and I see a flicker of amusement. “Watch me.”

The elevator dings, and we step into the lobby. Mrs. Lowell looks up from watering her plants, her eyes widening as she takes in Xavier. I manage a weak wave as he guides me toward the exit with a hand on the small of my back.

Outside, his motorcycle waits at the curb. The BMW S1000RR gleams in the afternoon sun, its red paint job gleaming in the sunlight. My breath hitches as it’s a beautiful burgundy.

“Put your helmet on.” His voice carries that edge of command that makes my core clench, but my mind wants to scream at him to fuck off.

I fumble with the helmet, my hands clumsy. “I’ve never been on a motorcycle before.”

“There are two rules. Hold onto me.” He starts theengine, and it roars to life beneath him. “And don’t let go.”

I climb behind him, my legs straddling the powerful machine. The engine vibrates beneath us, a rumble that seeps into my bones.

“Hold on,” he commands over the engine noise.

My arms circle his waist tentatively at first, but as he pulls away from the curb, my survival instinct kicks in, and I press closer. My chest molds against his back, my thighs bracketing his hips. The leather of his jacket is warm from his heat, and I can feel the solid muscle beneath.

God, he smells incredible.

Leather and an inherent masculinity that is purely Xavier. My nostrils flare as I breathe him in, shameless in my hunger for it. It’s like a drug, this scent that makes my head spin and my pulse race.

I should be ashamed of how desperately I inhale each breath, but I can’t stop myself. Three days in his maze broke me, rewired my brain until his presence alone drives me crazy.

As we accelerate onto the main road, I’m forced to press closer. My hands flatten against Xavier’s abs, feeling the ridges of muscle through the leather. The vibration of the motorcycle travels through both our bodies, creating an intimate friction inside me that makes heat pool between my thighs.

This is wrong. I’m supposed to be an independent woman who doesn’t need anyone, doesn’t yield to anyone. Yet here I am, molded against Xavier Blackwoodlike I was made to fit against him, breathing him in like he’s my sole addiction.

The motorcycle leans into a turn, and my grip tightens reflexively. My fingers spread wider across his abs, and I feel his sharp intake of breath even over the engine noise. The knowledge that I affect him, too, thrills me.

Every breath fills my lungs with more of his scent. Every shift of him against me sends sparks along my nerve endings. By the time we reach the first stoplight, I’m practically drunk on the sensation of him—the heat, the strength, the intoxicating smell that makes rational thought impossible.

When the light turns green, and he accelerates again, I don’t fight the urge to press my face against his back and simply breathe him in. I’m an addict getting my fix, and Xavier Blackwood is my drug of choice.

The motorcycle veers right, tires screeching as Xavier pulls into an empty parking lot behind what looks like an abandoned warehouse. Gravel crunches under the wheels as he brings us to an abrupt stop, the engine cutting to sudden silence.

“What—”

Before I can finish the question, the kickstand drops with a sharp click. Xavier dismounts in one fluid motion, his movements urgent and swift. My heart hammers against my ribs as he turns to face me.

“Xavier, what’s wrong? Why did we?—”

His hands grip my waist, lifting me off the bike like I weigh nothing. My feet barely touch the ground beforehe yanks me against his chest, the force of it stealing my breath. The solid wall of his body presses into mine, and I can feel the rapid beat of his heart through the leather jacket.

“I can’t—” His voice is rough, strained. “The way you were pressed against me like you need me to survive.”

Heat floods my cheeks. He noticed.

His fingers work at the helmet strap under my chin, yanking it free impatiently. The helmet tumbles from my head, hitting the gravel with a hollow thud. His own follows a second later, both forgotten as his hands frame my face.

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